“I mean I am literally unable to—” Daddy broke off, seeming to be at a loss for words. He composed himself with great difficulty. “That’s what I need you for—I can’t seem to tell him.”
Oh. I got it. He wanted me to do his dirty work and deliver the bad news. I was about to impolitely decline when he changed gears.
“Never mind. Come on . . . Let’s get this show on the road.”
Daddy stalked from the room, and I followed like an obedient puppy he’d just kicked.
11
FAMILY MEETING
A couple of minutes later found us gathered around our living room in poses that more resembled an intervention than a family meeting. Only Andrew seemed to be relaxed—one leg dangling over the back of the couch, he was busy tossing popcorn kernels in the air and catching them in his mouth.
“Listen up everybody. I have a big announcement.” Daddy’s eyes zeroed in on Andrew until he realigned himself into upright position.
“What’s up, Pops?” he asked, oblivious to the seriousness of the situation.
“Yeah, what’s up Pops?” Mikey echoed.
An aggravated look from Daddy followed, but he decided to let it slide. “I have some very excitin’ news for Andrew.”
“Yay!” Mikey was immediately enthusiastic.
Before continuing, Daddy glanced furtively at Mikey then turned around so his back was completely against him. I thought that was odd (not to mention rude), because he usually required all eyes on him when he was speaking.
“Now Andrew, I know I told you that a special mentor was comin’ here this semester to work with you after school,” he began.
“Yes, sir.” Andrew appeared more bored than anything else, being well accustomed to special treatment.
“Well, what I didn’t tell you was that I also finally decided on a school good enough to consider for you!” Daddy was smiling maniacally now and paused, waiting for some kind of reaction from Drew. What he got was a roomful of silence. He cleared his throat. “You see Andrew, yer a special kid . . . and by special, I don’t mean like in that retarded way people mean when they say “special” these days.”
It was funeral parlor quiet, so Daddy went on determinedly: “You are advanced. So advanced, in fact, that the teachers can’t keep you occupied with elementary-school work anymore. And since yer too young to send on to junior-high, yer teachers sent letters of recommendation to all the finest private schools across the country.”
“Sure, Daddy. That’s old news,” Andrew said.
“Right. But what’s not old news is that I’ve had a change of heart about one of ‘em.”
“Which one of them?” Andrew was finally interested.
“Well now, the very best one o’course!” Daddy began grinning like an idiot again, and I wished fervently for a pie to be lying around nearby.
Andrew looked from Daddy’s beaming face to mine, reading my expression. He unconsciously scooted closer, and I placed an arm around his shoulder. No way I would part with him without a fight. Mikey drifted over from his chair behind Daddy, and I picked him up, squeezing him to me like a stress ball.
“Katie, did you know about this?” Hurt accusation colored Andrew’s voice.
I shook my head. No words could get around the swelling in my throat. Andrew looked from me to Daddy, who’d started pacing.
“What’s goin’ on Kadee?” Mikey asked plaintively.
Finding it hard to breathe, I sucked in a lungful of his little-boy neck.
A furrow creased Andrew’s smooth brow. “Daddy, which school did you decide on?”
Daddy quit pacing to look his son in the eye. “The International Elite Academy; it’s the best one in the entire world, son. Actually, it’s so elite that hardly anyone even knows about its existence.”
That particular bit of news did not make me feel a smidge better. A deep foreboding started in my chest and passed quickly through my whole body. I prayed for a way to stop this from happening.
Daddy plowed on determined to sell it. “I met with two of the school’s ambassadors yesterday. They are elite-trained cadets and are exactly the kind of young man you need to become. Discipline and advanced learnin’ will really help you make somethin’ of yerself, Andrew. Who knows?—you could even be president one day!”
“When would I go?”
Mikey bolted up. “Go? Whattayamean go!” I folded him back into me, rocking him back and forth.
Daddy rubbed a knuckle against his nose. “If—when they accept you, and if I agree, January second.” A new kind of quiet infused with dread seeped into the room.
Mikey twisted around to find my eyes “How many years till Jan’ary, Kadee?” I had to bite my lip to keep from crying.
“International.” Andrew sounded stunned. “Daddy, where is the school located, exactly?”
Daddy cleared his throat. “It’s here.” He noted the relieved looks on their faces so clarified, “In the States, I mean.”
“Where here?”
“In, ah . . . Northern California.”
“San Francisco?” Andrew clarified.
More throat clearing ensued. “Yes,” Daddy coughed out. “At least I think so.”
Andrew and I exchanged disgusted looks—so he wasn’t even sure where the school was that he was planning on shipping his eight-year-old son off to.
Daddy looked almost as embarrassed as he should. “We can look that up on the Internet, son.” As if he was smart enough to own a smart phone. Realizing his gaffe, he back-pedaled. “That sounds like a good assignment for you. Better yet . . . just ask yer new mentor tomorrow after school.”
“So . . . we’re all gonna move to-to Sanfrisco when Drewy gets ‘cepted to that new school?” Mikey looked up at me for confirmation.
I moved some phlegm around my throat to accommodate some words getting by. I looked to Daddy, but he appeared to be frozen.
Andrew answered for both of us. “No, you dope. It’s just me.”
“What!” Mikey’s whole body went rigid, eyes pleading with mine to set the record straight.
I still couldn’t form words so just squeezed him tighter, hiding my face in the back of his neck—I didn’t want him to see the terror I felt mirrored back at him. A limp, sick feeling of powerlessness overcame me.
Mikey sprang forward to face off with Daddy. “Daddy, you can’t send Drewy away to a school—you and Kadee still have to grow him up!”
Daddy glared down at his youngest child with all the hateful intimidation he could muster. “You do not have a say so in this, little mister.”
Legs splayed out, hands balled into fists, Mikey stood his ground. “Oh, yes I do! He’s my brothuh. ‘Sides—you have to be a grownup to leave yer house,” he reasoned, “ . . . it’s the law!”
I had to give it to the kid—he had guts. I, on the other hand, felt like a bowl of Jell-O, a real gutless wonder. I began crying softly, feeling like the most useless human being on the planet. Daddy pointed his death rays in my direction now.
“Daddy, yo’wer not gonna send Drewy to that school,” Mikey commanded.