The Fort (Aric Davis)

understand completely,” said Scott’s mom. “Scott has a savings account. If there are any fines, he will be working to pay them off. When can we leave?”
    Van Endel looked at Dr. Martinez, and she shrugged her shoulders. “You can go now.”

    Tim sat in the back of his dad’s car. Luke was across the backseat, but neither of them was looking at the other. Luke’s mom had never shown, so Tim’s folks were giving him a ride home. Tim had never seen his mom so pissed off, but his dad was worse. He hadn’t said anything since shaking the hands of the doctor and the detective. He’d apologized to them both just before they all walked to the car. His mom had said, “I don’t want you two to say one word in that car. If you can help it, don’t even look at one another. Your father and I are furious with both of you, and I’d like to spend this car ride forgetting that either of you is even back there.”
    They dropped off Luke at the entrance to the trailer park without a word. He got out, looked like he wanted to say something, probably “Bye,” or “Thanks for the ride.” Instead he just shut the door and walked away.
    Now the shit’s going to hit the fan , Tim thought to himself, and of course, he was right.
    His folks were silent for the rest of the ride, but when his dad parked the car, his mom said, “Room. Now. Your father and I need to discuss some things. And don’t look at me like you want to say something. I don’t want to hear a word of it.”
    “Tammy—”
    “No, Stan. Not now. Go, Tim, I’m too mad to look at you right now. And when we come to talk to you, I highly suggest that you don’t have your nose in a book. I want you sitting at your desk, not doing anything. Is that clear?” Tim nodded, an impossibly huge lump in his throat. “Then go,” said his mom. “Just go.”
    They came for him twenty minutes later. He was sitting at his desk, doing exactly what his mom had instructed, absolutely nothing. The minutes had dragged by like hours, every second a drop of water waiting to drop, pregnant for an impossibly long amount of time. It was almost a relief when he heard a firm knock at his door.
    “Come to the kitchen table,” said his dad.
    Tim stood, leaned back his head, and let out a deep breath. Will it just make things worse if I argue? He closed the door behind him gently and walked to the kitchen, to what felt like the hangman’s noose.
    His mom was sitting at the table with an open bottle of wine and an empty glass sitting in front of her. His dad had a beer where he was sitting. Normally Tim or Becca might have cracked a joke at a sight like that—it was just early afternoon—but today was not the day for jokes.
    I need to remember that I know what I saw, and that I’m not lying. Easier said than done. Tim sat in his chair, facing them and glad that he wasn’t crying or acting like a baby. The cops were wrong, but that wasn’t his fault.
    “First things first,” said his dad. “Your mother and I are extremely disappointed that you were involved in whatever it was your friends cooked up. Lying to the police, especially about something so serious, is no laughing matter.”
    “But I wasn—”
    His mom slapped the table, making her wine bottle and glass do a dance, and causing his dad’s beer to foam over. “Let him finish,” she snapped, “then let me finish, and then we’ll listen to what you have to say. But only, and I mean this, only if you are going to tell the truth.” She shrugged. “Everything you say right now sounds like bullshit.” His mom lit a cigarette, something Tim hadn’t seen her do in years, and drew off of it, the smoke collecting around the hanging light in the kitchen. His dad gave her a look, a not very nice one, and then continued speaking.
    “Like I was saying, this is serious business, Tim. The cops could have charged both you and us for what you boys did. I’m not going to ask why; you can tell me later, when you’re less indignant and give up on this notion that you can convince me that what you’re claiming is somehow true. I’m just—dumbfounded that you would be a part of this. This isn’t you.” He pushed out a sigh. “But I guess it is you, or who you’re trying to be, for God knows what reason. And we need to deal with it, now . Your summer is over, starting right now. You’re going to help me put in the patio, and when that’s done I’ll come up with something else.
    “That’s one thing. Another is