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“Ink. Yes,” I said, rolling my food around on my plate. My mother was an exceptional cook, but Dad always had a way of robbing me of my appetite.
“Pass the salt,” Dad said, snapping at Coby when he took too long. “Damn it, Susan. You never put in enough salt. How many times have I told you?”
“You can add the salt, Dad,” Clark said. “This way it’s not too salty for the rest of us.”
“Too salty? This is my goddamn house. She’s my wife! She cooks for me! She cooks the way I like it, not the way you like it!”
“Don’t rile yourself up, honey,” Mom said.
Dad slammed the side of his fist on the table. “I’m not riled up! I’m just not going to stand for someone to come into my house and tell me how my wife should prepare my food!”
“Shut up, Clark,” Chase growled.
Clark shoveled another bite into his mouth and chewed. He had been the peacekeeper for years, and still wasn’t ready to give up. Out of all of my brothers, he was the easiest to be around, and to love. He delivered Coke products to convenience stores around town, and always ran behind schedule because the female employees would chat his ear off. He had a kindness in his eyes that couldn’t be missed. He got that from our mother.
Dad nodded, and then eyed Trenton. “Does Cami know you from school, or work?”
“Both,” Trenton said.
“Trent grew up in Eakins,” I said.
“Born and raised,” Trenton said.
Dad thought for a moment, and then narrowed his eyes. “Maddox . . . you’re Jim’s boy, aren’t ya?”
“Yes,” Trenton answered.
“Oh, I just loved your mother. She was a wonderful woman,” Mom said.
“Thank you,” Trenton said with a smile.
“For f**k’s sake, Susan, you didn’t even know her,” Dad chided. “Why does everyone who dies have to turn into a goddamn saint?”
“She was pretty close,” Trenton said.
Dad looked up, unappreciative of Trenton’s tone. “And how would you know? Weren’t you a toddler when she died?”
“Dad!” I yelled.
“Did you just raise your voice to me in my house? I oughta come across this table and slap your sass mouth!”
“Felix, please,” Mom begged.
“I remember her,” Trenton said. He was showing an exorbitant amount of control, but I could hear the strain in his voice. “Mrs. Camlin’s memory is accurate.”
“So you work with her at the Red?” Chase asked, unmistakable superiority in his voice.
I’m not sure what expression was on my face, but Chase lifted his chin, defiant.
Trenton didn’t answer. Chase was corralling us into a trap, and I knew exactly why.
“Which job, then?” Chase asked.
“Stop it,” I said through my teeth.
“What do you mean which job?” Dad asked. “She only has one job, at the bar, you know that.” When no one agreed, he looked to Trenton. “You work at the Red?”
“No.”
“So you’re a patron.”
“Yes.”
Dad nodded. I sighed in relief, grateful Trenton wasn’t giving any more information than necessary.
“Didn’t you say you were working a second job?” Chase asked.
I pressed my palms flat against the table. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
Coby caught on to what was happening, and stood up. “I just remembered. I have a . . . I have to make a phone call.”
“Sit down!” Dad yelled. “You don’t just stand up at the dinner table! What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Is this true?” Mom asked in her quiet voice.
“I took a part-time gig at Skin Deep Tattoo. It’s not a big deal,” I said.
“What? You can’t pay your bills? You said that bartending job makes you a month’s worth in one weekend!” Dad said.
“It does.”
“So you’re spending more than you’re making? What did I tell you about being responsible? Damn it, Camille! How many times have I told you not to get the credit cards?” He wiped his mouth and threw his napkin on the table. “I didn’t whip your ass enough as a child! If I had, you might listen to me once in a goddamn while!”
Trenton was staring at his plate, breathing faster, and leaning a bit forward. I reached over to touch his knee.
“I don’t have credit cards,” I said.
“Then why in God’s name would you get a second job when you’re still in school? That doesn’t make any sense, and I know you’re not stupid! No daughter of mine is stupid! So what is the reasoning?” he asked, yelling as if I were across the street.
Mom looked over at Coby, then, who was still standing, and the rest of my family did, too. When recognition lit my father’s eyes, he stood up, pounding the table as he did. “You’re on that shit again, aren’t you?” he said, holding a shaking fist in the air.
“What?” Coby said, his voice raised an octave. “No, Dad, what the f**k?”
“You’re on that shit again, and your sister is paying your bills? Are you out of your f**king mind?” Dad said. His face was red, and there was a line so deep between his eyebrows, the skin around it was white. “What did I tell you? What did I say would happen if you got near that shit again? Did you think I was joking?”
“Why would I think that?” Coby said, his voice shaking. “You don’t have a sense of humor!”
Dad ran around the table and attacked Coby, and my mother and brothers tried to intervene. There was yelling, red faces, pointing, but Trenton and I just watched from our seats. Judgment and shock were absent from Trenton’s face, but I was sunk back against my chair, completely humiliated. No amount of warning could have prepared him for the weekly Camlin circus.
“He’s not using again,” I said.
Everyone turned to me.
“What did you say?” Dad said with labored breath.
“I’m paying Coby back. He was short bailing me out a while back.”
Coby’s eyebrows pulled together. “Camille . . .”
Dad took a step toward me. “You couldn’t say anything until now? Let your brother take the blame for your irresponsibility?” He took another step. Trenton turned his entire torso toward my dad, shielding me.
