“Nothing,” she mumbles. Then, a moment later—because children can’t seem to hide a single thing—she continues. “It’s just that Julie missed our celebration, and now he’s not even coming to breakfast.”
She looks genuinely distressed. I don’t think I’ve truly noticed just how attached Abigail has become to her attendee.
“I can fetch him,” Jeremy offers.
Father waves him off. “Nonsense, let the boy rest. Abigail, I’m sure you will see him soon.”
I visibly relax. Not having him at breakfast will ease my anxiety—I won’t be on guard the whole time. I won’t feel so ashamed just looking at him.
When I raise my head, Atticus is staring at me curiously.
“So, does anyone have a goal for this new year?” Mother asks, looking around the table.
“I want to learn how to ride a bike!” Abigail shouts, her normal level of enthusiasm returning.
“I’ll help you,” Atticus tells her, placing his hand on top of her blonde hair.
“I think I’ll quit drinking Brandy,” my father adds, and my brother and I laugh quietly. “What?! I can do it!”
“Yes, you can,” Mother encourages.
“I—” But my words are taken from me as the dining room’s large oak doors open, and in walks Julian.
“Julie!” Jeremy screeches, standing so quickly from his seat that the wood of his chair scuffs the floor.
My father immediately stands as well, and my own eyes widen as I take in Julian’s appearance.
His eyes are sunken and ringed with dark circles, his shoulders slumping forward. I can see that he tried to make himself more presentable, wearing his typical uniform and styling his dark hair. But nothing is distracting from his tired expression and lethargic movements.
And most prominent, the harsh red scratches—one on each side of his face—ranging from the middle of his smooth cheeks and almost reaching the corners of his full top lip.
Embarrassed, sad eyes dart to the floor as he walks to his chair. He clears his throat. “Good morning, everyone.”
“What happened to you?” Jeremy demands.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Mother mutters, her palm covering her mouth.
“Nothing,” Julian rushes out, but his eyes… they flicker up to meet mine.
It happens too quickly, so insanely fast that I wonder if I’m the only one who noticed.
“Nothing?!” Jeremy repeats.
“Son,” Father starts, but he’s not talking to me or Atticus. “Let us help you. Did someone hurt you? Who did this?”
“I… I did it.”
Everyone stares in silence. Julian stares at his empty plate, his cheeks reddening by the second.
“You did it to yourself?” Atticus asks, unimpressed, though I can sense a hint of concern toward the attendee.
“Yes. I was shaving.” Julian says it plainly, as if the scratches even slightly resemble those of a razor blade.
They do not. Not at all.
“Julian, I’m not sure who you’re protecting, but—”
“Dad,” Julian interrupts, his eyes lifting to stare lifelessly at his father. “I said it was my fault. Please stop. I—actually, I really appreciate everyone’s concern and the wonderful meal, but I’m not feeling very hungry. Please excuse me.”
