The Truth by Jeffry W. Johnston Page A

Dad…”
    Devon is sobbing uncontrollably now, and with the pillow across the room, he cries facedown into the sheet. I stare at him for what feels like a long time before I finally sit on the bed and try to pull him to me and wrap my arms around him.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have gone down there.”
    â€œDevon—”
    â€œYou could have been killed!” he shouts. Over and over. “You could have been killed!”
    And now he’s hitting me, strong for his age, all those home runs he’s hit, his fists pounding my chest and shoulders. It hurts. But I don’t stop him.
    When his punches begin to weaken, I try gathering him into my arms again. He lets me this time, and I hold him as tight as I can. “I’m sorry, Devon,” I tell him. “I’m so sorry. But it’s going to be okay now. I’m safe. You’re safe. Nothing more is going to happen.”
    He cries, and I hold him, and we stay that way for a long time. I hear nothing in the hallway. Has Mom returned to her room, or is she listening from the other side of the door? Finally, I let go of him, and he sits up, wiping his face, wet and streaked and still dirty from the game.
    â€œIs it true?” I ask again in a soft voice. “What you said about not wanting to play baseball anymore?”
    â€œI miss Dad,” Devon says. Simply, quietly. “I want him here.”
    My heart feels like it’s breaking as I fight back my own tears. “I miss him too, Devon.”
    â€œSometimes I forget,” he says after a moment. “I’ll make a good play or hit a home run, and I’ll look for him in the stands because I want to see him cheering for me. Then I remember he’s dead, and he’s never even seen me hit a home run. He never will.”
    â€œBut Mom and I are there.”
    â€œBut what if you’re not?”
    â€œThat won’t happen.”
    â€œDad should have shot the man!”
    I pull back.
    â€œHe should have shot the man! He didn’t have to put his gun down.”
    â€œHe…he didn’t want the girl to get hurt.”
    â€œI don’t care. I wish the girl were dead!”
    â€œYou don’t mean that—”
    â€œYes, I do! Dad was supposed to play ball in the backyard with me when he got home. We were gonna work on my hitting. After I did my homework. I was working really hard to get it finished so I’d be ready when he walked in the door. But he…he never did. He should have just shot the man. Why did he try to save her?”
    â€œIt was his job—”
    â€œI hate him!”
    The twisting in my stomach grows tighter.
    â€œYou don’t—”
    â€œYes, I do. He got himself killed and he was supposed to come home and help me!”
    â€œDevon—”
    â€œI hate Dad!”
    I don’t know what to say to him. My insides feel tight enough to explode. The walls of Devon’s room feel like they’re closing in around me, and I have to get out.
    â€œMaybe you should just…relax now.” I fight to keep my voice under control. “Play with your DS or…something.”
    â€œI’m going to sleep.”
    Usually he fights it when it’s time to go to bed. Yet here he is, before his normal bedtime, ready to close his eyes. He’s still in uniform. He should get a shower.
    â€œSure,” I tell him. “It’s okay.”
    He turns onto his side and closes his eyes. Normally, I would stay and rub his back until he falls asleep. But I stand up, anxious to leave. I don’t even pause to tell him good night.
    Mom is waiting for me in the hallway as I come out.
    â€œDamn you!” she hisses.
    â€œWhat?” I say, shocked.
    Angry tears streak her face. “How could you upset him like that? Make him say he hates his father?”
    â€œMom, I—”
    â€œI told you to leave him alone. He just had a bad game. He just needed to be alone. But, no, you