“I want you to listen to me,” she says. “I want you to hear this. I managed to quit, so I’ll be taking that saved money out of my check—unemployment or whatever—and depositing it elsewhere. And if you can’t do the same, if you don’t love me enough to give this a try … well, I don’t know what else to say.”

Dad loses it like I’ve never heard him lose it before.

“We need that goddamn money, Karen!” he screams. “We need every cent of it to live on!”

I have my hand on the door handle, ready to barge in.

Mom says, “No, Bill, you need it to live on. I can make it work. The big question here is you. Can Bill Ramsey stop killing himself?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, like I’m your goddamned son or something. That kid of ours will get a football scholarship. He won’t need a penny of our money. And Justin … well, I don’t see Justin lasting long at any college. He’s never lasted long at anything.”

I hear a loud crash, like glass breaking, followed by a long, uncomfortable silence. That’s when I decide to open the door.

Mom has her back to me, but Dad sees me right away. He raises his eyebrows and massages his temples with his fingers. They’re both staring at the kitchen window … well, what’s left of the kitchen window. One of them has just thrown a full can of beer and shattered the glass into dozens of pieces. Dangerous-looking, knife-like shards surround the frame.

Dad says, “Way to go, Karen. Pay for that with your newfound savings.”

“Shut up, Dad,” I say. Mom turns, surprised at my presence. “Just shut up. Both of you.”

“Excuse me,” Dad says and takes a step toward me. “You don’t tell your parents what to do, son. We tell you.” He’s trying to remain calm, but I can see him totally shaking. “And right now I’m asking you to leave this house, Zach. Go to work early. There’s no need for you to be around this.”

“Oh, let him see it, Bill,” Mom says, still staring at the window frame. “Let him see it. Let him hear it. There’s no use hiding anything. He’s not a little kid.”

“I did hear it,” I say.

“Your mother and I, we’re having some problems is all. It’s nothing that can’t be solved, but every day isn’t a good day.”

“It’s your father who has the problems, Zach, not me.”

“Christ, Karen. Not in front of him, okay?”

“Dad,” I say loudly, “you need to get it through your head that there’s not a chance in hell of me getting a football scholarship. I hate the game and I’m horrible at it. You know that, but you refuse to admit it.”

Mom turns toward me. “Wait, Zach. I talked to you about—”

“And you’re the one who just said there’s no use hiding anything.”

She looks down, turns away.