“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says. “You expect me to save money after getting laid off? Even if I did, there’d never be enough to send them through college. Let’s just put Zach’s work money away after those damn deductibles are paid.”

“You can’t do it, can you? You’re so addicted that you can’t imagine quitting.”

“Karen, shut the hell up, will you? You sound like some know-it-all counselor. Just shut the hell up, okay?”

“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.