“I know after what happened the other . . . night and . . . how sweet you were, not telling and all, that this might seem unfair but it’s for your own good. I cannot live the rest of my life knowing that I have allowed you to be ruined by alcohol because of my own sin.”

Mom got all teary-eyed and hugged me. Then she led me into Dad’s room.

Dad’s bandage was off now. He had a green and yellow bruise around his eye and a scab with black stitches in it where the cut was on his forehead. The light still hurt his eyes so in the daytime he stayed in the room with the shutters pulled to. He only came out of his room for dinner on the terrace and a walk around the square at night.

Dad was sitting on his bed reading his Bible and making notes in the margin for his next sermon.

“Ralph,” Mom said, “Calvin has something to tell you.”

Dad didn’t look up. He said, “Elsa, I wish you wouldn’t interrupt my quiet time with the Lord.”

I looked at Mom and took a step back toward the open door since I agreed with Dad. But Mom took a step forward and closed the door behind her and said, “Ralph, this is serious.”

Then Dad looked up from his Bible and said, “What’s he done now:

Mom said, “Tell your father. And tell him all of it”

So I did. At least not how I had trouble walking but that I had had two glasses of an alcoholic beverage.

Then Mom chipped in and said, “He told Rachael he had four glasses and became intoxicated! She says he was actually stumbling!”

Dad said, “Is this true, boy?”

I almost said, “No, of course not. I just want to be strapped so I decided to lie and pretend I had violated the temple of the Holy Spirit for the fun of it.”

But instead I nodded and tried to look really sorrowfully repentant like I had already learned my lesson so I didn’t need any more punishing. I looked as downcast as I could and hoped Dad would be reminded of the Prodigal Son and how the father in that story had welcomed him back and all. But Dad stood up in a real determined way. I got that wobbly feeling in my legs and my hands started to sweat and I felt like somebody had a hand over my mouth. I couldn’t breathe very well.

Dad said, “Leave us, Elsa.”

Mom gave me a real sorry look. I knew she wanted me to nod or something to show I understood she had only been doing her duty but I wouldn’t do it and just stared away from her. Then she left and closed the door so softly I had to turn around to see if she was really gone.