Daddy’s Law by K.C. Crowne

Chapter 4

Theo

Iswitched vehicles at home and drove to Cory’s school in my truck. He kept asking me to take him out on the back of the motorcycle, but it wasn’t safe.

It wasn’t that I was a bad driver. Once you learned how to drive a tank, you could pretty much handle anything. But I didn’t trust other drivers to be as experienced or level-headed while on the road. Putting my boy at risk because of their stupidity wasn’t an option.

Maybe I’d take him for a spin when he was older. Much older. Like twenty-one.

And maybe not even then.

Only a scattering of students were exiting the main doors of the school building, all dressed in their prim and proper uniforms. I personally wanted Cory to go to a public school. I went public, and I liked to think I turned out perfectly fine. But Cassandra had insisted that Willingham Academy had a fantastic art and science program where Cory would surely flourish. They’d offer structure and responsibility and a caring staff who could look after our boy. We’d gone back and forth for months about it. As it was, there was a waiting list, and I hadn’t been able to get Cory a spot until a little over a year after Cassandra had passed. It was the least I could do to honor her.

I spotted a familiar tuft of dark black hair rounding the corner. Cory’s eyes were cast down, his arms full of art supplies and textbooks. A couple other kids were walking with him. His friends, I assumed. But the longer I watched, the more I realized I was wrong. These weren’t his friends.

One of them nudged Cory in the shoulder with the tip of his elbow, hard enough that Cory winced. Another ruffled Cory’s hair despite my boy trying to swat him away.

A deep anger boiled in the pit of my stomach. It’d be easy, walking up to them and giving them a piece of my mind. I fought the urge to grab them by their collars and give them an earful, but I knew there was something inherently unfair about a grown man picking on children.

Even if they deserved it.

I stayed near the truck, silently willing Cory to stand up for himself. I wanted to see what he would do, how he would handle it. Maybe he’d get mad and fight back. Maybe he’d break down and cry.

Cory did nothing.

He did nothing as the largest of the boys pushed him to the ground, his books and art supplies falling to the concrete path. Not a hint of a frown. No pursing of the lips. Not even so much as a glare as the other boys laughed and walked away.

Like this was just another thing to accept.

My stomach churned, but I couldn’t even be mad. The sad fact of the matter was that I had been away too often; tour after tour keeping me from being home with Cassandra and Cory. I hadn’t been there to teach him how to deal with situations like this one. I should have been there to teach him how to be braver and stronger, not impassive.

I hurried over to Cory and knelt, giving him a quick once over. No scrapes or bumps, thank goodness.

“Are you alright, buddy?” I asked. “What happened?”

He looked up, startled. “Dad? What are you doing here? I thought Mrs. Thompson was picking me up. Don’t you have to be at work?”

“Nope,” I replied with a grin. “I’ve completed my assignment. I’ll be spending some time at home for the next little while.”

Cory quickly gathered his things, smiling up at me. “R-really? For how long?”

I shrugged. “A couple of weeks. Uncle Jesse says hi by the way.”

“Does this mean you can take me to the Van Gogh exhibit?”

“Sure, but on one condition.”

“Okay?”

“You have to tell me what happened earlier. Were those boys picking on you?”

Cory cast his eyes down, suddenly very quiet. “Nothing happened.”

“You shouldn’t lie. I saw the whole thing.”

“It was nothing, I swear. Can we just go?”

I wasn’t sure what bothered me more. The fact that he wasn’t being honest, or the fact that he was trying to sweep his problems under the rug. It wasn’t always like this. Ever since his mom died, I’d felt like Cory was pulling further and further away. I couldn’t figure out how to get through to him. I couldn’t figure out how to get him to trust me. It felt like yesterday when Cory would tell me absolutely everything.

Now it was like talking to him a thousand miles away.

I sighed, wishing Cassandra were here. She was always so good with Cory. She had this way of speaking —softly and lovingly— that always managed to pull our son out of his shell, even on his worst days.

“Cory,” I said, trying to channel my wife’s calmness. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He rolled his eyes and groaned. “Why does everybody keep saying that?” he murmured bitterly.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” Cory shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, clutching his things.

I frowned, noticing something. “Why are you wearing your gym clothes?”

“I… I spilled some paint.”

Something in his tone told me he was lying. “You spilled some paint?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re normally so careful.”

“Let’s just go, Dad. I’m hungry, okay?”

I tried to ignore the burning sensation in the back of my throat. I wasn’t getting through to him and it was killing me. “What are you hungry for, buddy?”

“I don’t know. Whatever you want, I guess.”

“How about some burgers from Old Joe’s? You love that place.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The faint glimmer in his eyes was enough to spark my hope that maybe I was making progress.

* * *

I wasn’t making progress. In fact, I may have been regressing.

Cory ordered his usual favorite: Old Joe’s cheddar-stuffed cheeseburger with a side of Cajun spiced fries and a chocolate milkshake. I personally didn’t want my kid eating the equivalent of a heart attack on a plate, but I also didn’t want to be one of those overbearingly strict parents that children would come to resent. As long as this was an every now and again sort of thing, I could make my peace with it.

But what concerned me more than exceeding his daily recommended caloric intake was the fact that Cory didn’t eat with his usual enthusiasm. He could usually scarf down the whole meal in fifteen minutes. He had his mother’s appetite, after all. And her table manners, at that.

He managed half the burger, a quarter of the milkshake, and slowly picked at his fries with disinterest. I asked our waiter to pack everything up to go in case Cory was hungry later.

When we got home, the first thing he did was rush upstairs to his room.

I was at a loss, torn between checking on him and giving him space to breathe. I settled for putting his leftovers in the fridge. Mrs. Thompson had kept it well-stocked —I included grocery money with her babysitting fee— so that Cory would always have something available. The house was relatively tidy, too, so she must have taken it upon herself to do some light cleaning.

My own home felt foreign, in a way. I’d spent the last month or so holed up with my client, moving from hotel room to hotel room as he traveled around Illinois campaigning for governor. I had to spend my time chasing Duncan instead of chasing after my own kid.

Although my house was furnished, it didn’t feel lived in. It lacked the vibrance it once had, the warmth.

Cassandra used to bake all sorts of goodies in the kitchen, so the house smelled like a bakery. She also always played music. Short of that, she was always humming a tune.

Now the house was dead silent.

I slowly climbed the stairs and made my way to the end of the hall. I knocked on Cory’s door. “Hey, buddy? Can I come in?”

I heard him sigh. “Yeah.”

Cracking the door open a bit, I leaned against the frame. Cory was seated at his desk, reading a thick textbook by dim lamplight. His room was incredibly neat for a boy his age. His walls were still covered in glow-in-the-dark stars and planets. His toys were all put away in the plastic bin at the foot of his bed. A framed picture of us at Disneyland —the same one I had set to my phone screen— sat on his bedside table.

“Feel like watching a movie?” I asked. “You can pick. I heard the new Avengers movie thing is pretty good. Ironboy’s your favorite, right?”

He shook his head. “Iron Man.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I already watched it. Besides, I have a chemistry test I need to study for.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, thank you. I study better alone.”

“O-kay,” I mumbled slowly. “Did you want me to come back to tuck you in, or—”

“Dad.” Cory glanced up at me and frowned. “I don’t need you to tuck me in. I’m too old for that baby stuff, alright?”

I sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. “Alright. I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Can you close the door, please?”

“Sure, buddy. I love you.” I said that last bit almost like a question.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cory mumbled. “Love you, too.”

With a hesitant sigh, I let him be, trudging back down the hall to my bedroom. My bed looked a lot less inviting without Cassandra occupying her side, even after two years. I smiled fondly at the thought of her, sprawled out like a damn starfish, hogging all the blankets and denying that she snored like a chainsaw when I told her in the morning.

I ignored the pang in my chest.

I’d spent my whole life solving problems. Thinking on the fly. Making decisions that were literally life or death. But connecting with Cory was proving to be a greater challenge than I cared to admit. We’d never been so distant, almost like strangers under one roof.

I reluctantly got ready for bed, the empty space next to me a glaring hole.

She’d know what to do.

If only she were here.