“I understand,” Sean said. “Do you know what—”
“We’re making an exception this time and not suspending any of the boys,” the principal interrupted. “I had a chance to speak to some of the kids who saw what happened. It seems that the two other boys involved said unkind things about your daughter. Much of it racist. Ryan apparently tried to walk away, but they blocked his path and there was some shoving. Some of the things these boys said, well, between you and me, they had it coming…”
Sean felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. What kind of kids would taunt a boy about his murdered sister?
“I also spoke with the parents of the other boys. All agree, if it is acceptable to you, that we keep this in-house. The parents of the other boys were reluctant at first, since Ryan apparently got the better of both kids. But once they heard the circumstances, the parents were appalled. They assured me that there would be consequences at home for their sons. Given county policy, it’s the best I thought I could do.” He looked to Sean for concurrence.
“Is Ryan okay?”
“His eye doesn’t look much better than yours,” the principal said. “But he’s okay, and the other kids fared worse. Ryan took them both down.”
“I think you handled this just right, Jeff. As you know, this has been a hard time for my family, so your support means a lot to us. I can’t condone what he did, but…”
“Like I said,” the principal replied, “I would have loved to suspend only the other boys. Go see your son, Mr. Serrat.” The principal gestured toward a small conference room.
Sean opened the door and Ryan stood quickly. His eye was swollen. “I’m sorry, Dad,” his voice broke. “I tried to walk away. But they called Abby a whore and said that she wouldn’t have gotten killed if she didn’t have Jungle Fever. They called her ‘Abby Kardashian’ and they—”
“Shhh,” Sean said. He put a hand on Ryan’s chin and examined his eye.
“You’re okay?”
A nod.
“Then that’s all that matters.”
CHAPTER 48
Emily and Jack greeted them at the door. Emily inspected Ryan’s eye and retrieved some frozen peas. Jack was all questions. What happened to your eye? Did you get in a fight? Did you win? Does it hurt? How much? More than a bee sting? More than the flu shot? Are you in trouble? Whose eye is worse, yours or Dad’s?
Ryan finally managed to escape to his room for a bit. Emily said they all needed to get out of the house, to do something normal. So they decided to tempt fate and go out to dinner. Not to any of their usual haunts in Bethesda where they might run into people they knew. They chose downtown, a place called Central Michel Richard.
Sean parked the SUV, and they walked on F Street past Honest Abe’s Tourist Shop, tackily located on the same block as Ford’s Theatre where John Wilkes Booth shot Lincoln. The rain was coming down again, and the brisk wind felt good on Sean’s face. He took pleasure in the anonymity among the crowds of tourists with their wrinkled maps and rain ponchos, the Serrats hidden under their umbrellas.
As they fast-walked to the restaurant, Jack said, “Hey, Daddy, want to hear a joke?”
“I’d love to hear a joke.”
“Knock knock.”
“No, no, no, I’ve heard all your knock-knock jokes. No interrupting cows or boo-whos, give me something new,” Sean said.
Jack thought about this as they walked. Then: “Okay, my friend told me a new one. Why’d the man get fired from the orange juice factory?”
Sean was surprised—it actually was a new joke. “Please tell me, why did the man get fired from the orange juice factory?”
“He couldn’t concentrate,” Jack said.
Sean barked a laugh.
Jack said, “I don’t get it.”
*
The bistro was all earth tones, light wood, and glass. Comfort food in style. The place was filled with the downtown after-work crowd—groups of three or four men and women with overly polite manners, client dinners, probably—and couples in their early thirties.
None of the Serrats, particularly Emily, was ready for a dinner out that meant a table for four, not five. But Emily was trying mightily for the boys. And for the briefest of moments, the scene resembled something from their former life. Jack—in a collared shirt, ironed!—slathered too much butter on a chunk of fresh bread. Ryan let the napkin sit rolled up on the table and not on his lap. And Emily studied the menu. She had the Loup de Mer with mushrooms. Just water, thanks, no wine. Sean and the boys ordered the homemade fried chicken, an unhealthy main course Emily normally would have shut down (Popeye’s and KFC were forbidden in the Serrat home), but tonight she said nothing about the high-end version.
Sean devoured his food. He realized it was the first time in recent memory he’d eaten anything substantial. He looked over at Emily, who likewise was on a mission to consume her entire plate.