Johnny Gets His Wings

Chapter 13

Mom was sitting at the kitchen table looking at her smartphone. She was a frail, skinny woman with dirty-blonde hair and hazel eyes. As usual, she had a frown pasted upon her joyless face.

She said, "It's past 8 p.m."

"I know. It's been a wild day."

"Don't expect me to cook for you. I'm not running a fucking restaurant."

"Not a problem. I actually had a steak and a giant baked potato."

She grinned at me with malice in her eyes. "Well, la-dee-da. A steak and a baked potato. You must think you're the king. I guess my food isn't good enough."

If the truth be known, Mom rarely cooked. I pretty much lived on bread and sandwich meat. I was also a fan of canned soup and ravioli. But don't get me wrong. I never complained about my diet. I was a healthy and happy kid. Plus the school provided a nutritious breakfast and lunch. That was one of the negative things about Dad getting the boot. The pay sucked, but the benefits were pretty good. For instance, we had first-rate health insurance paid for by the Catholic church.

I sat on the sofa and turned on the television.

She said, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Relaxing?"

"I can't take the fucking volume. My head is ringing with pain."

"Did you have a rough day?"

She snorted with laughter. "I've never had a good day since marrying your father. All I do is cook and clean like a fucking slave. That asshole ruined my life."

"Where is he? Do you know?"

"How the fuck would I know? Are you stupid or something." She put her phone down and gazed at me. "He's probably out getting drunk with his friends. He's a prick, but he won't have me to kick around much longer. I'm moving in with my sister."

Mom had left us several times in the past, and she always made a huge deal about it. She would throw her suitcases to the ground with a loud bang and spread her clothes all over the floor to let us know that she was packing. And she always escaped by running either to her mother or sister. But here's the funny part. She was such a miserable asshole that her own family would send her back after a week or two. Then she'd return, and Dad would take her to a Chinese buffet in order to patch things up. It was a seemingly never-ender cycle. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

I decided to call my buddy Greg, but I didn't want the devil to hear the conversation. So I stepped outside into the cool October air. Greg's dad worked at Saint Mary's as one of the math teachers. His name was Mr. Griggs, and he was a big-time drinker. According to his son, Mr. Griggs drank a twelve-pack of beer a day in an effort to ride a continual buzz. And being a worthless drunk, he often told Greg the gossip from the teachers' lounge.

He picked up after the third ring.

I said, "Hey, it's me."

"Holy shit! You're still alive? I can't believe you decked Mr. Bradley. What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I don't know. I guess it was a momentary lapse of reason."

"Everybody is talking about it."

I cleared my throat. "He's dead."

"Who's dead?"

"Mr. Bradley. He shot himself right in the head. I was there."

"You're shitting me."

I sighed heavily. "I wish I was."

There was a long pause. "You didn't shoot him, did you?"

"Of course not. I'm not a murderer. But that's not what I'm calling about."

"You want to know about your dad, right?"

"I'm completely in the dark, so I thought you might be able to help me out."

"Well, I don't know much either."

I sighed again. "Please don't break my balls. I'm too desperate to play games. What has your father been saying?"

"He told me that your dad has been boning Betsy the basketball player since she turned eighteen back in late August."

A wave of sorrow passed over me like a terrible wave. "Is it true?"

"How the fuck should I know? But he's not welcome back at the school. In fact, he'll never work for the Catholics again. The church has enough problems."

I changed the subject. "Do me a big favor."

"What?"

"Keep that news about Bradley to yourself."

"You know me. I'm like a vault."