Free Maximum Security by Rose Connors

amusement would send him into a spin. “I guess that’s what he is.”

    Ralph shakes his head, disgusted, and points at the kitchen door. “Come outside for a minute,” he says. “I want to talk to you.”

    I consider telling him I’m not going anywhere. He can say whatever he has to say right here in the kitchen. But it’s not worth the scene it would cause. “Let me grab a sweater,” I tell him instead, and I head for the living room closet.

    Harry and my son the monkey have moved the coffee table into the center of the room. They’re sitting on the floor on opposite sides of it, arranging the chessboard between them. Harry looks up as I pass. “You okay?” he asks in a low voice.

    “I’m swell,” I tell him. “But if Fay Wray isn’t back in ten minutes, send King Kong.”

    * * *

    Ralph and I are having the talk I knew we would have—the one about Luke’s academic endeavors. Ralph, of course, would characterize the discussion differently. He’d say it’s about the lack thereof. We’ve had this debate before. We’ll have it again. And Luke will be ready to retire from the workforce long before we reach an agreement.

    Luke has always been a good student—in certain subjects. His grades are consistently strong in English, literature, and philosophy; they’re not so hot in math. He has a knack for foreign languages, but his chemistry teacher described him as downright frightening in the lab. Luke has never been troubled by his weak spots, even telling his high school guidance counselor they’re blessings in disguise, clear indicators of career paths he shouldn’t waste time exploring.

    I laughed when the guidance counselor took me aside after a basketball game and shared Luke’s philosophical approach to academia. The counselor confirmed what I already knew: Luke is comfortable with his foibles, at ease with having limits. And I am glad about that.

    His father didn’t see it that way.

    When Luke graduated from Chatham High School four months ago, he took the top prize from the English department and was recognized for his magna cum laude performance on the national Latin exam. I was proud of his accomplishments, of course, but I was also proud of what he did next. When the physics instructor walked to the podium to present the award to the student who had excelled in the sciences, Luke twisted in his seat and caught my eye, nearly losing his tasseled cap in the process. “Get ready,” he mouthed, pounding his thumb against the dark blue gown at his chest. “This baby’s all mine.” It was all I could do not to laugh out loud.

    His father didn’t see it that way.

    When Luke enrolled at Boston College, I encouraged him to sign up for the courses he likes, to pursue the subjects that interest him. After all, I reasoned, Luke is training for his future. And he’s a naturally energetic, upbeat guy. He ought to fashion a future that suits him.

    His father didn’t see it that way.

    Ralph is a forensic psychiatrist. He’s a scientist at heart, a man who reduces all aspects of existence to their component parts. For Ralph, there is no life problem that doesn’t have a logical solution. And the solution to Luke’s problems, Ralph always tells both of us, is simple: He should work harder. He should be more like Ralph.

    Luke doesn’t see it that way.

    Tonight Ralph is worked up over Luke’s first-semester schedule. “There’s not a single science course in the lineup,” Ralph told me ten minutes ago. He had repeated this shocking tidbit of information three times since then. And I kept forgetting to gasp.

    It occurs to me that it’s a little late to complain about courses Luke selected four months ago, in June, but I don’t mention it. When Ralph’s worked up, I clam up. That’s a routine we established a long time ago.

    “He’s taking art history, for Christ’s sake,” Ralph adds now. Apparently this, too, is a capital offense.

    Danny Boy has been panting at the