Free The Reckoning by Dan Thomas Page B

about that woman. If this were old Salem, she’d be the working end of a wienie roast.”

One week before Thanksgiving, Royce’s plan to enjoy some quality time with his family had unraveled. Les was at the dining room table working on her project for banking school, and Craig, the sullen one, had retreated to the safety of his bedroom, leaving Royce alone in front of the TV.
    On the screen, ABC’s Peter Jennings did a special on kids and violence. Royce vaguely wondered if he should invite Craig to watch it with him, then quickly nixed the idea as stupid. Frankly, his own life had been so unsettled lately he’d failed to keep up with current affairs. Hadn’t something big happened in Africa? Or was it in Afghanistan? He was always getting these backwards countries mixed up. Well, once things quieted down, he’d pay more attention.
    His wife looked up from her electronic typewriter and asked, “What are Tony and Carmen doing for Thanksgiving?”
    “Going to Carmen’s sister’s home.”
    “And Brenda and the kids?”
    “Her mother’s, I think.”
    “Well, I’ve ordered a fifteen-pound turkey, so if you want to invite any orphans, we’ll have plenty.”
    “Great.”
    She went back to her work and Royce went into the kitchen and made himself a peanut butter sandwich. He choked half of it down with a slug of orange juice from the fridge.
    “Mr. R., are you feeling all right?” Leslie asked.
    “Yeah, just a little tired. My clients are keeping me busy with their year-end reports and planning for next year.” He stuffed the rest of the sandwich down the garbage disposal. “Maybe right after New Year’s we can get away for awhile, just you and me, I mean. I’d thought about getting us a computer, so you could throw away that typewriter and word process your projects like everyone else. They’re coming down in price. But maybe it would be better if we spent the money on a trip.”
    She smiled. “That would be nice.”
    “I mean, I know with Christmas bills coming in we can’t be too extravagant, but I saw in the paper Mexico is pretty cheap right now, with some good airfares and package deals. And Tony’s offered to take Craig for a few days.”
    “All right,” she said flatly.
    He knew he’d touched a raw nerve with her. Lately, she’d been even more concerned than usual about the Craig situation, going so far as to bring home some “How to Father” self-help books for him to read.
    “Well,” he told her, “think about it.”
    Having gone back to her project, she apparently didn’t hear him. Bruised, he went off to the bathroom and peed. On the way back to the living room, he peeked in on Craig.
    The boy’s television was off and his bed was still made and empty. Cautiously, Royce intruded into the room.
    “Craig?” he called softly. Maybe he’s gone downstairs, he thought.
    “Craig?”
    He was about to turn and leave when something in the closet caught his eye. Tiptoeing, he went over to the closet and peered around the sliding veneer door. Craig’s woeful big browns stared back. There was something bovine about those eyes. The way the child sat—knees tightly drawn to his chest—on the floor of the closet made him think of a calf in a veal pen.
    Royce, embarrassed by his invasion, quickly left Craig’s bedroom and returned to the living room and his easy chair near the TV.
    This new development in the “Craig thing”—as he and Leslie called it—was disturbing. Maybe those books were right: Craig, as the result of his mother’s divorce, was going through an emotional trauma having to do with feelings of abandonment, insecurity and anger.
    Royce thought about telling Les, then decided against it. No use upsetting her now, what with her project to finish and the holidays to stew about and get through.
    From his shirt pocket he pulled a pink business card. He ran his thumb over the embossed letters spelling “Naughty’s.” He flipped the card over, looked at the home phone