His father didn’t answer. A silence opened up in the car that felt like they were sitting on opposite sides of a canyon.
Then his father reached out a hand for Conor’s shoulder, but Conor ducked it and pulled on the door handle to get out.
“Conor, wait.” Conor waited but didn’t turn around. “You want me to come in until she gets home?” his father asked.
“Keep you company?” “I’m fine on my own,” Conor said, and got out of the car.
The house was quiet when he got inside. Why wouldn’t it be? He was alone.
He slumped on the expensive settee again, listening to it creak as he fell back into it.
It was such a satisfying sound that he got up and slumped back down into it again.
Then he got back up and jumped on it, the wooden legs moaning as they scraped a few inches across the floor,
leaving four identical scratches on the hardwood. He smiled to himself. That felt good.
He jumped off and gave the settee a kick to push it back even further. He was barely aware that he was breathing heavily.
His head felt hot, almost like he had a fever. He raised a foot to kick the settee again. Then he looked up and saw the clock.
His grandma’s precious clock, hanging over the mantelpiece, the pendulum swinging back and forth, back and forth,
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