by Ben Clabaugh
David knocked several times at the Skievaski’s door before Shelton’s father finally opened it. He looked as if he’d been sleeping. Without a word he opened the door wider to allow Shelton inside, mumbled a “thank you,” turned and shut the door. David and his dad exchanged puzzled glances and a shrug then his father got back in the car while David walked across the yard to the house.
In the kitchen, his dad clapped him on the shoulder, saying, “That Shelton’s, uh, interesting, isn’t he?”
David shrugged and nodded.
“Nice though,” his dad added.
David opened his mouth to ask his dad for a game of catch in the yard.
“Well, I got work to do,” his dad said cutting him off, and headed up the stairs.
David stood staring through the empty dining room after him.
Just like that, he thought. The good feeling he had carried all afternoon clamping shut like the door to a bank vault. The tight, clenched feeling settled back down under his rib cage.
