Damon bit his lip and said nothing. He couldn’t get the words past his tight throat. His father was his hero and Damon was crushed to have to disappoint him. None of his older brothers had made this monumental of a mistake and Damon felt like he was dying inside. But he had to step up. He squared his shoulders.
Mr. Hamilton gave his son his full attention.
“What is it?”
“Dad,” he repeated and his voiced cracked. He dropped his eyes to the floor and mumbled.
“What did you say, boy?” his father asked sharply. He had Damon pinned to the wall with one big hand in a move so fast Damon didn’t have time to blink. His father had never called him boy before. Mr. Hamilton always said that boy lived in the jungle with Tarzan and not in the house with black men. Boy was a slave master’s epithet used to belittle black men. Damon could feel dread spiral up his spine. This was going to be more difficult than he’d ever thought possible.
Damon tried to take a deep breath.
“I said,” said Damon. “Dad, you’re choking me.” His father loosened his hold.
“That you got that little girl pregnant,” said his father, slumping in his chair. “I thought that I taught you better than that. How could you be so careless, boy? That girl is too young. You’re too young. Do Brielle’s parents know?”
“I don’t know if Brielle’s parents know,” said Damon, bewildered. “I haven’t told anybody but you. I didn’t tell Brielle, yet.”
Now it was his father’s turn to look bewildered.
“Doesn’t she know?” he asked.
“No,” said Damon, still puzzled.
“Then how do you know that Brielle is pregnant if she didn’t tell you?” asked Mr. Hamilton, throwing up his hands. “Give me some doggoned information, boy.”
“It’s not Brielle,” Damon mumbled, still looking at the floor.
“It’s not Brielle,” said Mr. Hamilton. He sat back in his chair and it creaked under the weight shift. He breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good; because I didn’t want Bronson to kill you and he sets a store by those girls-, wait a minute, if it’s not Brielle, then who? Look at me boy, when you talking to me.”
Damon’s head snapped up. He’d just counted the third or fourth boy to come out of his father’s mouth in as many statements. His father was mad as fire. Damon could feel the sweat roll down his back underneath his sweatshirt. He didn’t know why he’d thought that his father would be easier to tell than his mother.
“It’s Sasha,” said Damon.
Damon’s father looked flabbergasted. He was silent for a full minute, blinking his eyes and not breathing. The old fashioned wall mounted grandfather clock ticked loudly.
“I thought,” said his father, very quietly, “That I told you to leave that girl alone.”
“I did, sir,” squeaked Damon, absolutely terrified that his father was about to pounce on him again. He’d only heard that tone of voice in his father’s once before and that was when his oldest brother Dexter came home from college and had told Mr. Hamilton to his face that he was a man and didn’t have to do what his parents said. He’d even pushed his father with his shoulder. Damon’s mother had started to cry and call on God to save her foolish son. Right before the punch to the chest, Mr. Hamilton’s voice had dropped to a Clint Eastwood, make my day punk, whisper.
“No man lives at my house,” his father had said. “But me.” Dexter had hit the wall with a thud that reverberated throughout the entire house. Dexter had never lived at home again after that, and had never challenged his father openly again. No one else had ever challenged his father openly after that either.
“If you left her alone how did this happen?” asked Mr. Hamilton, still in that dirty Harry cadence. “How do you know that you are the father?”
“She told me that she is seven months pregnant,” said Damon, blinking back tears. “She said I’m the only one she was with.”
“Why didn’t she tell you before?” asked his father, tilting his head to the side.
“She said she got kicked out when she found out. She was living in a homeless shelter up by Grand Rapids,” said Damon, feeling his eyes well up in relief.
“Her mother took her house key and her phone and kicked her out. She hitchhiked to her father’s house in Grand Rapids, but his new wife didn’t want her there, either. She just got back to Lansing this week, when her mother felt sorry for her and told her she could come back home.”
Damon wiped the tear that escaped from his right eye. Silence stretched on for so long that Damon thought that he father must have turned to stone. Damon looked down at the tan carpet of his father’s office and listened to himself breathe.
“Heaven Help us,” said Mr. Hamilton, on a sigh. Damon looked up and met his father’s eyes. “Don’t be sniveling now, Damon. It’s too late. We need to tell your mother right away.”
“Yes, sir,” said Damon, tears rolling. He wiped his eyes again and took a shuddering breath, feeling somewhat relieved. His father was not going to kill him after all.
Damon
After his father, telling his mother was a piece of cake. Maybe because his father already knew and had pledged his support, Damon thought. They’d had a long talk while waiting for her to come home. His mother was seated, folding laundry when Damon dragged his courage out of the murky depths. Damon sat down next to her on the couch. His father hovered by the door, thinking to protect Damon if his wife went berserk.
“Mom,” he said, without preamble. “Sasha is pregnant and she said it’s my baby.”
His mother gave him a long look.
“So,” she said, like he’d just told him that it was raining outside. ‘What are you two planning to do?”
Damon
