Breaking Point
“My first ride, and I was shotgun.
I crossed the threshold, eyes open, looking for something but not sure what. Something to explain what made Charlie—well, Charlie. Yet, the house, though rich and beautiful, was ordinary. Beige. The right number of books on the correct number of shelves. Even the pool, surrounded by palms through the French doors, was typical around there. The tennis court occupied the prized spot beside it. Nothing was surprising, and that surprised me. I’d expected Charlie’s world to be painted in colors I’d never seen before. Not beige. Anything but beige.
“Hey. Anyone there?” Charlie interrupted my thoughts. I jumped. “Sometimes, you look like you’re curing cancer, Einstein.”
“Nothing like that.” My eyes fell on a framed photo, Charlie under a banner for the Junior Orange Bowl tennis tournament. “That’s your dad with you?” He didn’t look like Charlie, but he had his hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
“The man himself.”
Charlie didn’t smile.
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