Angel Falls by Kristin Hannah

in a glass jar. “Oh. Hello, Dr. Campbell.”
    In the old days, Dad would have smiled at Mrs. DeNormandie and she would have smiled back, but now neither one of them smiled. “Hey, Barb,” Dad said quietly, “could you give us a few minutes?”
    “Of course.” She put the tongue depressors away and quickly left the room, shutting the door behind her.
    Quiet fell, the icky kind that spelled big trouble.
    “How’s the eye?” Dad said finally.
    Bret turned to him, letting Daddy see for himself. He dropped the ice pack onto the floor. “It doesn’t hurt.”
    Dad sat down beside Bret. “Really?” he said in that we-don’t-lie-in-this-family voice.
    “Okay, okay. It hurts worse than when Jacey’s cow stepped on my foot at the fair.” At his dad’s soft look, Bret almost started to cry again. If Mommy were here—
    DON’T THINK ABOUT THAT
.
    “I guess you’ve learned the first rule of fighting. It hurts. The second rule is: It doesn’t change anything. Who started it?”
    “I did.”
    Dad looked surprised. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
    “I was mad.” Bret braced himself for the horrible words:
I’m disappointed in you, son
.
    He felt like crying already, and Dad hadn’t said anything.
    And he didn’t say anything. Instead, he put his arm around Bret’s shoulder and pulled him close. Bret climbed onto his dad’s big, comfortable lap. For once, he didn’t care if he looked like a baby.
    Dad brushed the hair away from Bret’s face. “That’s going to be quite a shiner. Worse than the one Ian Allen got last Fourth of July. Why did you punch Billy?”
    “He’s a bully.”
    “But you’re not.”
    Bret knew his dad would find out. Sharie’s aunt Georgia was best friends with Ida Mae at the diner, who served lunch every day to Carol, who worked inDad’s office. In a town like Last Bend, it would be big news that Bret Campbell punched out Billy McAllister and broke his front tooth. The only question would be why. “Billy said Mom was a vegetable.”
    It seemed to take Daddy a long time to answer. “We’ve talked and talked about this, Bret. Your mom is in a coma. She’s sleeping. If you’d come down and see her—”
    “I
don’t
wanna see her!”
    “I know.” Dad sighed. “Well, come on, sport, let’s go. They might need this bench for kids with serious injuries.” He helped Bret into his puffy winter coat, then lifted him up. Bret hung on, burying his face in the warm crook of his dad’s neck, as they headed out of the school and into the softly falling snow. At the car, Dad let Bret slide down to the icy sidewalk.
    He stood next to the car, waiting for his daddy to get the car unlocked. His hands were cold, so he reached into his pockets for his gloves—but they weren’t there.
    It was Mommy who used to tuck mittens in Bret’s pockets Just In Case, and now they were empty.
    Dad got in his side of the car, then shoved the passenger door open, and Bret got inside. When the engine turned over, the radio came on. It was playing the first Christmas song of the season, “Silent Night.”
    Dad clicked the radio off, fast.
    Snow pattered against the windshield, blurring the outside world. The windshield wipers came on and made two big humps through the snow. Bret stared at them—anything was better than looking at his dadright now.
Ka-thump. Ka-thump. Ka-thump
. The wipers moved right and left, right and left, making exactly the same sound as a heart beating.
    Dad put the car in gear and drove slowly out of the school parking lot. He turned on Glacier Way, then again on Main Street, then again on Cascade Avenue. In silence they drove past the empty parking lot of the Bean There, Done That coffee shop, past the empty front window of the Sunny & Shear Beauty Salon, and past the crowded entrance to Zeke’s Feed and Seed.
    “I’ll bet old Zeke is busier than a one-armed paper hanger right now,” Dad said.
    It was one of his dad’s favorite expressions. No one could ever just be