[August 12, 1994]

"John."

          "Not now."

          John cracked a beer and settled back into his well worn  armchair. Time for kickoff. Denver Broncos vs the San Francisco 49ers in  Candlestick Park. He didn't have any skin in the game, but he needed to  unwind and it was on.

          "John! He needs help."

          "Chrissake, Em. I just sat down."

          Emily rounded the corner into the living room and, gripping  the entryway, straightened herself into her most imposing stance. At  barely five foot two and ninety-five pounds, the pose failed to impress.

          "Then get up," she said. "This is our son." She paused for  emphasis then shifted gears. "And don't use the Lord's name in vain."

          "Jesus, Em," he said. Sometimes you had to goad back, even if you were poking the proverbial bear.

          John sat down his beer, careful to use a coaster (Emily  insisted on it), and stood. He towered over his wife by nearly a foot,  his figure lean and intimidating without any effort. Years in the  Marines and a strict exercise regimen had kept the traditional  middle-aged gut at bay.

          "What is it now?"

          "He won't come out of his room. He's been in there all day, just sitting and eating junk."

          "Well don't give him junk food and half the problem is solved."

          "He says he's hungry, but it's more than that."

          "Yeah. He's fat and he's lazy. If you'd let me work it out of him I could have him straightened out in no time."

          John loved his son deeply, but the boy had no understanding  of discipline. His mother had coddled him from the start and the  horrors of this past summer had done nothing but make Emily softer on  the boy. John had long felt the need to break Emily of the habit, but he  had indulged her instead. Soon he would have to consider that his son's needs outweighed Emily's happiness. Nicholas needed to be taught a  lesson.

          "John, keep your voice down."

          "Truth hurts. The boy needs to hear it."

          "You know it's more than that. The boy needs a doctor."

          "You mean a shrink."

          "I mean a professional that can help him cope with what he saw."

          John let out an exasperated grunt. This again. He and Em had danced this dance many times over the past two months – ever since  Nicholas discovered the Hoffmans dead in an apparent murder suicide.

          As on most Saturdays, Nicholas had headed over to the  Hoffman residence shortly after breakfast to visit his best friend,  Matt. He hadn't had any formal plan, but John suspected his son had intended to spend the day playing jungle adventurer, or some such nonsense, with Matt and thrashing their way through the woods surrounding New River.

          Instead Nicholas had arrived to find the Hoffman residence locked tight and no one answering the door. Their cars had been in the  drive, so, certain that they were home, Nicholas had wandered around  back to rap on Matt's window. That's when he found the bodies mutilated and splayed out on the floor of his best friend's room.

          He had not been the same since. John had provided his son space to grieve, but when a month passed with no sign of a return to  normalcy he had begun to worry. He didn't want to be harsh and he understood Emily's concerns, but he didn't believe the answer lay in the finely crafted web of lies concocted by some quack head shrink. Not only would Nicholas likely come back with his head stuffed with some mother-hating, daddy-did-me-wrong nonsense, but moreover if word got out  that he was seeing a psychiatrist the boy would be a laughing stock. There would likely be more damage done from bullying than healing by his  doctor.

          "John?" Emily crossed her arms and demanded an answer.

          "No. The boy needs discipline, not some fraud enabling him. I won't hear it."

          "You won't hear it –"

          "– No, so don't start. I'll talk to him, but I draw the line at head doctors."

          Emily withdrew into herself. "Okay."

          That settled, John took a swig of his beer then wiped his lips dry with his arm.

          "Good," he said, and started down the hall. As he strode by, Emily reached out and gently brushed his arm.

          "Be easy on him, okay?"

          He could see the pleading in her eyes and softened.

          "Of course," he said. "I'm not a monster." And with that, he turned parting from his wife and strode down the hall.