Bennett The Brave

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Lunch, as you can probably well imagine, was kind of awkward. Dad didn't say much after barging in on us, other than muttering apologies, turning on his heel and leaving. Mom seemed to not know what was going on, while sensing something was up between me and Dad. In between handing out sandwiches and cartons of milk, she glanced at all of us in turns, scrutinizing our faces for any clue she can manage to find.

"You're very quiet my darling," she observed cheerily, "everything all right?"

"Oh yes," Dad said, plastering a smile on his face, "I'm just caught up in thinking about all the stuff I've got to do after we wrap up the summer, is all." While relieved to see him smiling, I dreaded the moment that I knew was sure to come. What I didn't know was when, or whether he would be angry. My belly being leaden with anticipation, I left most of my sandwich uneaten.

What worried me above all else, was Neal's reaction. Normally, Neal would be the first one to throw off the mantle of any concern about what other people felt, at least that's what I expected. Not this time, however; Neal withdrew into a quiet state, although his appetite didn't seem to suffer that much. He looked over at me and raised his eyebrow when he saw my half-eaten sandwich. I simply nodded silently, and Neal took it and ate it. Between the two of us, we didn't say but two words to each other. I hoped he wasn't angry with me; I couldn't imagine why he would be, but it still lingered as an undesired possibility.

"So," my mom piped up, "what do you two have dreamed up for after lunch, Neal?"

"I dunno," Neal shrugged, sounding somewhat subdued, "I didn't get much sleep last night and I kinda have a headache. I thought Mayebe I might catch a nap."

"Oh my dear," she cooed, pressing a palm to his forehead, "doesn't feel like you have a fever or anything. How about you Bennett, you feeling okay?"

"I'm kind of in the same predicament," I said gloomily. Mother made a comical frownie-face, clearly satisfied that she had stumbled upon the reason for our quietude that afternoon.

"Perhaps you two should spend a couple of days in down time," she mused, "you know, take it easy for a little bit."

"That's not a bad idea, you two," my father spoke, raising an eyebrow at me, "you two have been going at it a bit hard lately, might do you some good." I mentally replayed what he said several times, trying to discern any unusual emphasis on the word "hard". Before I could reach any conclusion, Neal abruptly pushed away from the table and stood up, looking positively green. He fled the room, dashing outside. I got up too, albeit more slowly, and watched through the window as he jogged down the drive toward his parent's cabin. In the distance, Neal stopped running, hunched over, and put his hands on his knees. I narrowed my eyes, trying to focus on him, I realized he was vomiting.

"Oh my God," I exclaimed, "He's getting sick!" I started to go after him, but my father put his hand firmly on my shoulder.

"Bennett, stay," he was firm, but not angry sounding.

"But DAD!" I cried.

"It's okay Bennett," he said soothingly, "Garrett's got him, see?"

I looked back and saw that, indeed, Garret had seen Neal in distress and gone over to him, rubbing his back. Presently, after Neal stopped heaving and retching, Garrett slung him up in his arms and started carrying him towards his parent's cabin. I couldn't see Neal's face as he gripped Garrett around the neck, but I guessed he looked pretty miserable.

"You don't feel sick to your stomach, do you Bennett?" my mother asked.

"No," I said quietly, "but I think I'm going to go to my room now."