My first thought was that there had been an accident.
Perhaps the truck had broken down.
Perhaps the driver had become lost while trying to reach a nearby construction site.
Perhaps the whole thing was a misunderstanding that could be resolved with a brief conversation.
Then Michael stepped out from behind the truck.
He was wearing an expensive navy suit, the kind he wore to important meetings. His shoes looked freshly polished. His hair was carefully combed.
There was a smile on his face.
But it was not the warm smile I remembered from his childhood.
It was controlled.
Confident.
Triumphant.
He walked slowly along the gravel road until he reached the boundary of my property. Then he stopped and folded his arms across his chest.
“If you want to leave this house, Dad,” he said, “you’re going to do exactly what I tell you.”
I stood in the doorway with my coffee cooling in my hand.
