The next day was a lovely, warm Saturday, and Father had insisted on taking Aaron and me on a few errands while Mother completed housework. As was typical of him, Aaron didn't say a word in the car. Father, on the other hand, was in quite the talkative mood, describing his most recent attorney cases and the unusual characters involved. I listened, but I did not engage in the conversation as much as usual. Aaron stared out the window. I could make out the faint reflection of his bruised face in the glass. While Father's stories droned on, I couldn't help wondering what people would think of the painful-looking marks and band-aids on my brother's face.
The answer became clear when we entered the thrift store. The clerk nearest the front door did a double take at the sight of Aaron. Father chuckled a little and said, "Oh, don't mind my boy. Got into another fight at school last week, didn't you, son?" And he playfully ruffled Aaron's thick, dark hair. "It's a habit we're going to break."
"Yes, sir," said Aaron weakly.
The clerk nodded, but one eyebrow appeared permanently raised. I wanted to say something but suddenly found myself very confused.
We walked together, Aaron lagging behind, to the corner of the store with racks upon racks of clothing. Here was my forest of jeans and shirts that I always loved to play in, but this time I held back. I watched Father closely. He was humming nonchalantly to the very dated music playing over the loudspeaker while he sifted through collared shirts.
"Go on, Sean," he said, barely looking up. "Find yourself a good pair of shoes."
"Okay, Daddy." I walked past him to the angled shelves laden with footware of every size and color. I had to find something with more than two colors.
I heard Father's voice behind my back. "Don't just stand there, Aaron. We're going to find you a good jacket so you don't freeze if the bus misses you."
That sounded nice of him, I thought as I tried on a pair of squeaky plaid sneakers, especially after the way he reacted last night to a missed bus. Maybe Father was a real nice guy after all.
I couldn't decide between the orange-and-white shoes and the blue-and-green dotted shoes. I presented both pairs to Father.
"Which do you like best?" he asked.
"Both."
"Then why don't we get you one of each? Would you like that?"
I certainly would, though I knew Mother wouldn't. I nodded and grinned big.
Father turned back to his older son and held up a navy blue jacket with a white zipper and a hood. "Try this, Aaron. And make sure it keeps you good and warm."
Aaron took the jacket with a wary look in his eyes and slowly undid the zipper. As I watched him try it on, it occurred to me that I hadn't seen him wearing a jacket before. Would this be his first? Why did he need one now? I mean, it wasn't really cold yet.
The jacket seemed to fit, but Aaron didn't look especially thrilled. I noticed Father make him lift his arms in front of him to ensure the sleeves were long enough. "There, covers everything," Father said. "Just be sure to zip up so you're all hidden... from the cold."
Aaron nodded, gaze still downcast.
"There now," Father went on, as if trying to validate his work. "Everything'll be just fine. Bring your shoes, Sean. We're paying and getting out of here."
"Thank you," I said, delighted I could get two entirely unmatching shoes.
I wondered why Aaron didn't say thank you. He got his own jacket, brand new from the thrift store, and he could only look down and shuffle his feet. I found it extremely ungrateful. Watching Father buy him a jacket, I became convinced that was an act of love. Father gave him things, so Father did love him. This definitely cleared up my doubts and eased my fears.
On the drive home, I talked actively with our father. We had many tales to share and I loved the attention. But Aaron the Ingrate sat huddled against the window and stared out at the quaint Virginian suburbs.
I was now quite convinced he deserved to be hit. After all, he didn't recognize love when it was handed right to him. To deny a father's love, I thought, was truly evil.