I was a bit surprised at the response I've received from this simple little tale. Thank you all so much for the kind words and constructive criticism. Honestly, the only downside to this is that I've had to say to my wife those words all husbands hate to utter: Yes, honey, you were right!
*****
Our parents arrived in the wee hours the next morning. Dad called me from the driveway, letting me know they were there so we didn't call the police when we heard someone at the door. As soon as he and Mom got in the house, it was an immediate hug fest. Mom was determined to double check every inch of Grace to make sure she hadn't been hurt. Good thing Grace had showered!
While Mom put Gracie under the maternal microscope, Dad took me aside for a chat. "I'm so proud of you son, for the way you helped your sister!" he said with quiet emphasis.
"Thanks Dad, but I didn't really do that much for her. Besides, you know she would have done the same if it had been me getting set up." Dad nodded firmly.
"Yes, Kevin, I acknowledge that. Nevertheless, I'm proud of you - both of you. You kept your heads in a very difficult and confusing situation, and because you did, everyone walked away under their own power, and your sister is okay." Then, Dad hugged me. He didn't hug me a lot, preferring a firm handshake, so it was a bit of a surprise. Maybe it shouldn't have been, but there you go.
And, then it was Mom's turn. She caught me off guard with the sheer force of her embrace. My ribs groaned at the strain of standing up against her strength. "Thank God you were here, Kevin! When I think about what those two bastards planned to do to my daughter...I almost feel like-" she broke off, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. It wasn't hard for me to guess what she might've said. After all, I felt the same rage pulsing through me.
I didn't sleep much that night; none of us did. My parents and I felt like we were keeping watch, and Grace just couldn't rest. I was sitting up in bed, staring out my window when she slipped quietly into my room. I knew it was her without looking; the subtle scent of her favorite dusting powder and her lithe, deft movements gave it away. Grace settled quietly into my bed, and I gathered her in my arms. She settled herself comfortably against me, and I kissed the top of her head, all without a single word spoken between us. None were needed. After a few moments, she finally closed her eyes and drifted off into sleep.
That whole week after the Event, as we came to call it, was a flurry of activity. Grace and I went to class, by choice, believe it or not. My Mom and Dad changed all the locks in the house as well as the alarm code. There would no longer be a hide-a-key, he cautioned us. He also hired someone to fix the hole in the floor (and the corresponding hole in the first floor ceiling). I remember on Tuesday of that week, Dad approached me with an odd little smile as I walked into the house.
"Hold out your hand, Kevin!" My curiosity got the better of me, and I held my hand out as requested. He dropped a tiny, mangled piece of jagged metal into my palm. After a second of studying the tortured-looking piece of gold and gray metal, I realized this could only be the remains of the bullet I'd fired into the floor.
"The contractor pulled it out of a floor beam. I figured it would be an interesting souvenir," Dad said, answering my unasked question. "If nothing else, it'll make a great conversation piece, huh?" I had to laugh. I put the mangled projectile in my dresser. I had an idea for it, for later.
A little about my daily schedule: On Tuesdays and Thursdays I had my lab classes which tended to run late. Grace would always make it home before me on those days. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I tended to get home around 2pm and Grace was doing well if she made it before four. I'd had to schedule things that way in order to have time for homework and my job. That's why it was a surprise to me when I came home Thursday of that week and saw Grace's car wasn't in the driveway.
As I walked into the house I noticed Mom in the kitchen, talking to another woman who had her back to the door. I closed the door and headed towards the stairs, but stopped when Mom called out to me. "Hey Sweetie, your girlfriend is here!" she said, brightly. She apparently didn't notice my reaction as she continued merrily on. "I haven't seen Kelly in a while, so we had a nice little chat while we waited for you. I'll just head upstairs for a minute so you two can talk, alright?"
"Mom, I don't-"
"Kevin, let's talk out on the deck, okay?" Kelly said.
"No, thanks! What part of 'I never want to see you again, you cheating whore' did you not understand, Kelly?" I demanded.
"KEVIN MICHAEL RICHMOND!" my Mom thundered. "I DIDN'T RAISE YOU TO SPEAK LIKE THAT! WHAT HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU?"
"Maybe you should ask what's gotten into her, Mother," I said. I only called my Mom 'Mother' when I was really upset, and hearing this cut off further shouting from her. "How about it, there, Kelly?" I taunted. "Eat any good dicks lately? Everything going alright with your new fuck toy?"
"Kevin please, there's no need to air our dirty laundry here-"
"Really? No need? Well, I think there's a need. Clearly there were a few things you neglected to mention to my mother while you were 'chatting,'" I said sarcastically, holding my fingers up to make little air quotes.
"Kevin, please, I love you, don't-"
