(Clark)
Six-Forty-Five P.M.
The familiar, shiny black Maserati pulls up at the automatic gate and the glass on the driver’s door rolls down to reveal a familiar middle aged man with a greying stubble that I know is going to be dyed back to black one day and then shaved off entirely by the end of his two weeks back here.
“Good evening, Clark,” Mr Davidson greets me, his tone formal.
“Good evening to you, Mr Davidson. You’re back from work abroad, I presume?”
I flip the switch so the gate opens.
“Yes. It’s been hectic this time,” he replies. He puffs out a breath for effect. “Have you spoken with Kyle while I was away?”
There’s an aura to this Mr Davidson that puts me in an uneasy mood. My gut always tells me to protect Kyle in whatever way I can –especially after what happened… that one time…
“Yes,” I tell him. “He’s been well. Going to and coming from school safely.” I add a relieved smile to the lie.
Mr Davidson inhales deeply and nods. “Did we have any visitors?” he asks.
I steal a moment to think about the girl who had visited Kyle a few times while he was gone. What did she say her name was? Grace? Whatever the case, I know she was lying.
I search through the records book blindly to tell Mr Davidson, “No” with a smile. He nods at me, wishing me a pleasant evening and heading into the compound.
I was genuinely surprised to find that Kyle had a guest over –a girl at that. Usually no one ever visits Kyle. No one has ever visited him here. Not to my recollection.
This girl must be special for that to be the case.
I don’t think it’s my place to get involved in their business at all. But I get the feeling if Mr Davidson finds out about this, he’ll hurt Kyle.
Kyle deserves some sort of happiness. He often shows the expressions of a respectable boy who means well. He does well, seems well and appears genuinely content, but Kyle...
He isn’t happy.