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Outside the sky roared, his dark window briefly illuminated, rain drops falling on the tumultuous canvas. Inside the storm brewed, Andrews’s parents were fighting again. Not the loud, obvious fight, with those there was a pattern, schemata to follow. No this was one of their low thundering fights, simmering to a climax. At dinner the atmosphere whirred, charged with emotion. No one spoke, the silence said it all. He’d quickly retreated to his room. Looking out to the rain he saw the silhouette of his father; their eyes met for a moment then he was gone, into the night.
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