When Cary got back to her house, her backpack was still where she had left it, stashed next to the rocking chair. Before heading inside to face her grandparents, she took the few seconds to walk over to it, picking it up. She stuffed David's baseball into the main pouch, shaking the bag a few times until the ball made its way past her school books and hit the bottom of the bag. As she did so, she heard her old homework assignments crinkling at the bottom under the added weight. The last thing she wanted to have to explain to her grandparents was how she came to retrieve the baseball from the haunted house.

Cary paused just outside of the front door for a moment, her right hand holding onto the strap of her backpack as she tossed it onto her back. Her left hand lingered on the doorknob, her new rings shining in the fading light. The entire time it took to walk back there from the old house, she had been struggling to come up with some explanation for her late arrival. Some excuse that could get her out of trouble. But nothing that she came up with was believable, or wouldn't lead to more trouble. The best that she could do was claim that she had made it to the library after all, rather than escaping into the old house.

Cary took a deep breath in before pulling the door open. With it, she caught a whiff of her grandmother's roast chicken. It smelled amazing as usual, and far too ready to eat for the time that Cary was coming home. She could almost see her grandparents sitting around the kitchen table, waiting for her. But as she headed inside, the only thing she saw was the living room. The couch against the far wall was empty, with just the paper lying on the coffee table in front of it. Cary took a moment to look around the rest of the room, at the empty chair in the corner, and the familiar bookshelf on her right. There was no sign of anyone in the house at first, other than the smell of the food from the other room.

But then, his voice came to her from around the corner.

"Cary, is that you?" Mr. Simms asked. His voice was booming already, the anger just seething underneath it.

"Yes, Grandpa," Cary called out, before following that voice through to the hall. She peeked into the kitchen, expecting to see them sitting there. But the chicken was still in the oven, the timer on the microwave next to it ticking down the last three minutes. She wasn't late for dinner, but she was still late.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Mr. Simms asked. Cary looked towards his voice, coming from the stairs next to her. He was only just turning the corner on them, coming down from upstairs. "Your grandmother has been worried sick."

"Don't bring me into this," Mrs. Simms called from upstairs. "I knew she wouldn't miss my chicken."

"Well, if she knew that it was roast chicken night, she should have been here hours ago," Mr. Simms called back up the stairs. "Which makes her that much later. What was it this time, Cary? Find a lost hamster on the side of the road that you had to take care of? Most boys your age would just poke them with a stick. I know I did often enough."

Cary stood there for a moment, her hands clenched tightly around the strap on her backpack, as her grandfather came down to stand next to her. She wanted to say yes, to tell him that was exactly why she was late. But then he would have suspected that she brought it home with her. He would have wanted to search her bag, to throw the hamster out like that one time that she really had brought a lost hamster home. Worse, if he had noticed her bag on the porch when he had come home, or if Mrs. Simms had, she would have been caught in a lie. Lies were worse than what she really was guilty of.

"No, I, uh..." Cary started to say. She just trailed off, not able to voice what happened. Not able to look her grandfather in the eyes as he came up next to her.

"Well, come now," he said, his anger still audible in his voice, controlled though it was. "Out with it, already."

"Cary, go clean up for dinner," Mrs. Simms said, as she started coming down the stairs behind Mr. Simms. "Now that you're home, we can eat. I'll set the table."

"Cary can set the table himself," Mr. Simms said, pointing over at Cary. "He's a big boy now. Staying out till all hours, doing no one knows what."

"He wasn't out all hours," Mrs. Simms said. "He was just an hour later than we were expecting. Go clean up, Cary. We'll start eating as soon as you come in."

Mrs. Simms pointed towards the downstairs bathroom behind Cary, as she squeezed past the two of them. Much like Cary, Mrs. Simms was small and short, though not quite as short. Cary often hoped that she would stay that size, but with the girthy giant of a man that her grandfather was, she was afraid that she had far too much of him in her. Cary's father was much the same way, or at least that was what her grandparents had told her.

Cary nodded to her grandparents before turning around, heading towards the bathroom. She paused next to the family photo between the doors to the living room and bathroom, looking over at her father's photo. There weren't many photos of her parents in the house, and most of the pictures of her father were from when he was growing up. That one picture, hanging on that small piece of wall, was the only one of him as an adult. He was standing in his cap and gown, from when he was graduating from college. Next to it was a similar picture of her mother, the only picture that she had seen of her. After looking at the two photos for a moment, Cary kissed her fingers before tapping each of them, then headed inside the bathroom to wash her hands.

"You know, you could have waited till after you washed your hands to do that," Mr. Simms called to her from around the corner. "But I guess boys tend not to think about what's on your hands." Cary could hear him laughing over the sounds of the water flowing into the sink. For a moment, it seemed like his anger might abate. But Cary knew better than to think she'd make it through dinner without some form of punishment for being late.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

And some form of punishment for the reason why.

The microwave was just beeping as Cary came back into the kitchen, her hands properly washed. Mr. Simms was standing behind his usual chair, on the far side of the small round table that was pressed against the wall. Mrs. Simms was standing in front of the oven, pulling it open with one hand as she cleared the timer from the microwave with the other. Cary's hand automatically reached for her chair, pulling it out from the table. She was about to sit down when her grandfather cleared his throat. Cary glanced over at him, and he was very pointedly glaring back at her. She shook her head as she stood behind her chair, remembering that she was expected to wait until her grandmother was sitting before she could sit. Like a proper gentleman.

"Just watch the dish," Mrs. Simms said, as she turned around, placing the roasting dish onto the pot stand in the center of the table. She kicked her foot up behind her, closing the door to the oven with it like she always did. There wasn't much room between the table and the oven, and Mrs. Simms had to lean onto the back of her chair to keep her balance. But once it was closed, she quickly pulled out her chair, slipping into it.

The moment that Mrs. Simms sat down, Cary slipped into her own chair. She let the smallest of smiles slip out when she noticed that she had sat down before Mr. Simms had moved, but she hid it behind her napkin as she slipped it into her lap. Her face was properly schooled before either of her grandparents looked up at her. No need to make the punishment to come worse than it was going to be alright.

"Care to say grace, Cary?" Mr. Simms asked. It was his way of reminding her that it was her turn.

Cary just nodded to him before bowing her head. Her hand reached out, automatically finding Mrs. Simms hand without needing to see it. "Bless us, oh Lord, for these, thy gifts, which we are about to receive through thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord, Amen."

"Amen," both of her grandparents said with her. But only after she felt Mrs. Simms pull her hand away did she move towards the food in front of her.

"So, you were just about to tell us why you were late getting home," Mr. Simms said, as he reached out to grab a large piece of the roast chicken. Mrs. Simms was busy putting some of the mashed potatoes on her plate, before giving Cary a similar helping.

"Now, George," Mrs. Simms said. "Does it really matter what he got up to? Don't you always say that boys will be boys?"

"Sure," Mr. Simms said. "As long as that's what this is. But from the way that Cary refuses to look me in the eye, I have a feeling that I know exactly why he was late getting home."

"I, uh..." Cary started. But her voice failed her before she got past that.

"Now, now. Let's not ruin this perfectly good meal," Mrs. Simms said. "I've been slaving over it for... Well, minutes." She snickered a little at her comment. Cary knew that the mashed potatoes were instant, but the chicken was properly seasoned. It was just that the work was done the night before, the chicken left in the fridge to marinate while both of her grandparents were at work.

Cary started to pick at her mashed potatoes, as Mrs. Simms divvied up the remainder of the chicken between the two of them. Cary got a drumstick, while Mrs. Simms got half the breast. Despite the activities of the day, Cary didn't have much of an appetite, dreading what she already knew was to come. She put a forkful of potatoes in her mouth, more to avoid talking than to eat it.

"Well, out with it," Mr. Simms said, before taking a bite of his chicken. His glare never broke from Cary as he slowly ate his meal.

"Well, I, uh," Cary started again, once the potatoes were gone. "Greg–"

"I knew it," Mr. Simms said. He slammed his hand onto the table, making Cary jump in her seat. Her eyes flicked up to his, knowing exactly the anger that she would see in them. "I knew this was about those stupid bullies again."

"George," Mrs. Simms said.

"No, listen, Maybell," Mr. Simms said. "He has to learn to stand up for himself. To not be pushed around his whole life. He needs to learn to be a man. Like his father before him."

"And you before him," Mrs. Simms said, laughing a little. "The boy isn't even ten yet. Give him time."

"He doesn't have time. We can't be around forever to protect him. He needs to learn."

"And what would you have him do?" Mrs. Simms asked. "Throw the first punch? Aren't we supposed to be teaching him to turn the other cheek?"

"Ha, turn the other cheek, and you'll get punched there, too," Mr. Simms said. Cary furrowed her brow as she looked towards him, wondering if he was aware that that was the point of the saying. That one shouldn't fight back, but to allow for more injury. That was exactly what she was trying to avoid by running away from them. "Like I said, he should stand up to the bullies. I have half a mind to call Jack, but I know that would only make things worse."

"And by stand up to them, you mean..." Mrs. Simms asked.

"I mean stand up to them. Cary knows what I mean by that."

Cary just turned back to her plate, trying to hide the fact that she had no idea what he meant by that. Mr. Simms never did explain that part of the whole thing. Cary figured that was yet another thing that she should have known at that point, something that all boys were supposed to know but she didn't. Another way that she wasn't like the other boys her age. Whenever the bullies came for her, she knew the only options she had was to run or to get beat. Both had happened often enough. Both resulted in punishments from her grandfather, whenever he found out about it. And as their grandparents' discussion wound down, she knew that punishment was about to come.

"And if he doesn't know, then his punishment should help with that," Mr. Simms said, confirming what Cary already knew. "No friends, no toys, no playing until you read the old testament. Again. Cover to cover, young man. And don't just skim it this time. I'll know."

Cary just nodded her understanding, but silently she was thanking her lucky stars. She had been expecting both books, or multiple readings. Both punishments had been laid on her often enough over the years. Cary had read the bible so often that she could practically recite the whole thing from memory. Everything except for the family tree parts. But she also knew it well enough to reread the old testament in a night, if she wanted to, her eyes passing over the familiar words as they registered in her mind. Mr. Simms called that skimming, though Cary called it speed reading.

"What exactly is he meant to learn from the old testament?" Mrs. Simms asked. "Is he supposed to flood the street to defend himself from the bullies? Or rain of toads? Plague of locust?"

"He's supposed to learn how to handle himself. Because clearly, he doesn't know anything of the sort."

"Maybe we should try something different this time. Maybe a self defense class? Karate is a sport, you know. He's already grown tired of all the other sports you've thrown him into."

Cary wasn't bothered by the two of them talking about her like she wasn't there. She was long used to it. And with her punishment already determined, she focused on eating her dinner, barely paying attention to the two of them deciding her future. Putting her into another sport wasn't meant to be a punishment, but she would suffer through it if she needed to, until they decided that she could drop it. She was never good enough at any of them, and had no interest in practicing them outside of the classes. But for once, she almost thought that she'd be interested in one of them, if for no other reason than to keep Greg and his friends away from her.