Striving After Wind-Susan W Yancey (Prologue-pages 1-2)

I told you not to have that damn baby, "he said, throwing his third beer can across the kitchen in the direction of the already overflowing trashcan. "I told you to get an abortion!"

He looked at the sink that held stacks of dishes and floating bits of food, which was now spilling over onto the decaying Formica countertop, and made a sound of disgust. Passing on his way to the refrigerator, a strong whiff of curdled milk drifted from the sink. He brought his fingers to his nose and blew air out in an attempt to get rid of the smell that had settled in his nostrils.

He cursed at the dishes and raised his arm in preparation to hurl them onto the floor but stopped himself and instead went to the refrigerator for another beer. The remaining beers rattled as he yanked open the door. Grabbing another, he popped open the top and allowed cool air to get rid of any lingering odor. After taking several long swallows, he did a quick scan of the refrigerator's contents: beer and butter. He gritted his teeth and slammed the door shut.

"F---" he stopped, mid-curse surprised by the small figure staring up at him. He smiled, bent down, and ran his hand across his son's hair. "What a shithole this place is, huh James?"  He didn't wait for confirmation. "Things were a lot better when it was just the three of us, wasn't it"

The boy nodded, not wanting to disappoint his father.

"Yeah," he chugged the rest of his beer and tossed the can in the direction of the sink.

He leaned down and looked directly into his son's eyes. He said, "I'll see ya, boy."  He opened up the refrigerator for the last time, took another beer, and opened the back screen door, ready to leave. Holding it open with one hand, he turned and yelled into the air, "I'm not working my ass off to feed a kid I don't know is even mine!"  He let go of the hinge-less screen door, and it slammed behind him.

James watched silently as his father walked out of his life.

It had been months since he walked out. Initially, she believed that things might improve without her husband's hostility in the house, but things had only gotten worse, especially her relationship with James. Tears streamed down her fame as she remembered holding her firstborn son with such love and hope. Now. he would barely look at her. The revulsion from his father had passed down to their eleven-year old son. She now held the only ally she had left, hoping for another chance at renewed love from a child, and closed her eyes to hold on to her memory. She was brought back to the present by a sense of James standing in front of her.

Before she could put any thoughts together, he asked, "When is Dad coming back?"

She lifted her head at the sound of his voice, her eyes welling up. She had been waiting for the question but still did not know how to soften the answer. "I don't know James. I don't know if he is."

He looked straight through her. She watched him go into the kitchen and heard the slamming of the cabinets. She shuddered and bent her head down to focus once again on the sleeping innocence in her arms.