Chapter One
The sun rose over Somerset, Texas in a regal silence. Gabriel Commerce rose with it, leaving his sleeping brothers behind as he made his bed and soundlessly left their shared bedroom. His slippered feet made no sound on the glossed wood floor as he wandered into the bathroom. Memory guided him as his hands found the light switch in the dark. The sight of his reflection in the mirror gave him pause. They had often said that he was a spitting image of his mother, something he didn't want to hear. His eyes glided over the curve of his lips, the rise of his cheekbones, the sultry color of his ebony skin. There were no pictures of his mother in the house. Gabriel ducked his head and picked up his toothbrush. As he brushed, his fingers absentmindidly fingered the welt that rose from beneath the waistband of his pants. He flinched in memory, and the toothbrush dropped from his mouth. Gabriel cupped his hands under the faucet and rinsed his mouth. Hot tears welled in his eyes as he grabbed his towel and wiped the counter clean. He glanced at his reflection once more, and then he switched off the light.
--
He re-entered the bedroom, hoping that he would not wake his brothers. Luke was invisible beneath his sheets, and Mark was beginning to stir.
"Is it time?" he murmured drowsily, throwing an arm across his eyes. Gabriel chanced a look behind him to the alarm clock.
"Almost." Yawning, Mark struggled into an upright position and rubbed at his tired eyes.
"Is he downstairs?" Gabriel shrugged, feeling unwanted tears sting his eyes. He blinked them away.
"I'm sorry. Sit," Mark said, shoving his blankets to the floor to make room. Gabriel sat at his brother's side and bowed his head.
"I'm sorry," he repeated absently, wrapping his arm around Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel leaned into his brother's half embrace and closed his eyes. The two were five years apart, and yet they were closest. Luke was 20, only a year younger than Mark. Gabriel, of course, was the baby, at 16. Luke yawned and stumbled out of bed.
"I'll go check..." Awkwardly, Luke trailed off as he caught sight of Gabriel.
"Sorry." Gabriel bent his head again and studied his slippers. Silently, Luke left the bedroom.
--
The two finally rose and began to dress. Gabriel felt his brother's eyes on him as he stripped down.
"Has it gone down?" Gabriel shook his head numbly, keeping his eyes to the ground as he took off his shirt, exposing the remainder of the criss-crossed welts that decorated his back. He heard his brother suck in a breath from behind him.
"Gabriel, I didn't know-"
"It's okay," he said quickly, turning and meeting his brother's eyes earnestly, "Really. It wasn't your fault-"
"It was! I should have been here, Luke should have been here, someone-I just...Gabriel, God damn it!" Mark raged, the Commerce temper flashing in his stormy black eyes. Gabriel's eyes searched the floor as he waited for Mark to calm himself. Neither said a word. And then,
"You shouldn't say that. It's Sunday." Gabriel pulled a white t-shirt over his head, and then tucked it into his black suit pants. As he reached for his button down, Luke reappeared.
"He's cooking," he reported tonelessly, sitting down on his bed and pulling off his slippers. Gabriel finished buttoning his shirt and tucked that in as well. Mark studied his brothers for a moment, and then looked at the clock.
"Hurry up," he sighed, "He'll be expecting us soon."
--
George Commerce sat at the head of their worn oak table, one that had lost its shine long ago. He rose when his boys filed into the dining room. They stood before him, bowing their heads and clasping their hands against their waists.
"Good morning," George said slowly.
"Good morning, sir." Luke said this with no emotion whatsoever. Gabriel replied haltingly, as if he wasn't quite sure he was saying the correct thing. And Mark answered with a slight edge to his voice, an edge that George itched to smack out of the boy. Seeming to sense this, Mark raised his head and challanged his father for a moment with his eyes before returning his gaze to the recently swept floor. George raised his hand, and only lowered it when he saw his son cower.
"Are your beds made?"
"Yes sir."
"Your hair brushed?"
"Yes sir." He studied them for a moment longer.
"Sit." They did. Mark strode to the other end of the table, but George brought his hand down.
"Sit. Next to me. You too, Gabriel. Sit." Gabriel flinched as if he had been struck. This brought a small smile to his father's face. Luke took Mark's vacated seat, and the other two slid into their places beside their father. They avoided his gaze and waited for the blessing.
"Gabriel," again, the boy jumped, "Say the blessing, please."
"Dear Lord, we thank you-"
"Don't mumble!" Gabriel's lips trembled as he wrung his hands beneath the table.
"I'm sorry-" he began.
"Don't apologize," Mark warned.
"I don't believe I was speaking to you."
"I don't believe I was speaking to you eit-" Mark gasped as his father's hand came into contact with his right cheek.
"Don't you fucking backtalk me, do you understand me, boy?" Mark's face hardened as he nodded.
"I'd like to hear the words, please."
"Yes."
"Yes what?" Mark hesitated as long as he dared before he finally hissed,
"Yes sir."
"That's better. Now go ice your face. I don't want to be late for church."
