The Visit: Part III

Oliver slammed the door and marched into the living room. “We need to talk.”

Phyllis, seated on the sofa reading Maclean’s, looked up and smiled. “I’m so glad you’re home. It’s been horrible having no one to talk to.” She tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. “Tell me all about your day.”

“Mom, I’m not seven years old,” Oliver said brutishly. “I don’t want to talk about my goddamn day.” He lowered himself onto the sofa, clasped his hands together on his lap and locked his gaze on his mot...