Oleg nodded and left the room, leaving Chloe to be with her parents.<br/><br/>He took his truck home, and when he got there, he went and got changed into working clothes. His parents would not let him sleep, and he well knew it. It would do him good, anyway, to work. It would give him something to think about. So he set about doing all of the hard, thankless chores. He set for himself the worst of the chores, doing them in silence undisturbed save for the sounds of his own labour. It would be hours before he saw his father.<br/><br/>Anton found Oleg, and at first said nothing. The older man's disappointment was palpable. Oleg said nothing, weathering the cold aura of his father's disapproval. "We tried to call you. The little phone you have. It kept saying it was not available." His father said eventually, arms folded over his front. Oleg looked at the earth of the farm.<br/><br/>"I broke it, Papa." Oleg answered, his voice small. The young man felt about two inches tall. There was a stony silence. "My friend got hurt. She needed me, Papa." Oleg said, to break the silence, even if his words were only a whisper. Anton's expression did not change, and Oleg continued to wither under the paternal disappointment.<br/><br/>"Your mother was worried. You had so much time to call. We did not raise a son to gone at all hours without saying anything." Anton said. His tone was not overtly angry, and it was no louder than a normal speaking voice, but it did not have to be. It managed to be condemning anyway. It managed to cut to the quick with such finesse that Oleg might walk away and never realize he had been cut until his head fell down to the ground. Anton was no slovenly butcher; he was a surgeon with his words and used them to great effect. Oleg said nothing in his defense, offered no excuses. "Stay out here and work for a while, until you remember how you were raised." Anton said, leaving Oleg out alone.<br/><br/>Oleg kept his gaze at the ground, and then slowly returned to work.