“Come on,” Charlie says with a sudden grin. “You really think I’d give up the glamorous life of an electrician?” He fishes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, then holds it up. “Okay if I smoke?” But when he sees the look on Teddy’s face, he shrugs and puts them back. “Look, I saw you on the news and I thought I’d come out for a visit. It’s not a crime to want to see my son, is it?”
Teddy blinks at him. “So you knew.”
“I just—I saw you on TV and I was proud of you, so I—”
“For what?” Teddy asks, his voice cold. “I didn’t do anything.”
Charlie shrugs again. “Fine. Okay. I get that you’re mad. I just figured now that you’re the big winner in the family, you might be feeling generous.”
Teddy tips his head back. “I actually thought you were different,” he says to the ceiling, and I can tell he’s trying to collect himself. “I thought you’d changed.”
“It’s not like that was the only reason,” Charlie says, looking more contrite now. “You’re my son. I love you. I’ve been wanting to see you for years. It’s just—I kept waiting, hoping I’d kick this thing. Then one day I turn on the TV and there you are. And I just couldn’t wait any longer.”
Teddy shakes his head.
“C’mon, T,” Charlie says, attempting a smile. “Do you have any idea how many lottery tickets I’ve bought in my life? And how many times I’ve lost? Then you win big the first time you ever play? You have to admit it feels pretty good, right?”
This makes me look up at him. Because there’s a part of me that’s been thinking of this money as magic, something that’s been dropped into our lives out of nowhere like a pot of gold. But of course it’s not. It comes from people like Charlie McAvoy who play all the time. People who probably can’t afford to be buying ticket after ticket but still do.
Teddy draws himself up straighter. “I can’t give you the money.”
“Look,” Charlie says, his face darkening, “I’m supposed to meet this guy in an hour, and I owe him five hundred bucks.”
“You said a thousand before.”
“What does it matter? It’s nothing to you. Not anymore.” He attempts a grin, but there’s something elastic about it. “You’ll buy your mom a whole building, but you won’t even loan your old man a few bucks?”
A muscle twitches in Teddy’s jaw. “I can’t,” he says evenly, and without warning Charlie bangs a fist hard against the wall. Even in the kitchen, it’s enough to make me jump, sending my heart slamming against my chest. But not Teddy. He stands there, unflinching, his chin held high.
From the back of the apartment there’s the sound of a door opening, then Leo appears in the living room. He looks from Teddy to Charlie, then over to me. “Everything okay in here?” he asks with a frown.
“Fine,” Teddy says, eyes still on his dad. “He was just leaving.”
For a moment it seems like Charlie’s going to protest. He stands there rubbing his hand, looking surprised to have found himself in this situation. “Okay,” he says, adopting a gentler tone. “I get it. No more of this. Any of it. I swear—Iswear—this will be the last time.”
Teddy folds his arms across his chest, his face entirely blank. Leo walks over and joins me in the kitchen, resting his elbows on the counter. But though he looks relaxed, I can tell he’s watching carefully, ready to spring forward if needed.
“Teddy, come on,” Charlie says, sounding more desperate now. “At least just give me the five hundred bucks so I can square things away before I go. It’s the least you guys can do.” He shoots me a look, as if this whole thing is partly my fault. “I promise this’ll be the last time. This is it, then I’ll go back home and I won’t bother you anymore.”
“I’m not saying you should go,” Teddy says. “It’s been good to see you again. It’s just…”
“I know,” Charlie says miserably.
Teddy takes a small step closer to him. “Listen, I’ll go to a meeting with you. Right now. We’ll do this together.”
“I don’t need a meeting. I need money. All I’m asking for is a little help from my son, and you won’t even—”
“Rehab, then,” Teddy says, looking hopeful. “There must be some kind of program, right? I’ll do some research and make some arrangements—”
Charlie’s expression shifts again. “So you’ll pay for that,” he says, his eyes narrowing, “but you don’t trust me to do it on my own?”
“It’s not that, but—”
“Forget it.”
Teddy shakes his head. “I’m sorry, it’s just—”
“I can’t believe how much you’ve changed,” Charlie says with a scowl, and the words hang there for a second, because it’s exactly what you’d expect a father to say to his son after this much time has passed—only not like this, not when it’s hurled like an insult, bitter and spiteful and mean. “I thought I raised you better than this.”
