He found his father in the study upstairs, sitting behind the massive cherrywood desk with a glass of scotch in his hand, staring into the middle distance. The only light turned on was a banker’s lamp on the desk. Doug looked up as Carver walked in and dragged a tufted leather accent chair in front of the desk, then sat down in it.
“Hey, Dad,” he said casually.
“Hello,” Doug said, then cleared his throat. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you for a bit.”
“Okay,” Doug said, sounding wary. He pointed at Carver’s hand. “Is that still cold enough for you?”
Carver lifted the ice pack and examined his knuckles, which were still pink and puffy but less so. “I should give it a break for a while, actually.”
“Alright. There are more ice packs in the freezer, just make sure you put that one back.”
“Yeah.”
“The dog keeps coming in here and bothering me,” Doug muttered, more to himself than Carver. “I should probably go take him for a late walk.”
“Sure. I’ll come with you?”
“No, no, just say whatever you came in here to say, please.”
“Nothing, Dad. I just wanted to check on you.”
“Check on me,” Doug repeated. His eyes were bloodshot, and his tie was loose and askew. He looked like a dazed businessman who’d survived a plane crash and was wandering around the wreckage looking for his briefcase. “I see. I’m alright.”
“You want me to leave you alone?”
“No, no,” Doug said quickly. “Did you take an ibuprofen? You should.”
“I probably shouldn’t, I think I drank too much.”
“Oh, right.”
“But I’m not in any pain.”
“The upside of drinking too much,” Doug said. “You’ll feel it tomorrow.”
Carver looked at the crystal lowball glass in his father’s hand. It was unusual for him to drink alone.
“I think I heard your mother apologize, maybe, while you two were screaming at each other,” Doug said. “But I wanted to apologize as well.”
“What for?”
“Well, all of it.”
Carver sat back in the plush, uncomfortable chair — it was more for decor than sitting — and laughed. “Oh, sure.”
“It just got away from us,” Doug said, still staring into space. “I know that probably sounds ridiculous to you, but it did. We were so sure we could proceed normally, like nothing happened.”
“But something did happen.”
“Right. But it’s something — it’s not so uncommon. It used to be even more common. A couple from my parents’ generation wouldn’t have had any issue taking a secret like this to the grave.” He laughed. “I mean, how many men came home fromWorld War Two and raised someone else’s child? Probably a few thousand, right?”
“And everyone involved just repressed everything?”
“Yes,” Doug said. “And that’s kind of what I’m saying. Your mother and I overestimated our ability to repress this, and contain it, and stop it from reaching you.”
Carver felt momentarily sorry for both of them. It was easier to feel sorry for his mother when he wasn’t talking to her. “You were expecting a lot of yourselves.”
