“I thought all of you were horrible. I always have,” I admitted. “It got worse when… Nevermind. My point is, I never considered what it would be like to grow up like you did. I wish I could have dragged you camping when we were kids. You could have toasted marshmallows, swam in a lake, and had to share a tiny tent with ten of your closest friends and enemies.”
Lucy snorted. He scooted closer to me, our knees colliding as we sat cross-legged on the cement in front of the fire pit.
“You said it got worse?” He slid his hand to my thigh and squeezed gently. “You can talk to me, you know? I’ll try to understand.”
I fiddled with the lighter. Then I leaned forward and ignited the newspaper and kindling I had stacked up to start the fire.
The paper burned, and soon we had a small fire. I added a few small logs in the silence before I answered him.
“My Nana was my favorite person in the world.”
Lucy hummed, a quiet comfort, some encouragement maybe.
“She took me camping all the time as a kid. She got me this tent, actually, when I reached middle school and I didn’t have to share anymore with the other kids. We’d set it up out here, just like we are now, and I camped out every weekend.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“She was,” I agreed, grateful when I felt his arms wrap around my forearm and his fingers tangle with mine, “but then, when I was seventeen, she got diagnosed with stage four cancer.”
Lucy’s grip tightened on my arm.
“All of a sudden, nothing else mattered but getting her better. I tried everything I could, but she refused treatment once she got too weak to walk to her car. We tried every program they had to fund treatment—she never had health insurance; she always said it was a government trick. And we got some donations.”
I sighed and tugged Lucy closer by his hands.
He scooted so his shoulder was pressed against my side and his chin was on my shoulder.
“These guys who’d given the donations, they were a bunch of?—”
“Rich assholes?” Lucy guessed.
I smiled and rested my cheek on his hair. “Yeah, exactly. They were a bunch of rich assholes, and they were patting each other on the back for saving the poor old lady with their hearts of gold. Their intentions were so pure that each and every one of them got an article in the newspaper praising their altruism. It was a bunch of bullshit!”
I jabbed my right hand at the air for an offense it didn’t even cause.
Lucy’s hand reached out and covered mine. “That’s why you hate my dad.”
I shook my head. “It’s why I hate rich people. I thought you were all like that, but I was wrong.”
Lucy sighed. “You’re not wrong, though. I might have done the same thing they did.”
“But you wouldn’t have called the press so you could brag about it, right?”
I knew the answer before he shook his head.
“You’re good, Lucy.”
“I’m not. I’m playing their game with the exhibit, remember? It’s the same thing.”
“Maybe,” I agreed, “if you weren’t tearing your hair out trying to please your dad.”
“I can’t help it,” he sniffled and wiped at his face, “he’s my dad.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, dads kind of suck, too, don’t they?”
Lucy sat up and scooted forward so he could meet my eyes. “Your dad?”
I softened at the concern etched all over his face and in the grip he still held on my hand. “Yeah. My dad.”
