Apparently my mother hasforgiven my father for years of abuse.Did she buy his sobrietystory?Does love really forgive all?I can't understand it.I can'tunderstand why she would give him another chance after the hundredsof chances he's already had and forsaken, after all of the promisesmade and broken.
And him!How was Mitchable to sit across from me for two fucking hours, even talkingabout how he never stopped loving my mom, and pretend as ifeverything was normal?They're supposed to be divorced—livingseparate lives.How was he able to give me that speech about reallove versus puppy love and how he knows how much I have to lose,when he hasn't actually lost anything at all?He may not be livingin her house, but he obviously has her where he wantsher.
I find myself at one of myfavorite spots—one I often sought out when I was in the city as achild.I've always loved The Balto statue along East Drive, rightby Sixty Seventh Street.My Grandma Lena went on a cruise to Alaskawith my Grandpa Alex before he died, and brought back all kinds ofsouvenirs, including a children's book about the heroic sled dog,and at six years old, I was hooked.I begged my parents for monthsto get a Siberian Husky, but my father wouldn't let us consider anybreeds that shed their fur.
I feel an unsettling waveof nostalgia as I look at the massive animal, mostly slate graywith bronze still highlighting much of its coat and tail, and I sitback against one of the great natural stones making up itsbase.
I woke up this morningfeeling like an adult—a man.Now I don't know what I am, don't knowwho I am, don't even know what goddamned planet this is I'm on.Balto is the only evidence that this world is the same one I knewas a child.
But it isn't.
This world has one lessdrunken bastard, apparently cured by a twelve step program andforgiven by the woman he hurt the most.In his place is someoneelse, someone I want to judge and reject, but know I can't, becauseI don't even know him.And the only things I do know are that he'shelping me with Rory, and that my mother seems to be a fan.Butknowing what I can't do doesn't help me figure out what Ishoulddo.
I don't know what tofuckingthink.
Fuck, what if he tells my mother I was his last client?What ifhe tells her what I told him about Rory?About what went down inthat goddamned alley?
But he said anything Itold him would be privileged.And to trust him as a professional.Well, I guess this is a good way to find out if he's actuallyworthy of that trust.Better to test it with my ass than Rory's.Because if he tells my mother what I did, what I said… my ass isfucking toast.I mean, I'm eighteen, so it's not like she can takeaway my car or anything, but she learned quite a bit from hermother-in-law in Jewish guilt, and it's goddamn brutal.
My mother would besodisappointed,soworried, andshe would have me promising to see Dr.Schall about it.She'd tryto make me promise not to do anythingreckless, to becareful.And I won't be able to doit.Iamtryingto do it her way, my father's way, but if for some reason itdoesn't work out… I'm prepared to do whatever I need to keep Rorysafe.
But the last thing I wantis for my mother to hear what happened that night—the violence Imeted out, the promise I made.Rory doesn't even know.Only me,Tucker, andthat motherfuckingbastardknow what I did, what I said, andnot one of us told the truth in our statements to the police.But Ijust recounted it detail for detail for my father, not that I couldforget a moment of it if I tried.
"Please just stay herewith Carl.Okay, baby?Please."
Rory nods uncertainly andit takes everything I have not to grab her and hold her tight, tokeep her wrapped in my arms, where I can know she is safe.Theimage that assaulted me when I entered the alley behind me shootsthrough my mind, bouncing off of every surface, picking up velocityuntil it's all I can see, all I can think of.And it galvanizesme.
I turn, trusting Carlbeyond measure, and stalk back to where I left Tuck guarding Rory'spredator—my prey.I feel the strain of the clench of my jaw, thegrit of my teeth, the flex of every muscle in my body as furyvibrates through every part of me, trapped and searching forrelease.
My gaze lands purposefullyon the target of my rage, and I feel a subtle calm.Because yes,the purpose is to punish the motherfucking bastard who tortured mygirl, to make sure he never so much as thinks about coming anywherenear her again…
But I am going to enjoythis.
I feel a buzz ofexcitement flowing from my gut into my limbs, charging me withrenewed energy as I approach to find Tuck slamming his foot intothe bastard's ribs, and I allow him to get one more in before Istop him.
"Tucker."My voice is lowand in control.Very unlike the version of me who has gotten intophysical altercations in the past.
Tucker steps back,watching me warily.He's nervous, presumably worried about what Imight do, but he doesn't say a word.He knows he can't stopme.
I wait for the piece ofgarbage on the ground to make eye contact.
"Get up," Iorder.
"Cap," Tucker warns, but Ibarely even hear him.
The bastard spits on theground beside him, but doesn't get up.
"Get.The fuck.Up."
He wipes the blood andspit from his mouth, and slowly, with an effort that satisfiessomething deep in my belly, makes his way first to his elbows, andthen to his knees, until he's staggering to his feet.
He spits again, salivatinged pink with blood, and then he makes the mistake of speaking."She ain't who you think—"
I deck him in the jaw,throwing all of my weight into it until I release so much force Inearly topple over myself.The motherfucking bastard flies backwardinto the brick wall, his head wobbling beautifully, and he slidesback down to the ground.
"Again," I demand, but hedoesn't obey.His eyes blink open and try to focus, but I'm losingmy grip on my patience."Again!"I shout."Get up!"
"Fuck!"he whines."Youdon't… even know her…" He plants one foot on the ground."Thefuckin' bitch—"
