Prologue
Quill, six years old.
“I’m sorry, Bob. I just can’t do it.”
“Well, what do you want? We can’t exactly send him to an orphanage, can we? He’s our fucking son!”
“Not an orphanage, no.”
I sidle up to the window, listening, trying to hear Mommy’s words as her voice drops lower.
“There are institutions, Bob. Institutions that can help… boys like him.”
I close my eyes, pressing the side of my head to the cold shingles against the wall. It’s snowing outside, though I’ve never minded the cold. I’m wearing my hoodie, but it’s out of habit. I could just as well be outside in the dead of winter without a thread of clothing on.
I’m sitting with my legs crossed, the snow melting through to my thighs, wondering why I feel so… weird right now.
“Institutions? Come on, Steph. Be serious.”
“Iamserious. Our son is not normal. Jenna told me so.”
“So what? You convinced me to take him to that shrink. I was never for it. Our son isn’t a freak, he doesn’t need some shrink to tell him he is.”
“Bob. Enough. We had agreed he should see Jenna. And she shares my concerns.”
“What fucking concerns?!”
“She says he’s not…normal.”
“What the fuck? Notnormal?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I fucking don’t. You’re the one who tells me there isn’t such a thing asnot normal. I haven’t even called anyone a retard since you slammed your math textbook over my head in seventh grade. And now you’re telling me aboutnormal?”
“Stop, Bob.”
“Why? The world’s gone crazy. You’re the one always going on about equal rights and shit, but suddenly our son isn’tnormal?”
“You know very well Jenna didn’t use that word. I’m only using it because…”
I wonder how I even have a cheek with the way I’m squishing it against the shingle, my chest feeling hollow and achy. Am I getting a cold or something? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a cold before.
“I looked it up on Wikipedia. He never killed a single insect. Let alone a rodent. Is our cat dead? Has it ever been tortured? Nope, happy as ever. He’s never hurt a living thing, so why the hell—”
“It’s thelookin his eye. The way he reacts to things. When my mom died and he just…smiled. It was creepy, Bob. And he’s never made a single friend.”
“The kids at his school are idiots.”
“Every single day, we’re being called to the principal’s office about some kid he’s beaten up!”
“Only ever the kids from his grade. Often bigger than he is. He’s just strong, that’s all. He doesn’t let himself get picked on.”
“And youencouragehim!”
“What do you want me to do? Beat the shit out of him? I will. Just say the word.”
“Bob!”
