"If Nathaniel testifies-"
"No."
"Nina ..."
I shake my head. "I'm not going to be the one who does that to him."
"Then wait a while, until he's stronger."
"He is never going to be strong enough for that. Am I supposed to wait until his mind has managed to erase it ... and then make him sit on a witness stand and bring it all back again? Tell me, Patrick, how is that in Nathaniel's best interests?"
Patrick is quiet for a moment. He knows this system like I do; he knows I'm right. "Maybe once the semen comes back as a match, the priest's lawyer can talk to him and work out some kind of deal."
"A deal," I repeat. "Nathaniel's childhood is being traded for a deal."
Without saying a word, Patrick lifts my whiskey glass and hands it to me. I take a tentative sip. Then a larger one, even though my throat bursts into flame. "This ... is horrible," I wheeze, coughing.
"Then why did you order it?"
"Because you always do. And I don't feel like being myself tonight."
Patrick grins. "Maybe you should just have your usual white wine, then, and go up and sing for us."
As if he has cued it, the woman who assists the karaoke machine man approaches us, holding out a binder. Her bleached hair hangs into her face, and she is wearing pantyhose with her tropical sarong miniskirt. "Hons," she says to us. "You want to do a duet?"
Patrick shakes his head. "I don't think so."
"Oh, come on. There are some cute songs here for couples like you. 'Summer Nights,' remember that one from Grease? Or how about that one Aaron Neville and Linda Ronstadt do?"
I am not here; this is not happening. A woman is not pressuring me into singing karaoke when I have come to discuss putting my son's rapist in jail. "Go away," I say succinctly.
She glances down at my hamburger, untouched. "Maybe you can get a side of manners with that," she says, and twitches back to the stage.
When she's gone, the weight of Patrick's eyes rests heavy on me. "What?" I demand.
"Nothing."
"Clearly, there's something."
He takes a deep breath, lets it out. "You may not ever forgive Szyszynski, Nina, but you won't be able to move past this ... to help Nathaniel move past this . . . until you stop cursing him."
I drain the rest of my liquor. "I will curse him, Patrick, until the day he dies."
A new singer fills in the space that has fallen between the two of us. A heavyweight woman with hair that touches her ass, she sways her considerable hips as the riff begins playing on the karaoke machine.
It only takes a minute . . .
For your life to move on past. , .
"What is she doing up there?" I murmur.
"Yeah . . . she's actually good."
We both look away from the stage, and our eyes meet. "Nina," Patrick says, "you're not the only one hurting. When I see you like this . . . well, it kills me." He looks down at his drink, stirs it once. "I wish-"
"I wish too. But I could wish till the world stops turning, and it wouldn't change a thing, Patrick."
History was once today . . . Before the moment got away. . . . Nice guys, baby, always finish last.
