“Goodbye,” said Giovanni, hanging up.
Standing in an antiseptic hallway, Cord was somehow a child again, trapped inside one of the worst days of his life. His father had forced him to “play ball” in their backyard, one of Winston’s naked attempts to make his son manlier.
Cord kept missing the ball, and Winston got more and more annoyed. In retrospect, he was probably eager to start his early evening routine of boozing till blotto, but at the time, all Cord understood was that his father wanted something from him that he could not—no matter how he tried—provide.
He couldn’t catch the ball.
Instead of giving him softies, his father threw the ball harder and harder. Cord knew his father loved him, or wanted to. It wasn’t that Winston was a bad man. And Cord didn’t understand—not yet—that he wanted to kiss men, to love men and not women. He just knew he was a failure. He missed ball after ball, each miss making him run and rummage in the azaleas.
Cord could feel it now: the heat in his face. The scratches on his hands as he tried to find the ball, his worry that his shorts would ride too low as he bent over. The last time he rose, tossed the ball back to Winston. The grim look on Winston’s face as he brought his arm back and threw the ball directly at his son.
The ball hit Cord in the face, and as it did, he split open. He could no longer remain inside the broken boy. He cracked off, and watched from above as the sad kid fell, his hands to his nose. Cord felt nothing as his father approached the boy without sympathy. Winston picked up the baseball, which lay a few inches from Cord. He whispered, “Pansy,” and walked toward the house. Cord watched as the boy lay still on the lawn.
Get up,he told the boy now.You can do this.
He began to breathe heavily, feeling the searing pain of his childhood—the terror and shame. He could withstand it. He was strong and sober and he was not alone. Slowly, trembling, the boy stood. Cord called Giovanni again, his heart pounding.
“Hello?” said Giovanni.
“You’re wrong about me,” said Cord.
“Oh, honey,” said Giovanni.
“I told her about us,” said Cord, “and I’m winning you back. This is forever, Gio. This is forever. Will you let me try?”
There was a long pause. Everything, everything waited there. Finally, Giovanni spoke, his voice kind and filled with fearful love. “Damn you,” he said. “Damn you.”
It was as if Gio was speaking directly to the lonely voice, which grew silent.
Inside Cord, a small boy lifted his fists and cheered.
AS SOON AS REGANhad seen a missed call from her sister, she knew something was wrong. And though Lee hadn’t left a message, and did not answer when Regan tried to call back, one thing being a mother had taught Regan was to trust her gut. She ran to Lee’s cabin and banged on the door. It was locked, so Regan called security, who arrived after an agonizing twenty minutes with a key.
By the time Regan entered Lee’s room, Lee was already at the edge of her balcony, sobbing, saying crazy things, preparing to jump. The hapless security guard who had responded to Regan’s call radioed for backup. A crowd had assembled on the floors below.
“Lee,” said Regan, opening the sliding doors, trying to keep her voice calm.
“Don’t touch me!” said Lee, crying out like a trapped animal. “Leave me alone! Don’t touch me!”
“It’s me,” said Regan. “I love you. Please.”
“You don’t understand,” said Lee. “Ray Ray, I’m just like him. I can’t do it. I can’t do it anymore.”
“Just like who?” said Regan, trying to listen to her sister, trying to see the Lee she’d once known inside the desperate woman moments from plunging into the sea. (Or worse, onto one of the decks below.)
“Dad. I’m just like Dad. I can’t do it. It’s too hard.”
“Dad?” said Regan. “You’re nothing like him, Lee.”
“He killed himself,” said Lee. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”
Regan drew a stunned breath. But it made sense—all the darkness around Winston, the way Charlotte wouldn’t allow them to talk about him. Lee’s flight to California.
“It’s okay,” said Regan. “You’re not Dad, Lee. Come back.”
Lee turned around. Her beautiful face was pale and anguished.
“I’ve got you,” said Regan. She held out her hand.
