I drop my head, and we sit in silence for a while. “Where did you get the money for the cigars?” I ask.
His eyes flick to me in horror.
“You’re not in trouble.”
He stays quiet, and then eventually he replies, “I saved my allowance for six months.”
I frown in confusion.
He turns away and looks at the wall. “They were for Dad,” he whispers softly.
I close my eyes as a sadness fills my chest.
Poor fucking kid.
“Just tell your mom where you were. She won’t be angry at you,” I urge.
“What for? She’ll just haul me back to the psychologist. I would rather her be angry than worried. I’m done with the shrinks.”
We sit in silence for a while, and I don’t know what to say. “Have your dinner, and then why don’t you come down, and we’ll build our spaceship for a few hours.”
He stays still, staring at the wall. “No, thanks.”
I put his phone on the bedside table. “Here’s your phone.” I turn toward the door.
“Tristan.”
I turn back to him.
“Can you not tell her?”
I nod. “Sure thing.”
I trudge down the stairs with a heavy heart and walk out to find Claire packing up the spaceship model and Fletcher standing nearby. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Putting this in the Goodwill bin.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s lying, and I won’t tolerate it. I’m not taking his crap anymore, Tristan. I’m done with it. There is no excuse for his behavior.”
“Leave it on the table,” I say.
“Tristan.”
“I said leave it,” I snap. How the fuck do I defend him without telling her what I know?
“Why are you suddenly on his side?” she snaps back. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Just fucking ease up on him, will you?” I sigh. “Have your dinner, have a shower, and go to bed. The boys and I will clean up. Leave Harrison alone for the moment. You’re tired and emotional. Things will seem better tomorrow; deal with it then.”
Fletcher gives me a lopsided smile.
“Tricky, you ready for dinner?” I call.
Patrick comes bouncing in from the living room. “Yes, my favorite.”
I sit in my car and watch Harrison as he walks up the road. I’m outside his school, it’s just around three o’clock, it’s finished for the day, and I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.
Well, I do, but I’m pretty sure Claire would go postal if she did.
Too bad . . . I have to do this. It’s been eating at me all day. I drive the car up alongside him. “Wiz,” I call.
He turns and frowns. “What are you doing here?”
“Get in.”
“No.” He keeps walking.
“Get in, or I’m telling her,” I threaten.
He glares at me, exhales heavily, and walks around and gets into my car. “What?”
I hand him a packet of cigars, just like the ones that got wet. He frowns as he looks at them in his hand.
“Do you want to go see your dad?” I ask.
His eyes search mine, and he drops his head and stares at the cigars once more.
That means yes.
I pull out into the street, and after a very silent car ride, I park the car at the cemetery.
He climbs out, and I tentatively follow him through the tombstones. It’s beautiful here, with green lush lawns, and immaculately kept.
WADE ANDERSON
BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER
FOREVER LOVED, SADLY MISSED
I put my hands into my suit pockets as I look on. Harrison wipes the nameplate clean with his shirt and straightens the flowers, and I can tell that he comes here often.
Alone.
I get a lump in my throat as I watch him.
With a shaky hand, he opens the packet and gets out a cigar and carefully places it on the grave.
“Here they are, Dad,” he whispers. “Your favorite.”
I clench my jaw. This is too much.
He takes one out and holds it in his hand, and then he passes one to me.
I frown in surprise.
I take it, pull out a lighter from my pocket, and flick it on. He stares at me for a moment, shocked. I bend and light my cigar and inhale deeply, and then I hold it alight for him. He does the same. He takes in a big breath and coughs as he chokes, and I chuckle as I blow out the thin stream of smoke.