Underwater(55)

“Because he’s my son. I needed to see him.”

He only wants to see Ben. He doesn’t want to see me. As much as I lectured my mom about forgiving my dad, the truth of him not wanting to see me hurts. “He doesn’t even know you,” I say. “I’m the one who knows you.”

Those words make my dad’s shoulders tense. My mom gapes at me. Maybe I’ve only focused on forgiving Aaron Tiratore. Because right here, right now, I don’t feel like I’ve forgiven my dad.

“What? It’s true.”

My mom nods slightly. She knows I’m right. “Morgan,” she says, “maybe it would be better for you to wait outside.” She looks pointedly at my dad. “She’s been through a lot. And your absence hasn’t helped.”

“Oh, yeah. Here we go again. I’m always the bad guy,” my dad says.

“Are you for real?” My mom tosses her purse to the floor, like she had to throw something, but that’s all she had. “You’re actually going to play the victim here?” She angles her body in front of him. “You know what? Your daughter, our daughter, who I’ve come to realize is smarter than you and me put together, thinks I should forgive you. She thinks forgiving you will help us move on. She’s a better person because she’s been able to forgive people who have done unforgivable things. I wish I were capable of such forgiveness, but I’m not. Because I will never, in a million years, forgive this.” She sweeps her hands in front of my dad in a gesture of disgust. “Showing up this way, making a scene at your son’s school? It’s unforgivable. Absolutely, positively unforgivable. You need help. I will never allow you to see Ben until you get it.”

“Or me,” I say. “Not that you seem to care about that.”

My dad lifts his head to look at me, and when he does it’s like I’m only a memory of something from a long time ago. It’s true that I know him and Ben doesn’t. But that’s the problem. That’s exactly why he doesn’t want to see me. I’m a reminder of him at his best. And that makes what he is now even worse. Of course he’d rather spend time with a trusting six-year-old who doesn’t entirely understand how messed up his dad is. I’m not like that. My dad knows I know how much he has changed. He slumps over in his chair. The hem of his jacket, dirt-stained and tattered, drapes past his knees, skimming the floor. His arms stretch behind him, the handcuffs biting into his wrists, as he erupts into huge, heaving sobs. He looks so weak. I don’t even know who he is as he shakes and sniffs in front of me. I don’t recognize a single thing about him.

And then my mom cries, too, and I’m wondering if she wants to take back her words.

Behind the desk, the principal straightens out her smart pink sweater set and the secretary stares off at her computer screen, presumably trying not to invade what feels like a private family moment.

“Let’s go,” the taller police officer finally says, pulling my dad up by the elbow.

“Wait!” My mom stops them at the door, gently reaching for my dad’s shoulder because she knows her touch might startle him. “Rich,” she says. “Please let them take you someplace where you can get help.”

He looks down at her, eye to eye, searching for something. But his face switches to confused. Disoriented. Like he doesn’t remember who she is or how he got here.

My mom and I follow the police and my dad out. The school bell rings and kids instantly spill out of classrooms, babbling loudly and swinging lunch boxes in their hands. I don’t know why they’re out here. I thought they were keeping everyone inside. I must’ve just had an idea in my head that the stillness of the campus meant the administration and the teachers were keeping our secrets. But they weren’t. And now, I look up and there’s Ben standing in front of us, watching the stairs. He shifts. He squints. His superhero lunch box dangles at his side.

“Morgan,” he sputters, “is that Dad?”





chapter thirty-eight

My mom calls into work to say she has a family emergency and can’t return. Then she checks Ben out of school for the day. There’s no point in staying. She has to tell him things he might not be ready to hear but that need to be explained nonetheless. Because today my dad went too far. And now my mom has to tell Ben how sick his dad is and that he needs to get help from special doctors to get better. She has to tell Ben that no matter what, he should never go anywhere with our dad. I assume we’ll go straight home to talk then stare at the walls and each other, but Ben begs for ice-cream cones like an unexpected afternoon off from school equals an insta-vacation.

“Think you can handle ice cream?” my mom asks me while Ben jumps up and down, pleading for me to say yes.

I don’t know if I can handle it or not. The only way to know for sure is to go. That is what Brenda has taught me. That’s what I’ve been doing every day. Attempting and accomplishing things bit by bit.

“I want to try,” I say.

My mom squeezes my hand. “We’ll be right there with you.”

She and Ben follow me home to drop off the Bel Air. Knowing they’re right behind me makes the drive back way less stressful than the drive to Ben’s school. We ditch my car and pile into hers, where I sit in the back with Ben. His shoulders are even with mine thanks to the added height from his car seat. But not driving makes me feel even more trapped. I can feel the sweat collecting along my hairline and the barfy grumblings of my stomach.