{Cary}

The dining room was half empty for lunch. Leonard set his tray down next to Karmin and after a second Cary joined them. He ate without tasting much and he didn't speak to anyone. He couldn't help picturing his mother and father in their church clothes, eating lunch at the dining room table with Liam in his swing next to them. He had to quit thinking about them as his family when they didn't want him.

When he went out for a smoke, Karmin joined him. Cary lit one for her and passed it across. "Where's your boyfriend?" he asked without looking at her.

"Omigod don't call him that." Her red mouth sneered and she flicked her hair over her shoulder. Her sweater was too short for her arms; her angular wrists stuck out three inches. "We just, like, fuck around and whatever. Something to do."

The smudge of purple on her wrist caught his eye as she lifted the cigarette to her mouth. He looked away, wishing he hadn't seen it.

She tilted her head at him. "What did you say?"

Cary blinked. He had spoken out loud without meaning to. He looked for cracks in her made-up face, for any sign there was a real person in there.

He spoke softly, his voice flat: "He left marks on you. You shouldn't let him do that."

He got up and left her open-mouthed. She was cussing him out before he got the shelter door open. He rolled his shoulders as it banged shut behind him. Not his problem. It took a couple minutes to figure out he was angry. He seemed to have caught Leonard's bug for caring, and it was pissing him off.

He went to the main office. The staff guy swivelled his chair to face him, in a day-glo blue shirt today.

"You should be watching the ravine," Cary said. "Kids are screwing around down there."

The guy's face was regretful. "Yeah I know. We mostly can't stop it. I mean, we'll try but..."

"Try," Cary said, and left.

///

He didn't want to spend the afternoon surrounded by the dinted concrete walls of the shelter. It was the first hot day of spring, the warmth teasing the barely formed new leaves with a promise of summer. It was the first day Cary could imagine slinging his backpack on and wearing it for any length of time. He passed Leonard playing solitaire in the common room and turned on his heel.

"Hey, Leonard."

Leonard looked up with a smile.

"Karmin is in the smoke pit. Maybe she'd like to play cards with you." She was definitely bored enough. Leonard's smile brightened and he gathered up his deck. Cary hit the sunny sidewalk hoping he hadn't just set his friend up for a chilly rejection.

He got on a bus without thinking much about where it was going. When he arrived at the west side depot he realized he was close to home—to what used to be home. He walked the length of the concrete island in a sea of traffic, trying to convince himself to turn around and go back and hang out at Gazebo Park for the afternoon.

He did the stupid thing instead. He caught the same bus he used to get home from school and texted his mother on the way.

<can you talk?>

A couple minutes later his phone buzzed in his hand. <yes. meet me?>

<YES> Cary couldn't help the caps, he was smiling. He waited a second before answering: <I'll be at the bus stop> with the street address.

<be there when i can> his mother answered.

Cary got off the bus just a block and a half from his house. He wished for a ridiculous moment that he had a hat and a disguise. He sat small at the end of the bus bench, buried in his drawing book. 

He worked on the drawing of his sister laughing in Jesus' arms. While he was working on it the world around him was as invisible to him as he was to it. He didn't try to draw Jesus' face; he didn't think he could capture the way he was gentle and joyful and scary all at once. But he paid careful attention to Jesus' hands. They were as strong and well-shaped as his father's, but they would never leave marks on Renae's skin.

He finished with a sigh and sat looking at what he had done. He wanted to see Jesus again—to see him alive and hear him speak—but he didn't know how to let Jesus know that. Jon just opened his mouth and spoke like Jesus was there, listening. Cary was embarrassed to try. So he just sat in silence, letting his heart fill with the face he hadn't drawn.

When he lifted his head, he was surprised by how far the sun had progressed across the sky. He checked the time. Little waves of anxiety lapped him. He turned to the picture of Liam and his mother, which he had tucked back into his drawing book.

He swallowed. That drawing had gotten smudged and the graphite fingerprints looked like bruises on their skin. He shut the book and shut his eyes. He wasn't good at thinking in words, but his head was filling with something he needed to understand. He saw his father's hand on his mother's back going up the church steps. He saw Leonard's face when he said, They don't look hurt. Just you.

He remembered his head pounding while his father said, You are everything that is wrong with this family.

Cary's ears buzzed. This was why he didn't like to use words. His bruises were already better, but those words hurt more now than they had then.

His mother's sedan slid up alongside the bench and Cary jumped to his feet, stuffing his drawing book in his backpack and pushing those thoughts away. Beverly flashed him a brilliant smile as he got into the passenger seat.

"I have reservations for two at Ginos. I told them we were the Smiths." She laughed as she pulled away. He checked the backseat; the car seat base was empty.

"Liam?" he asked.

"Your father has him. They were reading stories when I left."

Cary drew a quick breath, hiding his face from her. He hadn't thought about how this would be when he wasn't wearing stone. It hurt already.

"And how are you darling? Are they treating you well?"

He tried to be as casual as she was. "It's fine. The food kind of sucks. I have a good roommate. Leonard."

She laid her free hand on his arm. "I'm glad." That, at least, sounded sincere.

He sat silently the rest of the way to the restaurant. He'd spent all his effort at making conversation in one go.

She parked on the street and stepped out, looking like a movie star on the red carpet, in her white pant suit, bright scarf, and wide sunglasses. "Let's eat on the patio; it's such a lovely night."

When she didn't take off her sunglasses to talk to the hostess in the dark cavern of the restaurant, a warning bell went off in Cary's head.

They were the only ones on the patio as the rosy evening light fell through the latticed walls and roof. Beverly glanced around, smiling. "This is lovely, don't you think, Ciaran? A dinner date for two."

Cary spread his hands on the table. "Mom. Take your glasses off."

Her lipsticked mouth pouted at him. "It's bright out. I don't want to."

They were alone. He reached across the table and pulled the glasses off her face, fingertips brushing her powdery skin. She lifted her chin, daring him to say something. The skin around her eye was black and swollen.

He tossed the glasses on the table. "How's Liam?" His voice sounded rough; he was holding back a shout that would do his father proud.

She flipped her hand. "Oh Ciaran, he's fine. I just—"

"Burnt the toast? Left the laundry on the floor?"

She looked hard at him, her nostrils flaring. "Ran into a door," she said coldly.

Cary tried to keep breathing like he was a normal person with a normal life, out for dinner. He wanted to yell and turn the table over. It wasn't going to end; his father wasn't going to change. It didn't matter if Cary was there or not—except if he wasn't there she was the only one left to cover for Liam.

He didn't know how to say any of that.

"What are you going to order?" Beverly asked pleasantly as the waitress approached.

Cary couldn't look at her. "Whatever. Don't make me talk to her."

But she did. She ordered a half plate of pasta and salad and diet iced tea and when she was finished she looked expectantly at him, her eyebrows lifted behind her glasses.

"Spaghetti," Cary said. The waitress bent to hear him, and then he had to answer a barrage of other questions: Salad? Garlic toast? Meatballs? Coke?

When she was finished with him he had found something close to stone. He was angry.

"Did he tell you how Liam got hurt?" he asked.

Beverly made an annoyed noise. "Ciaran, if you're determined to spoil our evening—"

"He was hitting me with a kitchen stool. Liam was in my arms and he was hitting me like he forgot Liam was there."

She went silent, looking at him. One hand turned her soup spoon over and over, making light glance and flash around their table. She looked aside. "Your father is changing. He came to church with me today."

"Before or after he blacked your eye?" Cary asked.

"Enough," she snapped. "You've said quite enough on the subject."

He shut his mouth and sat back, stuffing his fists under his arms. She was better at stone than he was; if she didn't want to hear something, then nothing got through to her.

Their food arrived and they ate in silence. Cary pushed his plate aside half-finished.

Beverly smoothed her napkin over her lap. "What I wanted to talk to you about is how we can be a family again. I think if you would truly apologize and make more of an effort to please your father, you could come back home." She smiled. "You belong with us, Ciaran. Your father will see that. This situation is temporary."

He braced his arms against the table edge, staring at her. It took a couple seconds for him to find his voice again. "Mom, that will never... I can never please him. He is not going to stop—" he drew in his breath and shut his eyes. Things were getting ragged. He was going to fall apart here, and he still had to try to reach her.

"For once in your life please... look at what is really real. He is the smartest man we know—except when he loses it—" He shut his mouth, battered with memories from the basement. They never talked about this. He didn't know if he could even find the words.

He dug into his backpack and pulled out his drawing book. He didn't have to find the words; it was there in heavy strokes of 2B pencil. He opened to the pages he was thinking of and passed it over.

She looked, white and still, then turned the page. And the next. She pulled her hands away, holding them up like he'd asked her to do something dirty. Criminal.

He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, watching her. "Mom, those things happened. To me. I covered for you, and I can't—" He swallowed, sick with the memories he'd let out. He wanted to vomit up darkness until he was empty.

He tried to catch her eye, to get her to look at him and hear. "I want him to stop hurting you. I want my brother to have a normal life. I want him to break his first bone falling off a bike—" his voice broke. "If you leave him we could have that. You and me and Liam—we could all have that. Please, Mom. Look at me and say yes."

His heart was beating in his throat like it wanted to jump out of his mouth and throw itself at her. She didn't look at him or his drawing book. Instead she picked up the wine list, opening and closing it like her thoughts were far away.

"Cary, darling, you know I love you, but sometimes the things you say—"

He bent his head, whispering, "Don't—Mom, don't do this."

"—are positively crazy," she finished. "I'm really not sure what to do with you."

He put his elbows on the table and his hands over his head. He was trembling. That was it. All his words didn't make a dent in her stone-cold denial. He had no more tries. He was one breath—one touch— away from blowing apart right here on Gino's patio. He shoved back from the table. "I'm done. I'll bus back."

She stood up, frowning. "All right, there's no need to be dramatic. I'll just pay the bill and drop you there myself." He wouldn't look at her so she took his hand and dropped the keys in his palm. "You can wait for me in the car."

He snatched his drawing book off the table and went.

///

After that, Cary was wound up so tightly he could barely speak. He blew through the shelter and out the back door. He propped himself against the yellow brick and lit his cigarette. When it was finished he lit another one. He wanted to burn a hole right through his chest.

Karmin and her not-boyfriend were head to head, arguing in undertones. Cary ignored them until the guy slapped her. Karmin screamed names at him and slapped him back, leaving claw marks on his cheek. She stormed inside and the guy moved to follow, glowering.

Cary flicked his cigarette away and pushed himself off the wall. All the hurt and anger pressing inside him suddenly had a place to go. The guy noticed him for the first time and his face got even uglier. "What are you looking at, fuckhead?"

Cary threw himself at the guy with no thought for what would come after.