Chapter 6
I went upstairs to see Caleb.
He was awake.
That mattered more than anything downstairs.
He was lying on his side with a blanket pulled to his chin. When I entered, he immediately reached for me.
I sat beside him.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
“Anywhere else?”
He shook his head.
Then asked:
“Did Mason win?”
I felt something in me break quietly.
“There was nothing to win.”
Caleb frowned.
“Grandma said there was.”
“I know.”
“Did I lose because I cried?”
“No.”
“Because I couldn’t breathe?”
“No.”
He studied my face.
Children do that when adults have lied around them enough.
I took his hand.
“You did not lose anything.”
He whispered:
“Grandma said strong boys don’t call Mom.”
I closed my eyes for half a second.
When I opened them, he was still watching.
“Strong boys can call whoever makes them feel safe.”
He thought about that.
Then asked:
“Even you?”
I smiled.
“Especially me.”
He relaxed a little.
Then another question.
“Is Mason bad?”
Harder.
“No.”
Caleb frowned.
“He hit me.”
“Yes.”
“That’s bad.”
“What he did was bad.”
He waited.
I continued.
“But grown-ups taught him something ugly.”
That answer seemed to make more sense to him than it did to me.
Before I left, Caleb grabbed my sleeve.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Grandma said you used to be weak too.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“She said Grandpa fixed you.”
The room changed.
I looked at him.
“How?”
Caleb shrugged.
“She said you cried until he made you stop.”
I sat back down.
Memory moved before thought.
A locked training room.
My father’s voice.
My mother outside the door.
Me at seven.
May you like
Suddenly the dinner downstairs was not simply about the grandchildren.
It was repetition.
