tool he was trying to use. The words died on his tongue.
Because there was nothing else to say, he said, "Next week?"
She smiled and nodded before hurrying to her car. It was getting cold.
38
Alex was in the backseat again. "Good," he said, as if Ian had just asked him a question.
Ian turned the engine to let the car warm up, watching the boy in the rearview. Alex, you have to stop talking to me like this. You have to stop.
But saying that wouldn't do anything. He'd tried reasoning with Alex already. It didn't work.
"Good, Daddy," Alex repeated.
"What's good?" Ian asked.
"It was good ."
"What was?" But suddenly he knew. "Your day at Rita's?"
"Yeah. But it was not... not quite... it wasn't quite fun."
"It wasn't quite fun?" His heart hammered. This is it, he realized. He's trying to tell me something. She was involved. She had to be.
"No," Alex drawled. He was looking out the window. "There were too many kids."
"Too many kids at Rita's?" His heart sank. He remembered this conversation now. It wasn't anything new.
"Yeah, Julie was there. And Big Alex was there. And Delilah was there."
Delilah? Is that a new girl?
"Yeah, but she's only three. I'm older than her... than her is, Daddy."
Than she is.
"Yeah, than she is."
Well, that's good, maybe you can help her out. You were three once, you know.
"But now I'm a big boy!"
You sure are! Does she know her alphabet?
"Yeah, but... not quite. "
You can teach her, I bet.
"Yeah, I can teach her! And also we can do some puzzles !" Alex bounced up and down in his booster, excited.
That sounds good. I'd be so proud of you if you taught someone their letters, kiddo.
"Yeah. I'll do that tomorrow. Right, Dod?" Alex grinned, hoping to bait Ian into their old game.
Ian closed his eyes. This has to stop. It has to. If it was in his head, maybe there were some drugs he could take. He remembered taking something a few years ago for overactive dreams, when he was having trouble sleeping at night. Maybe he had some of those left at home.
When he opened his eyes, he flipped the rearview mirror up so he couldn't see Alex. He'd rather face the glare of other cars' headlights.
39
He searched his cabinet for the pills when he got home, but couldn't find anything. Maybe he'd thrown them out. Probably shouldn't take them anyway, they're probably not for this. But he didn't care about that. He just wanted to stop seeing his dead son.
There was probably something else he could get, that would treat - What? Overactive dreams? These aren't dreams. If you're looking at medication, you need something for schizophrenia.
Was there even a treatment for schizophrenia? He thought there was. Pills, weren't there? He seemed to remember that a lot of patients had to be forced to take them. They were fine while they were on them, but they would never take them on their own.
Was that right?
He wanted to Google it, but he couldn't bring himself to open the basement door. He hadn't been down there since last weekend, when they'd played hide and seek.
I won't go into the basement. I don't like to shower. I check Alex's room every night before I go to bed. This is getting bad, Ian.
But it didn't change anything. He left the basement door and turned on Law & Order.
Is every night going to be like this, from here on out? He dreaded coming home. He was always looking over his shoulder.
How long could he live like that?
40
As he lay in bed, he figured it broke down like this.
There were two possibilities. Or four, depending on how he looked at it.
Maybe he was going crazy. That could be something temporary, brought on by the grief, or it could be something more serious that would've developed anyway, that just happened to coincide with
Because there was nothing else to say, he said, "Next week?"
She smiled and nodded before hurrying to her car. It was getting cold.
38
Alex was in the backseat again. "Good," he said, as if Ian had just asked him a question.
Ian turned the engine to let the car warm up, watching the boy in the rearview. Alex, you have to stop talking to me like this. You have to stop.
But saying that wouldn't do anything. He'd tried reasoning with Alex already. It didn't work.
"Good, Daddy," Alex repeated.
"What's good?" Ian asked.
"It was good ."
"What was?" But suddenly he knew. "Your day at Rita's?"
"Yeah. But it was not... not quite... it wasn't quite fun."
"It wasn't quite fun?" His heart hammered. This is it, he realized. He's trying to tell me something. She was involved. She had to be.
"No," Alex drawled. He was looking out the window. "There were too many kids."
"Too many kids at Rita's?" His heart sank. He remembered this conversation now. It wasn't anything new.
"Yeah, Julie was there. And Big Alex was there. And Delilah was there."
Delilah? Is that a new girl?
"Yeah, but she's only three. I'm older than her... than her is, Daddy."
Than she is.
"Yeah, than she is."
Well, that's good, maybe you can help her out. You were three once, you know.
"But now I'm a big boy!"
You sure are! Does she know her alphabet?
"Yeah, but... not quite. "
You can teach her, I bet.
"Yeah, I can teach her! And also we can do some puzzles !" Alex bounced up and down in his booster, excited.
That sounds good. I'd be so proud of you if you taught someone their letters, kiddo.
"Yeah. I'll do that tomorrow. Right, Dod?" Alex grinned, hoping to bait Ian into their old game.
Ian closed his eyes. This has to stop. It has to. If it was in his head, maybe there were some drugs he could take. He remembered taking something a few years ago for overactive dreams, when he was having trouble sleeping at night. Maybe he had some of those left at home.
When he opened his eyes, he flipped the rearview mirror up so he couldn't see Alex. He'd rather face the glare of other cars' headlights.
39
He searched his cabinet for the pills when he got home, but couldn't find anything. Maybe he'd thrown them out. Probably shouldn't take them anyway, they're probably not for this. But he didn't care about that. He just wanted to stop seeing his dead son.
There was probably something else he could get, that would treat - What? Overactive dreams? These aren't dreams. If you're looking at medication, you need something for schizophrenia.
Was there even a treatment for schizophrenia? He thought there was. Pills, weren't there? He seemed to remember that a lot of patients had to be forced to take them. They were fine while they were on them, but they would never take them on their own.
Was that right?
He wanted to Google it, but he couldn't bring himself to open the basement door. He hadn't been down there since last weekend, when they'd played hide and seek.
I won't go into the basement. I don't like to shower. I check Alex's room every night before I go to bed. This is getting bad, Ian.
But it didn't change anything. He left the basement door and turned on Law & Order.
Is every night going to be like this, from here on out? He dreaded coming home. He was always looking over his shoulder.
How long could he live like that?
40
As he lay in bed, he figured it broke down like this.
There were two possibilities. Or four, depending on how he looked at it.
Maybe he was going crazy. That could be something temporary, brought on by the grief, or it could be something more serious that would've developed anyway, that just happened to coincide with
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