Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

A few cars sped by, and Chris cleared his throat. “How long have you known he was — messing around?” he asked timidly.

“It’s been going on since you were about five, maybe even before that. I’m not really sure. He hasn’t exactly been honest with me.” His mother blew her nose, and then turned to him. Her red-rimmed eyes wrestled with his. “You said earlier that my moving away screwed everything up — and that if your father was the one getting a new place, it wouldn’t make such a big difference. Well, sweetie, you’re right. His life wouldn’t change much at all. It would be very easy for him. He’d get a bachelor pad and probably have a live-in girlfriend within six weeks. Well, I’ll be damned if I let that happen. It’s why I moved out, honey. Maybe if he actually had to be a full-time father for a while and keep house for you and Erin — well, perhaps then he’d grow up. He might even begin to appreciate me a little more, though I doubt it.”

“I think he appreciates you already, Mom,” Chris whispered. “I really do. He’s going to want you to come back, I know it.”

His mother took a deep breath, readjusted her seat belt, and put her sunglasses back on. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. Your father will cancel his business trips for a while, but he’ll hire a housekeeper to do the cooking and cleaning. After about a month, he’ll need to go out of town, and he’ll get the housekeeper to stay with you and Erin. And pretty soon, he’ll start traveling on a regular basis again. . ”

She glanced over her shoulder and pulled back onto the highway. The SUV began to pick up speed. The sound of the wind through the windows and the motor humming almost drowned her out. But Chris could still hear her. “And then one day,” she muttered, “he’ll come home from one of those trips with a woman he’s very serious about — some woman who’s younger and prettier than me. . ”

It was scary how accurate his mother’s prediction was. His dad did indeed stay home for a few weeks. They went through two housekeepers: one who stole and one who was lazy as hell. Then he found Hildy, an honest, hardworking Russian woman who didn’t speak English very well and smelled like an open can of vegetable soup. Hildy stayed with him and Erin when his dad started traveling again.

What his mother hadn’t predicted was how miserable Chris would be. He was utterly disappointed in his dad — to the point of contempt. His grades started sliding, and he didn’t care. His timing at swim practices and meets was atrocious. He hated disappointing his swim coach, Mr. Chertok, because he was such a nice guy. Mr. Chertok tried to get him to talk about what was bothering him. But Chris was so ashamed. He couldn’t talk to Mr. Chertok, or any of his teachers, or Elvis.

He never uttered a word to his dad about what he knew. At this point, he didn’t want much to do with him.

He wasn’t too happy with his mother, either. In order to get even with his dad, she was willing to screw up his and Erin’s lives. Neither she nor his dad were around to hear Erin crying in her room at night. Hildy, who slept on an air mattress in a curtained-off corner of the basement rec room, didn’t hear her, either. So Chris always came in and sat in a white wicker rocking chair that was usually reserved for a big stuffed giraffe she called Bill. Chris would keep her company until she nodded off.

“At least Erin has you to lean on,” Elvis pointed out to him, while they wandered around Northgate Mall one Saturday night. “But who do you have? Why don’t you ever tell me what’s really going on with you? Something’s bugging you big-time, and it’s more than just your parents’ splitting up. . ” He grabbed hold of Chris’s arm. “Are you even listening to me?” he asked, raising his voice. “I’m worried about you, man. I mean it, you’re acting really weird.”

Frowning, Chris glanced over at the entrance to a clothing store. “A little louder. One or two people in The Gap didn’t hear you.” He started walking again — toward the food court.

Elvis caught up with him. “Listen, if you don’t want to unload on me, then you should talk to a shrink or maybe Mr. Corson at school.”

Chris squinted at him. “Corson? Are you nuts? Only losers, psychos, and problem cases go to him. No thanks.”

Elvis cleared his throat. “Maybe you forgot that I had a few sessions with Corson a while back.”

Chris remembered, and immediately felt bad. After meeting with Elvis, Corson had tried to get Mrs. Harnett to join AA, but it didn’t take. Nevertheless, Elvis liked him a lot — as did most of the kids at school. Corson’s claim to fame was that two years back, he’d decided to quit smoking, and gotten over a hundred students to pledge they’d quit, too. The final number of students who actually stopped smoking was seventy-something, but it was still a big deal.

Chris gave his friend a limp, apologetic smile. “If I buy you a Cinnabon, would you forget that last remark — and drop this whole conversation?”

Elvis frowned at him. “That’s really disgusting. Do you think just because I’m slightly overweight, that I’d trade in my dignity and my deep concern for your psychological well-being — all for a Cinnabon?”

Chris nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Make it a Caramel Pecanbon, and we have a deal.”

As they headed for Cinnabon, Chris thought about Mr. Corson. He couldn’t go to him for help. It was like admitting to himself — and everyone else — that he was indeed very screwed up.

Instead, Chris exercised every day — to the point of exhaustion. After swim practice, he ran laps around the track or lifted weights. It was a good excuse to avoid going home for a while, maybe even miss dinner, especially when his dad was in town. He’d come in late, make himself a sandwich, and then hole up in his room with the TV and his homework.

This routine went on for about three weeks, but it didn’t make him any happier. The only sliver of happiness he knew was a weird, warped satisfaction whenever he made it obvious to his dad that he politely loathed him.

His mother had been right about another thing. Sure enough, his dad brought some woman home from one of his trips. And she was indeed younger and prettier than Chris’s mother. She worked at the Hilton in Washington, D.C., where his dad attended a pharmaceutical convention. But she was really an artist , so his dad said — whatever the hell that meant. The way the two of them talked, they’d known each other only a few weeks. But Chris wondered if his father had been screwing her long before the separation. Was this Molly person the reason his parents had split up?

He was thinking about that as he ran the track at dusk on a chilly Tuesday in early May. It was the second of three laps he intended to make around the football field. But his lungs already burned, and he felt depleted. Cold sweat soaked his jersey. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. He’d spent most of it in Erin’s room, comforting her from nightmares. She’d woken up screaming— twice, for God’s sake.

He started to run faster and faster as he thought about his poor little sister, who was always so frightened at night now. He thought about the last time he’d stayed at his mother’s, when she’d been so concerned about how skinny he’d become — and the dark circles under his eyes. But within moments, she was grilling him about his father’s new girlfriend, Molly. His mother was far more concerned about that situation than she was about his health. She was pathetic. So was his father, already smitten (at least that’s the word he used) with this young woman — just two months after separating from his wife. What an asshole.