Tod Goldberg - The Bad Beat

Fiona knew exactly what he meant. He might love his father, but there was going to be a divide between them now larger than the one that already existed. Distance is always best when dealing with family members of dubious mental standing, Fiona had found. The Atlantic worked well in that regard, at least for her. “I understand,” she said.

“I don’t really have any other family here. And I’m apparently, like, good at something I didn’t know I was good at. I’m like Batman, but without the car or the freaky little friend. I could be down with that.”

“I guess,” Fiona said, “you have to decide, then, what you use your intelligence for. If he is going to somehow provide you an opportunity to change your life, it will be your choice how to spend the time.”

“Or, like, he could cut off my eyelids.”

What was it with everyone being afraid of getting their eyelids cut off by Big Lumpy? Even if Fiona told Brent that Big Lumpy was dead, she was sure he’d still fear this fate.

“Have you ever seen anyone who’s had their eyelids cut off?” she asked.

“No.”

“That’s because it probably never happens. You’d remember seeing something like that. It’s a good threat, though, because it’s pretty hard to imagine it not being horrifying.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought of that,” he said.

“You do also have to think about your father,” she said. “I know what Michael told you and I know what you just told me, but the fact is, Brent, that you’re going to need help to care for him. And this business with the Russians might go away soon or it might linger. So you have to consider how best to help your father live a safe life, too. Nothing is permanent but family.”

Tears began to well up in Brent’s eyes, which was about the last thing Fiona needed to see. She’d much rather a man leer at her than cry on her, which was a personality glitch that she wasn’t proud of, but, well, there you go. No one’s perfect.

Brent sniffled once and Fiona thought, Okay, he’s got control of himself now… and then he broke into full-fledged shuddering sobs, and it occurred to Fiona for the first time during all of this that no nineteen-year-old should be faced with these kinds of problems, that the weight of what Brent was going through would be enough to drive anyone to the brink, much less a boy. What the hell were they doing at school? Trying to keep his life as normal as possible, but it was time to admit that nothing would ever be normal again for Brent Grayson.

She reached across the table and took Brent’s hand in hers. “It’s going to be okay,” she said.

“How?” he asked.

“Michael is going to fix it-you’ll see,” she said and for one of the first times in her life, Fiona realized how much she hoped that was true. That he’d be able to just fix it all and make everything right.

Brent blew his nose and then looked at his watch. “I’m going to be late for class.”

“Let’s not go,” Fiona said.

“I have to,” he said. “I’ll fail.”

“Have you ever failed a class in your entire life?”

“I’ve never gotten anything lower than a B.”

“Then you’re due an F,” Fiona said. “It will add character to you and women love character.”

“They do?”

“What could be more attractive than a computer genius who failed a computer class? You’ll be the bad boy.”

“I will?”

“You will,” she said. “Trust me. I’ve been with a lot of bad boys and failing was like second nature to them. It suggests a certain unpredictability that women admire.”

“Like Sam?”

Boys. Always with the wrong role models. “Like Sam,” Fiona said.

“I suppose I could do the wrong thing for the first time. Do you think we could get ice cream?”

“It’s not the first time,” Fiona said. “Getting involved with Yuri Drubich was a pretty big mistake.”

“But it’s going to turn out okay and I’m going to be rich.”

“Is that what you want? To be rich?” Fiona couldn’t believe the words coming from her mouth. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Someone tells you you’re motherly and next thing you know, you’re dispensing hard-won life advice. Fiona frankly wished she could get back to advocating bullets and bombs, but the situation wasn’t quite right, not with the kid crying into his rice bowl and all that.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, when you get the conditions from Big Lumpy, you’re going to meet them just so that you can have money?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He shrugged, because that’s what he did in the absence of anything else he could possibly do. “I guess I need to know where my father is going to be. I mean, like, really. I know Michael and you and everyone are trying to protect me, and that’s totally cool, but I’m a grown man and I need to know the truth.”

Fiona didn’t think Brent was actually a grown man, but she understood his need for transparency and his need to manifest his own destiny, such as it was, so she decided to break the news to him and deal with whatever ramifications might come from Michael down the line. She was a grown woman. She didn’t need to ask for permission, after all.

But then her phone rang. “Living still?” Michael asked.

“We’re just about to leave campus for an adventure,” Fiona said.

“What kind of adventure?”

“Brent has never failed a class. Today seemed like the day to teach him how much fun that is. He’s expressed an interest in getting ice cream.”

“How’s his mental state?”

“Michael,” she said, “you need to tell him everything.”

“I know,” Michael said. “Do you think you can get him to agree to Big Lumpy’s provisos?”

“I don’t know if he wants to,” Fiona said.

“He doesn’t have to,” I said. “But I’m going to need him tonight. If we’re going to bring down Yuri Drubich and we’re going to ensure that Brent and his father are safe, he’s going to have to grow up fast.”

Across the table from her, Brent sat and quietly picked at his food. What had she been like at nineteen? Different, of course, but she’d grown up in a world where there was always something larger at stake. Independence. Freedom. Even if she didn’t believe in what everyone was fighting for, it had been a part of her life then and thus at nineteen she’d felt like she was a woman, though if photos were any clue, some of her fashion choices were utterly deplorable. Madonna made every young woman dress like an idiot, she supposed, at one point or another over the course of the last twenty-five years and she, sadly, had been no different. But Brent had real issues. Concrete ones-the death of his mother, his father’s descent into guilt and eventual madness, and then all of this. He may have had the outward shine of someone holding on to whatever youthful things he could clench, but the truth, she imagined, was far different.

“I think he already has,” Fiona said. “You need to explain to him all of the conditions. And Michael? Tell him what you would do.”

“What I would do doesn’t matter.”

“It does to him,” she said.

“Okay,” Michael said. “Put him on the phone.”

Fiona watched as Brent listened to Michael. He asked a few questions, but mostly he was quiet, until he finally said, “MIT sounds cool. And working for the government could be cool, too. But I don’t want the money. All I want for sure is for my father to be cared for. Is there a way to do that?”

Fiona didn’t know what Michael said right then, but she was sure that he would say that there was no problem getting that taken care of, even if it would prove to be the biggest problem he’d ever faced.