Chapter 19 - David’s Anger
David had been calm for so long that everyone mistook calm for healing.
Then Ethan’s school called.
There had been a fight.
David and Sarah arrived within minutes of each other.
Ethan sat in the assistant principal’s office with a red mark on his cheek.
Another boy had told him:
“Your fake dad got dumped.”
Ethan shoved him.
The other boy shoved back.
No serious injuries.
One-day suspension.
In the parking lot Sarah said, “We need to talk about this.”
Ethan crossed his arms.
“He started it.”
“You cannot hit people.”
“I shoved him.”
“You cannot shove people.”
“He called Dad fake.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
David knelt.
“Ethan.”
“What?”
“I don’t become more real because you fight someone.”
Ethan’s face crumpled.
“He said you’re not my dad.”
David’s throat tightened.
“I know.”
“I hate everybody saying that.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t!”
Ethan kicked the tire.
“You don’t have to hear it!”
David stood.
Something inside him finally snapped.
“Enough.”
Ethan froze.
Sarah did too.
David rarely raised his voice.
He immediately lowered it.
“I’m sorry.”
Ethan stared.
David turned away.
His hands were shaking.
Sarah said softly, “David.”
He walked several steps.
“Don’t.”
“What’s wrong?”
He laughed once.
“What’s wrong?”
“Okay.”
“No.”
He turned.
Months of restraint surged upward.
“Everybody keeps asking me to be reasonable.”
Sarah’s eyes widened.
“David—”
“Your boyfriend disappears for eight years, comes back with debt and lies, and I’m supposed to be reasonable.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Your ex-boyfriend, biological father, financial disaster, whatever title we’re using today.”
Ethan stared.
David saw him and stopped.
Too late.
Shame hit immediately.
He crouched.
“I’m sorry.”
Ethan looked frightened.
Not of David physically.
Of seeing the stable adult crack.
David swallowed.
“This isn’t your job to fix.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
David looked at Sarah.
“Myself.”
That was partly true.
Sarah took Ethan home.
David drove to Julia’s office but never went inside.
Instead he sat in his car and screamed.
One raw sound.
Then another.
He hit the steering wheel once.
Not hard enough to injure himself.
Hard enough to shock himself.
For months he had made restraint into virtue.
He had refused to beg.
Refused to insult Sarah.
Refused to attack Michael.
Refused to let Ethan see pain.
Eventually pain had nowhere to go.
That night he called his sister, Rebecca Mercer, who lived in Chicago.
She listened for twenty minutes.
Then said:
“You know what your problem is?”
He laughed weakly.
“Please.”
“You think being good means never being difficult.”
David frowned.
“What?”
“Dad taught you that control equals character.”
“He wasn’t—”
“Yes, he was.”
David went silent.
Rebecca continued.
“When Mom wanted to leave the family business, Dad convinced her she was irresponsible.”
“That’s different.”
“When you wanted to study architecture, he told you finance was practical.”
“I chose finance.”
“After six months of him explaining why your choice was wrong.”
David looked out the window.
“You’re doing it too.”
“What?”
“You never tell Sarah, ‘You hurt me and I hate what you did.’ You tell her why everybody should behave correctly.”
David’s jaw tightened.
“She already knows she hurt me.”
“Knowing isn’t hearing.”
He thought of counseling.
His measured language.
His careful answers.
His refusal to plead.
Sarah once said David managed feelings rather than expressed them.
Maybe she had been right.
The next day he asked to speak with her alone.
They met at the empty house while Ethan was with Michael at counseling.
David stood beside the coffee table.
The same place where the divorce papers had been.
“I’m angry.”
Sarah looked surprised.
“I know.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I need to say it.”
She waited.
“I’m angry that you lied for two years.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I’m angry that you let me try to adopt Ethan without telling me Michael had answered.”
Sarah looked down.
“I’m angry that you let Michael enter our home before you were honest with me.”
Her shoulders shook.
“I’m angry that you told Ethan Michael was his real father.”
David’s voice broke.
“And I’m angry that part of me still wants you.”
Sarah began crying.
He continued.
“Because I don’t know what that says about me.”
“It says you loved me.”
“I still do.”
She covered her face.
“But I hate what you did.”
Sarah nodded.
“You’re allowed.”
“I know.”
For the first time, David did.
He did not comfort her.
He did not soften the truth.
He let the anger exist without turning it into punishment.
When Michael returned Ethan later, David met him outside.
Michael looked wary.
David said:
“I’ve spent months pretending I don’t hate you.”
Michael raised an eyebrow.
“That sounds healthy.”
David almost smiled.
“I don’t actually hate you.”
“Disappointing.”
“But I hate what you did.”
Michael nodded slowly.
“Fair.”
“And I hate that Ethan liking you scares me.”
That surprised Michael.
David continued.
“I’m telling you because I don’t want that fear becoming his problem.”
Michael looked toward the house.
“Same.”
For a moment, they were simply two flawed men who loved the same child differently.
Then Michael handed David an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Something you should have.”
Inside was the original thirty-thousand-dollar agreement with Thomas Mercer.
On the back, in Michael’s handwriting from eight years earlier, was one sentence:
I will come back when I am somebody worth coming back as.
David stared.
Michael said quietly:
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“I never became that person.”
Then he walked away.
