Chad puffed his lips in exasperation before saying, “I felt like, if I went to work, I’d punch somebody.”
“Angry at the whole world, huh?” Ned let sympathy into his voice, but not too much. Chad wouldn’t have liked too much. “What about if you went home to Amy?”
“She doesn’t deserve to have me always pissed at her.”
“But you are.”
“Yes, goddamn it! If she’d just let go about Justin—”
Chad broke off, looking awkward.
Ned coaxed, “Go on. If Amy would just let go about Justin, then what?”
“Then—damn it, I don’t know! But she won’t, and I’m thinking about divorce, and it’s your fault.”
Chad had become loud enough to make Oliver change his mind about sitting in front of him. The dog retreated.
“Aahhh,” said Ned to fill the moment it took him to process what Chad had said. “I understand.” This was true. “You’ve brought your anger to me—”
“Well, if you hadn’t left Mom and me, none of this would have happened!”
Ned accepted this absurd accusation without blinking. “You never had a chance to tell me off, did you?”
“No, and I don’t want to.”
“Yes, you do.” Ned stood up. “You want to hit me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do, Picklepuss.” As a little boy, Chad had always hated to be called Picklepuss when he was having a snit fit. “Come on, snootface.” He’d always hated that too. Ned picked up a sofa pillow by the corner and swung it at Chad’s head.
That was all it took. Instantly the boy—no, a strong man now—was on his feet charging him like a bull with fists. Sidestepping, Ned grabbed a big square cushion from the sofa and deployed it like a shield. Chad’s fist thudded into it.
“Ow,” Ned said, more in acknowledgment than in mockery.
“Shut up!”
Ned did not shut up. “Ow,” he repeated, “ow, ow, ow,” as Chad punched the sofa cushion again and again. Ned noticed that Oliver was nowhere to be seen; most likely he was hiding under the bed. Sensible dog. Chad kept punching, harder and harder, but always at Ned’s protective shield rather than at Ned himself. Watching his son closely, Ned saw trickles of sweat on his flushed forehead. Then, panting, Chad bent over with his hands on his knees.
Ned allowed him only a short rest. “More,” he coached. “This time for the bastard who stole Justin.”
“Fucking hell!” Chad slammed his fist into the cushion-cum-punching-bag, shouting profanities as he hammered, attacked, assaulted, hitting even harder than before. “Goddamn everything!” Once again he wore himself out and stopped, panting for breath.
“Any for Amy?” Ned asked, hoping he already knew the answer.
Chad shook his head hard and turned away. His anger at Amy didn’t run very deep, then. Good. Ned put the cushion back on the sofa where it belonged. With his back turned, it took him a moment to realize that his son’s labored breathing had turned to sobs.
“Hey! Chad, it’s okay.” Hurrying to him, Ned tried to put his arms around him.
Chad pulled away.
“Goddamn,” Ned complained, “let me be a good father for once in my life, would you?” He hugged his son, and this time Chad let his head rest on his father’s shoulder, let Ned rub his quaking back with his dry old hands. “It’ll be okay.”
“I don’t see how.” Chad straightened and stood back.
Ned handed him a box of Kleenex, then headed to the kitchen and came back with two tall glasses of iced tea that might as well have been an energy drink, there was so much sugar in it. Good and proper Alabama sweet tea. He handed Chad his, and they both sat down. They sipped. Chad wasn’t looking at him. Ned gave him some time to regroup.
After the minutes had passed, he started making small talk. How old were the twins now, how were they doing in school, what did they like to do outside of school? Pretty soon he had Chad facing him, telling him Kyle was building a skateboard ramp in the backyard and Kayla liked to draw those big-eyed pointy-faced Japanese cartoon pictures. He described Kayla as popular but running with the right kind of kids and Kyle as more individualistic, having a few good friends. Ned watched Chad’s face become more relaxed, sometimes even smiling, as he talked. He was careful not to mention Amy, not yet. After a while he turned on the TV, and under pretense of watching tennis, he and Chad both napped, Ned in the recliner with Oliver on his lap, Chad on the sofa. Ned saw Chad nodding off, and smiled to himself; good. Chad had to be feeling less angry, less tense, if he could sleep. Ned allowed himself to doze from sheer weariness; he had worked the night before.