But when Cadin stopped by on Wednesday afternoon and Evan told him about Carson's amateur boxing hobby, he threw his hands in the air and screamed. "I can't believe how you always seem to attract them. It's like you're wearing an invisible sign on your back or something."
Evan felt a sting in his gut. "What are you talking about?" He didn't see anything wrong with Carson's hobby. "What do you mean 'them'?"
"I thought you'd finally met a nice, calm stable guy," Cadin said. He shook his head and frowned. "I thought a nice quiet English teacher at a private school would be perfect for you. I'm picturing a professor in a tweed jacket with half glasses on the end of his nose and it turns out he's a goddamn pugilist and he beats people up for sport. Seriously, Evan. Think about it. You have a tendency to go for the aggressive types who always leaves you fucked up in the end. Jeffery's not a boxer, but he's just as aggressive and just as vicious as a boxer. Only he wears a three-thousanddollar suit while he'd going for the throat. I think that if there were one hundred men in one room and ninety-nine of them were calm, even, and stable and just one was a rough prison type, you'd find the rough prison type without even looking at the other guys."
Although he knew his best friend had a point, Evan defended Carson. "He is a nice, stable guy. He just happens to like boxing as a sport. There's nothing wrong with that." It was hard to argue this point, though. One reason why Evan had never had a problem living in a rough neighborhood was because the thug types never bothered him. They flirted with him, called him baby when he walked past them, and often followed him down the street, trying to get his attention. And they didn't do it in a dangerous way. Evan knew they wouldn't hurt him. They really were attracted to him, especially young men of African descent. Evan couldn't help it if calm, stable men weren't attracted to him. He couldn't help it if he wasn't attracted to them either.
"I hope you're careful this time," Cadin said. "I don't like the sound of this. I think you should play it really cool with this guy. It sounds like you're thinking about him the same way you think about Jeffery and you know that's never been realistic. The last thing you need now is to get involved with another rough aggressive type who wants to control your life."
Evan laughed this time. "First, no one alive is more controlling than Jeffery, so I already know about that. It's been my life. Second, you shouldn't judge people before you meet them. Carson Savione really is just a nice quiet schoolteacher." He didn't mention the fact that he'd been picturing Carson in nothing but a jock strap since he'd left the restaurant.
On Thursday morning, Evan started his new book and wound up writing more than four thousand words in less than five hours. Where the words came from he didn't know. It was the first time he'd sat down in front of his computer to write anything in months. And it was also the first time he'd done this without a bottle of vodka by his side. When Kenny came home from football practice at six, they went out to a quiet little burger place in the East Village to celebrate.
While they were eating, Jeffery called from the West Coast. "I just wanted to let you know I'm flying in tomorrow afternoon. I'll let you know when the plane lands."
He'd called Evan's cell phone. They hadn't spoken in two days, which was unusual for them. Evan had been busy with his new book and he figured Jeffery had been busy working on this huge business deal with the so-called social media giant. "Okay. That sounds good. Say hello to your son. We're having dinner in a restaurant right now and he's sitting across the table from me."
Evan handed the phone to Kenny and he heard his son say, "Hey, Dad." Then it seemed as if Kenny sat there listening and nodding, occasionally offerering a yes or a no to questions Jeffery was asking him that he didn't want Evan to hear.
When Kenny said goodbye and handed the phone back to Evan, he smiled and said, "Have a safe flight, and call me when you land."
Jeffery said, "I will. I love you."
Evan glanced at his son and said, "I love you, too. Call me."
When he hung up, he glanced cross the table and asked, "What was he asking you?"
Kenny stared down at his plate and shrugged. "Nothing important."
"He wanted to know if I was drinking again," Evan said.
Kenny shrugged again. It was obvious he wanted to avoid this conversation. "He asked. I said no."
There were times Evan thought it would be easier to get information out of a CIA agent than from a teenage boy. "I don't mind. I wish you would talk about it openly in front of me. I can handle it and I don't want you all thinking I'm going to fall apart just because you're being honest."