We spent the rest of the afternoon in the backyard, teaching the boys how to ride a bike with no training wheels. Tree got the hang of it quickly while Tinder clung to me and made me promise not to let go of his bike the entire time. It took four hours and a hundred attempts before Tinder managed to ride a zigzagged line, but he did it, and my heart was ready to burst when I saw his face light up.
“I’m doing it! I’m riding!” He laughed. Tree followed behind on his bike, making racecar noises. Joelle and I looked at them, laughing.
“I never thought he’d learn.” She giggled. “Thank you so much.”
“I’m-I’m-I’m going to-to-to tell D-D-Daddy I can ride a bike. Maybe he’ll come downstairs and s-see us?” Tinder tugged at my blouse. I looked down and smiled, ignoring Joelle, next to me, whose smile turned into a grimace.
“That’s a great idea, Tin! I’m sure he’s going to be over the moon.”
Tinder padded back into the house through the glass door, making happy noises, his arms jerking about.
“Mommy! Look! No hands!” Tree bragged, stretching his short arms on either side of the bike. Joelle hurried to her son in a mixture of awe and anxiety. I wondered what it felt like to watch your own child spread their wings and take their first flight. The horror of knowing everyone falls, gets hurt, gets scarred. That you cannot shield your child from the ugliness of the world forever.
Not wanting to interrupt their moment, I turned around and entered the house. I’d been wanting to check if they had ingredients for a sponge cake. The boys loved baking in the afternoons, and even though Greta didn’t remember who I was anymore, she always appreciated a good cake.
The minute I walked into the house, I noticed the walls rattled with a piercing scream coming from upstairs.
“Just fucking say it. Don’t stutter it. Say. It!”
I tore up the stairs in a flash, the sounds of Andrew’s shouts drowning the thuds of my feet hitting the wood.
“I can’t fucking listen to you anymore, you no-good piece of… piece of…crap! You remind me of him. You’re just like him. A little, stupid loser.”
I screeched to a halt on the threshold of Andrew’s office, panting. It was the first time I’d ever been there. He was crouching down, shaking Tinder’s shoulders, spraying spit all over the poor kid’s face.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t even stop to digest what was happening.
I stormed inside, scooping Tinder in my arms, ripping him from his father’s hands. Andrew stood and staggered backward, his face morphing from anger to shock. He didn’t think he’d have an audience.
“Persephone.”
My name fell from between his lips like a curse. Like he wanted to shake me, too. How often did he do this to him? Tinder’s words vibrated in my body, making it hum with rage.
“It’s a map. If we follow it, we’ll get to heaven, and in heaven, everyone is nice, and no one hits you.”
The better question to ask was how many more outbursts could Tinder expect in his lifetime—many, I suspected—and how many more victims were out there in the world who suffered under Andrew Arrowsmith’s wrath?
The last question hit me hard.
It hit me hard because deep down, I knew there was at least one other person close to me who was shattered by Andrew.
Traumatized enough to swear off the entire human race afterward.
“Look, I know what it looks like…” Andrew made a move toward me, his voice soft and soothing.
I jerked Tinder to my chest.
I shook my head. “I’m not ready to talk about what I witnessed here before I talk with your wife.”
“What’s happening here?” Joelle’s voice drifted from the hallway. I turned around to face her. The look on my face said it all. The hopeful, open smile that graced her lips the entire afternoon collapsed into a glare.
“Oh, no. What did you do now, Andy?”
Now implied there were a lot of befores.
“I just told him to speak clearly.” Andrew tried to laugh it off and tousle Tinder’s hair, but the boy buried his face in my shoulder, sniffing.
“He shook him,” I said quietly, not wanting to add any more details to avoid embarrassing Tinder. Kids were much more perceptive than adults gave them credit for. “I’m going to take the boys downstairs to make a sponge cake. I’m sure you have things to talk about.”
I offered my hand to Tree, who stood behind his mother, and went downstairs still holding Tinder.
“Can we make triangle sandwiches first and cut off the crust? I hate the crust.” Tree giggled.
“Of course. What about you, Tin? Would you like anything for a snack?”
“A-A-Ants on a log, please. S-S-Sorry I made Daddy upset with my stut-stut-stuttering. I didn’t mean to.”
He coiled into himself in my arms. I shook my head briskly.