The Way Things Are (31 page)

He grabbed his phone when he saw that the battery indicator light had turned from red to green. Before the phone could fully boot, it was ringing. Corbin’s picture popped onto the screen. “I think he’s realized he lost the kid. Fourteen missed calls.”

“Some of those are probably from the detention center.”

“No, I’ve got six missed calls from the detention center. Fourteen from Corbin. That sounds about right.”

“Wait a bit before you lay into him?” Ken suggested.

“Oh, I’m not going to. I’m just going to let him know Jay’s okay.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No. This is Jay we’re talking about. After the break-in and talking about his mom and whatever else he’s been freaking out about, it was inevitable. I said I should have seen it coming, didn’t I?”

Chapter 14

A
FTER
HE
got off the phone, Patrick followed Ken into the Youth Services Center, trying to keep his head held high. A kind-looking older woman in high heels was waiting for them in the reception area with a stack of files in her arms. She glared at Ken, nodded at Patrick, and led them both back through the maze of ID stations, metal detectors, and security doors without a word. A uniformed detention officer was waiting beside a small door. She unlocked it and held the door open. The woman motioned toward a small table in the room.

“Mr. Connelly, I appreciate you coming down to help us sort this out. Atkins, you can wait out in the hall.”

“Ken can’t come in?” Patrick shut his mouth, not even sure what he was asking.

The woman strolled in and let the door slam shut behind her. “I’m afraid not. This is important. My name is Mary Anne Dominic. I’m Ken’s supervisor. I need to talk to you about your relationship with Ken, and we need to talk about your son’s arrest. I prefer to talk to parents first to give you an idea of what to expect from this process, and then we’ll bring Jayden in to speak with him as well.”

“Jay,” Patrick corrected her automatically. Inside the room, a small table was covered in still more files. Patrick took the seat opposite the stacks of paper. “He goes by Jay.”

“All right. Why don’t we start with the hard part and work through that first?” She sat down behind the files and picked up a legal pad and a pen. “Can you tell me about Jay’s most recent probation counselor?”

Patrick shrugged and buried his hands in his pockets. “Ken was assigned to Jay’s case after his first arrest here in Seattle.”

“This was right after you moved here?”

“Yeah. I broke up a fight at the docks that night and got arrested myself, so I didn’t have my truck. After I gave a statement and bailed Jay out, Ken gave us a ride back to my job, where I left my truck, and went through all the usual probation stuff in the car.”

“All the usual probation stuff?”

Patrick nodded slowly. “What Jay’s home life is like, how many times he’s been in trouble, what I do at home to discipline him, how he does in school, what he’d have to do for community service, and stuff like that.”

“It sounds like this was nothing new to you.”

“I am hopeful,” Patrick said carefully, “that those stacks of files you’ve got aren’t all about Jay. But if his old PO in New York finally got everything sorted out, it’s possible it could all fill up that much paper.”

Mary Anne stared at him, then laughed. The deep, melodic sound seemed so out of place in the tight interview room. “A lot of them are about Jay, yes. A few of them are about you.”

“I haven’t been arrested that much. I got in trouble once or twice for getting into fights in bars, but….” Patrick winced. He couldn’t very well blame those on Corbin now, even though they had been totally his fault.

“No, no, you haven’t. But most civil procedures are a matter of public record, and when Ken had trouble getting a clear picture of Jay’s history, I requested copies from the New York City clerk’s office.”

“Those should be private, shouldn’t they? Since he’s a kid?”

“The ones concerning him would be, but you signed a waiver allowing King County Youth Services to access them. Either way, your son has been arrested a lot. Most kids that young are terrified into behaving after their first arrest.”

“He was terrified, believe me, he was. But it’s never mattered.”

“Tell me why.”

Patrick swallowed hard. “That’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Patrick thought about Ken waiting outside, his career teetering on whether or not Patrick could explain their relationship in a way that wouldn’t get Ken fired. “Ken said I should tell you the truth. All of it.”

“That would probably be the best bet for everybody right now.”

“It’s… it’s my fault. All of it. Jay’s mother and I had a messy divorce,” he began. Slowly, Patrick recounted the separation and the custody battle that followed. He didn’t gloss over his own guilt, the way he had lied to Denise and cheated on her. Patrick studied Mary Anne’s reaction, but there was no sign of surprise.

“There was never any question in my head about my marriage being doomed. And I assumed Denise would keep Jay when it ended. But when the stockbroker she moved in with found out our marriage ended because I preferred men, he made a point of insulting me every time I picked Jay up for weekend visits. He even paid for a fancy lawyer to try to have my parental rights revoked. It cost me every cent I had left after the divorce to fight the petition, but I got joint custody. Denise’s boyfriend was furious, and a few months later, we were back in court. This time they said they had evidence that I had molested my son.”

Patrick had to pause for a moment. He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from breaking down again.

“The judge bought it. When Jay was called to testify and sworn in, the judge took a few minutes to tell him that no one ever got in trouble for telling the truth in his courtroom, and that no one could hurt Jay if he told the truth. He was trying to convince Jay
I
wouldn’t be able to hurt him.” Patrick grimaced.

“What happened?”

“He told the truth. He testified that the most I’d ever done was spank him when he wouldn’t quit playing with the knobs on the stove when he was little. He testified about Denise and her boyfriend coaching him on what he was supposed to say, how he’d had to practice over and over. He testified about never even meeting the doctor who’d testified about finding evidence of abuse, but that his mom had dragged him to three different doctors who examined him and refused to say what she wanted. The judge….” Patrick sniffed and tried to smile. “He was angry. He granted me full custody and appointed a guardian ad litem to represent Jay, then had Denise and her boyfriend arrested.”

“And the assault came after?”

“One week later, yeah. Denise called me, crying, and said she missed Jay.” Patrick shrugged. “No matter what happened with her and me, Jay was still as much hers as mine. I asked him if he wanted to see her, and he said he did, he missed her too. So I dropped him off to spend the night. When my supervisor and a police officer stopped me in the middle of unloading a freighter that night, I knew something was wrong. Denise’s boyfriend almost killed him. When he started to have trouble breathing and he wouldn’t wake up, Denise called 911 and told the police that I was the one who hurt him, that I dropped him off on her doorstep barely alive. The police talked to the neighbors, who told them I gave Jay a hug before he ran inside without a scratch on him, thankfully.

“For three weeks I sat in a hospital room and watched my boy sleep, wondering if he would ever wake up again. The bruises faded and the cuts healed while Jay was asleep. And honestly, the court stuff that followed was a blur, and the guardian ad litem handled most of it. That woman was a godsend. When Jay woke up, the hyper, obnoxious, smartass eleven-year-old I remembered wasn’t there anymore. He was just a frightened shell, and I didn’t have a clue how to help him. He was stuck in the hospital for months, and through the whole thing, he wouldn’t talk.”

“He didn’t testify?”

“No, I mean he didn’t say a single word. Not for months. He didn’t talk, didn’t move on his own. We went to a dozen different therapists, and each one had a different trick to try getting him to talk. Nothing snapped him out of it. But one day when we were in the waiting room, he started playing with the paper in front of him. He drew a picture,” Patrick whispered, surprised when he couldn’t keep his voice from shaking. “I was so relieved I almost broke down right there in front of him. His therapist had him draw and scribble whatever he wanted the next few sessions. A week later, he started talking while he was drawing. Within a month, he was almost back to normal as long as he had a pencil in his hands. So I let him draw. He got really good at it. The graffiti started about a year later.”

“Was that when it started, or was that his first arrest?”

Patrick smirked. “First arrest. I’m sure it started before that. He was definitely scared when he was arrested, but by then drawing and painting was such a huge part of him he couldn’t stop.”

“Did you love your wife?” Mary Anne asked, her tone neutral and calm.

“No.”

“Ever? Even when you first got married?”

Patrick almost laughed, but he caught himself. “No. I’ve always been a homosexual.”

“But Jay is yours?”

“If there was any chance he wasn’t, I’m pretty sure Denise would have brought it up in court. I was nineteen and drunk, and she was persistent.”

“Did she know you were a homosexual? Did you tell her?”

Patrick cringed. “Uh, no. See, she came by the gym where I was training a couple of months later and told me she was pregnant. She wanted to have an abortion or to put the baby up for adoption, but her parents wouldn’t pay for the abortion, and she needed my consent to give up the baby.”

“And you didn’t consent?”

“No,” Patrick said, his voice laced with guilt. “I had a lot of issues about being gay. A big one was that I was pretty sure I’d never get to have a family. I’d always imagined myself as a father, but the logistics of it weren’t really practical. Also, there were my folks. They were older, and they were really hinting it was time to start a life of my own. My dad is a homophobic bastard, so coming out wasn’t going to happen. I was always afraid he’d find out, that he’d catch me with a guy or something. I thought if I had a wife and kid, he’d never have any reason to be suspicious. So I talked her into getting married.”

“I see. Did she suspect something?”

Patrick shrugged. “Probably. Once we were together, she insisted I stop fighting and move to New York with her.”

“Fighting?”

“I used to be a competitive boxer, but my sparring partner was totally out and totally obvious. She said it had to stop and I had to get a real job. So I did.”

“So a messy marriage and a very messy divorce. But one of Ken’s case notes says you made a threat of violence against an acquaintance who insulted your ex-wife.”

“That wasn’t a real threat of violence. He’s my old sparring partner and my best friend. We just have a very physical communication style.”

“So you were joking around?”

“Not exactly. I was trying to convince him I was serious. If he’s going to be around Jay, he has to respect that there are some topics that are off-limits. Jay doesn’t need to hear me, his godfather, or anyone else bitch about his mom. I will not tolerate anyone badmouthing her where Jay can hear it.”

Mary Anne scribbled something illegible on the legal pad. “Why?”

“Because it wasn’t her fault,” Patrick explained adamantly. “I’m the one who got drunk and knocked her up. I’m the one who wanted to be able to hide behind a wife and child so my dad would never think I’m gay. I’m the one who couldn’t even pretend to be the husband she wanted. And she’s a part of Jay. I may never have loved her, but I’ve loved him from the moment I found out he existed.”

Mary Anne gaped at him, her pen frozen on the page. “Well, one mystery solved, at least.”

“Excuse me?”

“The two times I’ve done intake assessments with your son, I’ve been struck by how readily he takes responsibility for the things he’s done. There’s no negotiation, no excuse, no ‘yes, I did it, but….’ Most fifteen-year-old boys I deal with do nothing but rant about how everyone else in the world is to blame for them deciding to shoplift. Your son seems to regard personal responsibility as something sacred.” She scribbled another note. “Families where personal responsibility is emphasized don’t come under my sphere of influence often, so it tends to catch me off guard.”

Patrick wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Uh, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ve gotten us off-topic, though. You were telling my about your experience with Ken Atkins. Let’s go back to that initial interview. How did things go? And how did things go after?”

Patrick thought about that night in Corbin’s Attic. He was pretty sure random sex fell under the providence of things she was asking about, but he didn’t want to talk about that night. “The stuff in the car was all the normal probation stuff, like I said. Ken was professional, even if I wasn’t.”

“How so?”