Chapter 11: Handed Over

Eli was waiting in the lot behind his building at six with his hands jammed in his jacket pockets.

He had rehearsed what he would tell his father.

He had rehearsed it for four hours on the floor of his apartment, and none of the versions ended well.

A gray car turned in off the street and parked crooked across two spaces.

Gabe got out and did not close the door.

"I went to see Frank," he said.

"I told you not to."

"I told you to let me."

"You don't get to give me orders about my own father," Eli said.

"I had a speech ready. I'd practiced it since noon, so I could tell him before Kessling did."

"And?"

"Eli. He already knew."

Eli stared at him.

"What?"

Gabe's voice was careful and low.

"Since your graduation. He's the one who sent you to my session."

Nothing in the lot moved.

A pigeon walked along the roof of a parked van.

"No," Eli said.

"He saw the session on a notice and he called you."

"He called me about my Thursdays."

"He called you about me."

Eli laughed, short and ugly.

"My father," he said. "My own father. He said it was good money. He said, don't let him talk you out of it."

"Yes."

"He texted me those words. I thought he was proud of me."

"I think he was."

"Don't." Eli took a step back. "Don't defend him, and don't you dare be gentle."

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