On Best Behavior (C3) (30 page)

“Really.” Dr. Hunter sat back, his eyes curious. “You’ve never told me that before. When you’d visit him on the weekends?”

“Yeah, when he would forget to pick me up.” He unfolded his arms and began chewing his fingernails.

“Logan sometimes forgot to pick you up?”…

“
Do you know how much this hurts your son?”
his mother had yelled into the phone. Ben had been seven, sitting in that creaky wicker chair with his backpack on his lap, his mother pacing the cracked tile kitchen floor. “
He worships you! Then you don’t even show up?”
As she listened to his father’s response, her mouth pressed tighter. “
Well, what am
I
supposed to do with him this weekend? I’m working a double shift!”

He’d squeezed his backpack to his chest, wishing he didn’t exist…

“Ben?” Dr. Hunter stared at him, his eyes full of kindness. “That sounds very hurtful for your dad to neglect you like that.”

Ben shrugged as he chewed on a hangnail. “It’s okay. He had more important stuff to do. He was working for the family—he couldn’t control his schedule.”

“It’s
not
okay.” Anger clouded his psychologist’s eyes. “
You’re
his family. It’s sad he wasn’t there when you needed him.”

A lump formed in Ben’s throat, and he tried to swallow it down.

“I don’t think anyone was more important to Logan than you were, according to Sophie. She said Logan’s biggest regret was not being part of your life.”

“Well whoop-de-do, he regrets it. Let’s give him a medal.”

“You’re angry at your father.”

“Wouldn’t
you
be?”

“Damn straight. I’d be furious with him.”

Ben felt his upper lip tremble as familiar words echoed in his head.
Dad doesn’t care about me. I hate him
. Once he heard those words, he felt sick. Who talks that way about their dead dad?

“I believe anger’s a sign you’re working through your grief,” Dr. Hunter told him. “It’s perfectly normal to be angry. It’s also normal to blame yourself for your father not being there for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you think your dad failed to pick you up some weekends?”

“I already told you.” He looked over at the aquarium. A clownfish swished his tail. “He had to do stuff for Uncle Angelo. He didn’t have a choice.”

“Really?” Dr. Hunter waited until he looked at him. “Are you sure you don’t worry you’re too bad, too unlovable, for your father to care about you?”

He gasped. How did Dr. Hunter know what went on inside his head?

“You’re quite lovable, Ben. Your mother, Grant, Sophie, Uncle Joe—they all love you. And I believe your father loved you too. Sadly, he didn’t tell you that.”

Ben would’ve given anything to hear that from his dad.

Dr. Hunter studied him. “Did your dad ever hit you?”

“Nope.” He let out a breath. “I probably deserved it a couple of times.”

Silence floated between them. “I think that’s the way he showed his love to you, Ben.”

He scrunched his eyebrows together.

“Sounds like your dad didn’t know much about being a good parent, but he made sure he didn’t repeat his father’s abuse. That must’ve taken much restraint on his part.”

“Seems like he
wanted
to hit me sometimes,” Ben admitted.

“I bet violence was his initial instinct. It’s all he knew for how dads are supposed to act. But he tried to protect Grant, and I think he tried to protect you too.”

Ben wanted to cry. He balled his hands into fists. “Sometimes he let me sit on his lap.”

“He did? Tell me about that,” Dr. Hunter said.

He couldn’t believe the man wanted to hear the whole damn story, but he took a deep breath and launched into it—how one of his dad’s girlfriends had yelled at him, and his father came to his defense. He made it through the whole thing with no pussy tears.

“That felt really good, for your father to hold you in his arms?” Dr. Hunter asked as he finished.

“Yeah,” he choked out. So much for avoiding the tears. He cleared his throat.

“Do you ever get that feeling now? That feeling of being soothed and comforted?”

Holding a little white fluff-ball popped into his mind. Just that morning the tiny dog had lifted her head as her butt wiggled into his chest, her black eyes gleaming. She’d pressed her cool nose onto the tip of his then swiped his mouth with a sloppy kiss.

“You’re smiling,” Dr. Hunter said.

Despite himself, Ben chuckled. “We got a dog.”

“Really? I thought your mom said your apartment was too small.”

“Not for
this
dog—she’s tiny. We already lost her underneath the sofa once. But my mom didn’t get her for me. Hans did.”

Dr. Hunter tilted his head. “Creepy Hans?”

“An obvious ploy to win my approval,” Ben grumbled.

“Seems like it worked.”

“Not really—I still think Hans is creepy. And why’d he have to get such a
girly
dog? I wanted a guy’s dog, like a big German shepherd or something. Now we have this itty-bitty Maltese.”

“It can be manly to care for small dogs too. So what’s her name?”

Ben’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “Dot.”

“Dot…because she’s so small?”

“No. Mom said she got to name her since she never wanted the dog in the first place. She named her after her Great Aunt Dorothy.”

“It’s a really cute name.” Dr. Hunter smiled.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Awesome. I have a cute dog.”

After a beat, Dr. Hunter said, “I wonder how you’ll feel about Hans once you get to know him better.”

“I’ll
never
like him.”

“Could be true.” Dr. Hunter shrugged. “If your gut’s getting a bad vibe, maybe he’s not right for your mother. But you might want to give him a chance. Sounds like he went out of his way to buy you a dog, to get on your good side.”

“I guess.”

“It would also be nice to have some adult male attention, especially since Grant hasn’t been around.”

“Yeah. But Sophie said Uncle Grant’s doing okay. Did I tell you he got me another pizza?”

“Wow, that must’ve scored major points with you.”

“Lucky I was home when the delivery guy came.” His smile faded. “I’m still grounded.”

“Oh.” Dr. Hunter’s eyes turned down at the corners. “How much longer is your prison sentence?”

“Six whole days.”

“So, our time’s about up. Is Hans taking you home?”

“No way. I told him I had no idea when the session would end.”

Dr. Hunter laughed. “Poor Hans. It’ll take more than a dog to win
you
over.”

“He better learn not to mess with me.”

“If he’s smart. So, what goal do you want to work on this week?”

“Um…” He thought for a second. “Maybe to study for my physics test instead of play with Dot too much?”

“Sounds good. See you next week.”

As he walked toward the el stop a few minutes later, he replayed the session in his mind. He remembered feeling small against his father’s big chest, cradled by strong arms. What if his dad had hit him? It would’ve hurt…a
lot
. He shuddered as he stepped onto the train. It was hard to imagine his dad being that small. He and Uncle Grant must’ve been so scared when Grandpa Barberi beat them.

Lost in thought, he almost fell when the train lurched forward, and he grabbed a metal pole to steady himself.

Darkness had fallen by the time he reached the apartment door. He’d barely made it inside when the fur-ball attacked him, her tail wagging double-time and her paws on his shins as she stood on two legs, gazing up at him. Her happy barks punctuated the air.

“Dot!” He laughed, scooping her up as he locked the door behind him. “Did you have a good day, punkin?”

Her frantic wiggle in his arms must have been her answer. After he set her down, she weaved between his legs as he took off his backpack and jacket.

He stopped short before entering the kitchen. Waiting for him on the linoleum was a puddle of pee. “Dot,” he chastised. She lowered her head and peeked up at him with beady black eyes. He waggled his index finger at her. “Bad dog!” She whimpered and scampered away.

“Great,” he mumbled, unrolling about a hundred paper towels and tossing them on the puddle. He stretched for his cell phone and texted his mom about the mishap. A few minutes later she replied:

Wonderful. Take her for a walk.

He scowled.

But it’s dark out and I’m starved!

His text tone blared.

YOU’RE the one who wanted a dog! Walk her.

Ben exhaled.
Damn four-legged marshmallow.
“Dottie?” She’d made herself scarce. He checked out his mom’s room, her bathroom, and under the sofa—no flash of white in sight. “Dot? Wanna go for a walk?” Grabbing the leash off the kitchen table, he wandered into his bedroom. No luck either, but wait…he kneeled down to peek under his bed and, sure enough, two little black eyes gleamed back at him.

“C’mon, girl, we’re going for a walk!” He shook the leash, but she didn’t budge. Five minutes of cajoling had no effect, and he finally figured he needed to lure her out with a treat. But of course there weren’t any dog treats in the kitchen—his mom had already bitched enough about the cost of Dot’s food and leash.

What the hell would the fluff-ball like to eat? The refrigerator revealed nothing of interest, but the third cabinet had some peanut butter. With a shrug, he shoveled a dollop into his mouth, then dug out some more to entice the little mop-on-legs.

Hoping he wouldn’t lose a finger, Ben stuck his arm under his bed. A second later he giggled as she slurped some peanut butter with her rough tongue. He drew his hand out inch by inch until he had her cradled in his arms. “Sorry I yelled at you, Polka Dot.” He kissed her fur.

Fifteen minutes later, Ben thought it’d be okay to go back inside: Dot had done her business in the grass near their building. He’d totally forgotten to grab a plastic poop bag and hoped no one had seen his civil disobedience in the dark. She now sniffed around a fire hydrant—what a cliché—and he yanked her leash. “C’mon, Dot!”

“Ben?” A pretty female voice that sounded just like…no, it couldn’t be…

He spun around and grinned.
Score!
“Hey, Lindsay!” Then he cleared his throat and adopted a more manly affect.

“Is that your
dog?”
She leaned down to offer Dot her hand to sniff and squealed, “She’s soooo cute! Oh my God, what’s her name?”

Ben blushed. “Dot.”

She took in a breath as her hand fluttered to her chest. “That’s
adorable!
Can I hold her? Can I?”

“Sure.” Ben gave a nonchalant shrug, trying to hide his trembling. Lindsay was actually talking to him! “Uh, what’re you doing here?”

Lindsay let out the sweetest giggle as Dot licked her neck and jaw. “I met my dad for dinner.” She tossed her head over her shoulder. “He’s back there, on a call.”

Ben’s gaze followed to where she’d gestured, and he could see a tall man in a police uniform talking on his cell phone.
Holy shit
—her dad was a policeman. It was one thing to know her dad worked for CPD but another thing entirely to see him standing there in uniform. Ben’s typical discomfort at spotting a cop now multiplied times ten. And, oh no, the cop had just finished his call and now came toward them.

“Linds, we have to go,” he called.

She pouted. “Aw. Isn’t this the cutest dog, Dad?”

As the man gave him the onceover, Ben straightened his spine.

“Do you
know
this boy, Linds, or are you bothering strangers again?”

“Daaad.” She rolled her eyes. “This is Ben from swim team!”

When her dad held out his hand, Ben supposed he should shake it. He hoped there wasn’t any peanut butter residue on his index finger.

“Nice to meet you, Ben from swim team.”

“You too, sir.” He blushed. He sounded like a total tool.

But her dad gave a faint smile, like he approved of the suck-up attempt. “It’s
not
nice my daughter met your dog, though. She’s been haranguing her mother and me for another dog since ours died a few months ago.”

“It’s time to move on, Dad.” Lindsay had both of Dot’s paws in her hands, performing a little canine dance with her. “Doobie-doobie-doo,” she sang.

Her dad sighed. “Maybe. Well, Ben, I’ve got to get Lindsay home before my shift starts. Honey, let go of the dog.”