“Do you need money?” I said to Mike. I asked nicely. Mike never had cash when we went places but he always paid me back. He worked for an investment firm and made more money than Lisa and me combined—he and Victoria had a house in Newton that I would have envied if I cared about things like that.

“Nah, Patrick doesn’t want to play any games,” he said. “Do you, Patrick?”

This set off a high-pitched whine.

“Use your words,” Mike said.

“Games,” said Patrick.

I put another five bucks in the machine.

“Don’t mess with him, Mike,” I said.

Mike scooped a handful of quarters from the dispenser. “I’m gonna go play the gator whack,” he said to Patrick. “You can come, or you can stay here by the quarter machine being an asshole.”

Mike started walking and Patrick clung to his shirt, letting himself be dragged off to a corner of the arcade. I looked around for Amanda and saw her by a big machine with a multicolored light spinning around inside it.

“What are you playing, honey?” I said.

“If you stop the light in the right place you get a thousand tickets,” Amanda said. “And if you get it close you still get some tickets for trying.”

“Is it fun?” I said.

“Yeah,” she said without enthusiasm. Amanda was such a serious kid, incredibly smart for her age, and lacking any useful outlet for her grimness. So far, she liked scary movies and building things; the happiest I’d ever seen her was when she helped construct a haunted house with her friends and then played a screaming, bloody murder victim in it. What would happen to her in her life? Could her brilliance outrun her anxiety? I spent a lot of time worrying about it.

I watched her play the game. It was hypnotic, and I found myself willing the stupid light to stop in the right place for her. It wasn’t happening. I got a text from Lisa: “AC’s kind of a drag, we’ll be home in an hour.” I was glad they were coming back but I worried about the scene that would ensue when Vic saw how drunk Mike was.

I found him with Patrick at the Skee-Ball machines. Mike was rolling the wooden balls too hard, beer in hand, while Patrick clambered up and down the machine next to his.

“Offa there, Pat,” Mike said.

“Throw it to me, Dad!” Patrick said. He was perched at the top hole of his Skee-Ball machine, clinging to the protective netting. Mike ignored him.

“So Lisa says they’re bailing on AC,” I said. “They’re on their way back now.”

“Guess we should cancel the strippers,” Mike said.

“Let’s sober up,” I said. “I don’t want to go through the Eugene O’Neill routine with you and Vic.”