Even better. “We build our whole lives around our children’s happiness. Nick’s aunt, Naomi? She was like a mother to Nick, and now she’s lost everything, which is why, if possible, we hope to keep her memories of Nick pure.”

Walsh turns his notebook over, places the pen on top. He opens his computer, types, clicks his mouse, clicks again. Finally says, “Jonah, did you know your dad got a speeding ticket recently?”

One second. Two. Everything I’ve done for him. I look at my son. He’s looking at Walsh, but my son is not afraid. He smiles and says, “I was in the car with him when he got pulled over. First and only time I’ve ever seen him make such a careless mistake.” To me, he says, “Never going to let you live it down.” My boy.

•  •  •

After an hour of interview questions and crocodile tears, we make it out of the office, down the elevator, through the lobby, and to the parking lot before drawing an honest breath. Jonah opens his mouth to talk, and I say, “Later.” We’ll discuss it later.

He ignores me and speaks anyway, though, saying, “Thank you.”

He can’t know the extent to which his little lie covered my ass, too, but he lied so well that I say, “You’re welcome,” to this person, this human being who came from me and carries bits of me, but who hated me enough to fight dirty. My son and my wife conspired to hurt me with their bodies. Hate like that doesn’t grow from indifference. I say, “You did great in there.”

He nods. In this moment of softness, I’m tempted to ask my only question. Jonah could tell me who Nick was referencing when he mentioned a crush on an unavailable woman. But tying my loose ends might untie Jonah’s, and anyway, none of it matters anymore.

We stand here on fresh blacktop on a pleasant day in June, parting ways, with the opportunity to choose our parting words wisely. My son and I are dangers to each other. Maintaining our balance matters. It especially matters now. But we’re also partners. My son and I just created something together. We told a lie together. We vowed to hold our secret sacred, and our secret is the first thing we’ve shared since he was a child. Is this healthy? Surely not. But maybe it is a starting point. We might systematically hate each other until something changes our minds, but if a change is in the cards, we will have reserved a foundation in our present balance. Like the trump card I’m withholding from Elizabeth—my knowledge of her darkest act, her most scathing betrayal, the most wretched wrong—this day could be the token we save, me and my son, to be redeemed as a starting point should we ever start again.