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Chapters (47)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraphs
  5. Prologue
  6. Part One
  7. ONE
  8. TWO
  9. THREE
  10. FOUR
  11. FIVE
  12. SIX
  13. SEVEN
  14. EIGHT
  15. NINE
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. Part Two
  25. EIGHTEEN
  26. NINETEEN
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. THIRTY
  38. THIRTY-ONE
  39. THIRTY-TWO
  40. THIRTY-THREE
  41. THIRTY-FOUR
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. Acknowledgments
  46. About the Author
  47. Newsletter Sign-up

Ed always talked about how important it was for Michael to express himself, face his pain and be real, but it was easy for Ed to say shit like that. Ed hadn’t choked on a bar of soap or heard the fliittt sound of a belt slicing the air, followed by the crack of the metal buckle against his collarbone. Ed hadn’t taken care of his dying mother in a hot apartment with one window and a broken fan, hadn’t been surprised by how much vomit and shit could come out of a person after they drank the city’s bad water, hadn’t seen the purple spots on the insides of her eyelids and the white spots on her tongue, hadn’t put damp washcloths on her clammy skin, felt the ridges of her bones as she shrank like a piece of dehydrated fruit, hadn’t held her bird claw of a hand, hadn’t heard the grating sound of her breath, hadn’t wanted someone, anyone to walk through the door to tell him they could help, they’d take care of her, she’d be fine, everything would be all right. Ed hadn’t pleaded with someone not to die, just don’t die. Stay here.

“Everything is going to be OK.” Ed’s voice was kind, but Ed didn’t know shit. He thought the whole world could get better with one big “Kumbaya”—or one long suck on a joint. What did Ed know about how it felt to have nobody, to be totally, utterly alone? What did Ed know about being real?

Michael wanted to throw a punch at him the way his father had taught him to land a right hook when he was a little boy; he wanted to feel something break inside Ed. He felt his fists ball up at his sides like knots and every muscle in his body grow tight. He wanted Ed to look at him in disbelief and ask, “Why’d you do that?” He wanted Ed to feel betrayed the way Michael had felt betrayed so many times. He wanted to challenge Ed’s supposed devotion and give him a painful, bloody reason to change his mind. He wanted Ed to reject him sooner rather than later.

Connie emerged from the car wearing her vintage cat-eye sunglasses and a yellow polka-dot bathing suit that had lost its elasticity and sagged around her chest, stomach, and waist. Ann and Poppy inherited Ed’s height, high cheekbones, and square chin, but their softness came from Connie. She was still youngish, still pretty in a puffy sort of way, but Connie didn’t care about her looks. She let her long hair turn white and wore it hanging to her waist. She was nice but distracted in the same way Poppy was.

“Jump!” she said.