Page 105 of Icarus

Icarus snatched himself out of Angus’s grip and backed away so that he couldn’t touch him again.

“I wish that I could hate you. I wish that I could. But I can’t and that makes it worse. Understanding you has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

Angus’s eyes were as deep as wounds.

“I . . . I’m sorry, Icarus.”

Icarus could feel his eyes starting to prickle and he wanted to die.

He couldn’t cry here. He could not handle that his body chose the humiliation of tears as a way to express his rage. He grabbed his jacket and snatched the keys out of his father’s coat pocket and left the apartment.

And Angus let him go.

He walked right down the stairs and out of the house and up the street. He followed the path he usually took to Helios’s house, but passed the diner and the mansion and walked until he’d gone past where the city paid for streetlights.

The thicket of trees grew denser until he was in the woods. He walked until he couldn’t hear the noise from the town, in a straight line, so he’d be able to get out again. Until he was absolutely sure no one would bother him.

Then Icarus fell to his knees, took a deep breath, and screamed.

Love

When he got home, Angus was still at the table.

He was asleep. There was a glass of whiskey still in his hand, and the photo album still spread out in front of him. The drawings were gone, but Icarus found them quickly crumpled in the trash.

Angus had selected a small pile of images from the album and separated them from the rest. It was mostly pictures of him, Mr. Black, and Ramona, without Icarus’s mom. The album was patchy with white spaces where they used to be. It was mostly an album of Evangeline now.

Icarus swept the pictures into a neat stack. He gently removed the glass from Angus’s hand and rinsed it out in the sink.

Then, he went to Angus’s cot, pulled his blanket from it, and draped it across his father’s shoulders.

Saturday

Icarus was afraid to leave his room. He stayed in it for hours, longer than he ever had before, until he had to pee so bad and was so hungry he thought he was going to die.

But like always, his responsibilities were waiting for him.

Angus was still seated at the table, though his blanket had been put away. He had a notebook open in front of him.

“There’s soup in the pressure cooker,” he said.

“Why have you been cooking so much?” Icarus asked, choosing to be obstinate. If they were speaking frankly, he’d like to know.

Angus sighed. “You’ll be eighteen in a week. That time goes by quickly . . . even quicker when I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t know that cooking for you would be something worth missing until now.”

That was pathetic. Icarus silently vowed to never become the sort of father who would have to come to that kind of conclusion.

“Okay,” he said, and opened the cabinet to get a bowl.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“What?”

Angus looked over his shoulder at Icarus for a moment. “I’m sure Helios isn’t having a good time in there. Stuart was rough on Ramona and he was rough on me when he saw fit to be. It’s foolish to imagine that has changed.”

Icarus was quiet, trying to decide if he would tell him.

“I’ll be gone for a few months. Then, I might come back.”