Chapter 45

Following

A steady stream of well-dressed professionals came and went from the Burnam & Green entrance. Patrick sat on his motorcycle wearing a black leather jacket and helmet. He watched as the oversized double doors opened and closed, emitting and receiving the greatest creative minds in Portland. None of them, so far, were George.

He remembered Lisa, when she first enrolled in art school, telling him that her dream was to join B&G. Their campaigns were the funniest, the most cutting edge. Everyone in her classes wanted to land a job at the agency. And apparently she had succeeded, thought Patrick glumly. Assigned or not, she could have just walked out instead of working for the asshole who’d almost ruined her life. Then he remembered he’d taken a job from someone who was currently ruining his.

To the right of the entrance was a wide rolling door that Patrick assumed must lead to an underground parking garage. He’d sit and wait. Green would have to emerge from the building eventually, he figured. He willed himself to concentrate on staring at the doors. To think only of them opening and closing, and not of his mother cheating. Cheating with Lisa’s father. Sleeping with the mayor’s husband.

The garage door began to lift and he saw a car approach the exit. He flipped up his kickstand and revved his motorcycle’s engine, once, twice. His heart raced at what was to come next. The door slid slowly open to reveal a gray Honda Civic, driven by a middle-aged woman in dark glasses. Definitely not George.

Patrick took a deep breath, flipped the kickstand back down, and turned off the engine. Mom, he thought, what the hell. His thoughts went back to that day, years ago, when he and his parents drove up the mountain. A ski trip, his dad said. A ski trip for the whole family. They’d hit the slopes during the day, then spend the evening playing games and drinking hot cocoa next to the fireplace in their Mount Hood condo.

Patrick remembered thinking that spending time with his parents when his friends were waiting for him in Portland was total bullshit. Then his dad took a left when he should have taken a right. His father silenced his mother with a word when she asked where they were going. The feeling in the car changed. It grew tense and anxious as each unfamiliar mile passed by. Finally, through the trees, an opening. Then a compound. His father parked and made a call.

Patrick tried in vain to open his door, but it was locked. He tried the window, but it wouldn’t budge. He braved a single question and asked, “Where are we?”

“You’ll see,” said his father grimly.

The men came for him then. Two, both dressed in puffy jackets and knit caps against the cold. They reached the car and finally his dad unlocked the doors. The smaller of the two opened Patrick’s and the larger reached in, grabbed his arm, and pulled Patrick from the back seat. His father got out of the car and opened the trunk, removing an unfamiliar duffle bag and handing it to the smaller of the two men.

Patrick was so terrified he couldn’t speak. He stared at his mother who sat paralyzed in the front seat.

Suddenly, she started screaming. “Victor. No, you can’t. You’ve already taken so much. You can’t take away my son too.” She said it again and again, until finally his dad raised his hand threateningly, and she stopped.

His father then turned to Patrick. “Remember, she did this to you, son. Your mother did this.”

Patrick had thought about his father’s words for years. And finally, he understood. He remembered her panic in the car. Her protests as the men dragged him away. She didn’t want her son taken. She didn’t know what was happening. His dad sent him to the Academy to punish her for the affair. He used Patrick then, just like he’d used Patrick today. Had his parents ever loved each other? He thought about Christmas, his dad putting something expensive around his mother’s neck or wrist, and her laughing and smiling at the extravagance. He thought of the nights hiding under the covers, as they screamed at one another in the dark hours, only to wake to his mother hiding a black eye behind sunglasses as she cooked him breakfast before school. He thought of acting out as a kid, gladly taking the brunt of his father’s anger to protect his mother. Could Patrick blame her for looking somewhere else for love and compassion? Neither of them ever got much of that from his father. And Victor barely gave them room to comfort each other. Victor wanted all their attention on himself, whether it was love or fear. There wasn’t enough space for anything else.

Patrick flipped his helmet’s visor up and rubbed his eyes, surprised to feel tears. He shook his head, feeling empty and helpless. He wished now that he’d stayed under the radar and out of his father’s life. He just hoped Jamie would show the mayor that video. Maybe Ellen and Lisa could at least get some closure out of this whole mess.

I need to talk to Mom, he thought. I need to hear the truth from her. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and scrolled to his mother’s cell number. Just then, he noticed the Burnam & Green garage door lifting. He heard a terrible screeching sound and watched as a yellow Lamborghini laboriously made its way up the ramp. It was George.