Eighteen. “Are you going to call him back?”

“DANTE CALLED.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Are you going to call him back? ”

“Sure.”

“You know you’ve been moping around the house for the past four or five days. Moping and lifting weights.”

Moping. I thought of what Gina always said about me, “Melancholy Boy.”

“I haven’t been moping. And I haven’t just been lifting weights. I’ve been reading. And I’ve been thinking about Bernardo.”

“Really? ”

“Yeah.”

“What have you been thinking? ”

“I think I want to start writing to him.”

“He returned all my letters.”

“Really? Maybe he won’t return mine.”

“Maybe not, ” she said. “It’s a worth a try. Why not? ”

“Did you stop writing? ”

“Yes, I did, Ari. It hurt too much.”

“That makes sense, ” I said.

“Just don’t be too disappointed, Ari, okay? Don’t expect too much. Your father went to see him once.”

“What happened? ”

“Your brother refused to see him.”

“Does he hate you and Dad? ”

“No. I don’t think so. I think he’s angry at himself. And I think he’s ashamed.”

“He should get over it.” I don’t know why, but I punched the wall.

My mother stared at me.

“I’m sorry, ” I said. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“Ari? ”

“What? ”

There was something in her face. That serious, concerned look. She wasn’t angry, she wasn’t wearing that stern look that she sometimes wore when she was playing mother. “What’s wrong, Ari? ”

“You say that like you have another theory about me.”

“You bet your ass I do, ” she said. But her voice was so nice and kind and sweet. She got up from the kitchen table and poured herself a glass of wine. She took out two beers and put one of them in front of me. She put the other at the center of the table. “Your father’s reading. I think I’ll go get him.”

“What’s going on, Mom? ”

“Family meeting.”

“Family meeting? What’s that? ”

“It’s a new thing, ” she said. “From here on in, we’re going to have a lot more of them.”

“You’re scaring me, Mom.”

“Good.” She walked out of the kitchen. I stared at the beer in front of me. I touched the cold glass. I didn’t know if I was supposed to drink from it or just stare at it. Maybe it was all a trick. My mom and dad walked into the kitchen. They both sat down across from me. My father opened his beer. Then he opened mine. He took a sip.

“Are you ganging up on me? ”

“Relax, ” my father said. He took another drink from his beer. My mother sipped on her wine. “Don’t you want to have a beer with your mom and dad? ”

“Not really, ” I said. “It’s against the rules.”

“New rules, ” my mother said.

“A beer with your old man isn’t going to kill you. It’s not as if you haven’t had one before. What’s the big deal? ”

“This is really weird, ” I said. I took a drink from the beer. “Happy now? ”

My father had a really serious look on his face. “Did I ever you tell you about any of my skirmishes while I was in Vietnam? ”

“Oh, yeah, ” I said. “I was just thinking about all those war stories you tell me about.”

My father reached over and took my hand in his. “I deserved that one.” He kept squeezing my hand. Then he let go.

“We were in the north. North of Da Nang.”

“Is that where you were, Da Nang? ”

“That was my home away from home.” He smiled at me crookedly. “We were on a reconnaissance mission. Things were pretty quiet for a few days. It was monsoon season. God, I hated those endless rains. We were just ahead of a convoy. The area had been cleared. We were there to make sure the coast was clear. Then all hell broke loose. There were bullets all over the place. Grenades going off. We were pretty much ambushed. It wasn’t the first time. But this time was different.

“There was shooting from all sides. The best thing to do was just fall back. Beckett called for a chopper to get us out. There was this guy. A really good guy. God, he was so young. Nineteen years old. God, he was just a boy.” My father shook his head. “His name was Louie. Cajun guy from Lafayette.” There were tears running down my father’s face. He sipped on his beer. “We weren’t supposed to leave a man down. That was the rule. You don’t leave a man down. You don’t leave a man to die.” I could see the look on my mother’s face, her absolute refusal to cry. “I remember running toward the chopper, Louie was right behind me, bullets flying everywhere. I thought I was a dead man. And then Louie went down. He yelled my name. I wanted to go back. I don’t remember exactly, but the last thing I remember was Beckett pulling me onto the chopper. I didn’t even know I’d been shot. We left him there. Louie. We left him.” I watched my father lean into his own arms and sob. There was something about the soundof a man in pain that resembled the sound of a wounded animal. My heart was breaking. All this time, I’d wanted my father to tell me something about the war and now I couldn’t stand to see the rawness of his pain, how new it was after so many years, how that pain was alive and thriving just beneath the surface.

“I don’t know if I believed in the war or not, Ari. I don’t think I did. I think about it a lot. But I signed up. And I don’t know what I felt about this country. I do know that the only country I had were the men that fought side by side. They were my country, Ari. Them. Louie and Beckett and Garcia and Al and Gio—they were my country. I’m not proud of everything I did in that war. I wasn’t always a good soldier. I wasn’t always a good man. War did something to us. To me. To all of us. But the men we left behind. Those are the ones who are in my dreams.”

I drank my beer. My father drank from his. My mother drank from her glass of wine. We were all silent for what seemed a long time.

“I hear him sometimes, ” my father said. “Louie. I hear him calling my name. I didn’t go back.”

“You would’ve been killed too, ” I whispered.

“Maybe. But I didn’t do my job.”

“Dad, don’t. Please—” I felt my mother reaching across the table, combing my hair with her hands and wiping my tears. “You don’t have to talk about this, Dad. You don’t.”

“Maybe I do. Maybe it’s time to stop the dreams.” He leaned on my mother. “Don’t you think it’s time, Lilly? ”

My mother didn’t say a word.

My father smiled at me. “A few minutes ago your mother walked into the living room and took the book I was reading out of my hands. And she said: ‘Talk to him. Talk to him, Jaime.’ She put on that fascist voice of hers she has.”

My mother laughed softly.

“Ari, it’s time you stopped running.”

I looked at my dad. “From what? ”

“Don’t you know? ”

“What? ”

“If you keep running, it will kill you.”

“What, Dad? ”

“You and Dante.”

“Me and Dante? ” I looked at my mother. Then looked at my father.

“Dante’s in love you, ” he said. “That’s obvious enough. He doesn’t hide that from himself.”

“I can’t help what he feels, Dad.”

“No. No, you can’t.”

“And besides, Dad, I think he’s gotten way over that. He’s into that guy, Daniel.”

My father nodded. “Ari, the problem isn’t just that Dante’s in love with you. The real problem—for you, anyway—is that you’re in love with him.”

I didn’t say anything. I just kept looking at my mother’s face. And then my father’s face.

I didn’t know what to say. “I’m not sure, I mean, I don’t think that’s true. I mean, I just don’t think so. I mean—”

“Ari, I know what I see. You saved his life. Why do you suppose you did that? Why do you suppose that, in an instant, without even thinking, you dove across the street and shoved Dante out of the way of a moving car? You think that just happened? I think you couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. You just couldn’t. Why would you risk your own life to save Dante if you didn’t love him? ”

“Because he’s my friend.”

“And why would you go and beat the holy crap out of a guy who hurt him? Why would you do that? All of your instincts, Ari, all of them, tell me something. You love that boy.”

I kept staring down at the table.

“I think you love him more than you can bear.”

“Dad? Dad, no. No. I can’t. I can’t. Why are you saying these things? ”

“Because I can’t stand watching all that loneliness that lives inside you. Because I love you, Ari.” My mother and father watched me cry. I thought maybe I was going to cry forever. But I didn’t. When I stopped, I took a big drink from my beer. “Dad, I think I liked it better when you didn’t talk.”

My mother laughed. I loved her laugh. And then my father was laughing. And then I was laughing.

“What am I going to do? I’m so ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what? ” my mother said.

“Of loving Dante? ”

“I’m a guy. He’s a guy. It’s not the way things are supposed to be. Mom—”

“I know, ” she said. “Ophelia taught me some things, you know? All those letters. I’ve learned some things. And your father’s right. You can’t run. Not from Dante.”

“I hate myself.”

“Don’t, amor. Te adoro. I’ve already lost a son. I’m not going to lose another. You’re not alone, Ari. I know it feels that way. But you’re not.”

“How can you love me so much? ”

“How could I not love you? You’re the most beautiful boy in the world.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You are.”

“What am I going to do? ”

My father’s voice was soft. “Dante didn’t run. I keep picturing him taking all those blows. But he didn’t run.”

“Okay, ” I said. For once in my life, I understood my father perfectly.

And he understood me.