“Grown-ups say complicated when they’re lying.”
I cough once. “Yeah. They do.”
“So?”
“So.” I set the tape down. “Your mama and me are pretending some things so Jeremy leaves her alone.”
“Because Jeremy is bad?”
I look at him.
He is five.
Too young for the truth.
Old enough to know lies smell bad.
“Because Jeremy scares her,” I say.
August’s mouth tightens.
There is a world in that little expression.
“He scares me too sometimes,” he says.
My hands curl before I can stop them.
I loosen them slowly.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed about that.”
“I’m not embarrassed.” He looks down at Blue Rex. “I’m mad.”
Good.
Good.
Let the boy have anger. Anger is better than shame if someone teaches him what to do with it before it rots.
“Mad’s allowed,” I say.
“Mama says we don’t hit.”
“Your mama is right.”
“Do you hit?”
Well.
Shit.
“Sometimes.”
“Bad guys?”
“Usually.”
“Do you hit good guys?”