Page 47 of Unbroken

“Have you heard anything about the job?” I asked, feeling anxious at the thought of saying goodbye.

Eli frowned, which was at odds with what he said next. “Yeah, they want to set up a screening call with me. Not an interview, exactly, but the first step to one.”

“That’s fantastic,” I said, trying to muster excitement into my voice. “See? My input really helped.” If this job was what Eli wanted, then I wanted it for him … mostly. I just wished I knew what it meant for us. Or if there evenwasan us. We hadn’t exactly talked about our time together in the tack room—not that I didn’t think about it every time I had to go in there.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Eli said, staring at Patrick swinging away in the distance.

“Wait … what’s wrong?” I asked, scanning his face.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Stay, go … I have no clue what’s best for us.”

I moved closer and rubbed his back. “It’s a big decision, I get it.”

“And moving away means I won’t be able to rely on my mom to watch Patrick. It’ll be the two of us against the world.”

“Yeah, speaking of your family …” I drifted off, aware that what I had to tell him was going to piss him off—but also certain that he needed to know.

“What?” He jerked abruptly to look at me. “Is something wrong with Patrick?”

I crossed my arms. “Well, I think I figured out what’s causing his stomachaches. He said that your dad has been telling him that he needs to be the best at everything he does, and if he isn’t, then he’s a loser.”

I watched Eli’s face turn red with anger. “What the actualfuck? He said that to a five-year-old?”

“I know. It really got into his head, and that’s probably why he keeps feeling sick. The stress. He said he’s scared of school. I think he’s afraid of what will happen if he’s not the best at whatever they learn.”

Eli started pacing in almost the same spot his son had just been. “That old man put me through hell, trying to live up to his expectations. There’s no way I’m going to let him do the same thing tomykid!”

“At least you know now,” I offered.

“I know I’m going to punch my dad if he doesn’t lay off Patrick,” he fumed. “How did I miss that? What kind of father doesn’t pick up on something like that?”

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re super busy, and it’s not like he was telling him that in front of you,” I said.

“Yeah, but nothing’s more important than my son. And I should’ve known my dad would pull that shit with Patrick. He’s got it stuck in his head that everyone is watching the preacher’s family, just waiting for us to fuck something up, so we have to be in peak form at all times. He refuses to acknowledge that his ‘model family’ was always dysfunctional. It’s been eight years since they separated, and he still refuses to give my mom the divorce she asked for. He genuinely thinks that it’s just some sort of phase with her and she’ll come back to him. Eight years!”

I wasn’t sure what to say.

Eli slammed his fist into his palm. “I’m so mad at myself! I’ve been wrapped up in work and the job hunt and trying to figure out what’s best for the two of us that I didn’t stop to see what was going on right in front of me.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said, wishing I could calm him down. “And kids are resilient. He’s going to be fine now that you know what’s going on, and you can deal with it.”

“I’ll tell you who’snotgoing to be fine …”

“Yeah, that’s not going to be a fun conversation. I’m sorry.”

Something finally seemed to click inside of Eli, and he turned to me. “Thanks for figuring it out.” Weirdly, the words sounded more reluctant than grateful, though maybe that made sense considering the words that followed. “I wish I’d been the one to do it.”

“Stop,” I said softly, moving closer to take his hands in mine. “What matters now is that you make it right.”

Eli gazed toward Patrick, looking as if he was getting ready to fight a familial battle he was all too familiar with.

THIRTY-TWO

ELI

Iread Patrick’s bedtime story on autopilot. I managed to use the silly voices for the robots, but my mind was stuck on how angry I was at my father. Well, more like furious.

I wanted to use our quiet bedtime rituals to ask Patrick a million questions about what my father had said to him, but all the research I’d done on anxiety since the doctor had stated that that was the problem behind the stomachaches suggested that it was healthier to look forward rather than pick apart the past. Patrick didn’t need to relive the damage done. What was most important was eliminating the element that was causing him stress and making him feel valued and supported from that point on.

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