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Summary
“Am I not doing a good enough job?” he asked, quietly, and regretted the question as soon as he said it: it was something he would have asked Father, and Waylon was not Father. He could tell from Waylon’s silence that he was taken aback by the question as well.
“No,” he said. “I mean, yes. But Eddie—I know something happened to you. I wish you’d tell me. I wish you’d let me help you.”
“It’s over, Waylon,” he said at last. “It was a long time ago. I don’t need help.” There was another silence. “Was your dad the person who hurt you? Your uncle?” Waylon asked, and then, when he was quiet, the seconds ticking past, “Do you like having sex, Eddie?”If he spoke, he would cry, and so he didn’t speak.
The word no, so short, so easy to say, a child’s sound, a noise more than a word, a sharp exhalation of air: all he had to do was part his lips, and the word would come out, and—and what? Waylon would leave, and take everything with him.