He stared straight ahead, his profile rigid.
I pulled my hand out from under his and twisted the other way, giving him my back while I looked out the window at the teeming city.
"If I lose you, Eva," he said hoarsely, "I have nothing.
Everything I've done is so I don't lose you."
"I need more."
I rested my forehead against the glass.
"If I can't have you on the outside, I need to have you on the inside, but you've never let me in."
We drove in silence, crawling along through the morning traffic.
A fat drop of rain hit the windshield, followed by another.
"After my dad died," he said softly, "I had a hard time dealing with the changes.
I remember that people liked him, liked being around him.
He was making everyone rich, right? And then suddenly the world flipped on its head and everyone hated him.
My mother, who'd been so happy all the time, was crying nonstop.
And she and my dad were fighting every day.
That's what I remember most - the constant yelling and screaming."
I looked at him, studying his stony profile, but I didn't say anything, afraid to lose the moment.
"She remarried right away.
We moved out of the city.
She got pregnant.
I never knew when I'd run across someone my dad had f**ked over, and I took a lot of shit for it from other kids.
From their parents.
Teachers.
It was big news.
To this day, people still talk about my dad and what he did.
I was so angry.
At everyone.
I had tantrums all the time.
I broke things."
He stopped at a light, breathing heavily.
"After Christopher came along, I got worse, and when he was five, he imitated me, pitching a fit at dinner and shoving his plate across the table and onto the floor.