Alex Delaware 01 - When the Bough Breaks by Jonathan Kellerman

Author:Jonathan Kellerman [Kellerman, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780345466600
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 1985-02-15T06:00:00+00:00

I rummaged through the last two boxes with little enthusiasm and came up with no new insights. The sour taste of the confrontation with Andy lingered. I experienced the kind of shame you feel upon digging too deep, seeing and hearing more than you need or want to. Like a child walking in on his parents lovemaking or a hiker kicking aside a rock only to catch a glimpse of something slimy on the underside.

I’d seen families like the Gutierrezes’ before; I’d known scores of Rafaels and Andys. It was a pattern: the slob and the super kid playing out their roles with depressing predictability. One unable to cope, the other trying to take charge of everything. The slob, getting others to take care of him, shirking his responsibilities, coasting through life but feeling like—a slob. The super kid competent, compulsive, working two jobs, even three when the situation called for it, making up for the slob’s lack of accomplishment, earning the admiration of the family, refusing to stoop under the weight of his burden, keeping his rage under wraps—but not always.

I wondered what role Elena had played when she was alive. Had she been the peacemaker, the go between? Getting caught in the crossfire between slob and super kid could be hazardous to one’s health.

I repacked her things as neatly as I could.

When we stepped onto the porch Rafael was still stuporous. The sound of the Seville starting up jolted him awake, and he blinked rapidly, as if coming out of a bad dream, stood with effort, and wiped his nose with his sleeve. He looked in our direction, puzzled. Raquel turned away from him, a tourist avoiding a leprous beggar. As I pulled away I saw a spark of recognition brighten his doped-up countenance, then more bewilderment.

The approaching darkness had dimmed the activity level on Sunset but there was still plenty of life on the streets. Car horns honked, raucous laughter rose above the exhaust fumes and mariachi music blared from the open doors of the bars. Traces of neon appeared and lights flickered in the foothills.

“I really blew it,” I said.

“No, you can’t blame yourself.” In the mood she was in, boosting me took effort. I appreciated that effort and told her so.

“I mean it, Alex. You were very sensitive with Cruz—I can see why you were a successful psychologist. She liked you.”

“It obviously doesn’t run in the family.”

She was silent for a few blocks.

“Andy’s a nice boy—he never joined the gangs, took lots of punishment because of it. He expects a lot out of himself. Everything’s on his shoulders, now.”

“With all that weight why add a two-ton chip?”

“You’re right. He makes more problems for himself—don’t we all? He’s only eighteen. Maybe he’ll grow up.”

“I keep wondering if there was some way I could have handled it better.” I recounted the details of my exchange with the boy.

“The pigheaded crack didn’t help things, but it didn’t make a difference. He came in ready to fight. When Latin men get that way there’s little you can do.

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