“That’s what she told me to call her. Ever since I was a tot. Wouldn’t hear of it being any other way.” Already having finished half his beer, Ethan refilled his mug. “How about you? What’s your pop like?”
“I never got to know him.”
“Why not?”
“He took off when I was a baby, just after my mom got pregnant with my sister. He said he wasn’t ready for children, and then he was gone.”
“He didn’t treat your ma real well, huh?”
“I don’t know how he was when he was around. But he left, so I guess you could say that.”
“Didn’t treat you right, either, because of that, wouldn’t you say? Or your sister. I bet you’re pissed off about that.”
Martin frowned. “I haven’t given it much thought.”
“I bet he was some stupid, Neanderthal-looking jackass, too, wasn’t he? The kind of guy who couldn’t think his way out of an unlocked room.”
Martin couldn’t say how smart his dad was since he never really knew him. But, as far as his looks went, he was about average. At least he was in the one photo Martin had of him. Then something stirred—deep underneath layers of denial that he didn’t know was there. Anger. Martin recognized it immediately.
“Do you know his name?”
“Frank. Why?”
“Have you ever thought about getting revenge?” Ethan said.
“What’s the point?”
“The point is that he treated you like shit. You and your sister and your ma. He stepped all over you. You can’t let people get away with that.” Ethan shifted in his seat. “I’ll tell you this: Nobody steps on me. Not anymore. You let ’em step on you one time, and they’ll step on you for the rest of your life. I should know, Ma stepped on me for years.”
“What’d you do?”
“I took care of it. I told her I wasn’t going to take her crap, and I didn’t.”
“Did she listen to you?”
“Damn straight she listened to me,” Ethan said, smacking the table with the palm of one hand.
Martin shook his head. “I don’t know if I could do that.”
“It just takes balls, Martin. It comes from right here,” he said, grabbing his crotch. “You got ’em, you just gotta learn to start using them.”
“Well, whatever it takes, I’m not sure your point applies for me. He took off, he didn’t really step on me. Besides, I couldn’t do anything about it now, even if I wanted to. He’s gone, been gone for years. And things aren’t so bad right now. I’m engaged to a nice girl. I’ve got a stable job.”
“Not so bad? That’s good enough for you? Maybe if he’d stuck around, things could have been great. Face it, you’ve been stepped on.”
“I don’t think—”
“Wake up! That sort of crap affects you here,” Ethan said, pointing to the side of his head. “It gets up there and rattles around and takes its toll day after day for years. It’s probably even worse than what Ma did to me, because it’s happening and you don’t even know it’s happening.” Ethan gulped down more of his beer. He could tell from Martin’s expression that it was time to change the subject, let the matter go—at least for now. “Who’s the girl you’re getting hitched to?”
“Someone I knew from high school. Her name’s Diane.”
“Did you get her knocked up or something?”
Martin looked away. “I love her.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Why shouldn’t I?” Then he looked back at Ethan. “And it’s the good kind of love, the kind that’s grounded in friendship.” Martin spoke as if he’d said those exact words many, many times. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“All right, chill,” Ethan said. “Just seeing if you really love her.”
“I said I do. When you meet her, you’ll see why. She’s a wonderful girl.”
Absolutely wonderful, Martin repeated to himself. Despite their rocky beginning, despite the fact that he secretly pined for Cynthia and longed for the life she now had, he assured himself that he loved Diane.
It was a better kind of love than was his love for Cynthia anyway, he’d tell himself. Diane was dependable, predictable, safe. She was the kind of wife who would be around for the rest of his life, and because there had been no nervous excitement when he was around her—never had been—proposing had been easy.
“Meet her, huh?” Ethan said, pouring a third beer. “Does this mean you want to go out again sometime?”
Martin barely had to think about it before he said, “Why not?” Ethan really seemed to listen to him. He didn’t offer a pity nod like so many others when Martin spoke about his father. He didn’t merely say “That’s great” when he mentioned the wedding.
And not only did Ethan listen, but he made Martin think. He raised questions that had never been asked. How much damage had his father done by walking out? Would he ever know? Why did he do it? And why did Martin love Diane if life with her was so—how had he put it?—predictable?
NOW
THE TUNNEL ETHAN had chosen for himself and Cynthia had made a wide arc and subtly descended. It was that arc that had brought Cynthia around to where Martin was waiting.
Had he not fallen through the floor, he never would have known the tunnels overlapped.
“Martin, is that you?” Cynthia shouted as she approached.
Martin stood up. With Cynthia’s headlamp shining toward him, he was once again able to see the hole he had fallen through. “Yeah! It’s me!”
She hurried forward as fast as she could, being careful not to trip, and hugged him. “What are you doing here? Is this a loop we found?” Then her words came faster. She was panicking. “When we found that fork, did it just take us into one big loop?”
“No,” Martin said, and pointed upward. “I fell through that hole.” Cynthia looked up and then back at him. She was wide-eyed and scared. “What’s wrong? Where’s Ethan?”
“He tried to rape me. He started talking crazy, saying all of us weren’t going to get out of here alive, and then
