"When Dad was finally finished with a program, he would be completely done. He wouldn't go near the machine for ... I don't know-it seemed like months. He wouldn't even play other authors' games. Those were almost okay times, because he'd try to make the effort to learn how to be a real human being again-a real father. But by then, we'd learned to recognize the signs-that he couldn't really do it. Whenever he got too close, he'd get just so close and then he'd retreat again. He'd suddenly-conveniently-get another idea and he'd be gone again.

"So Maggie and I-well, I don't know about Maggie, but it seemed that she felt the same way-had that gap in our lives, and we either had to look somewhere else for something to fill it or learn to live with the lack. Which is mostly what I did-lived with the lack-because I didn't know that a family wasn't supposed to be that way. Maggie-well, she found her own answer. We weren't that close.

"Anyway, that was before the plagues. When we went up to the cabin, something in Dad changed-not better, just different. At first I didn't notice, because I didn't have enough experience with him to know, and then when I did, I didn't know what to make of it. I guess it scared me. As if I didn't know who he was after all.

"Several times a week, he and I would make the rounds of our security sensors-no one could have approached within a mile of the cabin without our knowing about it, not even a deer. We never had any people come near, but the system kept us in fresh meat and I learned how to skin a carcass and hang it. At first, Dad and I each kept mostly to ourselves, but after a while, he began talking to me. As if I were a real person. As if he'd just been waiting for me to grow up first.

"It confused me. I mean-hell, how can you expect someone to suddenly be a real son when you've spent twenty years ignoring him?

"And yet, even as I resented the goddamned presumption of the man, I still wanted him to finally be my father. So I stopped hating him for a while and began to discover what an interesting person he really was. I'd never known some of the things he'd done when he was my age-you know, he once met Neil Armstrong!

"I guess that was when Dad and I finally got to know each other. And I know this sounds strange, but those days up at the cabin were probably the happiest time of my life. It was a vacation from reality, and for a little while, we were a real family. It was nice. For a while. . . ."

After a while, Dr. Davidson prompted, "Go on, Jim."

"Huh?"

"What happened?"

I shrugged. "We came down from the mountains too soon. And we got caught in the last wave of the plagues. And the boys died. And-um, Dad never forgave himself. My sister never forgave him. And my mother-well, she never stopped pitying him because she knew what private hell he was living with. I guess he couldn't take that."

"Jim-"

"Huh?"

"You didn't say how you felt."

"Yes, I did. I said I loved him."

"How did you feel about coming down from the mountain too soon?"

"Uh ... it was a mistake, but it was an honest one. I mean, anyone could have ... I mean, it wasn't his fault-"

"Jim," Dr. Davidson said very quietly, "you're not being honest with me."

I jerked my hands back from the arms of the chair.

"Yes," he admitted. "There are sensors in the chair-but that isn't how I know you're lying. I can hear the stress in your voice." I felt suddenly flustered-and angry. I jumped up out of the chair

"How did you feel, Jim?"

"None of your damn business! I'm tired of people telling me who I am, who I have to be. I'm tired of people lying to me! Everybody lies. Obama lied. Duke lied. You're lying now, I'll bet. I'm tired of it-tired of being used and manipulated. It isn't fair! It wasn't fair when my father did it!" The words were tumbling out now. I knew what I was saying, but I couldn't stop myselfI didn't even know if I meant any of it. "He didn't listen to me either! I wanted to stay up in the mountains longer! We were happy there!" The words caught in my throat and I choked. I started coughing.

After a polite pause, Dr. Davidson said, "There's water on the table."

I stepped over to it and poured myself a glass. I drank it, then poured another and downed half of it too. My throat still felt dry. I carried it back to the chair with me. I sat down again. I tried to perch on the edge of the seat, but the chair wasn't designed for it; I had to lean back.

"You said you were happy there, in the mountains," Dr. Davidson prompted.

"Yes," I admitted, glad to finally have it out. "I was. I wasn't competing with the computer anymore. We were involved with living. Surviving. I mean, it wasn't easy; we had to chop our own wood and do a lot of maintenance on the solar panels, but we were involved with what we were doing-and with each other. We talked to each other about what we had to do. We shared our experiences. We cooperated. Oh, there were fights, a lot of arguments-especially at first-but we were a family finally. And it wasn't fair to end it. We could have stayed up there longer. We should have waited. I didn't want to come back. I wanted us to stay up there-"

"So it wasn't the boys at all?" asked Dr. Davidson.

"No," I admitted. "Not for me. It was ... I was afraid I was going to lose him again."

"So you were angry at your father?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Yeah, I was."

"Did you tell him how you felt?"

"No, I never did. I mean, there wasn't any point. Once he'd made up his mind, that was it. Oh, I tried-I did tell him. I said we shouldn't go down yet, but he said we had to. I didn't want to, but you couldn't argue with him, so I didn't. I just figured he was going to have his way, so I started putting up the walls again. You know, I'd let them down for a while, but now that he was making plans to come back, I had to protect myself again and-" I stopped to take a sip of water.

"Did he notice it? Did he see a change in your behavior?"

"I don't see how he could have missed it. I was a real asshole there for a while."

"I see."

There was silence. While I realized. It wasn't just Maggie's anger. Or Mom's pity. It was me too. My resentment. Was that what he'd been trying to tell me that last day at the depot? Did I drive him away too?

"What are you thinking about now?"

"Nothing," I said. "I'm just wondering who I should be angry at. My dad? Or me? He was there when I needed him. But I wasn't there when he needed me. I abandoned him because ... because. . ." My face was getting hot. This was the hard part to admit. I could feel my throat tightening up. ". . . I thought he was going to shut me out again and I wanted to shut him out first-to show him what it felt like, to show him he couldn't jerk me around like that! I mean, everybody else does it, but not my dad! It wasn't fair!" I started coughing then, and my eyes were blurry. I rubbed my palms against them, realized I was starting to cry-and then broke down and bawled like a baby.

Dr. Davidson waited patiently. Finally he said, "Are you all right?"

"No," I said, but I was. I was relieved to have finally spoken it aloud. It was as if I had released a great pressure that I hadn't even known was there until the words had given it form.

"Yes," I said. "I'm all right. Well-a little better, anyway. I hadn't realized I was living with such ... guilt."

"Not just guilt, Jim. Anger too. You've been carrying your anger for such a long time, Jim, it's become a habit. It's part of you. My job is to assist you in giving it up. If that's what you want."

I thought about that. "I don't know. Sometimes I think my anger is all that keeps me going."

"Maybe that's because you haven't experienced anything else as intense. Have you ever been in love?"

I shook my head.

"Perhaps you ought to think about that-consider what it is you expect a lover to be. We could talk about that next time."