That was crazy, kid. Absolutely crazy.

Johnny held on to him even harder. "I'm okay, Dad, just don't put me down."

Johnny allowed himself to be taken to Sally Rainwater's house. He had an abrasion on his cheek, but that was it. McMichael tended to him in the small bathroom, with Johnny sitting on the counter while his father dabbed the cheek with a warm washcloth. In the mirror McMichael could see his own bloodied and gravel-pitted elbows, the shredded knuckles of his left hand, the round red asphalt burn high on his forehead.

"You got it worse than me, Dad."

"Hardly even feel it. That was the wrong thing to do, Johnny. We're going to talk about it later."

"Let's go to your place."

McMichael made Johnny sit right there on the counter while Sally dressed his wounds. The boy seemed interested in her techniques and tools- the long tweezers to get out the gravel and debris, the foaming antiseptic, the round-ended tape scissors, the quick economy with which she wrapped each knuckle in gauze and tape.

"Are you a doctor, or what?" he asked.

"I will be, someday. One more year of college, then three of med school."

"Oh."

A while later she walked them to the car. McMichael held the door open for Johnny and shut it behind him. Then he turned to Sally Rainwater. "That was really enjoyable. Thanks."

"You don't have to be sarcastic."

He looked at her and could tell she meant it. He sighed and felt the adrenaline butterflies settling, felt tiredness and disappointment coming on. "Maybe some other time."

"That's up to you. Call me."

He offered his bandaged hand and she shook it carefully. In the hard winter sunlight she looked different. The squint lines at the edges of her eyes were new to him and the way she stood with her shoulders back and her head high revealed new facets of what McMichael believed were grace and character.

She struck him as utterly alien, cut from some template he had never seen before, could not recognize or easily understand. He had never seen a woman this way, certainly not Steffy, who had seemed familiar and comprehensible from the first moment they met.

He could see the Phoenix taking off just behind the collar of Sally Rainwater's blouse.

He and Johnny walked Balboa Park, saw the latest IMAX movie, stopped by one of the fountains. Johnny left his father to circle the water, toss in a few coins. McMichael watched him every second. Johnny had never run before, never done anything like what he'd done today. Perilous. So the boy was angry at him, that was understandable. Felt threatened by the new woman. That was understandable, too. But you run into traffic and you have to figure on getting hurt. He's seven, McMichael thought. He should know better. God, he's only seven. Please help me look after this perfect boy.

He called Steffy on his cell phone and told her what had happened. She said, "Oh my God," then went silent as McMichael explained how Johnny had run off into the street.

After a long silence she spoke. "You couldn't stop him?"

"I couldn't imagine it, Steff. I wasn't even looking at him when he took off."

"You should have seen it coming."

"I didn't."

"You should have introduced him to your new friend in some better way."

"If you can think of a better way than over pizza on a Saturday, tell me about it."

He hung up on her. Of all the people he'd ever known she was the best at making him furious.

McMichael and his son walked to the car side by side, but not close. Johnny let his eyes and attention wander everywhere but to his father. McMichael looked at the people around them and saw again what he'd never noticed until the divorce- all the other fathers and children without mothers. Hundreds of them, right here in this one park. Like a convention, he thought. Like us, trying to squeeze real lives out of weekend visitations, maybe alternate Wednesdays and half of Christmas day. What a lousy fucking deal for everybody.

You get what you get.

McMichael thought of a favorite biblical passage, one that summed up the bitter inequities of life on Earth as he knew it: For to him who has will more be given, and he will have abundance; but from him who has not, even what he has will be taken away. Quite a showstopper, he thought. It wasn't one of those passages that Father Shea spent much time on. McMichael thought of Franklin. He thought of Steffy and the oral surgeon and their mountain of booty, topped by the ultimate jewel- his son.

"Are you in love with her?"

"I don't know her very well."

"She looks younger than you."

"She is, by ten years."

"That's a lot."

"Burgers or spaghetti, John?"

"I don't like that tattoo on her neck. I think it's to cover something up."

"It covers up a bullet hole. A man shot her."

"Shot her! Why?"

"He was a bad man and a coward."

"Maybe she did something to him. Then she would deserve it."

"Nobody deserves that. Unless they're hurting someone really badly. Bring the buns over here, would you?"

"I wonder what she did to that guy who shot her."

"I honestly don't know."

"You've never shot anyone."

"No. Hey, these burgers are okay tonight."

"Do you want to shoot someone?"

"No. But I would, if I had to."

"I'd like to shoot Clay."

"Don't say that, son."

"But I think it."

"He's not hurting you, is he?"

"He looks right past me. And sometimes I'd like to shoot Mom, too."

"I said don't talk like that."

"Mom divorced you. I know it was her fault."

"No, Johnny, that's where you're wrong. We both agreed it was the best thing to do. For all of us."

McMichael's throat suddenly got thick and painful. Almost gagging on the lie. A lie you tell the person you love most on Earth, to explain why you can't even live in the same house with him anymore. The lie you tell to make it all okay. To grease the gears. So everybody can just get along.

"I hate this video."

"We'll get a different one next time."

"What are the chances of you and Mom ever getting back together?"

"Very small."

"What would have to happen?"

"I can't imagine it, son. I don't know what could bring your mother and me back together."

"Maybe you could just live with us. There's a lot of room and the beach is right outside. It's a better house than the lady's got."

"That probably wouldn't work out very well."

"Why not, because Clay and Mom need their privacy?"

"Exactly."

"Man, that's what they always tell me."

"Son, don't ever run off like that again. Ever. I want a promise."

"I promise I won't. Don't run away from me either. You have to promise, too."

"I never will. I promise. I love you, Johnny. I can't explain how much. But it's a lot and it will last forever."

"I love you, too."

"Good night. Sweet dreams, son."

"You too, Dad. Sweet dreams."