Raising Jake. Charlie Carillo

hurt.”

      “I was hurt. Then I got over it. Then I got mad.”

      “I noticed. But you don’t have to be over it. What I mean is, it’s okay if you’re still hurting.”

      Jake thinks it over for a second. “The hell with her,” he says, but his eyes glisten with tears and his voice quakes as he says, “There’s no loyalty, Dad. Why isn’t anybody loyal?”

      I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. I reach over to squeeze his shoulder, and he doesn’t pull away. In fact, he startles me by turning to bury his face in my chest and hug me, hard and long. His sobs are silent, but he’s sobbing, all right.

      I shouldn’t let the beard fool me. He’s still just a boy, my boy, I say to myself as I hold him close and stroke his hair. It’s been a long time since he’s allowed me to do that, and I don’t mind doing it. What I do mind is the way all those highly caffeinated people are staring at us.

      “What the hell are you people looking at?” I all but bellow. “Go back to your overpriced beverages!”

      They do just that, turning their faces away from Jake and me. I’m waiting for the manager to come over and ask us to leave, but it never happens. I can sit there at Starbucks and stroke my boy’s hair for as long as I fucking well please.