Joy.

Without that special light, Jake had lost "the look" that got him noticed in the first place. His career began and ended with the grape juice campaign. I took him on some more auditions, but nothing panned out. He was all washed up at age five. He inevitably retreated into himself, having learned that the world is not such a magical place, after all.

But those commercials Jake had already starred in ran and ran and ran, long after the divorce was finalized, long after the light was gone. When the residual checks finally stopped rolling in there was more than a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in the bank account of Jacob Perez-Sullivan, to be held in trust for him until either his eighteenth or twenty-first birthday, a date to be determined by both his parents-or, in the event of the death of one parent, by the surviving parent. I don't know what the ruling was if we were both dead.

Doris took care of the trust fund. I had no idea of what it could be worth by now, with more than a decade's worth of interest. Jake had never once mentioned the money to me in all those years since his career had crashed and burned. I figured he didn't know about it.

But he knew, all right. Maybe he came across the trust fund paperwork the day he dug around in his mother's drawers to find our wedding license. He'd bided his time until the day his English teacher gave that impromptu writing a.s.signment.

In a flash, Jake saw the stars align in his favor-the controversial writing a.s.signment, his mother's absence-and poked at the little pinhole of light until it was now the big, wide-open gate to what he wanted. Total, absolute freedom from everything and everyone he's ever known.

Quite a plan. A h.e.l.l of a plan. Son of a b.i.t.c.h.

Doris and I can't even say anything for a minute or so. We just look at our son standing there facing us, confronting us, breathing hard but evenly, arms folded across his chest and one booted foot placed defiantly ahead of the other.

Doris clears her throat. "That money is supposed to be for your college education."

"Aren't you getting the picture, Mom? I'm not going going to college. I'm not even going to finish high school." to college. I'm not even going to finish high school."

"Ever?"

"I don't know yet. But for now, this is what I'm doing with that money. And believe me, it'll be more of an education than any college could offer."

"Sarah won't like this. Have you thought of that?"

"We broke up, Mom. And anyway she's too busy humping Pete Hogan to care about anything else."

"Oh, Jacob!"

"It's true. Don't ever mention her name to me again."

Doris's face softens. "Is that what this is all about? You've been betrayed, and your heart is broken, so you want to run far, far away?"

"Oh, come on, on, Mom. That's not it, and you know it." Mom. That's not it, and you know it."

Doris is literally quivering. "You're frightening me, Jacob."

It's the first time I've ever heard my ex admit to being scared about something. She's got a powerful personality, and some might even consider her to be a bit of a bully, but right now she's totally intimidated by her own son. In a way, I guess it makes sense that the only person who can make her feel this way is the person who came out of her.

"I'd hate to think that I frighten anyone," Jake says. "I'm just telling you how I feel. Remember, you two are the ones who got that whole thing started with the TV commercials. That wasn't my idea, was it?"

He taps himself on the chest. "But I'm I'm the one who the one who made made those commercials. those commercials. I'm I'm the one who got teased in the school yard for three years, because those f.u.c.king commercials kept running. Think that was the one who got teased in the school yard for three years, because those f.u.c.king commercials kept running. Think that was fun? fun? Do you think I Do you think I enjoyed enjoyed that?" that?"

Doris and I are silent. He'd never complained about being teased, at least not to me. And then it hits me that until now, my son has never really complained about anything, despite all the bad things that have happened to him.

"I did the work," Jake continues, "and I I suffered, and I've waited thirteen years to get what I've got coming, and I can't imagine any reason in the world why I shouldn't have it. It's suffered, and I've waited thirteen years to get what I've got coming, and I can't imagine any reason in the world why I shouldn't have it. It's my my money. It isn't anybody else's." money. It isn't anybody else's."

"College," Doris all but whispers.

Jake sighs, shakes his head. "I could never go to college the way you'd want me to, Mom. I never liked school very much."

"But you love to read! read! You love You love books!" books!"

"Yeah, I do. That won't change. You don't have to go to school to read books. I'll take a bunch with me. You and Dad can each make a list of what you think I should be reading."

"Won't be much overlap on those lists," I can't resist saying. Jake smiles. Doris ignores me and plows ahead.

"You're an honor student!" honor student!" she sputters. she sputters.

"Yeah, I was an honor student. That was just to keep you off my back, Mom."

He sighs, weary with it all. "And now I say-enough, already. All the guys in my cla.s.s kept talking about where they wanted to go to college, and it was driving me crazy. Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Brown. Blah, blah, blah." He shakes his head. "The last thing I'd ever want to do is go and live live at a school. Jesus! There'd be no at a school. Jesus! There'd be no relief relief from it! I'd feel like I was in cla.s.s twenty-four/seven! I'm not about to waste forty-five grand a year for something I don't even want, especially when it's from it! I'd feel like I was in cla.s.s twenty-four/seven! I'm not about to waste forty-five grand a year for something I don't even want, especially when it's my money!" my money!"

He's shouting by the end of his statement. Doris literally puts her hands over her ears and tilts her face to the floor. I try to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it away.

"How about if we we pay for it?" Doris offers. pay for it?" Doris offers.

"How about if n.o.body n.o.body pays for it, Mom?" pays for it, Mom?"

"Calm down, Jake," I say.

He momentarily shuts his eyes, composes himself, resumes speaking. "I just want to do this thing, my my thing," he says softly. "I've never really thing," he says softly. "I've never really been been anywhere or anywhere or done done anything that wasn't somehow connected to my anything that wasn't somehow connected to my formal education. formal education. Everything's a part of the Everything's a part of the big plan.... big plan.... Well, the h.e.l.l with that. This is Well, the h.e.l.l with that. This is my my plan, and I can only pull it off if I'm far, far away from everything and everyone I've ever known. I'm not saying it'll be easy, but it's what I want." plan, and I can only pull it off if I'm far, far away from everything and everyone I've ever known. I'm not saying it'll be easy, but it's what I want."

Doris lifts her head, her eyes red and teary. "Why?"

Jake shrugs. "Maybe I'm just tired of being a hothouse flower, Mom. I'd like to be a dandelion, you know? I want to see what it's like out there in the weather, feel what it's like to taste the rain."

"For how long?"

"I don't know. Six months, a year...the point is, I've been thinking about this for a long time, and now I can do it without turning to anyone for help. It's my money, and I...am...going." I...am...going."

Doris dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief, shakes her hair, and juts her chin. Whenever she does this, she is braced for battle. "Actually, you will need our consent."

"Excuse me?"

"The money. It's yours when you turn twenty-one, not eighteen. Not unless your father and I give our consent."

"You'll do that," Jake says. "I know Dad will."

"Don't be so sure," I say. "I have to think about it."

Jake goes to his mother, and dares to caress her cheek with a gentle hand.

"Mom," Jake says, "I'm begging begging you. I've been an obedient son, even when I thought your demands were ridiculous, and I don't think I've ever asked for much, or given you any real trouble." you. I've been an obedient son, even when I thought your demands were ridiculous, and I don't think I've ever asked for much, or given you any real trouble."

"Jacob. Need I remind you that you burned a two-thousand-dollar cello on the roof of this house?"

"Because you gave me no other choice. Please, please please don't put me in another corner. I'd hate to think of what I'd burn this time." don't put me in another corner. I'd hate to think of what I'd burn this time."

Jake falls to his knees before his mother and clasps his hands together in what would appear to be prayer.

Doris lets her head fall and shuts her eyes. Again I go to her and place a comforting hand on her shoulder. This time, she does not shrug it off. The shoulder feels bony. Doris is tired. She is not a kid anymore, and can't go fifteen rounds the way she used to.

"Please, Mom," Jake all but whispers. "Please, please, please please don't f.u.c.k this thing up for me." don't f.u.c.k this thing up for me."

Doris turns to me with imploring eyes. She wants to know what I think. She really really wants to know what I think. Suddenly, this is my ball game. wants to know what I think. Suddenly, this is my ball game.

I remember what my father had to say to me about being there for Jake. I am there, all right, with my son, at his side, not running off to the woods the way my father did, not failing him, not...bailing out. I take a deep breath, weigh it all up in my heart and my brain. They confer, and the decision, a unanimous one, comes straight from my soul. I take a deep breath, weigh it all up in my heart and my brain. They confer, and the decision, a unanimous one, comes straight from my soul.

"Doris," I say, "we've got to let him do this thing."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

It is almost as if Jacob-Perez Sullivan, four days past his eighteenth birthday, has gone into the Witness Protection Program. His beard is gone, and his hair is cut even shorter than mine. We owe this miracle to his beloved grandfather, Danny Sullivan, who'd given Jake some valuable advice while the two of them constructed that cobblestone path together a few weeks earlier.

"When you hit the road, Jake, you ought to clean up your appearance," my father advised. "Shave and a haircut, man. Last thing you want to do these days is resemble a terrorist. Good-lookin' kid like you, they'll be cavity-searchin' you at every port just for the fun of it."

Nothing Doris or I could have told him would have resulted in the cleanup. The change in Jake's appearance is so dramatic that I can't stop staring at him as the three of us make our way through JFK Airport.

It's our second family outing in less than a week, after years of never doing anything together. Our first outing wasn't your typical divorced-family-getting-together-for-old-times'-sake gathering.

The three of us had gotten together to kill the cat.

It was long overdue. Poor old Jasper was blind, and probably deaf. He couldn't eat, he moaned in his sleep, and you could see his skeleton through his coat. He was twenty years old. It had been a h.e.l.l of a life.

The veterinarian's office was in the bas.e.m.e.nt of a brownstone on West Eighty-eighth Street. I carried Jasper in an old pet carrier box, while Jake walked arm in arm with Doris. It was a beautiful sunny day, a great day to die or a terrible day to die, depending on your point of view. Is it better to die on a rainy day, since the day is a washout anyway? Or is it better to die on a sunny day, to go out on a cheerful note?

Jake and Doris were actually in tears as we entered the place, a small, dingy room rank with smells of alcohol and animal fur. The vet was a small, gnomeish man with round eyegla.s.ses, a full head of white hair, and an appropriately mournful face.

He embraced Doris. She'd left a lot of money here over the years, and this would be her final payment. Maybe that's why the vet looked mournful. He clasped his hands together, like a priest about to address his congregation. "Are we ready?"

Doris nodded. She lifted the lid of the carrier case to stroke Jasper's head one last time. "Good-bye, old friend."

I turned to Jake to see if he wanted a final farewell. He shook his head, wiped his eyes.

"I said goodbye to him back at the house, Dad."

I followed the vet into a closet-sized room with two chairs and an examining table. I set the carrying case on the floor and lifted that all but weightless creature onto my lap. He meowed nervously. He may have been blind and deaf, but he could sense where he was, and he didn't like it. Unpleasant things had been done to him here.

The vet was busy preparing a syringe. He didn't seem quite so mournful now, with Doris out of sight.

"Who are you to Doris?" he asked.

"Ex-husband."

He couldn't help chuckling. "Well. This is an odd thing for you to be doing."

"We do things together once in a while for the sake of the child, you know? Birthdays. Graduations. Executions."

His eyes narrowed. "You're a funny guy, eh?"

"Depends on who you ask, Doc."

Jasper was squirming on my lap. I stroked his head. He licked my hand. Oh boy.

The vet was ready. "Now listen. Just hold him the way you're holding him. I promise you he won't feel a thing."

"Just make sure you get him and not me, Doc."

He chuckled, held up the syringe. A drop of poison hung from the tip of the needle. "This wouldn't be enough to kill a man of your size. Might make you sick for a day or two, but that's all."

"Take careful aim anyway."

The vet gave Jasper's head a perfunctory stroke, a wordless eulogy. Then he pulled up a fold of the fur on Jasper's back, stuck the needle in there, and pumped in the poison.

Jasper perked up in my lap, c.o.c.king his head as if he'd heard someone calling him from another room, or maybe another world.

"Just hold him," the vet said. "Stroke him. He'll be asleep in less than a minute."

Jasper shut his eyes and rested his head on top of his paws. A surge of current seemed to run through his body, and then he was still, absolutely still.

"Okeydoke," the vet said, turning to write something in a notebook. "Set him on the examining table. I'll do the rest."

"Let me take his collar off first."

I removed the collar, a strip of worn yellow leather that held a metal tag with Jasper's name and address. What a pathetic thing for a cat who never left the apartment, except to visit the vet's! I laid Jasper's bare body on the examining table. It was all over.

"What happens to him now?"

"He'll be cremated. Would you like to have the ashes?"

Here we go, I said to myself. There's always a f.u.c.king angle.

"How much?"