I could feel his tears on my shirt. I could feel his face, hot and working, as he sobbed into my shoulder. Even as I hugged him I could feel him pulling away. Craig. My step-son. It was funny, I kind of felt that whatever tenuous bond we had was broken when his mother died. My wife. My beautiful Julia. Because when she died I stopped seeing him. I saw him at the funereal, an 11 year old boy in a stiff suit, his eyes red and puffy from crying. But he wasn't crying that day. No. He kept it all in.

I had seen him at Snake and Spike's house, and I saw Emma and Manny swooning over him and I had to smile. But I knew his father, and had just spoken to him that day at the car lot. Albert. Arrogant and entitled. Able to make you feel small with a slight cock of his head. I never understood how Julia had married him in the first place. And he told me he did not want Craig to see Ang or me and, well, that was that. Craig lived with him and as step-father with a dead wife I had no rights to him, no say over what he could do or who he could see.

But I saw in his eyes this hurt, this trying to pretend that things were okay. He told me it was okay for him to be there, at the first mention of his father he said, "he's fine with it," Craig had always had these layers of emotions in his eyes, and if I bothered I could read them all. He was lying, but what he was saying was what he wanted to be the truth. He was convincing himself that everything was okay, but I never dreamed of how wrong it was.

Now, shaking, sobbing, and pulling away from any touch, I wondered how I didn't see.

"C'mon," I said, gently leading him to the car. Sean was looking down, the worry firmly in his eyes. I felt for Sean. He'd just met Craig earlier this week at school. I'd known Craig for years, since he was seven years old. He'd always been a complicated, deceptive little kid. You never really knew what he was thinking. And I knew the effect his father had on people, on Julia and myself. What effect has he had on Craig?

He didn't move at first, wouldn't look at me or Sean. Spaced out. The tears and sobs were slowing down, little hitches of his chest and involuntary breaths were all that were left of the storm. I put my arm around his shoulders and felt the muscles tight as wires, and I lead him to the car.

Sean got in the back seat, so clearly wanting to be somewhere else that it was almost funny. He kept licking his lips and glancing out of the corners of his eyes. Craig got in the front seat, looking nervous and more alert as the crying stopped completely.

"Are you bringing me home?" he said, not looking at me, looking just to the side of my face. Sean was staring at his sneakers in the backseat.

"No. No. You can come home with me," I said, and for the first time since we saw him at his mother's grave he seemed to relax.

I pulled along the curb beside my house and turned the ignition off. I felt lost. It was one foot in front of the other time.

"C'mon," I said, to both of them. Sean bolted from the car, jogged up the steps and waited for Emma to open the door. Craig blinked slowly, looking unsure of where he was and what was going on. As I watched him he reached for the door handle and stepped out of the car.

Emma and Sean were looking at me expectantly. Craig was standing near the stairs, his arms wrapped around himself, looking down. Before I could deal with him I'd have to deal with Emma and Sean. Sean had taken the stance of avoidance, and he was edging toward the kitchen. Emma had that look on her face, the concerned, half righteous save the animals look and she headed for Craig.

"Craig! Are you alright!"

He swung his head toward her slowly and nodded, and I gestured for her to come away from him.

"Emma, thanks for watching Angie," I said, thinking of her mother at her age, her wild spiky hair and her 'don't mess with me' attitude. I thought how I sometimes felt like I was still that age.

"Of course," she said, "no problem,"

"Maybe you should call your mom, have her come and pick you up, maybe give Sean a ride home?" I said, and she glanced over at Craig. He was still hugging himself, looking down at the floor.

"Yeah, sure," she said, and she whipped out her cell phone and speed dialed her mother.

"Mom," she said, "Joey and Sean found him. Yeah. Can you come pick us up?"

We waited in a kind of limbo for Spike to come. These two needed to leave, but I didn't know what I would do when they did. Should I question Craig, find out the truth of things? Would that be too much for him? And this suicide attempt, in front of a train. Should I bring him to a hospital? I took a deep breath when I heard Spike's car pull up behind mine. I didn't know what the hell to do.

They said goodbye to Craig, Sean uncomfortable, Emma looking sympathetic. They bounded down the walk and got in her car, and she waved to me. I waved back and watched them pull away, and then I turned my attention to this troubled boy who was suddenly in my living room, in my life.

"Craig," I said, and he jumped a little at his name and looked at me.

"Come here. Sit down," I gestured to the couch and he came slowly and sat.

"How bad is it?" I said, not knowing if I was ready to hear this.

"Bad," he said, choking on the word, not looking at me.

"He hurts you?" I said, peering at him, seeing the tears welling up again. He nodded and they spilled over.

"What does he do?" I said. I knew he hit him. But I had to know exactly what was going on. I had to have some clue of how I should proceed. And he didn't answer. He looked away, wiped his tears. I waited. Nothing. I closed my eyes. Julia. I could feel her near me. She was willing me to help him. I'd always felt closer to her, after she died, when Craig was around. Maybe she wasn't hovering near me, but him.

"Craig," I said, and reached out to grab his shoulder. He jerked away like he did in the cemetery. I shouldn't have grabbed him but frustration was welling up in me like the tears in his eyes. I wanted to help, I didn't know how.

"Craig," I said softly, "I can't help you unless I know exactly what is going on,"

Truth time. How often in life do you ever know exactly what is going on? There are all these clandestine thoughts and reasons backing up every action and reaction. Albert is hurting him and it's bad, what more do I need to know?

He looked over at me, licked his lips and sighed, and then he turned his head away. I watched as he grabbed the edge of the button up shirt he was wearing and pulled it up, up over his rib cage and I saw. There were fresh bruises, purples and blues, laying over the older ones, fading yellows and greens. He held the shirt up for a few seconds, letting me take it in. It was what Angie said, 'I saw, all purple,'

"Oh my God," I said, breathing the words out. He let the shirt fall, covering the bruises again. My mind raced. How long? Was this happening when Julia left him with Albert? Did it start after? Did Albert turn his anger and hatred of her and me to him?

And then the words came, pleading, beseeching, asking me to understand.

"I'm a terrible kid, Joey. I make my dad angry,"

I blinked. He thought it was his fault, or some part of him thought that. I felt this flash of anger at Albert. How could he do this to his own son? Craig was smart, creative, kind and caring. That was what I had seen when Julia was alive. He was a good kid, and now he believed that he deserved to be beaten because he was a terrible kid? Albert had not only hurt his body but warped his mind, and now I was supposed to deal with this? Fix it?

"You're not a terrible kid," I said, a weak protest. I didn't know. What did abused kids think? And when did this start? When he was seven? When his mother died, when he was 11? Was it more recent? How long had he believed that he was this terrible kid deserving to be hit? My slight words of encouragement were nothing against years of violence and fear and abuse. I was out of my league and I knew it.

"I am. I am. I deserve it,"