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and
stared at the guy in the mirror. Chrissy. Atkins was her
last name. She’d been my high school girlfriend. We’d gone to
games, parties, movies, the mall. We’d had sex at her house when
her parents were gone. I suddenly remembered that as clearly as if
it were yesterday. I wondered how I could possibly have forgotten
her until now.
    My mom had tried to prompt my memories by
having me look through family photos. Hadn’t I seen a prom picture
or two? That time immediately after I got home from the hospital
was hazy. I was on a lot of pain meds still, so it’s no wonder some
things fell through the cracks. But my memories were unlocked now.
All except why Lisa thought I’d been so horrible to her friend.
    By the time I finally left the restroom, I’d
sort of forgotten which field Katie was playing on. I stood for a
moment, blinking in the bright sunshine and wishing all the noisy
people would disappear.
    “Jason?” My father approached me through the
crowd. “Are you okay?”
    “Yeah. Fine.”
    “You look pale.”
    “I’m fine! There’s nothing wrong with me,” I
snapped.
    “Okay. Take it easy.”
    I hated when he used his “reasonable” voice,
calming me as if I was a five-year-old about to throw a tantrum.
But he had no reason to believe I wouldn’t. For a while after the
accident, I was likely to lose control at any time.
    Don’t blame the parents , I reminded
myself and took a deep breath. “Sorry. I just saw somebody I used
to know from high school, and it unlocked some memories. Dad, do
you remember Chrissy Atkins?”
    “Of course. You dated her for two years. Is
that who you saw?”
    “No. Her friend. Lisa. Do you remember why I
broke up with Chrissy?”
    My dad laughed. “Are you kidding? You
wouldn’t tell me anything about anything back then, especially your
relationship with a girl. Neither your mother or I knew why you
broke up with Chrissy. We figured it was because you were going to
different colleges.”
    As we walked back toward the soccer field, I
thought about what he’d said about never knowing me when I was a
teenager. Probably not during my college days either, because I’d
hardly ever come home. And now I was still trying to distance
myself from my parents, despite the fact that I owed them
everything.
    “I’m sorry if I was an asshole,” I said.
    “It’s okay. I was to my parents as a
teenager. You can call up Grandma and ask her.” My dad slung an arm
around my shoulders. “You’re getting better. I can tell you’re
working to control your temper, and you came to your sister’s game
today.”
    “So I’m not such a douche?”
    “You’re growing up.”
    He gave me a hug, and I realized the coil of
tension I’d been pressing back earlier was gone.
    ****
    I spent most of the weekend cleaning out
closets, doing laundry, and making sure I was one hundred percent
prepared on every case assigned to me. As a first-year associate,
my work was mostly comprised of research, a glorified paralegal
gathering statistics and facts to support the lead prosecutor. That
was why I’d been thrilled to be allowed to present the Paulik case
and given a chance to prove myself to the firm. Or to prove myself
incompetent, as it turned out. If I got another chance to step
forward, I was going to be ready in every conceivable way.
    Sunday afternoon was sunny and gorgeous, so I
went jogging in a nearby park, followed by a cool-down walk that
took me to an open-air market. I browsed a book stall, poked
through vinyl albums, bought a sketch from an artist whose bold
work was a stark contrast to the handicraft booths around her. I
was heading home, satisfied with my purchase—I’d been waiting for
just the right piece to fill a particular spot on my bedroom
wall—when the sound of puppies yipping drew my attention.
    In the grass behind the row of booths, a
makeshift fence contained a half-dozen puppies. Gold, tan, brown,
black-and-white, they were a mixed bag of fun of no