Free Three Rivers by Tiffany Quay Tyson

worse because back then Obi hadn’t understood how much he loved Liam. The thought of losing him then was scary, but the thought of losing him now was unbearable. He would do anything to protect Liam, even if they had to run forever, even if he had to kill twenty men. He’d hurt Liam once. He wouldn’t do it again.
    To this day he was ashamed of how he’d hurt his son, of how his temper got the best of him. It was Eileen he’d been angry with, but it was Liam who suffered. In the end, it made Obi a better man, a stronger man.
    He’d been weak back then, sleepwalking through day after terrible day. One day he came home from work exhausted, filthy, and covered in the sharp stench of burning metal. All he wanted was to shower, eat some kind of supper that hadn’t been zapped in a microwave, and sleep. His joints ached, his eyes burned from staring at the welding torch flame, his feet and legs were as heavy as the steel beams he’d spent the day moving. He heard Liam’s cry before he opened the door. He’d stepped into the tiny, cluttered mess of a house and peeled off his work boots. Liam’s screams grew louder. He kicked his boots to one side and unbuttoned the heavy denim shirt he wore to protect his skin from the torch flames and the sun. He shimmied out of his jeans and stood there in the laundry room in his underwear and a T-shirt and a pair of mismatched, holey socks. Even though the house was filthy—the kitchen table scattered with unidentifiable crumbs, the sink crowded with crusty plates and mugs, the living room floor a circus maze of plastic toys and shoes—Eileen would not allow Obi to tromp through the house in his work clothes. She insisted he strip down to his underwear before crossing the kitchen and walking down the short hallway to the bathroom where he could shower away the filth of his workday.
    On that day, Obi wanted a shower more than he wanted to check on his screaming son. If the boy was crying, he was alive. Obi figured a few more minutes wouldn’t kill the kid and, anyway, he’d been busting his ass all day; Eileen could do something.
    The shower steam rose up and cleared away some of his frustration. He lathered his face and hair and stood beneath the water, turning his head from side to side to stretch out the kinks in his neck. Liam screamed and screamed. Obi wrapped a towel around his waist and went to his son. He lifted Liam to his chest and the child’s cries turned into a series of soft hiccups against Obi’s skin. He felt the heavy, soggy weight of his son’s diaper and smelled the putrid scent of the boy’s waste. “Goddammit, Eileen.” Obi cleaned Liam and changed his diaper. He washed his face, mopping up the tear-streaked cheeks and clearing the trail of snot from Liam’s upper lip.
    When he was done, he sat Liam down in the living room and went to look for his wife. Eileen was passed out in the bedroom, an open bag of greasy chips spilled out beside her. She looked almost peaceful, her red curls splayed across the pillow. Obi wanted to love her, had loved her once, but she had turned into someone he could barely stand. He shook her until she opened her glassy eyes and stared at him. “Get up,” he demanded.
    â€œLeave me alone.” She turned her back to him and slung an arm across her face. Obi grabbed the arm and yanked her to her feet. She was a small woman and easy to lift.
    â€œI said get up.” Obi steered Eileen’s limp body through the house. He forced her to look at the mess. “I work all day. I shouldn’t have to clean the house, clean up Liam, when I come home at night.”
    â€œYou don’t know what it’s like being here with him all day.”
    Eileen’s voice was like a mosquito buzzing in Obi’s ear. He gripped her shoulders, shook her hard.
    â€œStop it.” She cried, “You’re hurting me.”
    â€œWell, you’re killing