The commercial for the documentary about the Great Pyramids came on again. Greg didn't get to see them when he lived in Egypt because he had hurt himself in an accident. Like hell it was an accident.

"Greg?"

"What?"

"Were you disappointed that you didn't get to see the pyramids?"

He turned and gave me a funny look, like he couldn't believe I was actually asking him about it. I shouldn't have been asking, but I needed know, I needed some kind of proof that there was a reason he was the way he was. He wasn't born a snaky, moody, merciless bastard, he was made into one by a guy who made Greg-even on his worst days-look like Mr. Rogers. I wanted to know the real reason why he had been hurt and couldn't see the pyramids like his Dad had promised.

He sighed and answered, "Yeah, I guess I was."

"How did you hurt yourself?"

"I fell. I already told you that. Have you gone deaf or something?"

"You must have fallen hard to not be able to walk for a while."

"I sure did," he answered flatly, turning back to the TV and changing the channel, all the while hoping I would stop asking questions and drop it.

"What happened to your leg exactly? Why couldn't you walk?" I pressed on, knowing he would say something when I crossed his invisible line.

"I cracked my ankle, tore a few tendons and broke two toes."

"Ouch," I said before I could stop myself. It was worse than I thought. "How did that happen?"

"I tripped on the stairs."

"How?"

"How what?"

"How did you trip?"

"Why do you care?" He was starting to get irritated, but he hadn't told me to stop yet, so I didn't. "Is there some annoying question quota you have to meet today?"

"Did you trip on a shoelace or something?" I asked carefully.

"Not exactly," he answered, then frowned. "Dad needed to make a few repairs on the car and wanted me to help--hand him the tools, stuff like that. He was yelling at me to hurry the hell up and in my rush I missed a step. Instead of handing Dad wrenches and screwdrivers and pliers all day, I get handed crutches and can't walk for weeks."

Nice story. Too bad it wasn't true. Sure, most of it was true, but he was leaving a detail or two out. He may have fallen down the stairs, but it didn't quite happen the way he said it did. I'm sure his Dad did more than yell at him to hurry up on the day in question.

"You don't believe in God because your father," I said. "Isn't that what you said?"

His frown deepened. "What does that have to do with falling down the stairs?"

I had to ask. Either he would answer or he wouldn't. "Why do you hate your father?"

He continued to stare straight ahead, weighing the options of answering in his mind, weighing the pros and cons of letting me in on the dirty little secret of his past. Only the babble of the television in the background broke through the heavy silence. Instead of telling me to shut up and mind my own business like I expected him to, he just quietly answered, "Because he's a two-faced son of a bitch. He used to drag me kicking and screaming to church every Sunday so I could repent for my sins. Apparently his don't count. I may be a colossal prick as well, but I've never pretended to be anything else."

"Did you fall down the stairs by accident?"

"You already know the answer to that," he replied stonily.

Yes, I most certainly did.

Greg went on and said, "But I still got blamed for it anyway."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't hurry up like he told me to."

I was right. His story was mostly true. "Were you really going to see the pyramids?"

"Yeah. Mom wanted to see them, and even Dad had to admit they were something to behold. I don't think Mom ever forgave him for not taking us. I heard her tearing him a new one over it." He chuckled to himself, obviously enjoying the memory. "Still, even after that he never could ease off a bit. Not that I could have ever done anything right in his eyes to begin with…"

"Did you have take a bath in ice water?"

He didn't answer, just gave me a look that told the story his words couldn't even come close to justifying. Then Video Justice came on and he mumbled, "Be quiet, I want to watch this."

So I shut up and watched the show with him. After a few minutes I reached over and took his hand. He didn't pull it away.