Enough is enough. Rowan Chase is tired of constant drama with Cynthia. He wants a calm, orderly home life---no more drunken outbursts for them to endure, no more distractions for Robert, who has, despite his mother's continual crises, made it through his first year of college---at fifteen! He couldn't possibly be more proud of his son. He isn't pleased that the boy has insisted on attending a seminary---he has some cockamamie idea of doing missionary work---but he's young. There's still time for him to change his mind about this ascetic nonsense.
Cynthia is sullen and bitter as he packs, and there is one last volley of mutual accusation. He finally throws his last suitcase into the back of his car and goes to see how Robert is coming with his belongings. There's no sign he's even begun to gather his things. Robert sits at his desk, tapping his pen against his teeth and from time to time making careful notes from the book in front of him. He looks up at Rowan thoughtfully. "Go?" he repeats. "I can't go anywhere tonight, Dad. I have a paper due tomorrow."
After the paper is turned in, his excuse is mid-terms. Then a group project, finals, summer school---Rowan realizes that Robert has no intention of leaving Cynthia alone. He's noncommittal every time his father calls, but Rowan can hear it, the surly undertone that says, "If you won't take care of her, I will." It breaks a father's heart to know his child is on the wrong path. Obviously, the boy is brilliant--he's so far ahead of his age-mates it's laughable, and he's managed it with the handicap of looking after an alcoholic mother who by rights ought to be looking after him. Rowan shakes his head, wondering where it all went wrong.
Standing beside his ex-wife's grave a couple of years later, Rowan looks at his son and realizes how much more Robert resembles Cynthia than he does his father. He has the same fair skin and straight red-gold hair. He'll never have Rowan's height, although he's taller than his mother was. He's slim and athletic and possesses the same vibrant energy his mother had, back when she was the pretty young nurse who cared too much.
Their cleaner came in to work four days ago and found Cynthia dead on the kitchen floor in a puddle of gin and ice-melt, a broken glass nearby. Alcohol poisoning--not surprising, really, in light of her history. Robert returned home a scant hour later from a three-day retreat to the commotion of police and the coroner. He's taken charge, handled all the funeral arrangements with stoic resolve, and Rowan marvels at how mature he is at barely eighteen.
After the service, they converse briefly in the parking lot. Rowan reassures his son that it isn't his fault, that there was nothing he could do. His son nods, coppery strands fluttering back from his face. At the last minute, after Rowan's gotten into his car, Robert mentions---as if it's inconsequential---that he's left the seminary. He's changing his major to pre-med. Before his surprised father can say anything, Robert turns on his heel and walks away.
It's a tragic victory, thinks Rowan, but his son is going to be a damned fine doctor some day.