I remember, I guess it must have been a few months after my father's death, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do. Just this complete feeling of helplessness and I was drowning in it. I was thirteen, and though I had had my bar mitzvah and was considered a man, I wasn't and I have yet to meet a thirteen-year old who is a man. My brother was four and didn't understand what had happened. He wasn't even in kindergarten yet. When we got older, I asked him once what he remembered about our father and he had but one memory which he could recall. A summer day not long before our father's death when he came early from work and took us all out for ice cream. I still can't remember that day. Funny, the things that people remember.

But once he got older, when he was in elementary school, I used to walk him to and from school everyday. Pestered with questions the whole way, round trip. I remember once, when he was about seven, he had this absolute fascination with cowboys and we were walking home from school and we came upon this guy picking on this girl that I liked. And the kid punched me. I went down like a rock, but when we walked away, Bernie was jumping all around, excited that I had beat this kid up. He seemed to have completely missed the point that I went down without any fight.

Once he got old enough to realize it, we would have these big arguments because I was treating him more like a son than my kid brother. I never tried to explain it to him. I would rather him be angry with me than with our father.

I was by her side again. No other calls had come in during the day and I, accompanied by Olivia, had run around half the city. And while I was still pumped to go out some more, I had stopped by her apartment just to make sure she was doing all right. Thinking on it, I realized it was a strange reason to go considering she wouldn't be all right until her boys were sitting beside her. Even then, something would be different, just as something was different even though we caught her rapist and he was currently sitting behind bars. Something always changes when you see the raw evil in the world.

She wasn't crying anymore, but her eyes were red and her hands were shaking. Fin had sat by her side all day, except for the few instances when we had called him. Now he was at the station and Olivia was waiting for me in the car. I had told her to leave it on with the heat, but when I return, I know it will be ice cold. I also told her I wouldn't be long, but I just can't stand to leave Joann by herself for the long night ahead.

Finally, though, I took my arm from around her shoulders. "I have to go now."

She nodded.

"Call me if you need anything, all right? Even just someone to be here. I'll get someone for you. Okay?"

She nodded.

"Joann, we'll find them. I promise."

She squeezed my hand and bowed her head.

I squeezed back. "I promise."

Not a day went by that I didn't do something for my brother. Some nights, our mother would go out on dates, trying to find a replacement for an irreplaceable man. I would watch Johnny Staccato and he would insist on staying awake until he predictably fell asleep. I'd wait until the last possible moment until waking him up and getting him off to bed. Then my mother would walk in the door, tired and let down again. I never told her we didn't need a new dad. We needed our old one back, and since that wasn't going to happen, we were just going to make do. I guess I should have told her at some point, to save her the endless tramping around at night with some guy whom she didn't really like then and wasn't going to like anytime soon.

There was one time I remember she came home and she was going to go kiss Bernie goodnight, who was probably already asleep again. But halfway there, she sagged against the wall, crying. I watched her from the living room. It's not that I was insensitive, but when you see your mother crying, you kinda lose all feeling in your limbs.

She only rested against that cold wall for a minute, but it was enough. Never again did she leave us at night. And Bernie was forced to go to bed early every night with no late night forays into the world of Johnny Staccato. I guess I've always felt kind of bad about that.