“Yeah, okay.” Billy endured Denis ordering him to move about the room and pose ten, fifteen, twenty times, trying to get photos from his best angles and with the best light. He didn’t know how Denis could say “best angles” with a straight face.
“Work it,” Denis joked as the camera’s flash went off like tiny explosions.
The ordeal ended. “We have a wrap,” Denis said. “Well done.”
“But I was just starting to get into it.” Billy was only half joking. He’d dreaded Denis seeing him like this, and still dreaded putting his near-naked body on public display. But it was a little freeing, too. Like maybe now, because he’d revealed the worst of himself, he could stop hiding in plain sight. His naked, ugly self revealed, he was at last free of what he’d imagined to be this deep, dark secret he’d kept all these years, the secret of just how disgusting he was.
Denis scrolled through the photos he’d taken, looking pleased with himself. Billy struck a pose, gritting his teeth and flexing his arms. “Get me like this.”
Denis laughed and clicked, shooting Billy in Incredible Hulk mode. Billy struck one powerful pose after another, all curved arms, planted legs, and bared teeth. He mimicked the Hulk’s signature roar, making Denis laugh harder. Giddy, he climbed onto the bed and stood in its center, his arms curved at his head and a slight bend in his knees, as if he could barely contain the might of himself. He was an action figure. He could take on anyone, anything.
Denis raised the camera and captured more shots. “Brilliant! I love it!”
Billy roared again, louder and stronger than any war cry that had ever ripped through the Hulk’s throat. He beat on his chest with his fists. “Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”
Denis was laughing so hard he couldn’t stand straight. “That’s exactly how Bill Bixby sounded.”
Billy pounded on his chest again. “Fear the Hulk!”
They laughed hard. The bedroom hadn’t heard such laughter in years. As if the very thought summoned her, Tricia opened the bedroom door. Startled, she looked from Denis and up to Billy standing on the middle of the mattress.
“Tricia.” Billy scrambled to get down off the bed. Tricia retreated into the hall. “Wait,” he said, but she was already gone.
*
Inside the garage, Billy set about making a tiny church for his miniature village. The six miniature Brennans watched from the edge of the workbench. The rows of defective dolls and soldiers peered down from their shelves on the wall. He glued the wooden church together, complete with a steeple and cross. Next, he inserted a pea-sized silver bell into the tower, and four stained-glass windows that he’d painstakingly cut from sun-catcher ornaments. These were the only adornment he would allow, the church pointedly absent of confessional boxes, staring statues, and a bloodstained Jesus hanging from the crucifix.
Next, he lifted the cottage’s thatched roof and placed his firstborn inside, the home for his tiny family replicated from the cottage inside the snow globe in the shop window—on that fateful day he’d tried to avoid Kitty Moore in town. Next to Michael, he placed tiny Billy, Tricia, John, Anna, and Ivor. He wished the toys had movable parts, so he could do more with them, so they would seem more lifelike. Beyond the cottage, the day is sunny, glorious. The six Brennans rush outside and play football next to the ice-blue tree, the black puppy darting among them, wagging his tail.
After, the family races on horseback on the beach, the puppy trailing, barking with delight. Michael breaks from the group and charges ahead on the chestnut stallion. Billy calls after him, alarmed. “Come back!” He kicks at his horse’s flanks, giving chase. Billy catches up with Michael and grabs at the reins, pulling the chestnut to a stop.
Michael is laughing. “I’m all right, I just wanted to see how fast he could go.” Billy tries to control his anger and panic, telling himself Michael is okay and that’s all that matters. But this is Billy’s kingdom and in his kingdom he cannot allow Michael to ever get away.
Michael frowns. “What’s wrong?”
Billy forces a smile, struggling to calm himself. “Nothing, son. Everything’s perfect.” They circle around and rejoin the others.
Billy, Tricia, and the children gallop along the ocean’s edge, their horses glistening with sweat as they race over the glittering sand toward the sun, the brightest light of all.
*