The crying fit at Jacky's had liberated him. He
wondered why. Why had it felt right, somehow, to be punished by her? He
missed the sex, ached for it, but he didn't miss the beatings. He just
didn't feel guilty any more.
Guilty. As soon as he thought the word, Oliver knew that he was onto
something. He realized that he had felt guilty for as long as he could
remember--so long, in fact, that he didn't register it as guilt; it was
just the way he was. Why should he feel this way? He couldn't be
sure--this was murky territory--but he suspected that it had to do with
his mother. She seemed to hover around the edges when he thought back.
He wondered if he hadn't, at a very young age, taken on responsibility
for _her_ problems--with Owl, with him, with life. Maybe he had felt
that they were his fault, somehow. Whatever it had been, Jacky had
beaten it out of him. Probably that was why she picked him in the first
place. She had sensed his need, matching hers.
He continued to work at home and at the Conservancy. One afternoon,
Jennifer talked him into the "Drumming For Gaia" trip.
"I can't drum anything," he said.
"Oliver, you like music. I know you do.
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