Monk and the Two Assistants @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } CHAPTER SIX Mr. Monk’s Assistant Makes a Discovery There’s something about seeing a man cry that makes me feel like I should avert my eyes. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it this time. I stared at Trevor and openly studied each stinging tear on his face, each pained grimace, each tortured heave of his chest. I haven’t seen many men cry, but when they do, there’s a nakedness about it that I think is even more intimate and revealing than sex. I’ve only seen my father cry once. I was nine years old when it happened. I was heading to his study to show him a drawing I’d done of our dog. The doors weren’t closed all the way, and something made me stop and peek through the crack before I went in. He was alone at his desk, his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. At one point, he dropped his hands and I saw his tear-streaked cheeks. But I saw much more. I saw vulnerability.
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