Accelerated (38 page)

“Can we read more
Prince Caspian?”
Toby asked.

Reading
Prince Caspian
was the last thing he wanted to do. “Sure,” he said. He was still drunk but the hangover had already started. How was that possible? He lay on the bed and tried to get comfortable on the pillows next to Toby. He tried to focus on the page.

“Everyone except your Majesty knows that Miraz is a usurper,” he read, thinking about how he could get back at Clark for saying those things about Toby on national television. “When he first began to rule he did not even pretend to be the King …” His mind flew to Toby’s future, to the community college he’d be lucky to get into, to his job as a grocery bagger. “He called himself Lord Protector. But then your royal mother died, the good Queen and the only Telmarine who was ever kind to me. And then, one by one, all the great lords, who had known your father, died or disappeared. Not by accident, either. Bradley weeded them out.”

“What?” Toby pried the book from his hands and studied the page. “Dad,
Miraz
weeded them out. Not Bradley.”

“What?”

“You said Bradley.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Dad, you seem tired.”

“I am. I’m tired. Let’s stop for the night.”

“Aw, come on Dad. Please?”

“I’m beat, Tobe. I’ve got to go to bed.”

“Can I read by myself for a while?”

“It’s late. You need to—” Then he realized: Toby had just asked to read. By himself. For fun. The world could be falling down around them, which in a way it was. But if Toby wanted to read, everything was going to be okay. “You know what?” he said, casually, so he didn’t kill the delicate moment. “Why not? It can be a special treat.”

“Yay!” He snuggled against his pillow, holding the book up awkwardly and started to read.

Sean floated into the living room, unable to contain the smile. “He’s reading,” he said, sliding next to Jess on the couch. “He
asked
to read.”

“Yesss,” she said, throwing her head back and clenching the remote above her head in victory.

He squinted at the TV. “What are they saying now?”

“It just goes on and on. It’s impossible to look away.” She turned up the volume. On MSNBC, a twenty-four-year-old kid who had been diagnosed with ADD while he was at private school in Washington, D.C. was talking about his heroin addiction. “As a kid, my parents gave me Ritalin to fix my problems,” he said. “Heroin didn’t seem like a huge stretch to me. I’m trying to get clean now. My parents won’t talk to me until I do, but, like, if you think about it, I’m really here because of them.”

She flipped to CNN. A man in a suit, about Sean’s age, was talking. “I never did well in school as a kid. I just thought I was stupid. Nothing the teachers said ever stuck. I couldn’t focus long enough to finish a book or write a paper,” he told the interviewer. “I was thirty when my doctor diagnosed me with ADD. I took that first pill and this noise in my head I’d never even noticed turned off and everything changed. Things made sense. I read books now. I can finish projects. I’m not saying methylphenidates are for everyone. But ADD isn’t a pretend affliction. It’s very real. And for someone who truly suffers from it, medication can make all the difference in the world.”

“Thank you Duncan,” the interviewer said, and turned to the camera. “That was Duncan Canton. His book,
The Medication Maze: How to Treat Your Child’s Attention Deficit Disorder
, spent fifty-two weeks on the
New York Times
best-seller list. And now we’re going to hear from the prestigious Bradley School, which is at the center of the
Buzz
magazine story that’s got everyone talking.”

A moment later, Bev Shineman was on TV. “Oh shit,” Jess said, and turned up the volume.

“Our hearts go out to Toby Benning,” Shineman was saying. She looked more pasty than usual. Fresh flowers filled the frame, though Sean had never seen flowers in her tiny office before. “We are thrilled with his complete recovery. But as you know, schools don’t put children on medication. Parents do. It’s not our place to even suggest it.”

“Is there any truth at all to Mr. Benning’s accusations that the school counsels parents toward medication?”

“Together with families, The Bradley School works to serve the students’ best interests, so they may thrive and be successful.”

“What about his accusations of forged signatures?”

“I think Mr. Benning has been watching too many movies. It’s not like he has any proof whatsoever to back up his claims. The Bradley School is a top-notch institution with top-notch faculty. We’ve always put children first. It’s why we’ve earned the reputation we have.”

“So why would Mr. Benning be blaming the school so publicly?” the interviewer asked.

“It’s perfectly normal for a parent to blame the school, the teachers, the doctors. It helps alleviate the guilt. But
as
the parent, he is ultimately responsible.”

Sean snorted. He wondered if Daniels had given her a script.

“Am I right to assume the school will be pressing libel charges?”

“Absolutely,” she said.

A quick cut and Billy Horn was on the screen. “The school psychologist pushed hard to make me put my son on that stuff. No way was I going to do it. But I know for a fact that article was right on. You don’t want to believe Bradley could be doing that. But I’ll tell you and anyone else who’ll listen, you’re wrong. In fact, I’m taking my son out of Bradley as soon as possible.”

“Whoa,” Jess said. “Did you know he was …” The sharp buzz of the intercom cut her off and they both flinched.

He hadn’t ordered takeout and he definitely wasn’t expecting company. Maybe if he ignored it, whoever it was would just go away. The intercom sounded again.

Jess looked scared. Sean stared at the house phone for a moment before picking up. “Yes?”

“I have a Meralee Drake down here for you,” Manny announced.

Minutes later, Melanie was at the door, red-eyed and exhausted. When she saw Jess, she froze.

“It’s okay,” Sean said. “Jess is on the right side of this.”

Melanie relaxed a little, but still looked confused. He thought about explaining, but quickly abandoned the idea.

“I can’t believe you wrote that article,” she said. “That was so ballsy.”

Ballsy meant stupid where he came from. He wondered if Bradley would sue him directly or if they’d go after
Buzz
instead.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so …” She trailed off, shaking her head guiltily.

“Can I get you something? Tea or …”

“A drink would be great. Anything strong.”

He cracked open a bottle of vodka that had been sitting in the freezer for years and poured three glasses.

“Cal is a private person,” she said, accepting the drink. Sean wondered if someone who made the papers four times a week could really be described as “private.” “At first, he was outraged that people wanted to know details. The peanut allergy seemed like such a simple way to make all the questions stop.” She took a sip, grimaced, then took another.

“That makes sense,” Jess said. “You wanted privacy.”

“Exactly. That was all it was. At first.”

He sat on the edge of his seat, waiting for the rest of it, listening to his pulse pound in his temples.

“I always wondered about the Metattent, whether Calvin really needed it. The school had pushed so hard, you were right about that. But the doctor’s diagnosis was … and so many kids take it now I didn’t think …” Her exhale was filled with grief. “Then that psychiatrist—the one from your story—wrote to me. He said the school had done this before. And then you came to the apartment and told me about Toby …” She cried silently. “Sean, I killed him. I killed my son.”

“
They
killed him,” Jess said, rubbing Melanie’s back.

“You were trying to help him.” He could only imagine how guilty she felt and would feel for the rest of her life. But she was here. She wanted to talk, and he had so many questions. “When I asked you if Calvin was taking medication, why did you lie?”

She wiped her eyes with a tissue Jess handed her. “I signed something.”

“What do you mean?”

“I signed something that said I would stick with the peanut allergy story. It seemed like a good deal. We didn’t want people gossiping about Calvin. And Susannah’s—you know she’s still at Bradley—she’s looking at colleges this summer. They made it worth our while.”

“Bradley bribed you?”

“They called it a settlement.”

“How much?”

She looked him dead in the eye. “Lots.”

“But …” He assumed the Drakes had more money than God.

“The last few years have been rough. We were in no position to turn down that much cash.” Her fingers pulled through her hair. “Jesus, we sound like monsters … At first it all seemed reasonable. Our privacy was preserved. It all made sense. Nothing was going to bring him back, maybe we should just move on. But now I can’t sleep. I can’t eat, knowing I’m responsible for the next kid.” She closed her eyes but he could tell it wasn’t keeping away the demons. “Knowing that Susannah is going to that school every day … I can’t bear it.”

“What could Bradley do to you if you talked to the lawyer now?”

“I don’t know.” She wrung her hands. “Cal forbade me to talk about this with you, with anyone.”

He buried his head in his hands. “What a mess.”

No one noticed Toby padding out of his bedroom. “Done reading,” he said.

“Toby.” Melanie brightened briefly. “How are you? Look how tall you’ve gotten.”

“I’m good.” Toby looked at the three of them, trying to figure out what was going on. “When did you come?”

“I just stopped by to talk to your dad.” She tilted her head to get a better look at the book.

“It’s
Prince Caspian.”
Toby offered it to her. “Did Calvin ever read it?”

She shook her head sadly. “No, he never got to read that one.”

“Because I think he’d like it.”

Melanie nodded silently as tears gathered in her eyes.

Sean hopped up and redirected Toby. “Wow it’s late. Brush teeth and I’ll be in to say goodnight.”

When Toby had disappeared down the hallway, Melanie’s expression changed. It was now steely. “I’m going to …” She cleared her throat. “I’m going to talk to the lawyer you told me about.”

“But—” He was trying to keep up. “You just said … so you’re …”

“I’m going to talk to the lawyer.” She said it slowly, clearly. Possibly to convince herself.

He nodded because he was afraid words might break the spell.

“Let’s call her now,” she said. “Before I change my mind.” Her son was dead and now she was about to kill her marriage and life as she knew it. He picked up the phone and dialed Nina. This could unfold in countless ways, but one thing was certain: Nina wasn’t going to be able to sit on this one.

O
N HIS LAST DAY IN HIS APARTMENT
, S
EAN STRETCHED THE
packing tape over the last box and looked around the living room. Ellie had come to say goodbye to Toby. In the end, he’d left most of the furniture for her. Either she’d chosen it or it was crap, not worth lugging. His eyes settled on the tea kettle. He couldn’t remember ever having used it, but it had been his mother’s, so he grabbed it.

Looking around the apartment, he flashed back to when he was ten years old, moving out of his childhood house. The idea of leaving everything he knew had been terrifying. Now, he watched Ellie pick up Toby’s backpack in one hand. Her other rested possessively, lovingly, on his shoulder. Either Toby was fine or he was hiding it well.

“Locked and loaded,” Toby announced, pulling the Spiderman suitcase behind him. He held up a plastic bag bulging with five-month-old Halloween candy. “For the road.”

“Toothbrush?” Sean asked.

Toby stopped in his tracks, dropped his suitcase and ran back to the bathroom.

“So,” Ellie said with a sad smile, “this is it.”

“I guess it is.” He’d always hated endings, but this was different.

She pondered her feet uncomfortably. “I didn’t believe you. About Bradley.” Her boobs heaved when she sighed. He noticed they were a little smaller than they’d been.

“Ellie, you don’t have to—”

“You were right,” she cut him off. “I was so angry. At you—” She shrugged. “At myself. I couldn’t see past it, but I should have trusted you.”

“It’s okay,” he said, and meant it.

“Okay,” Toby said, running back to them. “Ready.”

Ellie crouched down and rested her hands on his shoulders. “So it’ll look different when you come back,” she said. “But your room will be just the same.”

Anywhere else in the country, the arrangement would be absurd. But in New York people did insane things for rent-controlled apartments. Ellie would keep the place in Montauk and also live part-time here, in the home she and Sean couldn’t live in together. She’d said she wanted continuity for Toby when he came back to visit every two weekends. She was also thinking about work again.

Toby’s entire world was about to change, and Sean realized that giving him a minute wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“Come on.” Toby bounced impatiently. “Let’s hit the road.”

Sean hoisted the last box onto his shoulder and followed Toby out the door. Ellie locked it and they rode the elevator downstairs in silence.

For some reason, shaking Manny’s hand was the thing that choked him up. “Thanks man,” Sean said, his throat thick with emotion.

Nicole was reading the paper in the front seat of the rented Ford station wagon he’d double parked in front of the building. He jiggled the box down from his shoulder, caught it with both hands, and wedged it in the back. Before slamming the hatch, he surveyed the contents of the trunk. Except for his artwork, which would be shipped the next week, this was the evidence of his life to this point. When he’d moved to New York, he was sure he would be here forever. In a few minutes it would be his past.

He kept waiting for the regret, but it wasn’t coming. After the past six months, he couldn’t help thinking of New York as a trap, an amped-up bubble where everything had to be better, faster, more impressive. Cheryl felt the need to look twenty years younger with a perfect ass and toned everything. Ellie hadn’t been able to conceive, and in a world where failure wasn’t an option, she’d lost her ability to function at all. And he’d somehow let himself be convinced that his eight-year-old had a
deficit—
not because he was behind, but because he wasn’t ahead. It was a unique brand of insanity that thrived in Manhattan. He swore he’d never fall into it again.