known exactly what target to aim for, a parent’s sorest point, where self-blame and overwhelming responsibility have already left them vulnerable.
“Fern,” said Lincoln. She heard reproval in his voice. Turning to look at him, she felt suddenly, deeply, ashamed. She’d lost control, had unleashed her anger, showing off her worst side, while Claire played the role of the innocent party.
In a subdued voice, she said, “Your son’s waiting in the detention room. You can take him home now.”
“When can he return to school?”
“I haven’t decided. I’ll meet with his teachers and consider their recommendations. The punishment has to be severe enough to make him think twice before he causes trouble again.” She gave Claire a knowing look.
“He’s been in trouble before, hasn’t he?”
“There was just that skateboarding incident-”
“No, I mean before. In Baltimore.”
Claire stared at her in shock. So it was true, thought Fern with satisfaction.
The boy has always been a problem.
“My son,” said Claire with quiet defiance, “is not a troublemaker.”
“Yet he does have a juvenile record.”
“How do you know that?”
“I received some newspaper clippings, taken from a Baltimore paper.”
“Who sent them?”
“I don’t know. That’s not relevant.”
“It’s very relevant! Someone’s trying to ruin my reputation, drive me out of town. Now they’re going after my son.”
“But the clippings are true, aren’t they? He did steal a car.”
“It happened right after his father died. Do you have any idea what it’s like for a twelve-year-old boy to watch his father waste away? How completely it can break a child’s heart? Noah has never recovered. Yes, he’s still angry. He’s still grieving. But I know him, and I’m telling you, my son is not bad.”
Fern held back a retort. There was no point arguing with an enraged mother. It was obvious to her that Dr. Elliot was blind, unable to see beyond her love.
Lincoln asked, “Who was the other boy?”
“Does that matter?” said Fern. “Noah has to face the consequences of his own behavior.”
“You implied the other boy started the fight.”
“Yes, to protect his sister.”
“Have you spoken with the girl? Confirmed that she needed defending?”
“I don’t need to confirm anything. I saw two boys fighting. I ran out to stop it, and I was shoved to the ground. What happened out there was ugly. Brutal. I can’t believe you’re sympathizing with a boy who attacked me-”
“Attacked?”
“There was physical contact. I fell.”
“Do you wish to press charges?”
She opened her mouth to say yes, then stopped herself at the last instant.
Pressing charges meant testifying in court. And what would she say under oath?
She’d seen the rage in Noah’s face, knew that he’d wanted to strike her. The fact he hadn’t actually raised a hand against her was only a technicality; what mattered was his intent, the violence in his eyes. But had anyone else seen it?
“No, I don’t wish to press charges,” she said. And added, magnanimously, “I’ll give him another chance.”
“I’m sure Noah will thank you for it, Fern,” he said.
And she thought miserably: It’s not the boy’s approval I want. It’s yours.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Claire asked.
Noah’s response was to draw away like an amoeba, shrinking to his side of the car.
“We have to talk about it sometime, Hon.”
“What’s the point?”
“The point is, you’ve been suspended. We don’t know when, or even if, you can go back to school.”
“So I don’t go back, so what? I wasn’t learning anything anyway?’ He turned and stared out the window, shutting her off.
She drove a mile without speaking, her gaze fixed on the road, but not really seeing it. She saw, instead, a vision of her son as a five-year-old child curled up, mute, on the couch, too upset to tell her about the teasing he’d endured in school that day. He has never been a communicator, she thought. He has always wrapped himself in silence, and now the silence has grown deeper, more impenetrable.
She said, “I’ve been thinking about what we should do, Noah. I need you to tell me what you want. Whether you think I’m doing the right thing. You know my practice isn’t going well. And now, with those broken windows, and the damage to the carpets, it’ll be weeks before I can see patients again. If they even want to see me…“ She sighed. “All I was trying to do was find a place where you’d fit in, where we’d both fit in. And now it seems like I’ve made a mess of things?’ She pulled into their driveway and turned off the engine. They sat without speaking for a moment. She turned to look at him. “You don’t have to tell me right away.
But we need to talk about it soon. We need to decide.”
“Decide what?”
“Whether we should move back to Baltimore.”
“What?” His chin snapped up, his gaze focused at last on hers. “You mean, leave?”
“It’s what you’ve been saying for months, that you want to go back to the city.
I called Grandma Elliot this morning. She said you could move back early and stay with her. I’d join you after I get our things packed, and put the house up for sale.”
“You’re doing the same thing again. Making decisions about my life.”
“No, I’m asking you to help me choose.”
“You’re not asking. You’ve already decided.”
“That’s not true. I’ve made that mistake once already, and I’m not going to repeat it.”
“You want to leave, don’t you? All these months, I’ve wanted to go back to Baltimore, and you didn’t listen to me. Now you decide it’s time, and suddenly you ask, What do you want, Noah?”
“I’m asking because it does matter to me! What you want has always mattered.”
“What if I said I want to stay? What if I told you I’ve got a friend I really care about, and she’s here?”
“All you’ve talked about for the past nine months is how much you hate this place.”
“And you didn’t care then.”
“What do you want? What can I do to make you happy? Is there anything that’ll make you happy?”
“You’re yelling at me.”
“I try so hard, and nothing ever satisfies you!”
“Stop yelling at me!”
“You think I like being your mother these days? You think you’d be happier with a different mother?”
He slammed his fist on the dashboard, punching it again and again as he roared:
“Stop-yelling-at-me!”
She stared, shocked by the violence of his rage. And by the bright drop of blood that suddenly trickled from his nostril. It fell, spattering the front of his jacket.
“You’re bleeding-”
Automatically he touched his upper lip and gazed down at the blood on his fingers. Another drop slid from his nostril and landed on his jacket in a bright splash of red.
He shoved open the door and ran into the house.
She followed him inside, and found he’d locked himself in the bathroom. “Noah, let me in.”
“Leave me alone.”
“I want to stop the bleeding.”
“It’s already stopped.”
“Can I take a look? Are you all right?”
