My mom’s facial expression did not say Oh, such a clever young lad you are to have had a backup plan!
She didn’t say anything, so I continued babbling. “If he took me hostage or whatever, I’d just say that I’d left you this note, and that you’d be calling the cops and sending them over to his house. Then he’d have no choice but to set me free. I was careful about this whole thing.”
“What if he didn’t believe you?” Mom asked.
“That would be a problem,” I admitted.
“What if he decided that if he let you go, you’d go straight to the police, so he might as well kill you anyway?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you get why I’m upset?”
“Yeah.” Would she be less upset if she knew that I’d gone over there with a gun in my backpack? Probably not.
“And you get that I’m mad because I love you, right? I can’t even describe how scared I was when I read that note. You’re lucky I didn’t have a heart attack before I called 911.”
I wanted to ask just how much she’d told the 911 operator, but decided that it would be suspicious if I pressed her for that information right now.
Mom extended her arms. I stepped over there and gave her a tight hug.
That had been awful, and I felt incredibly guilty for giving her that great big scare, but at least I’d gotten through it.
“I think you need to see a psychiatrist,” she told me.
We broke the hug.
“Nah,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say that right. I said ‘I think you need to see a psychiatrist’ but I meant ‘You’re going to see a psychiatrist.’ I’m going to start making calls today.”
“Why?”
“Did you seriously just ask me why?”
“I’m totally fine,” I assured her. “I made a big mistake, but I didn’t go through with it, and I said it’ll never happen again.”
“You lost your best friend. It’s normal to be sad, even depressed. The nightmares are normal. But—”
“I don’t have nightmares.”
“Yes, you do. I hear you talking in your sleep.”
Did she? That was new information.
“This is all normal,” Mom said. “But what is not normal is marching off, by yourself, to confront the man you think murdered Todd. I don’t care if you changed your mind. The fact that you decided to do this, and planned it out carefully enough to leave your dad and I a note, makes me think that you really need to talk to somebody about how you’re feeling.”
“I’ll talk to you about how I’m feeling.”
“I mean an expert.”
“I don’t want to see a shrink.”
“There’s no shame in it.”
“I wasn’t very popular before. Now you not only want me to go back to school without my closest friend, but while I’m in therapy? I will literally be the least popular kid in the entire school. Nobody will want to be seen with me. I’ll never have a girlfriend. I’ll have to live with you for the rest of my life. Do you really want me living with you when I’m eighty?”
Mom raised an eyebrow. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to be funny or melodramatic.”
“Both. Please, don’t make me see a shrink. Give me one more chance.”
“This isn’t punishment, Curtis. That part is coming in a minute. This is something that I think might really help you work through this. You don’t have to publicize it. They don’t sell T-shirts that you wear to show that you’re a customer. Nobody has to know, and you need to talk to somebody who has experience with this sort of thing.”
I really did not want to talk to a psychiatrist. But I was trying to make this whole conversation finally come to an end, and if I kept protesting, it would drag on forever, or until she cut it short with the dreaded “We’ll discuss it when your father gets home.” I decided to let her sort-of win this one. “I’ll think about it.”
“I’m not saying you have to see a psychiatrist every week for the rest of your life. I’d like you to go once. If you hate it, you don’t have to go back, but I’m going to ask you to go one time with an open mind. Will you do that for me?”
What was I supposed to say to that? She thought I was completely deranged, and the truth was even worse than what she knew! If she found out that not only had I actually gone through with my idiotic plan, but that I’d brought along a gun, and actually pointed the gun at Mr. Martin, she’d probably have me committed to an asylum. One of those poorly lit ones, where you walked down the hallway hearing the echoes of patients’ maniacal laughter, where straitjackets were the official attire.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll do it at least once.”
She gave me another hug.
“I love you, Curtis,” she said. “I just don’t want to see anything bad happen to you.”
“I love you, too.”
“And now, punishment.”
Dammit.
She broke the hug and stepped away. I hoped this would be one of those fake-out punishments, where she’d smile and say “Your punishment is that you have to give your mother a kiss!” or something cute and amusing like that.
“You’re grounded until school starts again,” she informed me. “Think of it as house arrest.”
“What’s house arrest?” I asked.
“It’s something they’ve started doing. Instead of going to jail, criminals can’t leave their house. There’s some kind of monitoring equipment. You won’t have the monitoring equipment, and you can go out into the yard to get some exercise, but I expect you to be close enough to hear the phone ring. Because I will call and check up on you, and if you don’t answer, we will repeat this conversation but it won’t be anywhere near as enjoyable. Got it?”
“What about mowing lawns?” I asked.
“You haven’t done that since Todd went missing.”
“I thought I might start again.”
“Do you
