The Last Secret (27 page)

“Did you tell him I want to come in?” she asks, hurrying after him up the granite steps. It is open house at Franklin High and they're late.

“He still doesn't want visitors.” He holds open the wide oak door. “Just family.” He means himself and Stephen. She tries not to feel hurt. Maybe she's just grasping at straws, but things have seemed better lately. She's been trying hard to keep her eye on the big picture instead of looking for slights all the time.

The minute they're inside, the PA system announces the start of the first period. Nora checks the schedules. They'll go to Drew's class, then, second period, to Chloe's.

“Hello, parents!” Chloe greets them with breezy relief as they come around the corner. Like Chloe, the hall monitors tonight are all student council members. She has been waiting anxiously for them, Nora can tell. These last few days she's noticed a growing uneasiness between Chloe and her father. His efforts to please her only seem to distress her. Nora can't quite put her finger on it, but Chloe is extremely sensitive whenever he's home and, for one so preoccupied with her own existence, noticeably watchful. When Chloe left tonight Ken still
wasn't home from the rehab hospital. Chloe was concerned he wouldn't make it back from Boston in time. Of course he will, Nora assured her. Has he ever missed anything of yours, she asked, and Chloe didn't answer. Her silence said it all, the vulnerability her daughter was feeling for the first time in her secure and happy existence: because, throughout his affair, his other life, he had always managed to be where he was needed, to show up. Being an attentive and dutiful father isn't any kind of guarantee. He can do all the right things and still tear the family apart. The realization that things aren't always what they seem is a hard enough part of growing up, but deeply painful for so trusting and sunny-natured a child as Chloe.

He's trying, Nora keeps wanting to tell her daughter, but to say it would suggest so much more than she has energy for right now. Better that he just keeps proving himself, by being who he is. In last weekend's snowstorm he brought his car, then Nora's, to the cheerleaders' car wash, which ended $370 short of their goal for new uniforms. Here, Ken said, writing out a check to make up the difference. No, Chloe said. She didn't want him to do that. But Ken insisted. Until last night the mud room walls were stacked high with donations of canned goods, which Ken and Chloe loaded into the car and delivered to the St. Francis Harvest Pantry, because Chloe is chairman of the student council's food drive. He's proud that she volunteers once a week at the city's Boys and Girls Club where she and two of her friends give cheer-leading lessons. The drama club is probably Chloe's favorite activity. She has been in every annual school play since freshman year. This spring they're putting on
Our Town
, and Chloe got the part she wanted, Emily. While most of Nora's high school activities were strategically chosen to impress college admissions directors, Chloe genuinely loves being part of the school community. Her grades might be lackluster but not her spirit. And in this, like so much else, she is her father's daughter.

Drew's first class is history. Mr. Carteil is giving a brief overview of his curriculum and expectations. Ken and Nora slip into back-row seats. A few parents raise their hands: Why is the class average so low?
they ask. Why doesn't Mr. Carteil scale those tests everyone does poorly on? And why so many papers, four in a term, when no other freshman teacher assigns that many? “Because I'm trying to educate your children, not mollycoddle them,” the old teacher wearily replies. The bell rings. End of period. Parents file out, grumbling.

“Consumers,” Ken whispers to Nora, as they wait their turn with the teacher. “And they're not getting their tax money's worth.”

“Right,” she says uneasily, scanning the stream of familiar faces moving along the corridor to second period classes. She dreads running into Robin. Probably inevitable, though. But thank goodness Drew and Clay aren't in any of the same classes. She wonders if Chloe is worried she'll have to escort Mrs. Gendron to a classroom with everyone watching, knowing.

When it's their turn, Mr. Carteil tells them that Drew's test scores have certainly improved and he's been getting his work in on time. But Mr. Carteil is still concerned. Drew acts indifferent, almost sullen. He never volunteers, which is frustrating because Drew is certainly getting the material. Lately he's even fallen asleep in class a few times.

“Well, he's not staying up too late, I know that,” Nora says. She is disappointed. Having closely tracked his grades, she expected a glowing report.

“It's a boy thing.” Ken shrugs. “They can fall asleep at the drop of a hat. I used to do the same thing. Even fell asleep once during a soccer game. On the bench! They all left me, they thought it was so—”

“Excuse me,” Mr. Carteil interrupts. “But the next class is coming in and I'd rather say this privately. Do you think Drew might be depressed? I'm no doctor, of course, but that's what I keep thinking.”

She and Ken barely make it to Chloe's class on time. American Literature. The teacher is Mrs. Klein, a petite young woman in a long black skirt. Instead of taking parents' questions, she delivers an abbreviated lecture, similar to the one their children heard today.
The Scarlet Letter.
The irony is not lost on Nora, though she barely listens. All she can think about is Drew. Mr. Carteil is right. Her son is depressed, and she's been too blindsided by her own problems to recognize it. She
knows by Ken's drawn face that he's feeling the mess he's made of everything. When the bell rings, Mrs. Klein stations herself at the door and hands each parent a note, telling how their child is doing.

I am pleased with Chloe's effort and know she will continue to do better. She is a lovely girl and always a delightful student to have in class.

Chloe is waiting in the corridor. She promised Nora at dinner that she was going to be very pleased by her teachers' comments. Her expectant smile fades. “What's wrong? What'd she say?”

Nothing's wrong, Nora assures her. See? She holds out the note. It's Drew, that's all. Just something Mr. Carteil said. What? Chloe asks. What did he say? Nothing they'll talk about here, Nora says as quietly as possible with the passing din. Is he in trouble, Chloe asks, and in her daughter's persistence Nora hears more of the dread that comes when a child's sense of well-being has been compromised. First, her father. Who next? Her brother? The third period bell rings. Biology, Ken says, leaning close and peering at the schedule. Room 202, where's that? In this wing? Yes, Chloe tells him, but he seems confused. He points to the schedule and asks again.

With Robin's mother heading their way, Ken is desperate to avoid eye contact.

“Hello, Chloe,” Emily Shawcross says, adding with the briefest of regal nods, “Nora … Ken.” His face reddens. She is a silver-haired version of her daughter, beautiful, vibrant, yet somehow managing in her tight-lipped anger to be if not gracious, then civilized. Before anyone can (or would) ask, she explains that she is here tonight in place of Robin, because Lyra is still very sick. In the strained silence each hopes the other will speak.

“With what?” Nora asks, as if their meeting is all so perfectly normal, cordial as ever. There is the need not only to shield her family from these curious glances, however real or imagined, but out of respect for Emily. After Nora's mother died, Robin announced she would be sharing her mother with Nora. Delighted with her new role, Emily always remembered Nora on birthdays and at Christmas. Comparing gifts with accusations of maternal favoritism was a running joke between the younger women. If Emily made cookies for Robin's
family, then Nora would pretend to be hurt until she got a batch. And the truth is, Nora often felt closer to Emily than she ever had to her own mother. Even in this awkward moment, affection stirs, however tempered by regret now, and sadness. Emily was colorful and warm, always forgiving. But that was then, Nora thinks, seeing her eyes lock on Ken's as she answers.

“Dehydration,” Emily says, almost bitterly, as if this might somehow be his fault. “The hospital wants to keep her another day, poor baby.”

“Oh, no!” Chloe says, her concern reminding Nora that Chloe is Lyra's godmother.

“They've all had the flu, but it took its toll on the little one.” Emily's glance shoots to Ken. “The way things do.” The lines deepen around her red lips.

“Poor thing,” Chloe says with an empathetic pout that the older woman looks away from. “I hope she feels better.”

“Yes,” Nora says. “That's so …” For a moment, her thoughts blur guiltily. In just a few months she has forgotten so much about the pretty child they were all so fond of “So young to be in the hospital.”

“It certainly is,” Emily declares.

“I'm sure she'll be fine,” Ken assures the child's grandmother who can no longer hide her disgust.

“You think so?” she hisses, clutching her grandson's class schedule against her chest. “Do you?”

With the loudspeaker's announcement, Mrs. Shawcross turns, hurries toward the stairs. I loved her, Nora thinks. And loved Robin, too. I did.

“Tell her I said hi,” Chloe calls weakly.

With that, the pain he has caused registers on Ken's face. Nora knows what he's thinking, first his son's longest friendship, and now, even this ruined, his daughter's relationship with her godchild. The christening party, typical of Robin's gatherings. More people than her house could hold so there was an enormous white tent in the backyard. Catered by Molo's, with a three-piece band and one hundred pink balloons, the party had been great fun but a bewildering extravagance.
Bob had been out of work through much of Robin's difficult pregnancy, the last three weeks of which she had spent in bed. Their finances had become so strained that Bob's retired parents had even lent them money. But Nora couldn't help admiring Robin's determination that Lyra's birth be a celebration of beauty and joy. It had been a true epiphany, Robin confided once. Just when her life with Bob had gotten as hopeless as a marriage gets, she had turned to God. Send me a sign, she said she pleaded in every prayer. Show me the way. And then Lyra was conceived. Her new beginning.
Pregnant, and embarking on her affair.

“How many more classes?” Ken asks, loosening his tie, on their way into Chloe's physics lab. The room is cold, but sweat runs down his face. Almost panting, he seems short of breath.

“Two more after this.” She asks if he's all right.

He nods stiffly as he sits down. His lips are gray.

“You don't look good. Maybe you should go home.”

“I'm okay,” he whispers across the aisle.

The teacher, young and frazzled, rushes into the room with an armload of notebooks and loose papers. Apologizing for being late, he begins scribbling formulas on the board. This is what his students are learning now.

“I need some water,” Ken whispers. “I'll be right back.”

Nora watches him gesture weakly to the teacher on his way out the door. For the first time, she pities him. Now he knows, she thinks with a quick wave at Deb Brioni who cranes her neck, trying to see back from the front row. Nora smiles, letting her know, We're going to be fine. We'll get through this.

The frantic cartoon
voices grind away at Eddie's nerves. The hospital television is mounted overhead. He slouches in the corner, watching, waiting for the little bitch's eyes to close. A moment ago when he reached for the remote on the bed her cunning eyes shot open. Robin is down at the hospitality shop buying another frozen yogurt. The kid rarely eats a meal, lives on sweets and snacks. Robin has slept here the
last two nights. In order to see her he must sit here hour after hour kowtowing to this brat. She enjoys her power, especially over him. A whimper and her mother comes running. Down the hall a child is screaming. It feels like a knife cutting through him. He gets up and closes the door. His unappreciated purple Mylar balloon bobs against the ceiling. Waste of money that was. Five bucks, and she ignores it. On purpose. To put him in his place. Because her mother made such a big thing of him buying it for her. Knowing they'll talk of other things when she sleeps, she struggles to stay awake, to be the center of her mother's attention. The hell with it, he snatches the remote.

“How about a movie?” he asks, aiming it.

“No!” She holds up her hand. “I like this.”

“You shouldn't be watching crap all the time. Your brain'll rot.” He changes the channel. CNN. A car bomb has exploded in an open-air market in Baghdad. Mangled bodies strewn everywhere.

“No it won't,” she gasps, staring up at the gruesome scene. The camera zooms in on a small, dead thing. On her back, limbs splayed, lies a little, dark-haired girl surrounded by tumbled fruit.

“Yes it will. See, that's why you're sick, it's already started. Pretty soon pieces of your brain'll start leaking out your eyes and your nose.” The old storm of rage and absurdity surges through him. He doesn't even care, so why bother trying to reason with this brat. But it's her fear, her cowering, that exhilarates him. He leans over her, his hard-on rubbing against the bed. “Little by little, then it starts coming out your mouth and you choke.” Holding his throat, he pretends to gag.

“Where's Mommy?” She cringes into the pillows.

“I don't know.” He looks around and laughs. “You keep making her get things for you. Maybe she got sick of it and left.”

“Where? Where'd she go?”

“On a trip maybe, someplace far away. Maybe there, that place.” He points to the television, to the close-up of a grief-stricken old woman in black. Kneeling, arms beseechingly wide, she wails into the camera. He turns the volume up high, higher, until her eerie keening fills the room.

Limp again. This time it's her. He can't stand the kid, it's reached
that point. Too demanding. Whining and spoiled. Pampered little princess with ribbons in her hair, propped against the pillows, surrounded by her new stuffed animals and books. Barely looked at his get-well balloon, only thanked him with Robin's coaxing. When's my Daddy coming, she keeps asking her mother and, every time she says it, stares at him. Shut up little bitch, he wants to yell. She knows how to push her mother's buttons. All he wants is to be alone with Robin, impossible with two kids and her mother always nosing around. And the husband, he keeps calling. Every night, bawling, begging her forgiveness. He's coming home soon and everything'll be different, she'll see. Yeah, right, Bob. Real different; she won't even be here, asshole, he wants to grab the phone and say. Meanwhile, he's running out of time. He knows what she'll say so he can't ask. A vacation, he keeps telling her. Money's not a problem. She needs to get away. Someplace warm. Just the two of them. She thinks he means her and the brat.