When He Fell (17 page)

I don’t go to see Maddie though, and Lewis doesn’t call my bluff. We’re focused on Halloween; last year Ben and Josh dressed up as mummies and Lewis—and Maddie?—took them trick or treating on the Upper West Side, as Hell’s Kitchen isn’t exactly the neighborhood you want to be in as a kid on Halloween. I was at work.

I think about that now, as we attempt to make this year’s Halloween a Taylor-Davies Family Event. Why wasn’t I there last year? Why didn’t I make more time? Why did I assume as long as Josh was with Lewis, things were okay?
Why didn’t I safeguard my marriage?

In any case this year the three of us all go out trick or treating. Josh is dressed up, of all things, as a knot. He’s got rope wrapped around him in intricate loops and Lewis is accompanying as a sailor, complete in whites and jaunty cap. I’m carrying the camera.

The Upper West Side is transformed into a trick or treating paradise for Halloween. Some of the side streets are closed to traffic and a few of the privately-owned Brownstones have gone all out with decorations: cobwebs and pumpkins and ghosts, creepy music playing from speakers, spiders dangling on bobbing strings from the branches of the trees.

Josh is more animated than I’ve seen him in a while, taking it all in. And Lewis and I react accordingly, with over-wide grins and loud laughs, getting way too excited about his eighth Hershey bar, because we have this compulsion to prove to ourselves that we are having a lot of fun, that we are a normal, functioning family.

I watch him dart looks at us, first at Lewis, then at me, as if he is assessing us and our reactions. He seems satisfied, because he smiles and later in the evening, he takes hold of both of our hands. We walk along, swinging hands, as night falls.

“Can I eat some of my candy after dinner?” Josh asks as we head up the elevator to our apartment.

“One piece,” I answer.

Josh goes to his bedroom to sort his candy, and Lewis and I head to the kitchen.

“Sometimes I feel like we’re a couple of circus seals,” he murmurs as he pops the bottle top off his beer.

I turn in surprise. “Really? Because I always thought I was the only one who felt that way.” I let out an uncertain laugh. “You always make it seem like everything is so easy.”

Lewis’s face is inscrutable as he raises the beer bottle to his lips and takes a long swallow. “That’s the thing, Jo,” he says quietly. “You’ve never thought anything was hard for me.”

I stare at him, uncomprehending, because it sounds like a criticism and I don’t understand it. “That’s not true,” I finally protest. “It’s just you make things look easy, Lewis. That’s a good thing.”

“Is it?” he asks, and then sighs. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

But I feel like it does, and I want to ask more. Lewis doesn’t let me. He goes into Josh’s room, and I hear him asking Josh how many Twix he has scored.

Another week blurs by, a haze of work-filled days and evenings spent negotiating this new, fragile peace. Josh seems like he is in a fairly good place, talking to both of us, teasing us, regaling us with trivia. We don’t talk about Ben or the fall; it feels like cowardice, but I tell myself it’s okay. We can’t dwell on Ben’s accident forever. We need to move on, as a family.

And Lewis gives me the updates about Ben, via Maddie, which I tell myself is no big deal. So they’re talking. So they’re friends, even. I am not threatened. At least Ben is doing better, entering rehab, possibly moving to a facility outside the city. This news brings me a guilty relief; I want Ben and his mother far away.

Then one day in early November, over three weeks since Ben fell, Mrs. Rollins phones me.

“Mrs. Taylor-Davies? Do you have a moment?”

My stomach roils and I swallow hard. “Yes, of course. Is everything…is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Josh’s teacher hastens to assure me. “Nothing’s…nothing’s happened. I mean, Josh is…” She lets that sentence fade away. “I just wanted to speak to you, to make sure Josh is getting the care he needs.”

The care he needs?
Her words feel like an accusation, an indictment. “Very well,” I say, and I can hear how frosty I sound. “I have appointments all day today—”

“What about during your lunch hour?” Mrs. Rollins suggests. “The children will be at the playground, but I’ll be at school.”

At the playground. Is every day a reminder to Josh? I hate the thought.

“Okay,” I say, and we arrange a time. I think about calling Lewis, but then I decide I should run interference first, see if this is worth him knowing about. So I go alone.

The school is strangely quiet and empty with all the children at the playground. The security guard waves me in and I walk down the hallway towards Josh’s classroom. Mrs. Rollins meets me at the door.

“Thanks for coming,” she says, and ushers me inside. She sits at her desk and I sit at the chair on the other side, my handbag on my knees.

“I don’t mean to concern you,” she begins, “but I know that Ben’s accident has been traumatic for Josh, and I wanted to make sure his needs are being met.”

“Thank you,” I say, although I am still waiting for the sting.

“How does Josh seem at home?” Mrs. Rollins asks.

“Fine,” I say and then I amend, “Relatively speaking. This has been hard for him.” I swallow, my hands clenching on my purse before I deliberately relax them. “How has he seemed at school?”

“Quiet,” Mrs. Rollins says, and I nod.

“You know Josh has always been quiet.”

“Yes, but he’s quieter than normal. Before this happened…he might not have contributed in class voluntarily, but he would answer a question if I called on him.”

I feel my insides tighten, my chest start to hurt. “And now?”

“Now he won’t say anything. I haven’t called on him much, because I figured he needed a little space. But in the last few days I’ve tried calling on him, just for easy questions, things I know he knows, and he won’t say a word. He doesn’t speak, Mrs. Taylor-Davies, from the moment he enters school to the moment he leaves.”

I bite my lip. This is how preschool was. I thought we were past this awful silence. I really thought Josh had moved on. But it seems this accident, this whole incident, has propelled him backwards, at least at school. It has propelled us all backwards, into that terrible time of uncertainty and fear.

“I think Josh should see a psychologist,” Mrs. Rollins says. “Someone who can help him process what has happened. This has to be very difficult for him.”

“Yes, it has been,” I say tightly. When Josh was three, we went through the whole ream of specialists, looking for a diagnosis, something definable. We didn’t see a psychologist, although one doctor recommended it, because Josh was so young. “He’s not even putting two words together,” Lewis had said. “And they want him to talk about his feelings?”

“There are other kinds of therapies,” I said. “Art therapy, music…”

Lewis just shook his head. “He’s too young. Give him a chance to grow out of it before we have people sticking all sorts of labels on him.”

I saw the wisdom in this, and Josh
had
grown out of it. For three years, since starting Burgdorf, Josh has been your average shy kid. He’s been quiet, thoughtful, maybe a little weird, but still well within the normal range. I hate that he’s losing that.
We
are.

“I’ll certainly think about it,” I say.

Mrs. Rollins hands me a card. “Will Dannon comes highly recommended. Several Burgdorf families have used him in the past.” Which makes him sound like a realtor or stock broker. I take the card and put it into my purse.

“Thank you,” I say. “That’s very kind of you.”

That night, when Josh is in his room, I tell Lewis about Mrs. Rollins’s suggestion.

“Maybe that would help,” he allows, and it scares me that even Lewis realizes Josh needs help. Have I been willfully blind these last few weeks, thinking we were starting to seem okay, that we might all actually be moving on, at least a little bit?

Later, as Josh is getting ready to go to sleep, I go into his room and sit down on his bed. “Hey, buddy,” I say softly. Josh looks up from his Lego book, wariness entering his eyes. My tone must not have been right. “I spoke to Mrs. Rollins today,” I say, and his eyes darken with understanding. “Why aren’t you talking at school, Josh?” I ask. “What’s going on?”

He stares down at his book. “Nothing,” he says after a moment.

“Mrs. Rollins is worried. We’re worried.” Josh doesn’t answer. “Josh,” I say, and touch his hair. He ducks his head away from my hand. “Is this…is this about Ben?”

He glances up at me. “The other kids are afraid of me,” he says and I school my face into a neutral expression.

“Afraid of you? Why do you think that?”

“Because I pushed Ben. And they keep talking about it.”

“But they know it was an accident.” How many times have I said that? Insisted it? And now Josh corrects me.

“No, Mom,” he says, and he closes his book. “It wasn’t.”

I stare at him, searching his face. “Josh, honey, what are you saying?”

“I meant to push him.” His lower lip juts out, like a toddler’s. “I meant him to fall. I’m
glad
he fell.” I stare at him, appalled, as he flings his book on the floor and then curls his knees up to his chest and scrunches his eyes shut. “And you should be, too.”

“Josh, what do you mean?” My voice rises in panic and fear that I try hard to suppress. “Tell me what you mean, Josh,” I plead, but he’s scrunched up into a ball, his eyes closed, everything about him shutting down. “Josh…” I decide not to press him for information, even though everything in me demands an answer. “I love you,” I say softly, and then I rise from the bed. Josh hasn’t moved at all.

I walk out of his room in a daze, still reeling from what he admitted.
I meant him to fall. I’m glad he fell.
I heard a note of something almost like triumph in his voice, and I quake inside.

Lewis is in our bedroom, stripping down for a shower. He glances up at me and frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Josh…” I let out a long breath.

“What?” Lewis asks, his tone sharpening. We’re all under such stress, even if we pretend we aren’t. Even if we act like everything is fine. It’s still an act, and it’s exhausting, and I don’t know how much longer any of us can keep it up.

I sink onto the bed, running my hands through my hair, trying to make sense of what Josh said, make it seem reasonable, logical. “He just told me now that he meant to push Ben. That he’s…that he’s
glad
he fell.” Lewis doesn’t respond and I drop my hands and look up at him. He’s taking off his watch. “Lewis?”

“He’s nine, Jo. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

I want to believe him, but I can’t. “He sounded like he did, Lewis. He sounded like he really meant it.” I hesitate, my mind still reeling, my stomach clenched with grief and fear. “Why do you think he’s glad Ben fell? I mean, this is
Ben.
His best friend. What do you think is going on?”

Lewis’s jaw is tight, his expression shuttered. “I don’t know.”

“But you must know,” I fire back, my voice rising suddenly. “You must have some
idea.
You’ve spent the most time with them, Lewis. You—and Maddie.”

I dare him to contradict me, but he simply stares at me, unblinking.

“Did you ever notice anything?” I ask more quietly. Now is not the time to mention Maddie. “Did Ben and Josh ever seem…at odds?”

“No, not really.” He pulls a T-shirt over his head, his tone diffident.

“Lewis, you must have noticed something,” I press. “Did they ever argue? Did Ben ever say something to Josh? Did Josh ever seem…I don’t know, upset? Angry? Jealous—”

“What do you want me to say, Jo?” Lewis cuts me off, his voice hard. “That I noticed my son was harboring violent tendencies but never did anything about it? What the hell do you want me to say?”

We stare at each other, Lewis angry, me appalled. This is the closest we’ve ever come to fighting.

“No, of course I don’t want you to say that,” I whisper.

Lewis sighs. “I’m sorry. But if I’d noticed something, I would have said. Of course I would have said. And in any case…” He trails off, defeated, and I step closer.

“In any case?”

“Just because Josh said he’s glad Ben fell…” Lewis hesitates. “It doesn’t mean anything, Jo. It doesn’t have to mean he’s a serial killer or something.” He closes his eyes briefly. “I mean, this is
Josh
we’re talking about. He’d never violent. He’s so gentle it hurts sometimes. I’ve always wanted him to stick up for himself a bit more.”

“But not like this,” I say quietly.

“We don’t even know if that’s what he was doing. We don’t know what happened.”

“But we need to find out.” More and more I realize this. And more and more I realize how terrified I am of learning the answers to our questions.

“Fine. Yes.” Lewis nods wearily. “We need to find out.”

“Maybe if Josh visited Ben,” I suggest. “Maybe if he actually saw him, he’d realize how serious this is, and he’d open up a little more.”

“You want to scare him?”

“No, of course not. But I want him to understand. And I want to understand him.” I shake my head, tired and now near tears. “I don’t know what to do, Lewis. I don’t know what the right thing is. For the last few weeks I’ve just been blundering forward, hoping we can put this behind us. But I know we can’t. Whatever happened needs to come out into the open. We need to deal with it, all three of us.”

Lewis stares at me for a moment before he finally nods in resigned acceptance. “Fine,” he says, and silently we both finish getting ready for bed.

The next day I call Will Dannon and am discomfited when his receptionist tells me he will meet with Lewis and me first.

“A whole session?” I say when she says she will book us in for an hour. “I mean…”
We’re not the patients.

“It’s Dr. Dannon’s standard procedure,” she answers smoothly. “Talking to the parents first often helps him to understand the child’s issues.”

“Okay,” I say after a pause. I’m not really comfortable with this, and I don’t think Lewis will be either, but reluctantly I accept that might be part of the problem. “Okay,” I say again.