Accelerated, Page 21

“But—” Cheryl sounded confused. “So what happened?”

  He inhaled deeply then let out a sigh. Why was he keeping this secret? Who was it helping? “I put him on Metattent Junior. For ADD.” Ellie glared. Obviously, this was not information she wanted spread around.

  “Oh God,” Cheryl said. “This was because of … that?”

  “The school pushed me to have Toby evaluated. I don’t think he even had ADD. I think this all happened for nothing.”

  Ellie was mouthing his name, pantomiming for him to put down the phone.

  He turned his back to her. “Did they ever, you know, push you to evaluate Marcus?”

  “Marcus is doing well in school. He’s fine.”

  “So Shineman never, you know, suggested he might need to take medication.”

  “I told you, he’s doing fine.” Her tone was different. Tense. “Sorry, I just … I better help him with homework.”

  “I don’t think I’m the only one they’ve pressured. I don’t think Toby is the only non-ADD kid at Bradley on ADD medication.”

  He listened to the dead air. “But … most kids don’t have that kind of reaction, right? It’s unusual …”

  “It’s not a reaction. Or an allergy. The drugs affect the heart. It can happen to anyone. It happened to Toby and it’s happened to other kids, too.”

  “Who? Who else did it happen to?”

  “I don’t know.” He wished he could tell her what Noah had said. He wished he had more information. Most of all, he wished that he didn’t sound paranoid and delusional. “But I have it from a good source.”

  “A doctor prescribed the drugs, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” she said. “You did what you thought was right.”

  “No, I didn’t.” She was missing the point. “I mean, the school pushed me. Hard.”

  “You wanted him to have every advantage,” she said, then lowered her voice. “I get it.”

  “You put Marcus on it too, didn’t you?”

  She paused and he knew he was right. “I’ve got to help Marcus with—”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” he sounded desperate. “Just tell me the truth.”

  “Coming sweetie,” she yelled, ostensibly to Marcus. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’m here if you need me,” she said, and hung up.

  “Who was that?” Ellie asked. She’d set her mouth and was narrowing her eyes at him.

  “Marcus’s mom,” he said, and shrugged. She’d wanted Marcus to have every advantage. And if everyone else in his class was on the stuff, he’d be at a disadvantage if he wasn’t on it too. The cycle was vicious. And impossible to break.

  “Cheryl?” Ellie practically recoiled when she said the name. “Why? Have Toby and Marcus become friends? Because that’s hard to imagine.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And why are you telling her you put Toby on medication?” Ellie said, moving on to her real gripe. “That’s none of her business. Or anyone’s.”

  “She thought Toby had a peanut allergy.”

  “So?” She was incredulous.

  “The school is trying to cover up what happened. I’m sure of it.”

  “What happened is that you put him on drugs that did this to him.”

  He imagined their future together as an endless loop of this same conversation. She wouldn’t even contemplate the idea that Bradley had been the force behind all of this. He knew he was guilty. But so was Bradley. “So why is the school lying to parents about Toby?”

  “Because, like I said before, it’s nobody’s fucking business what Toby was or wasn’t on. Because everyone doesn’t need to know.” She shook her head tightly. “I’m sure Cheryl will have told everyone by tomorrow morning.”

  “Why are you so resistant to the idea that Bradley is trying to cover its own ass?”

  “Do you really want to be that guy?” She looked deflated, disappointed, like he’d never learn. “You want to make this into a conspiracy? You want to accuse the most prestigious school in the country of some insane plot against children?” She took a breath, trying to defuse the last of her anger. Her hand found his chest. “I know this has been awful. Awful.” She looked him in the eye. “We have him back now. Please Sean, let this go. Cheryl misunderstood. There’s nothing malicious in that.”

  “But if the school is trying to cover it—”

  “People make mistakes.” She put her arms around him and lay her head on his chest. “I know I have.”

  This was as close to an apology as he was going to get from Ellie. He decided to take it. For Toby’s sake. For his sanity over the next few weeks, or however long this temporary arrangement lasted. She was wrong about the school. But he didn’t need to convince her of that right now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ON HIS FIRST DAY BACK AT BUZZ, SEAN WAS ASSIGNED A SPREAD ON cellulite of the stars. He’d posted paparazzi at every exclusive tropical resort he could think of with the singular assignment of snapping as many jiggling, puckering, dimpled A-list body parts as possible.

  Rick was making his way toward Sean’s desk holding two head-shots. “Nose and eyelids,” he was saying like he’d discovered the secrets of the universe. He handed the photos to Sean.

  “Mmm,” he nodded, staring at Jessica Simpson’s features. “Mmhmm.” He knew Rick wanted to run a story about her “secret plastic surgery” that would quote doctors who had never treated Ms. Simpson, listing the numerous procedures she’d most likely had. They’d mark up the photos, circling the eyes and nose, and he was guessing the lips. They’d probably throw in liposuction for good measure. Their readers would lap it up.

  Maybe if he sold enough work at the Burdot show he could finally quit Buzz. Start painting again for real. He’d spend his days at the studio. The turpentine and the heady smell of the oil paint were real for a moment. The fantasy was nice until he thought about what his life would look like now if he’d been uninsured when Toby collapsed. Even with insurance, he was swimming in hospital bills he couldn’t pay. Of course he hated his job. Lots of people hated their jobs. That was just how life was.

  He gave Rick a serious nod. “Let me see what I can come up with.”

  “Good to have you back.” Rick clapped him on the bicep. “How’s Toby doing?”

  “He’s great.” Just being able to say it and mean it made all the other crap fall away.

  He typed “Jessica Simpson and plastic surgery” into the Google search field and started his “research.” When he thought he might crawl out of his skin, he typed “The Bradley School.”

  The conversation with Noah had been haunting him. He kept thinking about Shineman’s hard sell and Dr. Altherra’s certainty. And where were the Conners scales Altherra had promised to mail? Thousands of articles popped up on Google that called the school “elite” and “tony” and referred to the students as “privileged.” He read about the exceptional education the children at Bradley received, the ever-increasing tuitions, the innovative teaching methods. But after forty-five minutes, he hadn’t uncovered one incriminating piece of information. He was frustrated and disgusted with himself for wasting time.

  As he was about to close Google, he noticed a story from the Times Science section that cited Calvin’s death. “Deadly Allergies Responsible for Increasing Number of Fatalities in Children.” Why hadn’t he put this together before? His heart started to pound when he realized the Drakes might have answers. Either he was paranoid or he was right. Or both.

  He tried to imagine what that visit would be like, the parent of the kid who lived sitting with the parents of the kid who died. It would be awful. But he sent an email anyway.

  “Whatcha got?” For a big guy, Rick had an unsettling way of sneaking up behind you.

  Sean hit a button on his computer and brought up the Jessica Simpson research. “I’m close,” he said. “Give me another ten.”

  At five he hopped on the 6 train to the Upper East Side. When he got to the wood-pane
led lobby of the Drakes’ Park Avenue building, the doorman called upstairs and a moment later sent him to the private elevator that opened directly on to the penthouse. The Drakes’ Filipina housekeeper met him at the entrance. “Hello Mr. Sean. How is Toby?”

  “Hi Divina. Toby’s good. How are you doing?”

  Divina twisted her mouth. “It’s hard.”

  When Melanie saw him, she gave him a big smile before her face contorted into anguish. She covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry, I’m …”

  “No, don’t be—” He hugged her tightly.

  She held on to him until she pulled herself together, then stepped back and wiped her eyes. “I’m okay. I just get … you know.”

  Her emotions were so close to the surface he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Or with himself. “Should I … do you want me to go?”

  “No, I’m glad you’re here. Come on,” she said, leading him to the living room.

  “Mr. Sean,” Divina said. “May I hang your coat?”

  “Oh …” He hesitated, then handed it to her. “Thanks.”

  He hadn’t been here for years and found himself marveling at the skylights above the double-high ceilings. “The school told everyone to leave you alone.” He sat in an upholstered armchair. “But I should have come sooner.”

  “You’ve had your share of shit recently,” she said. Her eyes welled. “I’m so glad Toby is okay.”

  He nodded. “Me too.” It came out barely a whisper.

  “Can I get you some coffee?” He’d never thought of Melanie having a round face, but now, in comparison to just a few weeks before, her cheeks looked hollow, drawn. “I was just about to make some.”

  It was almost five-thirty. Coffee was the last thing he wanted. “Sure.”

  He watched Melanie disappear into the kitchen and his heart ached for her. The grief diet had left her frail and drawn. She was as wrecked from losing Calvin as he was overjoyed to have Toby back. How was she able to function at all, much less prepare coffee for him? He’d be curled up in a ball under the table if Toby had … he couldn’t even think the word.

  He looked around. The place was immaculate, a huge arrangement of fresh flowers at the entrance. He tried to imagine grieving in a place this tidy. The furniture, the lamps—even the knickknacks—were expensive and looked highly breakable. Nothing was out of place; there wasn’t an errant newspaper or a stack of old New Yorkers, no sneakers by the door or pile of mail to sort through. Sitting still was too hard, so he took a tour of the Drakes’ photos.

  On the top shelf was a picture of baby Calvin buck naked on a sheepskin rug. It was only then that he realized Calvin had had those intense eyes from day one. In another, Calvin, maybe age six, smiled backstage with his sister and parents at The Nutcracker surrounded by sugarplum fairies. In another, Calvin shook hands with Mayor Bloomberg. He smiled proudly in a shot with his big sister at the Spring Fair. He recognized Calvin’s Wolverine costume in a photo from Halloween just a few weeks before Sean found him on the stairs. Calvin’s entire life was laid out in these photos. It was all in the past now, his history complete. He knew that someday he’d have photos of Toby at his prom, of Toby graduating from college, of Toby’s wedding and of Toby playing with his own kids. Two weeks ago, none of that was a given. He could easily have been like the Drakes, stuck with the knowledge that there would never be any more photos, no more memories except for the ones already made. He had no doubt Melanie looked at these photos daily, agonizing over not having taken more, for not documenting every second of his life. He swallowed and tried to shake it off. Crying now was not an option.

  He walked back to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. The door to Calvin’s room was shut. He wondered if they’d touched it since he died, if the bed was made, if the sheets had been washed. He guessed not. Next to it, Susannah’s door was wide open. Her room jumped with polka dots of different sizes and colors. A stuffed gorilla rested on her pillow. Her Bradley soccer jersey hung on the wall above her bed. He turned to go but caught sight of a card on her desk. Written in crayon in careful eight-year-old handwriting: Happy Birthday to the Best Sister Ever.

  “Cream or sugar?” Melanie called from the kitchen.

  He rushed out of Susannah’s room and into the living room. “Black’s great,” he said. He was nervous, guilty, and came in too close to the bookshelf. His arm brushed something heavy and, he was sure, expensive. He drew a sharp inhale as he heard the thing thud into a shiny trash can by his feet. He stooped to dig out a gold egg decorated with colorful enamel. He let out his breath slowly when he saw that it was in one piece, and placed it carefully back on the shelf.

  Melanie emerged from the kitchen balancing a coffee pot and matching cups on a tray. As he sat opposite her, he could feel her misery hanging in the air. She put her coffee cup down without drinking and gave him a pained look. “How’s Toby feeling?”

  “Better. Much better.” Chewing off his limbs would be more pleasant than this. “He misses Calvin. Lots.”

  Melanie pulled a tissue from her sleeve. “I know …” She blew her nose and wiped away some tears. “It’s still so raw.”

  Divina emerged on cue from the kitchen and placed a new box of Kleenex on the side table next to Melanie and then slipped out again.

  He took a sip of the coffee and put the cup next to a porcelain bowl filled with mixed nuts. He remembered the nuts from the last time he was here. They were a staple of the Drakes’ décor. Did someone replenish the nuts, he wondered, or were these the same ones that had been here for years? The one thing he did know, however, was that if he’d had an ounce of doubt about his theory before, that was now gone.

  “I have to ask you something.”

  She waited.

  “Did Calvin really have a peanut allergy?”

  She squeezed her eyes and nodded.

  “Because Toby didn’t have an allergy. His heart went haywire because of medication the school pushed me to give him. I thought … I thought maybe the same thing happened to Calvin.”

  Tears started to flow from her eyes. Melanie cried silently in her perfect living room. “Calvin had a peanut allergy.” She shredded the tissue distractedly. “It only developed recently.”

  “If it was the medication, you can tell me.”

  “Susannah will be home soon,” she said, standing. “I should …”

  “Of course.” He felt her close off abruptly, completely. She wasn’t going to tell him anything. “Call me whenever you want.” He meant it. He wanted to help her even though he knew he couldn’t. “If there’s anything I can do … if there’s anything you want to talk about.”

  She nodded.

  He left her in her beautiful apartment. When he got outside he felt a dismal rush of relief at being able to put some distance between himself and the oppressive sadness. Melanie would never be able to leave it behind. It would follow her wherever she went.

  A couple of blocks later, he heard someone calling after him. It was a woman’s voice. He stopped when he saw Divina running after him.

  “Mr. Sean,” she said, catching her breath.

  “Did I leave something in the apartment?”

  She shook her head quickly and glanced nervously behind her.

  “What? What’s the matter?”

  “For you,” she said, pulling some crumpled papers from her pocket and putting them into his hand. He held two pieces of stationery that he realized were actually one piece that had been torn in half and balled up. “I found it in the trash. Maybe it will answer your questions.”

  He held the pieces next to each other, trying to read it, but it was difficult. “… I evaluated children in the private school system … His death worries me on many levels … evaluations often result in ADHD diagnoses … imperative that you get back to me …”

  He looked at the return address. It was from someone named Hutch Garvey who lived at 203 Military Drive, Chesswick, Pennsylvania.

  “She doesn’t know I cam
e after you,” Divina said. “Okay?”

  His heart pounded. “Thank you.”

  He hopped in the first taxi he saw and was home fifteen minutes later. He’d barely opened his front door when Toby ran at him, saying, “Dad, come see what I did!”

  “How was work?” Ellie asked, in an uncharacteristic June Cleaver tone. “Good … okay,” he said as Toby pulled him toward the bedroom.

  Toby had created a tent by draping Buzz Lightyear sheets over the furniture. “Come into my fort,” he said, and crawled in on his knees. Sean got down on all fours and crawled in, too. “We can look at comics,” Toby said, propping himself on a pillow. He spread a pile over the rug and handed Sean a flashlight. “Or we could tell ghost stories.”

  “I love ghost stories,” Sean said. “You sure you won’t be too scared?”

  “I’m not scared of anything.”

  He wondered if this were true after what Toby had gone through. He had no intention of finding out. “Let’s read this one,” he said, reaching for a Green Hornet special.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Ellie called from the kitchen. “Veggie burger time!”

  “Awww,” Toby said. “Do we have to?”

  “Wait here.” He winked and crawled out.

  Ellie had put the fake burgers at their places. Sean picked them up, pasting a smile over the grimace. “Let’s all eat in the fort tonight.”

  “There’s no food in the bedroom,” she said. “It’s the rule.”

  “Maybe it’s time for a new rule.” He forced another smile. “Toby will love it.”

  She was trying to go with it, but he could tell she was having a hard time. “Okay” she said. “Sure. You go ahead. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  He crawled back into the fort carrying the burgers. “Dinner is served.”

  Toby looked skeptical. “We’re not allowed to eat in the bedroom.”

  “New rule.”

  “Won’t Mommy be mad?”

  “She’s coming too. In a minute.”

  A cloud of worry passed over his features. “You sure?”

  Sean nodded and took a bite of the burger. It wasn’t bad. “Mmm. Try it.”