“I’m in a meeting,” Rick bellowed. “One you’re supposed to be running.”
“Ten minutes,” he said, hanging up and waving down a taxi. As he hopped inside, his phone rang again and he flipped it open. “I’m in a cab now.”
“Sean.” He knew the voice, but it took a second to register. Walt. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“I’m just on my way to work.”
“Go, go. I was just calling to tell you I heard about what happened to Toby. I’m glad he’s okay. You must be … Jesus, I can’t even imagine.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
“Hey,” he said. “If you’re free Sunday we could use you in the game.”
Basketball was the last thing he wanted to think about. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m probably not going to make it this week.”
“I know you’ve got a lot on your plate. I bet you’ll be happy when your son’s back at school.”
The sound that came out of his mouth started as a laugh but ended up more of an accusatory groan.
“What?” Walt sounded legitimately baffled.
“Nothing,” he said. He was furious, but there was no reason to be taking it out on Walt. “I should … I’ve got to go.”
“Sure. Don’t want to keep you.”
“Hold on—” he said, realizing that he had a Bradley Board member—and probably soon-to-be Chairman of the Board of Trustees—on the phone. “Walt?”
“Holding on,” he said.
“I just came from Bradley,” he blurted. “The nurse’s office.” He didn’t know how to start. “It’s filled with prescription bottles. Tons of kids at Bradley are taking drugs for ADD.”
“Whoa, slow down. Start from the beginning and tell me what happened.”
“Okay.” He tried to slow down. Walt didn’t know any of this, he reminded himself. He needed to walk him through. “I ended up giving Toby Metattent,” he said. “It gave him an arrhythmia, which sent him into the coma.” The more clinically he described it, the easier it was to say out loud, as if he were talking about someone else’s horror story.
“Jesus, Sean.” Walt exhaled into the receiver. “Jesus.”
“I was just in the nurse’s office at school. She has a closet packed with bottles of ADD medication.”
Walt was listening, waiting. “That’s where it would be, I’m assuming.”
“Walt, Toby’s teacher questionnaire was forged; the one that helped diagnose him.”
“Forged?” Walt sounded dubious. “Sean, my heart goes out to you. But who would do that? Really. Who?”
“That’s where I thought you could help. If the school is trying to get parents to put their kids on these drugs … I mean if it happened to Toby, then why wouldn’t it have happened with other kids too?”
“If what you’re saying is true …” He stopped. “Well, we need to find out if it’s true. That’s the first step. I hope you’re wrong, Sean—that it’s just a misunderstanding. Because if you’re not …”
“What would your first step be? If you were me?”
He listened to Walt thinking. “Come to lunch today at the Yale Club,” he said, finally. “I’m meeting Bruce Daniels there at one. I can give him the basics of what you told me, if you’re okay with that. Maybe he can do some digging this morning and the three of us can sit down and figure out what the hell is going on.”
He took a minute to try to imagine Headmaster Daniels eating lunch anywhere other than the Bradley dining room. He considered Walt’s proposal. The headmaster ran the school. He could push Bradley to stop medicating kids. Unless he was the one who pushed for medication. Unless he was the one forging the documents. “I don’t know.”
“We’ve got to nail this thing head-on,” Walt said. “I’ve known Bruce twenty years. He’s a good guy. He’ll know better than anyone what’s going on over there—and if he doesn’t, he’s in the best position to figure it out.”
The Yale Club wasn’t far from the Buzz offices, and Sean slipped out at lunch unnoticed. He’d passed the blue and white banner countless times, but he’d never given the Yale Club any thought until the moment he turned into the revolving door and stood in the lobby, face to face with two uniformed doormen.
“Sir, may I help you?” one of them asked from behind a podium.
“I’m meeting someone, thanks,” he said, checking out the somber portraits of old white men in academic robes.
“The Yale Club has a no-jeans policy.” He said. “I’m sorry.”
“Seriously?” He couldn’t help the smirk. “They’re just pants.”
“House rule.” The apologetic tone meant he wasn’t budging. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“I have an important meeting.” A few captains of industry seated in upholstered armchairs pulled their heads out of their Wall Street Journals to see what the ruckus was about. “I don’t see what my pants have to do with anything.”
Walt jogged down the staircase, his slate blue suit pants rising and falling, exposing tactful black socks and dress shoes. It was the first time he’d seen Walt in anything but jeans.
“It’s all right, Alberto. We can make an exception this time.” He flashed his winning smile. “Won’t happen again.”
Alberto cowed. “Yes Mr. Renard,” he said and stepped down.
Walt placed a hand on Sean’s back and led him up to the fifth floor dining room. They navigated a sea of more white men with white hair sitting at tables covered with white tablecloths. Bruce Daniels was already seated at a table and stood when he saw them. He shook Sean’s hand and held his gaze to show he understood this was serious. “I’m glad you brought me in on this.”
Walt gestured to a buffet at the far end of the room. “Why don’t we grab some food, then we can get down to business.”
Food was the last thing on Sean’s mind, but he trailed Walt, piling lamb chops and asparagus and fettucini carbonara onto his plate.
When they were seated again, an ancient waiter teetered over. “We have a lovely new Bordeaux in the cellar. Should I have Marco bring it up?”
“Not today,” Walt said. “Thanks Bobby.”
When the waiter had moved on, Daniels put down his knife and wiped his mouth. “Walt’s filled me in,” he started. “And I can imagine how upset you must be. Especially after everything you’ve been through the past few months.” He placed his napkin back in his lap. “How is Toby? I’ve heard he’s making excellent progress.”
“He is. Thanks.” Thanking Daniels was the opposite of what he wanted to do. “Bruce, I saw the pill bottles in the nurse’s office.”
“When you say pill bottles—”
“Hundreds of them. And the kids are being diagnosed by forged teacher evaluations. Why would the school want all their students on speed?”
“Obviously that’s the last thing any school would want. Medication is an extremely serious thing and needs to be treated as such. I understand why you’re upset. What you saw …” Daniels nodded, like he really did understand. “And bottom line is, you’re right. There are a lot of kids at Bradley who are taking medication. First, you have to realize that the national average is up to—”
He felt his blood pressure rising. “Do not try to explain this away with national statistics. I know the statistics. And I know what saw.”
“Look, all I’m saying is 10 percent is a big number,” Daniels said. “Not necessarily because more children have ADD than they used to—although you do know that television, advertising, and video games have all been proven to lower the attention span of children—but because doctors have better tools to diagnose them.”
“And I’m telling you in Toby’s case, and probably in the case of a lot of the other kids, those tools are forged,” Sean said. “It looked like every kid in the school was on something.”
“Let me give you everything I’ve got, Sean, then we can have this co
nversation.” He tapped the table with both hands at once, to make a point. “I brought some reports I think you’ll find interesting.” He reached into his bag, which sat on the floor next to him and pulled out a packet. “There have been a number of studies done in Switzerland on the correlation between gifted children and Attention Deficit. Which would explain why Toby—and a high percentage of our students—suffer from it.”
Daniels was the first person at Bradley to ever refer to Toby as gifted. Struggling, challenged, behind, but never gifted. Unless gifted was taken for granted for all Bradley students. “I’ve never heard about that study.”
Daniels shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s all out there for public consumption. This one’s for you.” Sean read out the title on the report: “The Correlation between ADD and Giftedness, Geneva, January, 2008.”
Daniels sorted through some more papers until he found what he was looking for. “This is another interesting one that looks at how stress can trigger ADD symptoms. A death in the family, separation, or divorce.” He paused for a guilt-inducing moment. “All kinds of factors figure in.”
Sean took a copy of that report as well. He would read them front to back later, but simply holding them in his hand calmed him. Then he remembered Jess’s signature. “So what about the signature on the Conners scale?”
“I have to ask why you believe the signature on that document didn’t belong to Toby’s teacher.”
“I’ve … I’ve seen the teacher’s signature,” he said, lamely. “It was obviously not hers.”
“And which of the three teacher signatures looked wrong to you?”
“You know, I’d rather not say.”
He considered this and thankfully let it go. “I agree that if the signature does not belong to Toby’s teacher, then we have a serious problem to deal with. Or, I should say, I have a serious problem to deal with.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’ll begin an investigation. Today. You have my word.”
“You’ve been through the ringer this year,” Walt said.
“How are Toby’s spirits?” Daniels asked. “Is his teacher sending work home?”
“Honestly,” Sean said, “it’s been the last thing on my mind.”
“The last thing I want is for Toby to fall behind because of this,” Daniels stated. “What about a tutor? Is there someone who can work with him while he’s home?”
“I—” He’d thought about having Noah come by the apartment, but he was already hemorrhaging money. “I’ll work with him a little, help him along.”
“I hope you’ll allow Bradley to provide a tutor—or at least cover those expenses. We’re behind Toby. Behind you. We want to make this as easy for you as possible.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said. “We’re fine.”
“Take me up on it.” He leaned in with an expression of empathy on his face, his voice barely a whisper. “I insist.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“YOU REALLY BELIEVE BRUCE DANIELS IS TRYING TO HELP YOU?” Jess’s bicep flexed as she shook the salad dressing. “After everything—Dr. Garvey, Toby’s tutor, my signature?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and watched her twist her hair into a knot. He wanted to pull it loose, run his fingers through it. “He said he was going to take action, find out who signed your name. He sounded like he meant it.”
She poured the dressing on the greens and frowned. “So I’m the skeptic in the relationship. Interesting.”
“I’ll admit that’s usually my role,” he said. Were they in a relationship? It had a nice sound to it. “But I’m happy to give it up this time.” He turned down the flame under the sauce and drained the tortellini in the sink. “You should look at the reports.”
She took them to the couch, tucked her legs under her, and started reading. “I’ve never seen statistics like this.”
“Maybe you should hold off on quitting.” He sat down beside her and handed her a beer. “Until Daniels gets some answers.”
“I really don’t want to be the next Debbie Martin.” She sighed. “I tried to talk to Bev, but she’s in Minneapolis at some conference.” She sniffed the air. “Is something—”
The sauce. He’d turned it down, but not far enough. The apartment was starting to fill with smoke. She followed him into the kitchen where he took the pot off the stove and cursed it.
“I’m willing to see what Bruce Daniels comes back with, but when something feels this wrong …”
“What’s burning?” Toby asked, emerging from his room, nose wrinkled.
“Dinner.” He put a new pot on the stove. “Give me a few minutes.”
“Are you staying?” he asked Jess, a sweet, hopeful expression on his face.
“Only if we can do some more math after dinner,” Jess said with a wink.
He nodded vigorously. “I think I’m getting good at word problems.”
“I think so too.”
“We have brownies for dessert.” He fanned away the smoke. “And they’re not even burned.”
“How can I resist an invitation like that?” She smiled a smile that must have made more than a few eight-year-old boys fall madly in love. Can you show me where everything is and I can help set the table?”
Toby led her to the cabinet as if she were the student, giving her detailed instructions about which plates to use and which to avoid. He took extra time with her, the way a teacher might.
While Sean improvised new pasta sauce, he watched them setting the table. They had an easy rapport. For a moment everything made sense, the three of them here together. He realized the clenching in his chest he’d had with Ellie was a mere memory.
“Okay,” he called from the kitchen. “Non-burnt sauce is ready. Let’s eat.”
“Yes!” Toby ran to the kitchen to get his plate. “I’m starving.”
“Me too,” Jess said, serving them all big portions.
“Where did you grow up?” Toby asked, when they were sitting at the dining room table.
“A town called Westerly,” she said. “It’s in Rhode Island.”
“That’s the smallest state.” Toby smiled.
“You were paying attention in social studies.”
Toby tried to hide his joy at the praise. “What’s Westerly like?”
“I loved growing up there. In the summer I used to go to the water slide for hours. Or my parents would take me to the carousel—the old-fashioned kind with the flying horses. Sometimes we’d go to paint-your-own pottery and make cool stuff. Plus, they make amazing ice cream there.”
“I love ice cream.”
“Do you know how long it takes to drive from the south end of the state to the north end?” she asked.
“Five hours?” Toby guessed.
“Only an hour.”
“That’s how long it took to go to Coney Island on the subway.” He considered this a moment. “Do your mom and dad live there?”
“My dad does.” Sean saw a sad smile flicker across her face. “My mom … she died last year.”
Toby looked at Sean, not sure what to say, then turned back to Jess. “How’d she die?”
“Tobe …”
“What?”
“Maybe Jess doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “She was sick for a long time. Her heart wasn’t strong …”
“I’d be so sad if my mom died,” Toby said.
“You don’t have to worry about that for a long time,” she said.
“You can remember your mom,” Toby offered. “That way it’s like she’s with you. Kind of.”
“You’re pretty smart.”
“I think of all the fun things I did with Calvin.” He shrugged. “But it still makes me kind of sad when I remember I can’t see him.”
“Yeah … I know how that is.”
When the phone rang, Toby jumped up and ran into the kitchen to answer it. “Mommy!” he said. Ellie was right on cue for once, thank God. “Nothing … eating dinner. My teac
her is here.”
Toby’s account of making brownies with Maureen went into great detail and soon became happy white noise in the background.
“Sorry,” Jess said. “Maybe I didn’t need to tell him about my dead mother.”
“I’ll throw a few extra dollars in the therapy jar.”
“I’ve got to get a grip.” She held her head with her hands.
“He’ll be fine.”
“I keep thinking my mom would know what I should do. Between what Dr. Garvey told us and all the school crap, my head is spinning.”
“And your breakup,” he said. “Don’t forget the breakup.”
She smiled. “I haven’t forgotten. Trust me.”
“You going to give me details, or am I going to have to beat it out of you?”
Her laugh was sudden and full. An unexpected gift. “I didn’t know you were so interested in the gory details.”
“Clearly you’ve forgotten where I work.”
“Reader’s Digest version: He called me every disgusting name you could think of and threatened me by saying I’d used up my last chance with him. Which came as a huge relief, honestly. I shoved some clothes in a duffel bag and went to Bev’s.”
“You should not be staying with Bev.”
“She’s my godmother.”
“You should stay with me.” He glanced at Toby who was still having an animated conversation with Ellie. “With us.”
“I’m okay over there.”
“Let’s go get your stuff.” He couldn’t believe he was saying it, but he loved the idea.
“But …”
“I hear we’re in a relationship,” he whispered. “So it’s fine.”
“I don’t think everyone here needs to know that.”
“We’ll be discreet.” Was he pleading? And was that wrong? “I’ll sleep on the couch. Or it’ll appear that way.” He reached for her hand under the table. “Move in with us.”
“What if we get on each others’ nerves?” she asked. “What if I snore? What if you leave goop on the toothpaste tube? That could kill a budding … relationship.”
“Impossible.” He took both her hands now. “I want to be with you. As much as humanly possible.”