Accelerated (26 page)

“You sure?”

Toby nodded.

“Okay, coming up.” He stepped toward the cabinet where Ellie was banging around reorganizing things. Ellie tried to move out of the way, but she must have thought he was going for the fridge and bumped him.

“Sorry,” he said. He found a box of macaroni and cheese in the cupboard and held it up for approval.

Toby nodded vigorously.

Ellie was already filling up a pot with water. “I got it,” she said with a smile.

He could get it. He’d gotten it without her for months. He
wanted
to get it. But making a scene over the mac and cheese would be infantile.

“Come on Tobe,” he said. “I’ll run you a bath.”

“Can I have guys in the bath tonight?”

He wondered if all boys washed with their superhero collection or if this was unique to his comic-obsessed son. “As many as you want.”

He didn’t even yell at Toby when the warring defenders of truth and justice soaked the bathroom floor. Toby was home and happy. Nothing else mattered. He ate half his mac and cheese and announced he was tired.

Ellie tucked him into bed while Sean mopped up the bathwater.

Then it was Sean’s turn. He pulled the covers tight around Toby and tucked them in just the way he liked. He focused on this happy scene, and tried not to dwell on how it would be when Toby was asleep and he and Ellie were alone.

“It’s just like before.” Toby closed his eyes, but the smile stayed.

Kids really couldn’t tell. All you had to do was paste on a smile and they’d believe you were the happiest person alive. He wondered how long he and Ellie could keep it civil. He kissed Toby on the head. “Love you, Tobe,” he said, and left the door ajar.

Ellie was trying to find room to unpack, but her old drawers were filled with brushes, charcoal and acrylic paint. One drawer was filled with sliced up photos of their life together.

“I’ll go to the grocery store,” she said.

“I can go.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said. “I want to.”

They were on their best behavior. It was nice. But he knew all that anger and resentment that had bubbled up at the hospital lay just beneath the surface. A scratch could set it free.

As soon as she was gone, he put on some music, lay on the couch, and checked his email. Not having to worry about being on his best behavior was a relief.

She was back half an hour later with bags of groceries containing what looked like a lifetime supply of lentils and tofu.

“I’m a vegan now,” she said.

“Oh God, Ellie.”

“I know you’ll like it.” She held up a steak. “But I got this for you, just in case.”

“No, that’s okay,” he said. “I’ll have whatever you’re making.”

As she cooked, the apartment filled with the unfamiliar smell of curry. It wasn’t a bad smell, but his home no longer smelled or felt like his. “I know it’s strange,” she said, as she stirred enough lentils to feed a small Indian village. “We have to get used to each other again.”

He’d just gotten used to being without her. To sleeping without her. He’d expected all-out war, but she was more like the old Ellie than ever. He took a set of sheets from the linen closet and threw them on the coach. “You should take the bed.”

“No, I’ll sleep out here.”

“I’m not going to let you sleep on the couch,” he said. “I’m just not.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m fine on the—”

He shook his head. “I’m here.”

“Okay,” she said. “Thank you.” She watched him throw the cushions on the floor. “You going back to work tomorrow?”

Small talk. It was brilliant. They could make small talk and ease into whatever it was they were doing. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

She stared at the cooking lentils like they were the most fascinating things in the universe. For two people who had everything to discuss, they seemed to have nothing to talk about.

“Staying home with Toby will be a treat,” she said. “I really missed him.”

Was she blaming
him
for that?

“And I’m glad I can help you out, too,” she said. “I know this has all been hard on you.”

Her lack of sarcasm was throwing him. “Um, thanks.”

She grabbed the pot handle. “Fuck!” she yelled loudly, pulling her hand off the scalding pot. “Fuck! Fuck!” She ran her hand under cold water saying “Fuck.”

As she cursed and yelled, his phone rang. He snatched it up and heard Cheryl’s voice. She’d never called, and hearing the voice detached from the body was all wrong. “Jesus,” she said. “Thank fucking Christ Toby is okay. How are you doing?”

“Good,” he said. “Okay.” Having Ellie in his kitchen cooking lentils was weird enough without Cheryl on the phone. He had to push the bathroom sex out of his head. “Thanks.”

“I had no clue Toby was allergic,” she went on. “Scary.”

“Allergic?”

“I mean, it’s a friggin’ peanut—how can it poison so many kids? I can’t even imagine what a hellish ordeal that must have been. God, I’m glad he’s okay.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Shit, was that a secret? I thought—”

“Who said it was an allergy?” His voice rose unexpectedly.

“It went out in an email. Or maybe someone from the class told me. I can’t remember. Why?”

While he was sitting in the hospital room wondering if Toby would live, the class parents were gossiping, speculating. It made his stomach turn. “Toby isn’t allergic to nuts or anything else,” he said. Ellie was watching him, trying to figure out who he was talking to.

“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.

O
N HIS FIRST DAY BACK AT
B
UZZ
, S
EAN 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 headshots. “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-paneled 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?”