Not Guilty (16 page)

“Dylan, did Dr. Stover call while I was out?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “You’re supposed to call him back.”

“Okay. I will. Look, honey,” she said. “I want you to try to clean this up, and then I think we need to sit down calmly and talk about what’s going to happen next.”

“What does that mean?” he asked suspiciously.

“Dylan,” she said. “Dr. Stover was recommended to me by the school as someone who might be able to help you with your problems.”

“Great. A shrink,” he said.

Keely was about to demur but then she nodded. “Right. Okay. A shrink. Is that so awful? I think you need to talk to someone about . . . everything that’s going on in your life. Someone who’s not involved like I am.”

“Now you think I’m crazy,” he said.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. But I feel like I’m not doing a good job here, honey. I feel like we’re just yelling at each other and getting nowhere.”

“That’s all right,” he said dully. “Sometimes I think I’m crazy, too.” He stared out the window over his desk at the dry, withered leaves still clinging to the tree branches.

“Dylan,” Keely chided, her compassion for him renewed. “You are not crazy.” She came over to his desk chair and tried to put her arms around him. “It’s just been a really hard time.”

He shook her off as if her embrace were poisonous. “Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t touch me and don’t give me any more of your fake sympathy.”

Keely drew her hands back into fists and took a deep breath. Then she walked to the door. “All right. I’ll leave you alone. Clean up this room,” she said, throwing the command back over her shoulder, not wanting to meet his bitter gaze. “I can’t stand it anymore.”

The phone was ringing as Keely came downstairs. When Keely picked it up, she heard a gentle, hesitant voice say her name.

“Keely, this is Betsy. I know it’s late for an invitation, but would you and the children like to join Lucas and me for dinner tonight? Cook bought a roast that’s more than big enough for all of us.”

Instantly, Keely thought of Dylan. She knew he wouldn’t want to go, but at this point she didn’t care. “Betsy, your invitation couldn’t have come at a better moment. I need to get out of here. These walls are closing in on me. That would be wonderful.” They agreed on a time, and Keely hung up the phone feeling slightly less isolated and depressed than she had been. Now, if only Dylan could manage to go and be civil through the meal, everything would be fine. She went to the foot of the staircase. It sounded as if Dylan was flinging the furniture against the walls upstairs. “Dylan,” she called out.

“I’m cleaning up,” he called back angrily.

“Come down here,” Keely said. “I need to talk to you.”

After a few moments she heard his door bang open and his footfall head down the upstairs hallway. “What?” he said when they were face to face.

“Lucas and Betsy have invited us over for dinner, and I said we would go.”

“Oh no,” he said. “Not me.”

“Why not? They’re your . . . grandparents.”

“They are not. They’re nothing to me.”

“Dylan,” she cried.

“I have one grandmother. That’s it,” he insisted.

There was no use in arguing the point, she decided. Technically, he was correct, and it wasn’t right to try to make him feel something for the Weavers that he didn’t feel.

“All right, fine. They’re not your grandparents—”

“They’re hardly even Abby’s grandparents,” he continued, feeling vindicated, “considering how old Mark was when they adopted him. They don’t even count as grandparents—”

“Dylan, just stop it. Just sh . . . just be quiet.”

“Shut up, you mean.”

“Dylan,” Keely insisted, trying to keep her voice even, “I need to get out of this house and be with people.”

“I don’t want to go over there. You have to eat with the right fork, and I never know which glass I’m supposed to use.”

It was true that the Weavers retained the slightly stuffy habits of Betsy’s privileged upbringing. Lucas had come from a blue-collar background, but he had adapted well to his wife’s Brahmin ways. Still, they were not really stuffy people. Betsy was an awkward, shy woman, an avid birdwatcher, plain to the point of homeliness.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to mind your manners for an evening,” said Keely. “Besides, the Weavers have been very kind to us.”

“I have homework to do,” he insisted. “Jake said I could come over to his house and do the assignments with him,” Dylan muttered.

“Not so fast. You’re suspended from school. That means you’re grounded. You’re not going out socializing,” she said.

“It’s not socializing. We’re just going to do homework. You’re the one who wants to go out
socializing.
”

“Dylan . . .”

“I’ve got to keep up with the work. The teachers will be on me worse than ever when I get back,” he said.

“I don’t care. You’re not going out tonight or any other night while you’re suspended. That’s final. You’re staying put, or you’re going to the Weavers with me.”

“I’m not going there,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Then I’ll call and cancel—”

“Oh, because you don’t trust me to stay at home without you,” he said sarcastically.

Keely stuck out her chin, but she knew that what he said was true.

“Thanks a lot, Mom . . .”

“Well, you have to admit, Dylan, you haven’t given me much reason to feel otherwise.”

“I won’t go out,” he said. “I’ll call Jake and get the assignments and I’ll stay here and do them. Okay?”

Keely sighed. She knew she couldn’t keep him a prisoner here in the house. She had to find out if he was going to respect the boundaries she set. She had to let him prove himself, no matter how much she feared he might disappoint her. Keely hesitated, uncertain what to do. “You’ll be hungry . . .”

“I can make a sandwich if I’m hungry.”

“I know you can,” she said.

“So go. You want to go, so go.”

She was ready to argue with him, but she just didn’t feel as if she could fight with him anymore. If she forced him to go with her, she knew he would be sullen and withdrawn and make everyone uncomfortable. And though the Weavers would be understanding, it seemed unfair to inflict his moodiness on them. They were only trying to be kind. And what he said was true. He did know how to make a sandwich for himself.

“All right,” she said wearily. “I guess you can stay home.”

“Wow, great,” he said bitterly.

“Don’t push me,” said Keely, shaking her head. He turned his back on her. Moments later, she heard the door to his room slam.

She thought about following him, chiding him further, changing her mind. Then she sighed. What was the use of one more argument?
Let him be,
she thought. Returning to the kitchen, Keely got on the phone, called Dr. Stover’s office, and was able to make an appointment for the next day.

Later, when it was time to go to the Weavers’, she ran a brush through her hair, then collected Abby’s baby food and a few toys. It would be an early evening. When she had everything assembled, Keely called up the stairs to Dylan. “We’re going,” she said.

There was no acknowledgment from upstairs.

“Did you hear me?” she cried.

She heard the door to his room open. “I heard you. All right?”

“We’ll be back by nine.”

“Whatever,” he said.

She thought of mentioning that she had finally reached Dr. Stover’s office and made an appointment for tomorrow, but then she decided against it. This would have to be handled a step at a time. Calling out good-bye, she picked up Abby, then went out the front door, closing it behind her. As she walked down the path to the driveway, she glanced back at the house.

Dylan stood at the window of his room. He had pulled back the curtain-and was staring out at her.

She raised a hand to wave to him, but the moment she did, he let the curtain fall and vanished from her sight.

T
hat was a wonderful dinner,” said Keely, scooping Abby and her toys up from the dining-room floor and following Betsy into the cozy den of the huge old colonial, which looked out over the bay. Lucas excused himself to make a few phone calls but promised to join them presently. The book-lined den, like the rest of the house, was furnished in comfortable sofas and chairs upholstered in Scalamandre fabrics, interspersed with gleaming, well-cared-for antiques. Behind the sofa and along the walls in custom-made cases, Lucas’s collection of notched pistols, feather-trimmed arrows, deeds to mines, and humble mess kits was artfully arranged.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” said Betsy shyly. “We’re so glad you could come.”

Keely deposited Abby on the silk oriental rug with a prayer that the baby didn’t damage anything. The cases were topped in glass, but Keely judged that the glass was too high for Abby to reach and break. She might get some grubby fingerprints on them, though. Betsy seemed unconcerned. Her life was littered with valuable things, and one could always be replaced by another.

Well, not always,
Keely thought as she tucked herself into the corner of the loveseat opposite Betsy, who had taken out a bag of needlework and settled herself in an armchair beneath a brass pharmacy lamp. The table beside Betsy was a shrine to Prentice, who had, unfortunately, not taken after his handsome father. His silver-framed photos revealed a boy with small, rabbity eyes, a weak chin, and a large nose. By the time he reached manhood, he seemed to face the camera with a discomfort that bordered on terror, probably because he had come to dread the sight of himself in pictures. Still, as Keely looked
around the room, she had to agree with Mark’s assessment of his own place in this family. There were a few photos of Mark, placed at wide intervals around the room, but the images of Prentice, however homely, were clustered on every surface.

Betsy looked up from her needlework and caught Keely gazing at the gallery of photos. On the table beside her was one picture in which a well-groomed Prentice, wearing a suit, a boutonniere, and a broad smile, looked almost attractive. Beside him stood a fine-featured girl with the complexion of an English rose, looking up admiringly at him. Betsy picked up the photo and gazed at it, seeming almost puzzled. “He looked so handsome there,” she said, searching his features in the photo for some clue to his troubled demise.

“Yes, he looked happy,” Keely said truthfully.

“That was taken on his wedding day,” said Betsy.

Keely nodded. She knew about Veronica. Three years after the wedding Veronica had run off with another man. That was when Prentice began to drink in earnest. “They made a nice couple,” she said.

Betsy sighed. “It’s hard for me to forgive her. She never explained why she chose another man, and she didn’t even give Prentice a chance to win her back. It broke his heart.”

“Oh, I understand,” Keely said sympathetically.
No wonder,
she thought.
Who could forgive a woman for that?
“That was cruel,” Keely observed.

Betsy sighed and ran a motherly fingertip around the cheek of his childhood photo. “You know, people envied him because he was born with money. They didn’t realize that it never seemed to bring him any happiness. He might have been better off if he’d had to struggle in his life, the way Mark did.”

Keely could not help thinking that few people would envy Mark’s struggle. Orphaned at a young age, a history of foster homes and delinquency. It was the kind of life that would have defeated most people. She glanced wistfully over her shoulder at the smiling photo of Mark on another shelf, nestled in among other family mementos. Mark had found a place in this family that had earned him Betsy’s kindness, some photos in the collection. But there was no mother to make a shrine for
him.
Don’t worry, darling,
she thought,
we’ll always keep your memory alive.

“I still miss him so,” Betsy said.

For a minute, Keely thought Betsy was referring to Mark, but then she looked over and saw Betsy still gazing at the photo of Prentice.

“I’m sure you do,” said Keely earnestly.
Yes,
she thought,
in spite of everything.
She knew that Prentice had brought his parents nothing but grief, but a mother’s love was unconditional. Your children couldn’t turn you away from them, no matter how they tried. Her thoughts drifted to Dylan.

“You look so sad,” said Betsy.

“Oh,” Keely shook her head. “Speaking of sons, I was just thinking about Dylan. He’s . . . he’s having a rough time these days.”

“Lucas told me. I think its a disgrace what they’re trying to do,” she said indignantly. “As if the child hadn’t already suffered enough . . .”

“Amen,” said Keely, appreciative of Betsy’s outrage on Dylan’s behalf. “I called a shrink on the advice of his school principal. Maybe it would help for him to have someone to talk to.”

Betsy shuddered. “You’re probably right. I’m not much for that sort of thing. But some people swear by it.”

Keely knew that the stiff upper lip was still alive and well in the Weaver household. She wondered if the Weavers had ever tried to get help for Prentice, with all his problems. As if she had read Keely’s mind, Betsy continued, “Prentice went to a psychiatrist for a while.” Then she shook her head. “Nothing did any good. He was just someone who never seemed to be able to find his way.”

Keely nodded, thinking how a lifetime of sadness was summed up in those words. Oh, she didn’t want her own son to meet such a fate. “You know,” she said, “I probably should be getting Abby home to bed. And check on Dylan.”

“But she’s being such an angel,” Betsy exclaimed. Abby had made her way over to Betsy’s chair and was tugging at the leg of her slacks. Betsy reached down and stroked her hair. “She’s a beautiful child.”

All the longing for a grandchild Keely had ever heard seemed to be contained in that one phrase.

“We’ll come back, won’t we, sweetheart?” Keely said, gathering up Abby’s things.

At that moment Lucas came into the den. “What’s this?” he cried. “Leaving already?”

Keely smiled at him. “We’d better. Thanks so much for having us. Betsy . . .”

The old woman nodded benignly. “Please forgive me, dear, if I don’t get up. These old hips . . .”

“I’ll walk them out,” said Lucas. Lucas bent down to pick up Abby, but the baby squirmed away from his grasp and started to fuss, turning toward her mother.

“Somebody’s tired,” said Keely, reaching for her baby. “Thank you again, Betsy.” She waved Abby’s hand at Betsy, then followed Lucas, who was limping noticeably, out the front hall to the verandah, which overlooked a rolling lawn. The heavens were starless, thanks to a pervasive haze that turned the white moon into a dimly glowing pool of light in the night sky.

“We can take it from here,” said Keely.

“Don’t be silly,” said Lucas. “I insist.”

Keely knew better than to argue with him. They walked in silence down the long path to Keely’s SUV in the driveway. Lucas gallantly opened the doors for them. As Keely buckled Abby into her car seat Lucas said, “Keely, look—I will go down to Maureen Chase’s office tomorrow and speak to her about all this. I’m sure I can get her to back off.”

Keely straightened up. “I already tried, Lucas. I know you told me not to, but I had to. She was not receptive.”

Lucas frowned at her, but his tone was understanding. “Maybe I’ll have better luck,” he said.

“I hope so. I’m really worried that Dylan won’t want to go back to school when the suspension is over. You know how kids are. They think everyone is looking at them and talking about them anyway. But now . . . I mean, for the paper and the D.A. to suggest that he did it on purpose . . . it’s all too much.”

“Don’t let her get to you,” said Lucas firmly. “This will all blow over.”

Right,
Keely thought, slamming her car’s door.
Every storm blows over sooner or later. But it can leave a lot of destruction in its wake.

B
Y
THE TIME
they arrived home, Abby was asleep in her car seat. Keely smiled at her as she carefully dislodged her from the seat and carried her into the house. Only a few lights were on in the house, the same ones she had left burning when she had left for the Weavers’. When Keely opened the front door, she wanted to call out to Dylan, but she was afraid to wake the baby. Maybe he was downstairs. She peeked into the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room, but he was not there. The TV was off—so he wasn’t downstairs. Keely walked down the hall to the nursery. By the glow of Abby’s night-light, she managed to change the sleeping baby’s diapers and snap her into her pj’s without awakening her. Kissing Abby’s forehead, Keely stood for a moment holding Abby beside the crib and inhaled her child’s pure, sweet scent. Reluctantly, she put the baby into her crib, covered her, and tiptoed out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar and the baby monitor on.

Now,
she thought.
Dylan.
She walked to the bottom of the stairs and called softly up to him, but there was no answer. Impatiently, she ran up the stairs and went down the hall to his room. She expected to see him there, on the bed, listening to music, playing some invisible guitar, but when she opened the door, she could see immediately that he was not there.

Oh no,
she thought. Her heart sank at the realization that he had defied her edict after all.
I’ll bet he went to Jake’s. Goddamit.
He was suspended, for God’s sake. This wasn’t some kind of holiday.
Well,
she thought,
so much for treating him fairly, giving him the benefit of the doubt.
A little part of her felt frightened by his defiance. She felt as if she was losing control.
Thank God he has that shrink appointment tomorrow,
Keely thought.
I need help with this boy.
Hoping against hope, she checked the other bedrooms on the second floor but could see at a glance that he was not there. She went back downstairs, looked in the office and then on the back porch, and finally went for the phone. The Amblers’ phone number rang three times, and then Susan answered.

“Susan, this is Keely Weaver,” Keely said impatiently. “Is Dylan there?”

“No. I don’t think so. Just a sec.” She heard Susan speaking to Jake. Then she turned back to the phone. “No,” said Susan.

“I’m going to wring his neck,” said Keely. “When did he leave? Did he say he was heading home?”

“Keely, I’m not sure what you mean. He wasn’t here at all tonight.”

Keely’s stomach turned over. “He wasn’t?”

“No,” said Susan. “I’m sorry. Did he say he was coming here?”

“Well, not exactly . . .” Keely mumbled.

“Just a second.” Susan turned from the phone and spoke to her son, “Honey, did Dylan call to say he was coming over tonight?”

Keely heard Jake say, “No.”

Susan came back on the line. “No. Jake didn’t hear from him.”

Keely was silent, her mind working furiously.

“Did you look in his room?” Susan asked sympathetically.

“Yes, I looked,” Keely said, her voice rising. “He’s not here.”

“Do you know where else he might have gone?” Susan asked.

“No,” Keely cried. “I thought he went to your house.”