“You’ve been brilliant, Max. Thank you.”
“Here—” Max gestured to the chair. “You sit, Mr. FW.”
Harry stirred.
“He’s been drifting in and out. I’m not sure if it’s the concussion or the shock.”
“When did the doctor last visit?”
“A while ago.”
“Have you eaten?”
Max shook his head.
“Are you hungry?”
“Famished.” Max pursed his lips. “Also starving, ravenous, and anything in the thesaurus that means about to chew off one’s fingers.”
Felix pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Find a cafeteria and get something to eat.”
“Thanks. Can I bring you anything, Mr. FW?”
Felix was about to answer no when his stomach growled. “A bottle of water. And, you know what? A bag of salt and vinegar chips if they have any.” He handed over another five dollars.
“Salt and vinegar—my favorite,” Max said.
“Mine too.” At least they used to be, until I developed absolute control over my eating habits.
Max stopped in the doorway. “Don’t forget to wake him in ten minutes; otherwise, Nurse Ratched will rip you limb from limb.”
“Nurse Ratched reporting for duty.” A slim brunette with multiple piercings entered the room.
Max turned back to Felix. “She’s way tougher than she looks. A total ball breaker, Dad.” Then he laughed and disappeared.
“You must be the boys’ father. Max said we should expect you. I’m just going to take some vitals.”
“How is he?” Felix asked.
“Fine, he’s doing fine. We’re just keeping him in for observation. I’ll tell the doctor you’re here, and he can go over the CT scan results with you.”
“Please tell me—were they clear?”
She glanced toward the door and nodded; then put her finger to her lips and smiled. He could have kissed her. Felix stood up and moved out of her way.
“Harry, sweetheart,” the nurse said. “I need you to wake up.”
Harry woke with a sharp jolt. Shook his head hard. Ow. The nightmare still clung. Face shoved into a dirty floor; someone suffocating him. Stale sweat and coffee breath bearing down on him, crushing him. He gasped for air.
“It’s okay, Hazza. You’re safe.” Dad’s voice. Was Dad here?
The hospital. Not a nightmare after all. Worse than a nightmare because this was real.
Harry shielded his eyes.
“Are you still seeing double?” the nurse said.
“Yeah.” His hand groped air. “Dad?”
“I’m here, Hazza. I’m here.”
Never thought he’d be so happy to hear Dad’s voice.
After the nurse left, closing the door quietly behind her, Dad scraped the chair around and straddled it. He leaned over the back and took Harry’s hand. “How’re you feeling?”
“Head hurts.” Harry tried to pull himself up.
“Relax. We’re not going anywhere until the doctor gives you the all clear.”
Harry flopped back. “You came.”
“You doubted me?”
No. “No. I’m just so happy to see you. When can I go home?” He wanted to be in his bed, under his duvet, away from this waking nightmare.
“Soon.” Dad’s hand was hot and sticky; he squeezed hard, then let go.
“Mom?”
“She thinks I’m staying at the office all night. Katherine’s covering for us. We’ll call home tomorrow, and you can tell Mom you’re okay. She’ll want to hear your voice.”
“I can talk to her now.”
“Let’s wait until you’re feeling stronger. Mom doesn’t miss much where you’re concerned. She’ll hear hesitation and worry.”
Harry tried to nod, but too much movement and his head might explode.
“Once they discharge you, we’ll book into a hotel. You and Max can order room service and sleep in tomorrow. Then we’ll pick up your suitcases and head to the airport.”
“Are you going to sit up all night watching over me—to make sure I’m breathing?”
“That thought has crossed my mind. How’s the head?”
“Sore. Can I get a Tylenol or something?”
“I’ll ask the nurse.” Dad frowned, then glanced at the call button. “Is the headache worse than before?”
“Holding steady,” Harry said. “How much trouble am I in?”
“I’ll take care of everything.”
“No, I mean with you. Are you going to punish me?”
“Yes?” The nurse’s voice crackled through a speaker on the side of the bed.
Dad slumped forward to reply. “Can my son get a Tylenol for his headache?”
“I’ll be right in, sir.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I just wanted to impress you. I—” Harry closed his eyes, but opened them quickly. The pain was worse with his eyes closed. “I just wanted you to be proud of me. It was meant to be a surprise. I was going to come home and say, ‘Look what I did, Dad.’”
“You did all this—the college trip, everything—to make me proud?”
Harry nodded.
“I am proud of you, Harry. So very proud.”
“You are?” He was?
“What you did took real courage. You faced your fears, and you’re an inspiration. On the plane, I was trying to figure out why I always want more from you. Why enough is never enough. Why I can’t ever say well done. I think you’re right, Harry. I think I have”—Dad stared down at the vinyl floor—“problems.”
“All the best people do,” Harry said. “Normal is vastly overrated.”
“I’m going to find a therapist.” Dad straightened up. “I want to fix this. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“That’s great, Dad. Really great.” The pounding in his head intensified.
“I found this thing online called OCPD. I think that’s what I have.”
“Sounds like an STD,” Harry said. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Dad paused. “And I’m sorry, too. Sorry that you’ve had to wait seventeen years to hear that I’m proud of you. Sorry that I pushed so hard about Harvard. Sorry that I’m the world’s most fucked-up father.”
“Yeah, but you’re my fucked-up father. The only one I’ve got. And I wouldn’t trade you.”
Dad smiled.
Harry rubbed his forehead and tried not to think about the pain bouncing through his brain like a beach ball with spikes. “Dad, can we take Harvard off my college list? I didn’t like it even before I got handcuffed and knocked unconscious.”
“Consider it gone,” Dad said.
Talking—just talking—with Dad was good. The Tylenol had kicked in, and the doc was off working on the release papers. And Harry was never coming back to Boston. Not even if Max’s band kicked off their first world tour in the city.
“You know the weird thing, Dad? I’m not that anxious about being in a hospital bed. I think I’m all anxiety’d out. Just incredibly relieved to be here and not in jail.”
A muscle pulsed in Dad’s neck. “Want to tell me what happened?”
Harry told him everything, twisting the edge of the hospital sheet tighter and tighter. “It was all a big misunderstanding, Dad. I didn’t really hit a cop. I couldn’t control the ticcing. I hit him because I was ticcing, and then I hit my head because I was ticcing.”
“I’m going to sort this out, Harry. There will be no repercussions. I’ll make sure of that.”
“But what about Steve? The last thing I remember, he was mouthing off about pressing charges.”
“I can assure you he won’t be when I’m done with him.” Dad’s voice was cold.
Harry’s elbow flapped. Maybe he should have downplayed Steve in the role of bastard asshole. After all, Steve wasn’t the one who’d thrown the first punch. “Can we just pretend it never happened and hope it goes away?”
“No. You have a neurological condit
ion, and this kid judged you. That is not okay. That will never be okay.”
“I’m used to being judged, Dad. As long as no one’s pressing charges, I don’t care.” Harry tried to smile. “How do we find out what’s going on?”
Someone knocked on the door. A quiet little knock.
Dad turned. “Come.”
“It’s Annie,” Harry whispered as the door opened.
Chewing her fingernails, she peered around Dad and then darted to the bed. Her eyes were puffy and red, and she hadn’t buttoned her jacket right. He hadn’t meant to cause her pain, hadn’t meant for any of this to happen.
“Are you okay?” Harry said, and patted her hand.
She burst into tears. “You’re asking me?”
Then it was hard to tell if she was crying or laughing, but Dad handed her a tissue, and she seemed to pull it together.
“Harry, I’m so sorry.” She dabbed at her face with the tissue. “I told the campus cops everything—that it was an accident and Steve overreacted. I don’t think they’re going to pursue it, but I made sure they have all my details if they need to contact me. Steve, he’s . . . a thug. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to dump him for months. But what he did today—I’m just so sorry. And I had to check on you.”
Oh dear, a fresh round of tears. Dad gave her the whole box of tissues this time. Then he looked at Harry as if to say, No fucking clue, you?
“And I tried to come in earlier,” Annie continued through her sniffs. “But they wouldn’t let me, and then I bumped into your friend Max in the cafeteria. He brought me back here. I’m so sorry, Harry.”
Someone appeared in the doorway. Dad stood up; Harry gasped.
He might not be in uniform, but the old dude with really bad hair and a beer gut leaning in the doorway looked horribly familiar. “I was worried about you, kid. I wanted to see how you were faring.” He puffed out his chest and spoke to Annie. “Thank you, miss, for setting the record straight. I’ve written up the incident as a jealous boyfriend overreacting. And apologies to you, son, for not believing your friend when he told us you had Tourette’s. I can assure you I won’t be making that mistake twice.”
“Thank you,” Harry said.
“And I brought someone with me.” The cop reached back into the corridor. “Figured I’m not the only one who owes you an apology.”
“Steve,” Annie said, and held the tissue box to her chest like it was a bunch of garlic and her boyfriend was Dracula.
“What are you doing here?” Steve looked angry as fuck.
“So.” Dad made a strange smacking noise with his lips. “You’re Steve.”
Steve didn’t look so big and scary anymore. Definitely not Dracula. In fact, barely a cartoon bat from Scooby-Doo. He seemed to cower next to Dad, and almost lost his balance completely when Max pushed past him, saying, “Did I miss something?”
“Ah, welcome back.” Dad’s voice had lightened considerably. “No, you’re just in time to hear this young man apologize to Harry. I believe he called him a rather insulting name.”
Oh God.
“I’ll wait outside,” the cop said. “So I can take Steve back to campus when he’s done.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.” Dad smiled. “I’m going to keep him for quite a while.”
The cop shrugged and left.
“And you, young lady,” Dad continued, “need a boyfriend who isn’t a bully.”
“I’m not—” Steve said.
Dad held up his hand. “I believe it’s rude to interrupt, Steve, and I haven’t finished. Oh no, I have a great deal more to say. You see, I have no tolerance for bullies. First off, let me tell you what’s about to happen here. You are going to explain that you misread an innocent situation and, acting out of jealousy, made false accusations against Harry. Then you will apologize to him, and I will record the entire episode on my phone.” Dad’s grin was strangely malevolent. “This will be my proof of your wrongdoing. I’ll keep it somewhere safe, and if Harry should hear one squeak out of you again, if you track him down on social media, if you make another ridiculous false claim against him, I will post this on YouTube, right before I create a hugely embarrassing scandal about how Harvard treats kids with Tourette’s, with you at the center of my publicity campaign. Do we understand each other?”
“You tell him, Mr. FW.” Max nodded in the background.
“And when you have finished your apology, you will sit outside in the corridor—with me—and read an online article of my choosing about Tourette’s. Hopefully, this will penetrate your thick skull so that next time you encounter someone with Tourette syndrome, you can offer understanding, not dickish behavior.”
Steve’s face burned scarlet, but at least he had the sense to keep his mouth shut.
“Annie?”
“Yes.” She turned big cow eyes on Dad.
Please be nice, Dad.
“Thank you for all you did to help my son.”
She relaxed her shoulders. “You’re welcome.” Then she looked at Steve. “You know what? We’re done.”
“You’re dumping me,” Steve said, “because of a high school kid?”
Sirens wailed outside the window. More emergencies, and Harry longed for this one to just be over and done.
“I’m dumping you”—Annie looked at Dad—“because of your dickish behavior.”
“Dude, this just gets better and better,” Max said, rubbing his hands together.
“Annie, you can’t—” Steve said.
“Yes, I can. I should have done it a long time ago.” She kissed Harry’s cheek. “Thank you for showing me that I deserve better.”
Harry smiled and hoped he didn’t blush too much. She really was hot. Not as hot as Sammie, mind. He had so much to tell Sammie, but probably not this bit. Or the part about upchucking all over the Harvard Science Center.
Annie left and Steve seemed to shrink into himself. Harry stared down at his hands while Steve squirmed through a brief apology that ended with a dismissive sniff. Even Harry felt sorry for him—until Steve glanced at him with pure hatred. Dad had read the situation well.
“Now—” Dad put a hand on Steve’s shoulder and guided him to the door. “If you’ll step outside with me, we can begin your enlightenment.”
Max gave Dad a high five and then plopped down in the chair. As the door closed, he shoved his feet up on the bed. “That was a beautiful moment, man. And your dad? Fucking awesome.”
“Yeah.” Harry smiled. This time, his head didn’t hurt when he nodded. “He was, wasn’t he?”
FORTY-ONE
“Mom, I’m still fine.” Just like I was still fine when you called half an hour ago. “Better than fine, really. Dad’s been amazing. Yeah, I wish you could have seen him, too. Love you lots.” Harry hung up and watched Max slouch off to the restroom.
Beyond the huge glass panes, snow had begun to fall sideways. Blowing horizontally at the airport windows, firing like a spray of bullets from a giant Gatling gun. Dad continued to pace, his expression set in a scowl.
Their flight had just been delayed by another half hour. And Dad had become distant, shut down. Impossible to reach. Anxious, if Harry had to guess.
Bored. Harry was bored. Which was fan-fucking-tastic. He’d never been bored at a departure gate before. Tense, frightened, ready to puke, yes. But bored? Was this a glimpse into the world of normal? Shudder at the thought!
Dad didn’t look like he wanted conversation, but how Dad looked on the outside rarely reflected what was happening on the inside. One plus one didn’t always equal two. Math was not the answer to the problems of the universe. Max would disagree, of course, but Harry had always found math too logical. Too cold; too right versus wrong.
He should say something. Say anything. Act like a Brit and discuss the weather. He tugged out one of his earbuds. “Weather’s been total crap this year. Worst ever. I mean—a polar vortex? Isn’t that something from a disaster movie? And a Valentine’s Day
ice storm?”
“I’m ready for spring. Snow in March?”
“Well, this is Boston, Dad.”
Dad came over and plonked down in the seat next to him. “Maybe you should stick with a college down south. Better winters.”
Harry smiled. That was a very Mom-ish comment. Totally un-Dad. Was Dad trying so hard to be like Mom that he had finally become her? Harry didn’t know, didn’t care. He liked this new Dad who could be scary as shit when he defended Harry’s honor, but also vulnerable. Harry liked vulnerable. Vulnerable, he could do.
Dad crossed his legs, but one of them kept moving back and forth in a quick metronome beat.
Harry put his hand on Dad’s leg. “You doing okay? You seem, you know, wound a bit tight.”
Dad leaned in toward Harry. “I hate delays.” He paused. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good.”
Actually, he was good. And strangely calm. Just as well, since the ER doc had said no Klonopin. Or maybe he’d been through so much in the last few days that there was nothing left to worry about. He’d done a college trip without Mom or Dad. He’d been on a plane and he’d been admitted to the hospital—all without his parents. Okay, so the whole thing had been a disaster of near-biblical proportions and he’d almost gotten arrested for assault and battery, but he’d done all those things and survived. And now he was going home. He’d practically lived a whole decade in the last two days. Best of all—he was proud of himself. Maybe he really was ready for the scary stage of life labeled “College.”
“I used to hate delays,” Harry said.
“How did you cope?”
“Music.” He pulled out his right earbud, put it in Dad’s ear, hit “Play.”
“‘Waterfront’ by Simple Minds.” Dad cocked his head. “It came out the year your grandfather died. After the funeral, Uncle Tom and I took a road trip down to Brighton Beach. We listened to that song over and over on the drive. Tom loved it.”
The Perfect Son Page 32
