“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m doing something with Raz.”
“Did you already make plans with Raz?”
“I always do things with Raz on the weekend. You know that.”
“But it’s not like you have plans.”
“I’m not gonna ditch Raz.” Jordan frowned.
“You’re not ditching him if you don’t have plans.”
“Mom, I have homework to do.” Jordan went to the table, palmed his phone, and grabbed his paperback.
“I’m just saying. Maybe you can go out with Raz on Friday night and Evan on Saturday night.” Heather followed him into the living room, knowing she had already said too much. She always said to herself, with boys, say as few words as is humanly possible. The hardest part about being a mother was shutting up.
“Don’t want to.” Jordan walked through the living room, where he’d left his backpack, and Heather dogged his heels.
“Or why not go with Evan, but see if Raz can come, too?”
“No.” Jordan swung his backpack over his shoulder, its black straps flying.
“Why not? Why can’t you take Raz?” Heather went after him, talking to his back.
“Evan doesn’t like Raz.” Jordan disappeared down the hallway.
“Wonder why,” Heather said, but by then, she was talking to herself.
Chapter Twelve
Mindy Kostis took a sip of her G & T, on her laptop at the kitchen island. She knew the alcohol wasn’t helping her diet, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t lose weight anyway. She worked out with a personal trainer and had just started yoga, but she knew it wouldn’t work. Her goal weight was 125, and Mindy was pretty sure she would be 125 years old before she reached it, then she would be dead. Her epitaph would read, SHE REACHED HER GOAL WEIGHT, THEN DIED OF SHOCK.
Mindy scrolled down on the Photos page, scanning their vacation pictures. They’d spent spring break in the Cayman Islands, and she wanted to pick the best photos for a Facebook album, The Kostis Family in the Kaymans! The vacation was a true getaway for her, her husband Paul, and their son Evan. She’d scheduled parasailing, paddleboard, and scuba lessons, and Evan had left his phone behind, which was a miracle. Mindy had even gotten Paul’s attention, a rarity of late.
She eyed a photo of Paul gazing out at the water. He was a hematology oncologist at Blakemore Medical Center, and his cases often weighed on his mind. But this was different. She knew him better than that. They’d met in the cafeteria line at Blakemore, where she was a nurse and he was a resident. They had been married twenty-two years, happy until he’d had an affair with a nurse fifteen years younger and thirty pounds skinnier. Mindy didn’t know which hurt more.
Mindy glanced at the clock on her laptop, surprised to see that it was 10:16. It was strange that Paul still wasn’t home. He’d said he’d be home by ten. She prayed he wasn’t having another affair, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask him. Last time he’d denied it, and she’d believed him. But that time, she had proof. This time, she had nothing but an underlying worry that drove her to read his texts while he was in the shower, go through his pockets before she dropped his clothes off, and try to get into his email, though it was password-protected.
“Mom?” Evan scuffed into the kitchen in his sweats and slides, holding his phone. “I need a check for our jackets tomorrow.”
“Jackets?” Mindy couldn’t focus, wondering where Paul was. She glanced at her phone. There were no calls or texts from him.
“Yes, for the team. You know. Tomorrow’s the last day to bring in the money.”
“Oh, right, of course.” Mindy shifted mental gears. She herself had organized the bulk purchase. She went into the side drawer and found the checkbook they used for household expenses. She dug around for a pen, wrote the check, then tore it off and handed it to him. “Here we go.”
“Thanks.” Evan turned to leave, starting to text.
“Did you finish your homework?”
“Yes.” Evan walked away, and Mindy felt a pang. On vacation, they’d had nice, long walks on the beach, and Evan had told her about girls he was dating, Ashley Somebody, a freshman at CVHS, and Brittany Somebody Else at Rocky Springs. Mindy was pretty sure he’d had sex already. In fact, he was probably having more sex than she was. But maybe not more than his father.
“Honey, hold on,” Mindy called after Evan, on impulse.
“What?” Evan turned, texting. She couldn’t see his face, and the lights were recessed spots on a dimmer, and the granite countertops, black with orange flecks, glistened darkly around him. The kitchen was state-of-the-art and top-of-the-line, but sometimes it struck her as a stage set, since they never ate at the same times.
“Did you get dinner?” Mindy hadn’t gotten home in time to feed him.
“Sure.”
“What’d you have?”
“A sandwich. The leftover tuna.”
“How was school?”
“Okay,” Evan answered without looking up, texting.
“How’s Ashley and Brittany?”
“Fine.”
“Is that who you’re texting?”
“Mom…” Evan didn’t have to finish the sentence. Mindy had already agreed it was rude to ask him who he was texting.
“Okay, so how’s the car?”
“Awesome!” Evan looked up with a smile. “The sound system is incredible.”
“Good!” Mindy felt cheered. It had been Paul’s idea to get Evan the BMW for his birthday, and she’d gone along with it because she’d rather have him in something with state-of-the-art safety. The best use of their money was taking care of their only son, and their standard of living was the trade-off for Paul’s long hours, after all.
“Can I go now, Mom?”
“Sure, honey. Don’t spend too long on the phone. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“Good night now.” Mindy blew him a kiss, but Evan didn’t look up, shuffling from the kitchen. She swiveled back to the laptop, where the vacation picture was still on. She found herself getting back on the Internet, going to Gmail, and logging in as Paul.
She took another stab at guessing his password.
Chapter Thirteen
Susan Sematov clutched her cell phone like a security blanket. It was 10:30 P.M., and Ryan still wasn’t home, nor had he called or texted. She stood in the family room and looked out the picture window, which ghosted her reflection against the Dutch colonials, clipped hedges, and green recycling bins. Her makeup had worn off, emphasizing the bags under her eyes and the shine on her upturned nose. Her eyes were tired, and her mouth made a tight line. Her brown hair hung limply to her shoulders, and she still had on her navy suit from J. Crew Outlet and brown pumps from DFW. ValleyCo employees were required to shop its outlets, which had been Susan’s idea.
The scene outside the picture window was dark and quiet. They lived on a cul-de-sac, and their neighbors were home, so if any headlights appeared, they would belong to Ryan. Susan had spent the entire day worrying about Ryan. She’d called the local hospitals, the police, and two of Ryan’s high-school friends, but neither of them had heard from Ryan in months. Still she couldn’t just stare out the window.
Susan went to the bottom of the stairwell, calling upstairs. “Raz, I’m going out to look for Ryan!”
There was no reply. Raz was probably G-chatting and texting while he did his homework. She worried that he was rewiring his brain circuitry, being on electronic devices all the time.
“Raz? Raz!”
No reply.
Susan considered going upstairs to talk to him, but she didn’t want to have a fight. He hadn’t apologized for hanging up on her today, and his angry outbursts were becoming common. She’d been walking on eggshells around him and she told her therapist that Raz was turning into a bully. She texted him, I’m going out to see if I can find Ryan.
Raz texted back, wtf mom.
Susan didn’t like profanity. She texted, See you in an
hour. Let me know if he comes home in the meantime.
Susan crossed to the console table and got her car keys out of the basket, her gaze falling momentarily on Neil’s. Her first thought was, Oh no, Neil left his keys, then her mouth went dry. She wondered when that would stop happening, if ever. She took her keys, turning around and half expecting to see him. He wasn’t there, but everything reminded her of him. The family room had a pseudocountry look made real by the greenish-blue end tables that he had painted. She loved old furniture, which Neil would refinish and paint whatever color she wanted, back when they were young and all about each other, before the kids. It made her feel like a bad mother to admit it, but she had felt more special then.
Susan’s reverie was interrupted by a noise upstairs, and the next moment she turned to see Raz coming downstairs, his expression predictably cross.
“Mom, what are you doing?” Raz reached the bottom of the stairs with a thud, his tread heavy. He was a good-looking boy, even when he was angry, his thick, dark eyebrows knitted together, dramatic against his long dark hair. He had his father’s big brown eyes, and his nose had a bump, also like Neil’s, but it fit his face. His mouth was big, in more ways than one.
“I’m just going out to look for Ryan.”
“Where? You don’t even know where to look.”
“I’m just going to look around at some of the places in town.”
“Where?”
“Houlihan’s. TGI Fridays. He could be at any of those.”
“He doesn’t go places like that.” Raz strode toward her, and Susan edged backwards, unaccountably.
“Where does he go then? Enlighten me.”
“I don’t know, that sketchy bar on Stable Road.”
“What’s the name of it?” Susan didn’t know.
“Oh God.” Raz rolled his eyes. “This is so dumb, Mom. He’s fine.”
“What’s the name of it? Where is it?”
“I told you. It’s on Stable Road. You don’t have to go out looking for him like he’s a dog.”
“I want to,” Susan replied, modulating her tone. “I can’t sleep anyway. I’ll just take a nice drive and see if I can see him.”
“He’s not gonna be at Houlihan’s.”
“Okay, I know, you said that. Then I’ll go to Stable Road and look for the bar there.”
“You won’t find it.”
“If you remember the name, I’ll find it. I’ll look it up.”
“It’s easier just to show you.” Raz stalked past, heading for the door.
“You don’t have to do that. It’s late.” Susan didn’t want him to go with her. She didn’t want to fight with him in the car. She would have preferred a peaceful drive through town, alone. She was officially the worst mother in the world, avoiding her own son.
“Let’s go already!” Raz stepped outside, letting the screen door bang behind him.
“Okay.” Susan left the house, locking the front door and following him to her car, a white Lexus sedan. She backed out of the driveway and left the cul-de-sac, with Raz texting. They traveled north, heading into town. Silence fell between them, making her tense. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to Raz since she’d been on the phone for the dinner hour. They’d had pizza delivered, again.
“How’s school?” Susan asked, after a time.
“Fine,” Raz answered, his head down, texting.
“How’s the season going?”
“We’re losing.”
“Oh, sorry about that.” Susan tread lightly. “How’s your arm? Feeling good?”
“Fine.”
“I looked at the schedule and your next home game is tomorrow, right? I was thinking that I could leave work early and come see you.” Susan turned right. Large homes lined the street, their warm yellow lights on, the families within safe and sound. The Sematovs used to be one of those families.
“You mean, watch the game?”
“Yes, of course.” Susan kept her tone light. Neil was the one who went to the games, not her.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” Susan couldn’t see his expression. His hair fell in his face, lit from below by the bluish light of his phone, where the text bubbles were floating by.
“You have work.”
“I can get out early. I’d love to come.”
“No you wouldn’t. If you did, you would have come before.”
Susan’s mouth went dry. “I’d like to go,” she said anyway. “I know Dad used to go, but I’d like to go. I’d like to see you pitch.”
“I might not be pitching.”
“Why not?” Susan took a right turn, heading into Central Valley proper.
“I don’t know. I just might not pitch. It’s not, like, a given.”
“Who would pitch, if not you?”
“Jordan.”
“But he’s JV, isn’t he?” Susan knew Jordan Larkin, a great kid. Jordan and Raz were good friends. Jordan had even cried at Neil’s funeral, and Susan had been touched. Raz had cried, too, but not Ryan. Ryan kept it all inside. Now both of her sons were losing their way.
“Jordan made varsity. He’s gotten better.”
“Oh.” Susan knew it was bad news for Raz. “Well, even if you don’t pitch in the beginning, you’ll get in the game. You’ll play even if you don’t start, right?”
“Does it matter?”
“What do you mean?”
Raz didn’t reply.
“It doesn’t matter to me if you don’t start,” Susan answered anyway. “Does it matter to you?”
“Not at all. I’m stoked. I can’t wait to sit on the bench with my dick in my hands.”
“Raz, really?” Susan didn’t like that language. “If starting pitcher is what you want, maybe you can get the position back.”
“How would I do that?”
Susan was about to answer, then stopped. Neil was the answer. Neil had taught Raz to pitch. Neil would’ve taken Raz in the backyard, and the two of them would have drilled forever. “Okay, well, I’m sure there’s a way. Maybe there’s someone I can hire, like a tutor. A coach. A pitching coach.”
“I don’t want to work with a pitching coach. You’re not gonna hire me a pitching coach. It’s stupid.”
“No it’s not. There’s nothing wrong with helping yourself. If you were nearsighted, you’d wear glasses.”
“I knew you would say that. You always say that.”
Susan spared him the lecture on goal-directed behavior. She wasn’t certain of it herself lately. Her goals had scaled down to: Last the entire day without blubbering like a baby. Save the kids. Keep the wheels on your life.
“Mom. I don’t want a pitching coach. How many times do I have to say it? No pitching coach!”
“Okay, fine.” Susan felt her temper flare, but reminded herself again to stay patient. Raz wanted only one pitching coach, his dad.
“What if I don’t play? What if I don’t even get in?”
“You’ll get in. They need more than one pitcher a game.” Susan was pretty sure that was true. “In any event, I’m going to the game.”
“Whatever,” Raz answered, leaving Susan to her thoughts. She had to face the fact that the kids had been closer to Neil than her. She didn’t know if she could ever bridge that gap. Worse, she couldn’t shake the sensation that they thought the wrong parent had died. She even agreed.
Suddenly her phone rang. They both looked over, and the screen read Ryan calling.
“Thank God.” Susan grabbed the phone and swiped to answer. “Ryan, are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m at the police station in Rocky Springs. Can you come?”
Chapter Fourteen
The morning sun shone through the classroom windows, and Chris stood as the students went to their seats, dug in their backpacks, and opened spiral notebooks. Evan slipped his phone away, but Jordan was already writing in his notebook. Raz was late, and Chris hoped he showed up. He had to make the final choice between Jordan and Raz today. Th
ere was too much to do before Tuesday. He wanted to pull the trigger after class, and he had one more trick up his sleeve.
“Good morning, everyone!” Chris began. “We’re going to start with an exercise about the Bill of Rights.”
Suddenly Raz hurried into the classroom and sat down heavily in his seat, dropping his backpack loudly on the floor. “Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled, but Chris kept his attention on the class.
“Okay, gang, your homework was to write an essay about which Amendment is the most important. But our forefathers didn’t write the Bill of Rights by submitting a paper. They hammered it out together. So that’s what we’re going to do today, have a real debate.” Chris returned his attention to Raz, slumped in his chair. “Raz, which Amendment did you decide was the most important?”
“Um, the Second?”
“Okay, come on up here.” Chris gestured to the front of the classroom, and Raz rose uncertainly. Chris looked back at the class. “Now, let’s get an adversary.” Chris turned to Jordan, apparently spontaneously. “Jordan, which Amendment did you think was the most important?”
“The Fourth.”
“Then come on up.”
“Okay.” Jordan rose and lumbered to the front of the room, barely glancing over at Raz.
Chris stood between the two boys like a boxing referee. “Raz and Jordan, you will each state your case. If anybody has a question, they can ask and you have to answer, then keep going. The class will decide who wins, and that will be the end of the first round. We’ll keep going until we see which Amendment is left.”
Raz raked back his hair, and up close, he looked unusually pale, even drawn. “Well, uh, I said the Second Amendment was the most important because everybody should have a right to protect themselves, like, against whatever. Like bad guys. You’re not safe if you can’t protect yourself and that should be your right as a citizen—”
“Raz, what’s the Second Amendment?” one of the boys shouted. “It’s called a definition. We learned it in middle school.”
The class laughed, and Raz looked shaken. “The Second Amendment is the right to bear arms. It says that a citizen has a right to bear arms and the government can’t take that away from them.”
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