“I still haven’t met someone worth giving up my freedom for,” James said.

He and Carter were almost like brothers these days. He was the one who’d convinced Carter to go into private practice. He was the one who’d talked Carter into getting on the lecture circuit, where he extolled the virtues of Prozac and Ritalin to doctors on paid vacations in Hilton Head, and Myrtle Beach, and Atlanta, courtesy of Eli Lilly and Novartis. He was the one responsible for all the money piling up in their bank account that would let them send Korey to college, and remodel the kitchen, and pay off the BMW. And yes, sometimes the phone rang after Carter came back from one of his trips and a young woman would ask for Dr. Campbell, or sometimes they’d call him Carter, but Patricia always gave them his office number, and when she asked who they were Carter always said, “Damn secretaries,” or “That effing girl at the travel agency,” and it made him so angry that Patricia finally stopped asking, and just kept giving out his office number when they called, and she tried not to think about it because she knew how easily ideas could get into her head and grow into twisted shapes.

“Patricia!” James Harris beamed. “You look wonderful!”

“Hello, James,” she said as he pulled her into a hug.

She still wasn’t used to all this hugging, so she held still and let him squeeze her.

“This one was just telling me I’m going to be having supper with y’all all fall,” James Harris said. “To keep an eye on you while he’s out of town.”

“We’re looking forward to it,” Patricia said.

“Did you understand any of this month’s book?” Kitty asked. “All that military language left my head whirling.”

“Whirlybird!” Horse cheered, loudly, raising his beer.

And the men started to talk about the war on drugs, and the inner cities, and metal detectors in schools, and James Harris said something about crack babies, and for a moment Patricia saw him, chin dripping black blood, something inhuman retracting back into his mouth, and then she hustled that image away and saw him the way she saw him so often—waving as he walked through the neighborhood in the evenings, at book club, at their table when Carter invited him over for supper. It had been dark in the back of his van. It had been so long ago. She wasn’t even exactly sure of what she’d seen. It had probably been nothing. He had done so much for them.

It was better not to think about it.

CHAPTER 25

“So what did he say?” Carter asked.

He stopped slapping undershirts and dress socks into his suitcase on the end of their bed.

“Major said Blue has Saturday school for the next two months,” Patricia said. “And he has to do twelve hours of volunteering at an animal shelter before the end of the year.”

“That’s almost an hour a week between now and then,” Carter said. “On top of Saturday school. Who’s going to take him to all that?”

His suitcase slipped off the end of the bed and clattered to the floor. Cursing, Carter started to bend down, but Patricia got there first, squatting awkwardly, knees popping. He was always frantic before he left on one of his trips, and she needed him calm if he was going to help with Blue. She picked up the suitcase and put it back on the bed.

“Slick and I are going to carpool the boys,” Patricia said, refolding his spilled undershirts.

Carter shook his head.

“I don’t want Blue around that Paley boy,” he said. “To be honest, I don’t want you around Slick. She’s a loudmouth.”

“That’s just not practical,” Patricia said. “Neither of us has time to drive them back and forth separately every Saturday.”

“You’re both housewives,” he said. “What else do you do all day?”

She felt her veins tighten, but didn’t say anything. She could find the time if it was that important to him. She felt her veins relax. What bothered her more were his comments about Slick.

She pressed the last refolded undershirt on top of the pile in Carter’s suitcase.

“We need to talk to Blue,” she said.

Carter let out a soul-deep sigh.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said.

She knocked on Blue’s door. Carter stood behind her. No answer. Patricia whisked her knuckles against it again, listening for any sound that could be a “yeah” or an “uh-huh” or even the rare “what?” and then Carter reached past her and rapped on the door sharply, twisting the handle, pushing it open while still knocking.

“Blue?” he said, stepping past Patricia. “Your mother and I need to talk to you.”

Blue jerked his head up from his desk like he’d been caught in the middle of something. When he’d gone to camp last summer they’d gotten him a blond wood Scandinavian bedroom unit that wrapped around the walls, with cabinets built into the window seat, a desk built into the bookshelves, and a bed built in beside the desk. Blue had decorated it with horror movie ads cut out from the newspaper: Make Them Die Slowly, I Eat Your Skin, I Drink Your Blood. The ceiling fan made the ads pulse and flutter like pinned butterflies. Books lay in piles on the floor, most of them about Nazis, but also something called The Anarchist’s Cookbook on top of one stack, and her copy of The Stranger Beside Me, which she’d been looking for.

On his bed lay a library copy of Nazi Human Experiments and Their Outcomes and on the window seat were the mutilated remains of his Star Wars action figures. She remembered buying those for him years ago and their adventures through the house and in the car had played in the background of her life for years. Now, he’d taken his Boy Scout knife and whittled their faces into pink, multifaceted lumps. He’d melted their hands with the hot glue gun. He’d scorched their bodies with matches.

And it was her fault. He’d found her convulsing on the kitchen floor. He’d dialed 911. He’d live with that memory for the rest of his life. She told herself he was too old for action figures anyway. This was just how teenage boys played.

“What do you want?” Blue asked, and his voice honked a little at the end.

Patricia realized his voice was changing, and her heart gave a small pinch.

“Well,” Carter said, looking around for a place to sit. He hadn’t been in Blue’s room recently enough to know that was impossible. He perched on the edge of the bed. “Can you tell me what happened at school today?”

Blue huffed, throwing himself backward in his desk chair.

“God,” he said. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Blue,” Patricia said. “That is not true. You abused an animal.”

“Let him speak for himself,” Carter said.

“Oh, my God,” Blue said, rolling his eyes. “Is that what you’re going to say? I’m an animal abuser. Lock me up! Look out, Ragtag.”

This last was directed at the dog, who was sleeping on a pile of magazines beneath his bed.

“Let’s all calm down,” Carter said. “Blue, what do you think happened?”

“It was just a dumb joke,” Blue said. “Tiger took some spray paint and said it would be funny to put it on Rufus and then he wouldn’t stop.”

“That is not what you told us in Major’s office,” Patricia said.

“Patty,” Carter warned, not taking his eyes off Blue.

She realized that she was pushing and stopped, hoping it wasn’t too late. She had pushed before and it wound up with Blue having a meltdown on a flight to Philadelphia, with Korey throwing the dish rack and breaking a whole set of plates, with Carter massaging the bridge of his nose, with her taking those pills. She pushed and things always got worse. But it was already too late.

“Why are you always taking everyone’s side except mine?” Blue said, throwing himself forward in his chair.

“Everyone needs to calm down—” Carter began.

“Rufus is a dog,” Blue said. “People die every day. People abort little babies. Six million people died in the Holocaust. No one cares. It’s just a dumb dog. They’ll wash it off.”

“Everyone needs to take a breath,” Carter said, palms out in the calming gesture to Blue. “Next week you and I are going to sit down and I’m going to give you a test called a Conners Scale. It’s just to determine if paying attention is harder for you than it is for other people.”

“So what?” Blue asked.

“If it is,” Carter explained, “then we give you something called Ritalin. I’m sure a lot of your friends take it. It doesn’t change anything about you, it’s just like eyeglasses for your brain.”

“I don’t want eyeglasses for my brain!” Blue screamed. “I’m not taking a test!”

Ragtag lifted his head. Patricia wanted to stop this. Carter hadn’t talked about this with her before. This was the kind of decision they needed to make together.

“That’s why you’re the child and I’m the adult,” Carter said. “I know what you need better than you do.”

“No, you don’t!” Blue screamed again.