The last secret_ a novel - Mary McGarry Morris [109]
The girl and boy hurry by and don't say anything. Behind them come more students carrying benches. One girl is a friend of Chloe's.
“What're you doin'?” Drew calls, coming to an abrupt teetering stop, but they pull him grimly along. “Hey!” he protests, struggling against their grip.
“Be quiet,” Ken says through clenched teeth.
“I'm just tryna—”
“Stop it. You're just making it worse,” Nora hisses. The departure bell rings and students stream past them. This is the first time she's ever been ashamed of her own child.
They're finally at the car, but Drew balks, refusing to get in. He needs his books, he insists. They're in his locker and he has to go get them. Chloe will get them, Nora assures him. No, she doesn't know his combination, Drew protests, jerking free of their grasp. Then she'll call Chloe and he can give it to her, she says, fumbling in her purse for her cell phone, as if the books matter in the least, trapped as they are now in this bizarre scenario. Students move through the rows of parked cars. They keep glancing back.
“Get in the car!” Ken orders.
“No! First I gotta go—”
“Shut up!” Ken forces him down into the backseat.
Nora scrambles in beside him. As soon as they turn onto the road he falls asleep. She struggles to fasten his seat belt, but he's sitting on part of it. Pull over, she tells Ken, so she can buckle him in.
“Just forget it,” Ken calls back. He keeps driving.
“No!” Their eyes meet in the rearview mirror, and she is devastated by what she sees: more than disgust, more than anger. Hateful despair.
She clicks the seat belt into place. Not another word passes. They ride home in silence. They can't get Drew out of the car. He won't be roused no matter how often she calls his name or jostles his arms. Ken waits by the open door. “Drew, Drew, come on, now, wake up, we're home. Come on. Let's get inside. Please, Drew,” she begs.
With the twitch of a smile, his eyes flutter, then close, as if surrendering to a glorious dream.
“Come on!” Ken barks as he drags out Drew's legs. He grabs his arms, yanks him onto his feet. “Let's go. Walk, goddamn it!” he orders as Drew reels into the back of the car, then doubles over, retching.
“He's going to be sick!” she cries, enraged to see her son so brutally handled.
“Good!” Ken says, dragging him up the walk, along the length of picket fence, architectural ornament, artifice, keeping nothing in or nothing out, for here it was, all damage done, the worst of it, to her child. And already she is deciding their next course of action, therapy, private school, a trip, a long family trip. Far away from all this anger and resentment, even as Ken gets him inside and is forcing him down onto the kitchen chair, yes, reschedule tonight's session, the family counselor, she'll call now, soon as they get Drew to bed, but Ken is insisting he has to stay awake. They don't know what he's been drinking, or how much. Alcohol poisoning. Can't let him pass out. Keep him conscious, he says, wringing a dishtowel under cold running water. Torture, she thinks, looking on. The boy needs to sleep, and all Ken wants is to teach him a lesson.
He wraps the cold wet towel around Drew's neck. Drew's head snaps up, his eyes bulge with shock. Ken is wetting another towel. The side door flies open. Chloe hurries in.
“What happened?” Friends told her. Jay and Maddie. Some kids said he'd been drinking vodka all day, from a spring water bottle. Mr. LaPlante brought him to the nurse.
With Drew's deep groans, Nora takes the towel off his neck. His eyes roll and he sags over the table.
“Ken!” she cries.
“He's passing out!” Chloe screams. “Do something!” Chloe lifts her brother's head. She shouts his name, begging him to wake up. “Please, please, Drewie!”
And he does. Looks up and laughs, as if they are little again, conspiratorial in this fuss. Drool trickles down his chin, but he keeps grinning. Chloe asks if he wants some water. He doesn't answer, so she gets it anyway. His eyes keep closing. Ken