The last secret_ a novel - Mary McGarry Morris [32]
“Maybe it's a warning. But if so, you're the only one who notices.”
It's true, and though it's taken a while, she can finally read most of Oliver's signals. He doesn't ask her to sit down. He never does. She says she knows how busy he is right now with the CraneCopley story, but she needs to know if he's had a chance to look at the Medical supplement layout yet. He hasn't. She tries to hide her disappointment. And her impatience. This constant motion has overtaken her life. Staying busy, keeping sane. She'll let him get back to work, she says, moving toward the door. But, she adds, she'd really like his opinion.
“Okay.”
“So you'll let me know, then?”
“What's to know?” He holds up his hands. “Family. My first priority. After that's the paper.”
“Thank you.” They're talking about two different things. Or maybe not. Conscious of his intense stare, she smiles brightly.
I'm sorry to have to call you in like this, Mrs. Hammond, but I don't know what else to do. Drew and I have had countless meetings. But all to no avail.” As he speaks, Mr. Carteil arranges Drew's World History tests for Nora to see. Three D's, the essay questions unanswered. “And now he doesn't hand in the term paper. Doesn't even bother.”
Red-faced, Drew looks down. His big sneakers scrape under the conference table.
“I've given him every chance.” His white-haired teacher sighs. “You know I have, don't you, Drew?” he asks in exasperation.
Drew clears his throat. His head hangs lower.
“Answer Mr. Carteil,” she says.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why? What is the problem?”
Drew shrugs.
“Something's wrong, isn't it? A good student like you doesn't just wake up one day and decide to quit trying. Does he?”
Drew shakes his head.
“Drew,” she warns, almost in question, his sullenness more shocking than the failing grade.
“No, sir.”
“Then what is it?” Mr. Carteil asks as gently as frustration allows. Demanding, but a teacher of extraordinary kindness, he is a legend at the high school. He is well past retirement age, but every year the school board unanimously approves the extension on his contract.
“I don't know,” Drew mumbles, hunching his head into his shoulders.
Nora watches guiltily. She should have sent him to Billington Academy where Ken and Oliver went, instead of insisting on a public school education, a more realistic world, her argument then. At least away at prep school he would be spared the turmoil of this more disturbing reality, his home life.
“Well, if you don't know, Drew, who on earth does? This work is your responsibility. No one else's. I was very pleased when I saw your name on my class list. You were excellent in freshman history, the kind of student a teacher needs in his class. Not just interested, not just bright, but excited by the work. Thrilled to be learning.” The old man's shrewd eyes shift between mother and student. “Is it me, Drew? Maybe you'd be better off with another teacher. Mrs. Leeman's got a smaller class, maybe it'd be more to your pace. You—”
“No,” Drew interrupts.
“What, then?” he asks hopefully.
“I'll just drop it, that's all.”
“But it'll be an incomplete, it's so late in the term.”
Drew nods miserably. Mr. Carteil sighs. Before they leave, he offers Drew one more chance. If he turns in the term paper and gets an A on it, Mr. Carteil will let him make up one of the tests.
“Oh, Mr. Carteil, that's so kind of you.” She is touched by the old man's sensitivity.
But the prospect seems to deflate Drew even more. Their ride home is painful. No matter what she says he stares out his side window. She tells him how much she loves him, what a good boy he's always been, what a wonderful son, and that she understands his unhappiness and blames herself.
“It's not your fault,” he says dully.
Uncertain how much he actually knows, she tries to be careful.
“Sometimes even the happiest families