We Need to Talk About Kevin_ A Novel - Lionel Shriver [143]
“Mommy—?”
“Sweetheart,” I said, “go back and do your homework, okay? Daddy’s telling Mommy a really good story, and Mommy can hardly wait to hear how it ends.”
“Anyway,” you resumed, “they ran. Didn’t get very far, since he realized that running was crazy, and he grabbed Lenny’s jacket to put the brakes on. And here’s the thing: It seems our friend Lenny Pugh already has something on his record—the old sugar-in-the-gas-tank trick, or some such. Lenny had been told that if he was caught at anything else they’d press charges. Kev reckoned that with his own clean record, they’d probably let him off with a warning. So Kevin told the cops that he was the ringleader, and he was the only one who threw rocks. I have to say, once the whole thing was on the table, I felt kind of sheepish for laying into him like that.”
I looked up at you with dumbstruck admiration. “Did you apologize?”
“Sure.” You shrugged. “Any parent’s got to admit when he’s made a mistake.”
I groped my way to a chair at the kitchen table; I had to sit down. You poured yourself a glass of apple juice, while I declined one (what was wrong with you that you couldn’t tell I needed a stiff drink?). You pulled up a chair yourself, leaning forward chummily as if this whole misunderstanding was going to make us an even more closely knit, supportive, rememberthat-daft-business-about-the-overpass family.
“I’ll tell you,” you said, and took a gulp of juice, “we just had this terrific conversation, all about the complexities of loyalty, you know? When to stick by your friends, where to draw the line when they’re doing something you think is out of bounds, how much you should personally sacrifice for a buddy. Because I warned him, he could have miscalculated by taking the fall. He could have been booked. I admired the gesture, but I told him, I said I wasn’t exactly sure that Lenny Pugh was worth it.”
“Boy,” I said. “No holds barred.”
Your head whipped around. “Was that sarcastic?”
Okay, if you weren’t going to attend to a medical emergency, I would pour a glass of wine myself. I resumed my seat and finished off half of it in two slugs. “That was a very detailed story. So you won’t mind my clarifying a few things.”
“Shoot.”
“Lenny,” I began. “Lenny is a worm. Lenny’s actually kind of stupid. It took me a while to figure out what the appeal is—for Kevin, I mean. Then I got it: That’s the appeal. That he’s a stupid, pliant, self-abasing worm.”
“Hold on, I don’t like him much either, but self-abasing—?”
“Did I tell you that I caught them out back, and Lenny had his pants down?”
“Eva, you should know about pubescent boys. It may make you uncomfortable, but sometimes they’re going to experiment—”
“Kevin didn’t have his pants down. Kevin was fully clothed.”
“Well, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“That Lenny isn’t his friend, Franklin! Lenny is his slave! Lenny does anything Kevin tells him to, the more degrading the better! So the prospect of that miserable, sniggering, brownnosing dirtbird having an idea to do anything—much less being the ‘ringleader’ of some nasty, dangerous prank, dragging poor virtuous Kevin unwillingly along—well, it’s perfectly preposterous!”
“Would you keep it down? And I don’t think you need another glass of wine.”
“You’re right. What I really need is a fifth of gin, but Merlot will have to do.”
“Look. He may have made a dubious call, and he and I discussed that. But taking the rap still took guts, and I’m pretty damned proud—”
“Bricks,” I interrupted. “They’re heavy. They’re big. Builders don’t store bricks on pedestrian overpasses. How did they get there?”
“Piece of brick. I said piece.”
“Yes,” my shoulders slumped, “I’m sure that’s what Kevin said, too.”
“He’s our son, Eva. That should mean having a little faith.”
“But the police said—” I left the thought dangling, having lost my enthusiasm for this project. I felt like a dogged attorney who knows that the sympathy of the jury is already lost but who still has to do the job.
“Most parents,” you said, “apply themselves to understanding their