Lucas’s eyes widened. “You know him? No fucking way.” An entirely different Lucas was making an appearance.
She nodded. “You heard about how he fell off the stage in Saratoga, during the Sudden Death tour? Well, he had some problems with his neck and back after that. Nothing helped. So I used to teach this yoga class in Chicago, where he’s based. One day he shows up, and it’s the first thing that really helps. Then he’s asking me for extra sessions. And then…” She walked closer to Lucas and put her hand on his arm as she murmured the rest.
Lucas giggled, blushing.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “Horrigan rocks. So…” He glanced at Nick, at Julia, and lowered his voice. “What was he like?”
“Selfish,” Cassie said. “First I thought, bad technique. But then I realized it was just selfishness. Finally I just stopped returning his phone calls. Great guitar player, though.”
“Horrigan rocks.”
“What do you mean ‘selfish’?” Julia demanded, with a ten-year-old’s unerring instinct for inappropriate subjects.
“We’re just talking about who gets their guitar licks in,” Cassie said.
Lucas began to quake with silent laughter.
Julia started to laugh, too, for no particular reason. Then Nick, too, began to laugh, and for the life of him he couldn’t say why. Except that he couldn’t remember when Lucas had last laughed.
Marta brought a platter of pork chops to the table, some sort of chili and cilantro thing on top. “More in the kitchen if anyone wants,” she said, sounding slightly peevish, or maybe just a little out of sorts.
“Everything smells delicious, Marta,” Nick said.
“And there’s salad.” She pointed to two covered ceramic bowls. “And there’s rice and there’s ratatouille.”
“That’s great, Marta,” said Cassie. “I think we’re going to be okay.”
“I didn’t make a dessert, but there’s ice cream,” Marta added darkly. “And some fruit. Some bananas.”
“I make one hell of a banana flambé,” said Cassie. “Any takers?”
“Knock yourself out,” Lucas said, and grinned.
Perfect white teeth, clear blue eyes, almost perfect complexion. A beautiful kid. Nick felt a surge of paternal pride. Three-day suspension. They’d have to have The Talk. Just not now. It hung over him like a sword.
“All you need are bananas, some butter, brown sugar, and rum.”
“We’ve got all that,” Nick said.
“Oh, and a light. For a blaze of glory.” Cassie turned to Lucas. “Got a lighter, kiddo?”
53
After driving Cassie home, Nick returned to find Lucas in his room, lying back on his bed, earbuds in. Nick signaled to him to take them off. To his surprise, Lucas did without complaint, and he spoke first: “So, she’s cool.”
“Good. I’m glad you like her.” Nick sat in the only chair in the room that wasn’t piled with books and papers and discarded clothes. He took a breath, plunged in. The normal force field of hostility seemed to be down, or maybe just diminished. That was good; that would make it easier.
“Luke, buddy, you and I have to talk.”
Lucas watched him, blinking, said nothing.
“I told you Mr. Sundquist called me in for a conference today.”
“So?”
“You understand how serious this is, this suspension.”
“It’s a three-day vacation.”
“That’s what I was afraid I’d hear. No, Luke. It goes on your record. When you apply to colleges, they see that.”
“Like you care?”
“Oh, now, come on. Of course I care.”
“You don’t even know what I’m studying in school, do you?”
“I didn’t know you were studying anything,” Nick cracked without thinking.
“That’s a big help, Dad. You basically spend all your time at work, and now you’re trying to pretend like you’re interested in how I do in school?” It was amazing how Lucas could take those pure, innocent eyes and focus them like a laser beam into one cold, hard blue ray of hatred.
“Yeah, well, I’m worried about what’s happening to you.”
“What’s happening to me,” Lucas repeated mockingly.
“This is all about Mom, isn’t it?” He regretted saying it as soon as it came out. That was way too blunt. But how else to say it?
“Excuse me?” Lucas said, incredulous.
“Look, ever since Mom’s death, you’ve totally changed. I know it, and you know it.”
“That’s deep, Nick. Really deep. Coming from you, that’s really great.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, look at you. You went right back to work, no problem.”
“I have a job, Luke.”
“Moving right on, huh, Nick?”
“Don’t ever talk to me that way,” Nick said.
“Get the hell out of my room. I don’t need this shit from you.”
“I’m not leaving until you hear me out,” Nick said.
“Fine,” Lucas said, getting up from the bed and walking out of his room. “Sit there and blab all you want.”
Nick followed his son into the hall. “You come back here,” he said.
“I don’t need this shit.”
“I said, get back here. We’re not done talking.”
“Hey, you’ve made your point, okay? I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you.” Lucas raced down the stairs, taking them two steps at a time.
Nick ran after him. “You don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you,” he shouted. He caught up with him just as Lucas reached the front door, put his hand on his son’s shoulder.
Luke swiveled, swatted Nick’s hand off. “Get your fucking hands off me!” he screamed, turning the big brass knob and shoving the door open.
“You get back here,” Nick shouted after him, standing in the doorway. “This cannot go on!”
But Lucas was running down the stone path into the darkness. “I’m sick of this fucking house, and I’m sick of you!” came his son’s voice, echoing.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Nick yelled back. “You get back here right now!”
He thought about taking off after his son, but what would be the point, really? He was overcome with a sense of futility and desperation. He stood there on the threshold until the sound of Lucas’s footsteps faded to silence.
Julia was there at the bottom of the stairs when he turned around. She was weeping.
He went up to her, gave her a tight squeeze, and said, “He’ll be okay, baby. We’ll be okay. Now you go to bed.”
In the shower a little later, Nick cursed himself for how badly he’d handled the whole thing, how ham-handed he’d been, how emotionally obtuse. There had to be ways of reaching Lucas, even if he didn’t know them. It was like a foreign country where the language sounds nothing like your own, the street signs are unreadable, you’re alone and lost. As the needles of water stung his neck and back, he looked at the row of shampoos and conditioners in the tiled inset: Laura’s stuff, all of it. He hadn’t bothered to remove it. Couldn’t bring himself to remove it, really.
He soaped himself up, got soap in his eyes, which made them smart so that when they started stinging and watering, he couldn’t tell if it was the soap or the tears.
He put on a T-shirt, pajama bottoms, and got into bed just as he heard the front door open, the alert tone go off. Luke had returned.
He switched off the bedside lamp. As always, he slept on the side of the bed that had always been his, wondered when, if ever, he’d start sleeping in the middle of the bed.
His bedroom door opened, and he thought for a split second that it might be Lucas, here to apologize. But it wasn’t, of course.
Julia stood there, her lanky shape and curly hair silhouetted by the nightlight in the hall.
“I can’t sleep,” she said.