His eyes shoot from Meredith to Cody and then back to Meredith, who meets his gaze briefly before looking away. Since Joel has already said his piece on the way over, he’s biting his tongue now. But it’s not easy. Especially when Roger keeps acting as if he’s the guy holding the reins to this meeting, which strikes Joel as presumptuous and also, quite possibly, reckless. What if Roger offends the dean? There’s one guidance counselor in this room, and nobody seems to care what he might think, not even Meredith. In fact, Joel is beginning to feel as if she’s counting on Roger with his elaborate lawyering tricks to get Cody out of this mess. Maybe it’s his own ego that’s making it difficult for him to see the situation clearly, but Joel doesn’t think so. He’s fairly confident that of the three men present here, he knows Cody the best. And if anyone can get Cody to talk, to tell them the real truth, it might just be him.
Then again, no one has bothered to ask him.
* * *
Meredith doesn’t know what’s going on, but the fact that Roger has asked to talk to the dean in private does little to reassure her. Maybe her ex-husband knows more than they do? Or is this typical Roger Landau, aka hotshot lawyer, who’s going to bully the dean into submission with fancy words and perhaps an even fancier check? She certainly hopes not. Meredith wants her son to be exonerated, of course, but not in a back-alley sort of way. If he has, in fact, done something wrong, then they need to deal with it. Not teach him that he can get away with anything because his dad happens to yield influence about town and has deep pockets that the college would surely like to pick further.
Joel stares at her, looking a bit nonplussed himself by what’s just transpired. She doesn’t imagine that as a high school guidance counselor, he gets many requests for one-on-one talks with parents in the middle of a meeting about their child’s questionable behavior. But she knows him well enough that he’d never say this in front of Cody. Always, Joel has been careful to be respectful when it comes to the kids’ dad. Still, there’s a certain unseemliness about the private meeting that’s being held out of earshot that doesn’t escape the three of them.
If there’s something truly going on, maybe she can help. Maybe she and Joel can somehow make this better. She knows her son well enough to recognize that, even if he’s not trading papers for drugs as the photo might suggest, something is off, haywire. In a last-ditch effort, she tries to ask him.
“Cody, what is it? What’s wrong. Something’s going on. You can tell us, honey, whatever it is. We’ll figure it out.”
She probably sounds as if she’s speaking in tongues, using euphemisms so as to avoid what they’re actually talking about. Drugs? Heroin? Is Cody using? Dealing? She doesn’t know if she can handle the answer. If he has been using, then he’s been putting on one heck of a good show. Phi Beta Kappa. Varsity football team.
She stares a long moment into her son’s eyes. Her little boy is in there somewhere, and she resists the impulse to shake him free. A flicker of something—indecision? Guilt? Fear?—darts across his face. For a second, she believes he’s going to spill. Tell her the truth.
But then, as if thinking better of it, he shakes his head and rearranges his expression into something like steely resolve. Or perhaps it’s indignation. “It’s nothing, Mom. Seriously. No big deal. They’re trying to make a mountain out of a molehill.” And just as quickly as the moon passes between the Earth and sun during a solar eclipse, the moment vanishes. Whatever version of the truth they might have seized upon is gone.
She glances at the clock on the wall. They’ve been in this meeting for twenty minutes already, and Meredith can feel herself growing impatient with her ex-husband for whatever cockamamie deal he might be trying to cut. She knows she should be grateful they have a lawyer at their behest if Cody really does need protecting, but aren’t they getting ahead of themselves? Her ex-husband’s words echo in her head from years ago. It’s called a preemptive strike, Meredith. You take the prosecution down before they can even lob a complaint in the defendant’s direction.
And, suddenly, it all comes flooding back to her—the way Roger would condescend to her with his slick lawyer-speak whenever it came to the kids. As if his courtroom strategies could be applied equally and as winningly at home with four-year-olds. Yeah? She’d felt like shouting at him sometimes. You want to spend twelve hours a day at home with them? Go ahead. Give them your most persuasive argument for why Dawn deserves the blue sippy cup, and not Cody. See how it works out. I guarantee you they’ll be pulling each other’s hair out, and you’ll be ready to head for the hills in about five minutes.
When Joel’s hand reaches out to her, Meredith practically jumps. She’s almost forgotten where she is.
“What do you think they’re doing out there?” she asks.
“Hard to say. I’d imagine the dean doesn’t want to miss out on a chance for the new Landau library or gymnasium. He’s probably got to tread carefully himself. He certainly doesn’t want the school to get slapped with a lawsuit from Roger Landau.”
Cody guffaws and Meredith shoots him her best death-stare. “The situation you’re in is not to be taken lightly. I hope you understand that. Truly.”
His gaze falls to the ground. “I know.”
Joel has echoed her thoughts to some extent as well, though. The dean probably wants to be sitting in this room with them as much as they do, which is to say, not at all. The swoosh of Roger Landau’s money flying out the window has no doubt crossed his mind. But because of school protocols, he must at least inquire. Meredith understands, but it doesn’t stop her from wishing the whole thing would disappear so they could get on with the business of celebrating. She vacillates between worry and indignation on Cody’s behalf. Honestly, my son graduated Phi Beta Kappa, a distinct honor bestowed on only a handful of students. How could they possibly think that he’s involved in drugs! Or cheating!
At that moment, the door swings open, and the two men return, rearranging themselves in their respective seats. Meredith tries to read the mood of the room and isn’t sure if she should be encouraged or concerned that her ex-husband appears to be all smiles.
“So, Cody.” The dean resumes. “Your dad and I have agreed that there’s nothing here worthy of keeping you any longer. Thank you for answering my questions to my satisfaction.” He rolls open his top desk drawer and pulls out the coveted diploma. “I apologize to you all for any inconvenience this may have caused.”
Though she didn’t realize she was holding her breath, Meredith’s lungs expand.
“Under full disclosure, I should also say, as I told your dad, that we invited Eddie in to tell his side of the story this morning.” He pauses. “And I think you’ll be happy to know that he corroborated your version of the facts. Which leads me to agree with your dad. That this whole thing has been plotted by a jealous kid. Watch your back out there, though, okay?”
“Will do, sir.” Cody jumps up to take his diploma. “Thank you.”
Meredith smiles and stands to shake hands with the dean. “Thank you,” she says, relieved and admittedly slightly suspicious about this turn of events. When they gather up their things to leave, she can’t help but notice that Joel is frowning, as if he can’t condone a single thing that has happened here.
THIRTEEN
Friday evening
“Do you want me to grab the kids’ gifts out of the trunk?” Joel asks when they pull into an off-street parking lot that’s so small it could double as someone’s driveway.
They’re only a few blocks from the restaurant, but Meredith says, “No, let’s leave them till after dinner. I don’t want to upstage Roger and Lily in case they didn’t bring a present.”
“Fat chance of that, but all right,” he agrees.
On the ride over, they’d talked in code about the meeting with the dean. Meredith didn’t want to upset her mother unnecessarily. No need for her to know how close Cody might have come to b
eing expelled. There was a slight misunderstanding, some confusion over another boy, they’d explained. To which her mother had nodded resolutely, as if she’d foreseen this very outcome all along. But Meredith can tell Joel still thinks something’s amiss. Does he really suspect drugs?
She’d almost asked Cody point-blank, on their walk back to the car from the dean’s office, if there had been drugs in that backpack (he could tell her now that they were alone!), but then she’d thought better of it. He’d denied it twice already—once to her (in that vague way when he’d said they were making mountains of molehills) and once to the dean. What was the point in rubbing salt in the wound? She tells herself that it would be completely out of character for their son to be involved in drugs of any kind. Then again, she would have said the same thing about several mothers in her NICU ward, who turned out to be heroin addicts.
Meredith values Joel’s opinion, not only as Cody’s stepdad but also as a counselor. Does he think Roger paid off the dean? She wouldn’t put it past her ex-husband, who’s accustomed to throwing money at problems to make them disappear. Her thoughts hearken back to the recent scandal of celebrities paying huge bucks to ease the way for their kids’ acceptance into college. Has their family just stuck a toe into this cesspool? She sincerely hopes not, for Cody’s sake, more than anyone else’s. Still, as slick as Roger can be, he is a lawyer with a sterling reputation. Surely, he wouldn’t sink that low, would he? As far as she could tell, the dean lacked any hard evidence, save for a photo with a suggestive tagline from an anonymous finger-pointer.
It could have all been an innocent exchange, as Cody described. It’s possible, she thinks. Maybe unlikely, but possible that there are several layers to this story, one overlapping the other in a kind of intricate web that would exonerate him completely. Which would, furthermore, mean that nothing transpired other than a heart-to-heart chat between her ex-husband and the dean, a conversation where she can imagine Roger saying, “You’ve got no case here. Let’s call it a day and move on.”
Yes, she thinks, that’s the explanation she’s going with. At least for tonight. There was no cheating involved, no drugs, no money exchanging hands, no threats made. She nearly laughs at herself—honestly, does she think they’re all starring in a true-crime movie? The stress of the day has gone to her head. As taxing as the last few hours have been, they were, she tells herself, based on a colossal, unfortunate misunderstanding. Moving on, she thinks.
Outside, the evening has turned, if not exactly cool, at least milder. Up ahead, the kids, who opted to drive over with Roger’s family (the twins can never get enough of Uncle Georgie), make their way along the uneven brick sidewalk, and Meredith hurries to catch up with them. During the weeks leading up to graduation, she and Roger had discussed at length where to go for a celebratory dinner (Joel had been indifferent, happy to travel wherever), and eventually, they’d all agreed on Artu, a cozy Italian restaurant on Charles Street. It strikes her now as the perfect choice, mainly because they could all use some comfort food, preferably with heaps of olive oil and cheese.
The last time she was on Charles Street was probably four years ago, when they’d driven up for Thanksgiving weekend during the twins’ freshman year. They’d splurged and checked into the Fairmont Copley Plaza so that they could spend the weekend Christmas shopping, ducking into the posh shops of Faneuil Hall and then winding their way over to Charles Street, where old-fashioned gaslights with bright red bows looped around their necks lit the walkways. Is it possible that she and the kids walked arm in arm while snowflakes drifted down around them? Well, that’s how she remembers it, anyway. The day had been enchanting, like being caught inside her own snow globe.
It’s May now, but the historic street remains as charming as ever, with its scattering of subterranean restaurants, boutiques, art galleries, and the occasional nail salon. They pass NRO Kids (stuffed with preppy pint-size clothing), Moxie (its storefront sparkling with gorgeous shoes), and The Paper Company, where Meredith once found the most exquisite stationery. She’d consider tucking into the store now, were it not for her ex-husband, who already strides half a block ahead of everyone else.
She has almost forgotten this annoying trait of Roger’s, but a zing! of familiarity pierces her now. Traveling with Roger always felt like more of a chore than an escape. His fastidious attention to schedules, his endless quest to pack in the maximum amount of sightseeing, lent every family outing a rushed feeling, as if they were competing on The Amazing Race instead of enjoying a relaxing vacation. “Just think of him as your own private scout,” a friend advised her once, when she’d confided this irritating peccadillo. “He wants to make sure you don’t get lost.”
But Meredith remained skeptical. Something about Roger seemed to demand that he be first, slightly ahead of the rest of the group. Maybe it was genetic? Yes, that was it, she’d concluded back then—Roger hailed from a long line of “doers” and “seekers.” Harry and Edith, Georgie, they all sought out nonstop adventure, and when there was none to be had, they’d fashion their own. Meredith remembers finding it all so exhausting, especially on vacation. Given the choice, she would much rather collapse in a lounge chair and escape in a good book than pack her day with endless activities.
Roger has almost reached the restaurant now, where she knows he’ll double-check their reservation and table, ensuring that everything is as it should be. Meredith glances over at Lily to see if she’s at all perturbed, but Lily is busy talking with Dawn about the New Kids concert. Why does it still irk Meredith then? Why does she feel the urge to call out to Roger and tell him to slow down, for goodness sake, and wait for the rest of them? He’s not even her husband anymore! Enjoy the ride, she used to tell him. It seems that with the divorce there should also be a passing of the torch for the things that used to drive her nuts. Lily ought to be annoyed right now, not her. Then again, that’s probably why she and Roger divorced: they were never compatible in the first place.
Entering Artu requires descending a few steps below street level before passing through a doorway that opens onto a cool, cavern-like space, and she’s reassured to glimpse Cody giving his nana a hand. Inside, thick wooden beams crisscross the low ceiling, small candles flicker on square tables, and a brick fireplace doubles as a wine cellar. Meredith feels herself relaxing before they even sit down. There’s the delicious aroma of sauce, the soft murmur of conversation, and the reassuring clatter of pans coming from the kitchen, as if the chefs are already hard at work prepping their meal. Best of all, there’s dim lighting. Which means the difference in her age and Lily’s may not be as pronounced as it was in this afternoon’s sun.
Roger stands beside a long table at the back of the room and waves to them. Their party of ten nearly fills up half of the floor, and Meredith experiences a moment of dread as she realizes she hasn’t done the appropriate prep work to position herself where she’d like to sit, which is to say, next to Joel and as far away from Harry as possible. But as it turns out, the seating arrangement—five small square tables pushed together—works in her favor. On either side of her, Joel and Dawn take a seat, and her mother and Georgie bookend both of them. Directly across from her, Cody slides into a chair, and Roger and Lily sit to his left. That leaves Edith on Cody’s right and Harry down in the corner, a suitable distance away. Not that she doesn’t like Harry, but now she won’t have to listen to him complain about the bread’s not being warm enough or the wine’s not being properly chilled.
Shortly, menus are in hand, Roger requests ice waters for the entire table, and Meredith fishes out her reading glasses to better peruse the menu. Seared sea scallops. Linguine scampi. Penne puttanenesca. Lasagna. Pollo marsala.
“It’s hard to decide,” she says, thinking out loud. “Everything looks so good, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, I know. It really is.” Lily reaches for Roger’s hand. “Roger and I used to eat here all the time when I lived on Beacon Hill. It’s one of th
e best restaurants in the neighborhood. Probably my favorite.”
Oh. Meredith welcomes this news like a sock to the stomach. Is that why Roger suggested Artu? Because he assumed Lily would be comfortable? Because it’s her favorite? Roger and Lily probably shared romantic candlelit meals here, perhaps in this very corner of the restaurant. It’s their place, Meredith thinks. She feigns a smile, says, “Isn’t that nice? I had no idea,” and shoots Roger a pointed look.
When their waiter returns, he rattles off a list of specials, but Meredith can’t help but notice that he squares his body with Lily’s, as if he’s speaking directly to her. This sense of being invisible, which overcomes her whenever she lunches with her younger mom friends, isn’t so surprising as it is exhausting. Not to mention, humiliating. A pinch of anger grabs her. Even though she understands that Lily represents Roger’s new family, Meredith considers it verging on the insensitive for him to have included her tonight. Lily is an interloper, an intruder, on this, one of their most precious nights with their children.
After they’ve ordered, Meredith reminds herself: grace. Her motto for this evening. She can make lemonade out of lemons with the best of them. She will kill Lily with kindness, this woman who has charmed her ex-husband with her perky breasts and her pert little nose, who has invaded her children’s graduation dinner, their lives. She turns to Lily.
“So, Lily, I see you’ve got quite the fan club on Instagram. I don’t know how you do it.”
Lily sets down her ice water. “Thank you. It’s fun. I enjoy it, and it keeps me busy.”
“What is it that you do again, dear?” pipes up Edith from the other end of the table.
Best Behavior Page 18