Sweet Water(28)

I’ve just told my son to lie. About a teenage death. I’m the worst mother ever. I’m teaching him bad moral lessons. How to abandon a body and get away with it.

But he’s left us with no other choice. This is a rough patch, a bad page in our family history book, I tell myself, and we’ll get through it—I hope.

I go upstairs and lay out clothing for him. A pair of boot-cut jeans, sans holes, and a casual blue-collared shirt. I even lay out his boxers and socks so he doesn’t have to think about it.

As I descend the stairs, Martin gives me a thumbs-up from his office, and I assume it’s for getting Finn in the shower. He’s pressed to the front window like a Labrador waiting for the mail truck to arrive. I presume he’s waiting for the real police (not Alton).

After a short shower, Finn uses the handrail to thud down the steps, half squinting. I want to be upset with him for being grossly hungover, but the poor kid was drugged last night.

“Here, honey.” I have a hot cup of coffee waiting for him in my spotless kitchen, and as soon as his ass hits the chair, I exhale. I’ve completed my first assignment. My next job will be holding it together while they question him.

As soon as Martin sees us in the kitchen, he ends his call and strides hurriedly into the room. I thought it was to embrace his son, but instead, he grabs Finn’s arm so viciously, he almost spills his coffee.

“Martin.”

“Ow, Dad.”

He twists Finn’s arm around so he can see the underside of it, then rips off the damp cotton ball and tape Mary Alice fastened to his skin after the blood withdrawal last night. “Fuck,” Martin swears. “This could’ve screwed up everything.”

I’m shocked by his reaction. That’s what he was doing on the phone. Retracing our steps to make sure we’ve covered up the right ones.

Finn looks scared. “Did I shoot up last night?” His voice is pitchy like he hasn’t hit puberty yet.

“No, son. We did a blood draw to see what was in your system. The joint was laced, but you can’t know that right now when the police question you. You remember nothing. Just say the drugs made you sick and that’s why you came home.”

“Okay.” He looks confused, understandably so.

“Your grandma took your blood last night and Alton screened it,” I explain. I’m trying like hell to be strong, but I want to knock Martin out. He isn’t helping here.

“Did you go over everything with him?” Martin asks. He’s smoothing down Finn’s collar.

“I think so.”

“You think so?” he asks. Martin looks like a molded replica of William from the night before, when he asked us to sit before him in his sick little circle of liars. The corners of his mouth are sliced with deep lines where a gentle smile used to exist, panicked eyes behind thick frames.

“Yes. I did. All truth except for the woods.”

“You left the woods early last night, Finn. You never called us to come get you.” Martin slams down stapled documents in front of his face. “If they pull phone records, you were calling Mom at the shelter to see if she was coming home for dinner, because I asked you to. Our house is close enough to the park that it will track from the same tower.” I can’t help but feel startled that my husband is aware of this fact.

Finn jumps and jostles his coffee. “Okay,” he says.

My hands shake as I grab a tea towel and wipe up the dribble quickly. Everything in its place. Presentable.

“See these college brochures—Brown, Harvard, Penn? You might as well burn them if you say you stayed in those fucking woods for more than two minutes—do you understand me?” The vein on Martin’s head is like a pulsing snake, and I have a sudden urge to tap it with my finger and puncture it.

“Yes, sir,” Finn whispers, and he is scared. His eyes are filling with tears.

“You’re upsetting him, Martin. He’s been through enough.”

“Tears are good. He needs to grasp the gravity of this situation.”

Finn shoots a look in my direction, but I can’t meet it, because I’m too ashamed to be a part of this. Martin may have turned into a monster—but so have I.

“I’m glad tears work for your story,” I mouth off, and now I’m fighting my own.

“This is for Finn. He messed up and did drugs and things ended badly for him, but it shouldn’t destroy him. It’s one mistake. He won’t make it again. Right, Finn?” Martin asks.

“No, I definitely will not,” he says. And for the first time, I don’t know if I believe my son.

I stare at my husband with loathing, not because he so desperately wants to help Finn but because he’s so methodical about it. Yazmin Veltri’s life means nothing to him. She was a mistake and nothing more.

“We just need to get through this. These next few weeks will be really tough and the months to follow might not be great, but once the year is over and Finn is off to school, this will be nothing but a bad memory we don’t care to recall. Think long game here,” Martin says, as if we’re betting at the tables.

The doorbell rings, and Martin springs to his feet.

“Get it together—the cops are here,” he says over his shoulder.

I sit down beside Finn and squeeze his hand. “I’ll love you no matter what you tell them,” I say for only Finn to hear, secretly hoping he’ll have the strength to tell them what I couldn’t.