Locust Lane(56)
The Parrishes. He wished he was sorrier to hear they were being dragged into this mess. Unlike most of the town’s residents, Patrick was not a member of their fan club. His animus stemmed from an encounter with them six years earlier, when Gabi had dated Scotty. They were both juniors at Waldo. This was before heroin made its appearance, although Patrick was later to learn that Gabi was already downing painkillers regularly. Even so, nobody was surprised she’d caught the eye of one of the legendary Parrish lads. Gabi was always popular with the boys. She was funny and as sweet as could be most of the time. And smart—she collected As easily. She was also extraordinarily beautiful. This wasn’t just Patrick talking; everybody said so. Take away the drugs, and she was pretty close to being the perfect girl.
Problem was, try as you might, you couldn’t take the drugs away. Her romance with Scotty had ended when she suffered a panic attack at the Parrish house. Lily was tending her sick mother in Providence at the time, leaving Patrick to deal with things on his own. He’d had a few beers when the call came in but was perfectly capable of operating a motor vehicle to Emerson Heights. After all, it wasn’t as if there was an actual summit to achieve—the neighborhood stood just a couple dozen feet above the rest of the town. The name didn’t describe geography. It conferred status.
Celia answered the door; Gabi stood behind her, looking like she’d just wandered out of a Japanese horror movie. Hair curtained her face; her chin was pinned to her clavicle. Scotty hovered at the hall’s midpoint like a free safety who hadn’t decided whether to play the run or the pass. Oliver, whom Patrick would only ever meet on the phone, was nowhere in sight.
Before anyone could speak, Gabi hurried out the door, making a beeline for the car, her feet never seeming to hit the ground.
“I’m sorry about this,” Patrick said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Celia answered, the personification of charm and grace. “I just hope she feels better.”
As he dealt with his daughter that night and the following morning, he didn’t give much thought to the Parrishes, except perhaps to feel grateful for how nice Celia had been. The problem came later that day. He was at work when his assistant told him that Oliver was on the line.
“How’s Gabriella?” he asked.
“A little shaky, but better.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your calling.”
They’d reached what should have been the natural end of a polite conversation. Oliver Parrish was a busy man. He’d discharged his duties as a host. And yet he stayed on the line.
“So, this isn’t pleasant, but I wanted to alert you to the fact that some medications are missing from the house.”
“Okay,” Patrick said, seeing immediately where this was going and wishing somehow it wouldn’t.
“The only explanation we can come up with is that Gabi took them.”
“I see. Well, I guess I can ask her about it.”
“Look, Patrick, I may be overstepping here, but there seems to be a lot of this going around these days. I see it with clients and colleagues. And from what I can tell early intervention appears to be the best strategy.”
Patrick said nothing, his nerves quivering with shame.
“If you want, I can connect you with some people who can help. They have a place out near Stockbridge that is really doing some cutting-edge stuff.”
Patrick knew that a hundred people could listen in on this call and ninety-nine of them would only hear a well-intentioned, powerful man offering assistance to a neighbor in need. One father to another. But Patrick was the hundredth person. He didn’t feel gratitude or reassurance. He felt humiliation. It was as if his own pathetic attempts at fathering were being corrected by the master, with his perfect wife and his castle on the hill and his Ivy League boys. He muttered feeble thanks and hung up.
Gabi was in her room when he got home. The panic was gone, but in its wake she’d withdrawn even further into herself. She sat up in bed, legs folded, computer balanced on her lap. She avoided eye contact as he explained what Oliver had reported. Silence descended once he’d finished.
“Well?” he asked after it had gone on long enough.
“Scotty just dumped me.”
“He did?”
“He said his parents thought it was for the best.”
She’d never looked so helpless. Not as a child, not as a baby.
“What is wrong with me?” she asked.
The pain he felt at this moment had been unbearable. He muttered some fatuously conciliatory words and backed out of the room. He went downstairs to fix himself a drink and get even more pissed off at the Parrishes. Even at the time, he knew his anger wasn’t justified. Oliver and Celia were just doing what any parent would have done—protect their kid. But that didn’t lessen the sting. His daughter, his family, were being dismissed. Sent down from the heights they’d foolishly tried to ascend.
Of course, the Parrishes were by no means the worst. But they had been the first to treat Gabi like she was a suburban succubus out to corrupt their young. People just couldn’t accept that his daughter was sick. They believed she had a deficient character. She lacked willpower or moral fiber. It was inconceivable to them that what afflicted her was a case of synaptic haywiring over which she had no control. To them, she was selfish and wicked. Poor Rick Bondurant had a 5K named for him; the only race Gabi inspired was for the door. Although Patrick had eventually grown numb to this attitude, he’d never forget the Parrishes’ underlying message: Your child is less than my child. She’s bad. Keep her away from him.