drove all the way up here.”
“No. I do care. I honestly thank you for driving all the way here to my graduation. Which I'm attending for your benefit. In my own clothes.”
“Forget it, then,” Constantine said. “Don't do anything for our benefit. Don't strain yourself.”
Billy shook his head. Mary felt herself beginning to cry. She watched through a hot film of tears as Billy stood and said, “There are two ways to do things, aren't there, Dad? Your way and the wrong way. We've got to take advantage of all the photo opportunities in Harvard Yard, and then after the ceremony we've got to get into the car and drive to some horrible fancy French restaurant. You're not here to see me graduate. You're here to see the son you want graduate. I've got news for you. They're two different people.”
“Nice speech,” Constantine said. “Very nice. Where's your goddamned heart, mister? You know what you're doing to your mother here?”
“Mom and I can talk about whatever it is I'm doing to Mom. This is about you and me. Right? You want to come up to Harvard like a big cheese and pose for pictures with a guy in a cap and gown. Listen, I can set you up with half a dozen guys. Big strapping guys, short hair, on their way to law school or business school. I've got connections, bring your camera and we can go straight to the Yard—”
“Shut up,” Constantine shouted. “You shut up, mister.” His face was dark, his arms rigid at his sides. Mary knew that in another second, with another quarter ounce of provocation, he'd lunge.
“Oh, Con, Billy, please,” she whispered.
“Mom doesn't care what I graduate in. Do you, Mom?”
“I don't know,” she said. “I just—please. Don't fight.”
“Don't do this to her,” Constantine said. “Don't you dare.”
Billy nodded. “This was a mistake,” he said softly. “Mom, Dad, I'm sorry you came all the way up here for nothing.” He stepped carefully around his father and walked to the door.
“Where do you think you're going?” Constantine demanded.
“For a walk. Maybe I'll go to the movies later. What do you say, Zo? Want to come? Midnight Cowboy is playing at the Orson Welles.”
Zoe blinked, as if she herself had forgotten she was present. Mary thought, Everything has failed. All the effort, all the love, the careful stitching of the days, has added up to nothing.
Zoe said, “I can't. I'm sorry. I've got to stay with Mary and Constantine.”
She had begun to insist on calling them by their Christian names. No discipline or persuasion would stop her.
“Okay,” Billy said. “See you.”
He left. The door clicked shut behind him. Mary thought Constantine would run after him but he didn't move. No one moved.
“Unbelievable,” Constantine said. “Unbelievable.”
Tears were running down Mary's face now, hot heavy ones that ran to her jawline. She took a handkerchief from her pocketbook. “What do we do now?” she said in a small voice.
“We're going to the goddamn commencement ceremony, is what,” Constantine told her. “Come on. We got to get Susan from the hotel, she's waiting for us.”
No one moved. Zoe remained on the sofa, looking down at her shoes, and Mary had all she could do to keep from striding over to Zoe and screaming, What's wrong with you? What's going on?
“Come on,” Constantine said.
“Con.”
“Nothing. Not another word. Susie's waiting for us. We're on our way.”
“I've got to use the ladies' room,” Mary said.
“You okay?”
“I'm fine. Just wait for me a minute, all right?”
She crossed the living room and walked down the hallway. She passed an untidy yellow-tiled kitchen, a closed door, another closed door. She didn't need to use the bathroom; she needed to be alone, if only for a minute or two. She needed to concentrate on filling her lungs with air. When she found the bathroom she locked the door and took a pill from her purse. She swallowed the pill and stood for a while at the sink, breathing. In the sink lay a long dark hair, curled like a question mark. There was a spotted mirror; there was a ceramic cup that contained three toothbrushes, Billy's and those of his two roommates, whom she'd never met. Mary didn't know which toothbrush was Billy's. The yellow, squashed-looking one? The newer one, stubbier, bright green, with bristles stiff as a hairbrush? The clear one with a little half-moon of toothpaste stuck to its lip? None of them spoke obviously of her son, and none was unquestionably alien. She saw,