lottery. The new house. The new clothes. The bookshelf with the duck wallpaper filled with books that Christopher suddenly couldn’t read fast enough. But deep in her heart, something always bothered her about it.
When something seems too good to be true, it always is.
And that was it. It was more than the reading. More than the grades. It was the way he looked around. The way he saw people interact. It reminded her of the moment when adults start spelling to trick their toddlers. “Hey, honey, should we take her to the t-o-y-s-t-o-r-e?” “Hey, should we give him some i-c-e-c-r-e-a-m?” As soon as their children were old enough to spell, adults had to find other ways to hide the world under their noses. Sins and sweets and sex and violence tucked away with looks and gestures and sleights of hand like a magician’s misdirection.
Christopher never used to notice these things.
And now, he noticed them all.
Her son was suddenly bringing home straight A’s when there used to be C’s. Her son was speed-reading Treasure Island instead of stumbling through Dr. Seuss. Christopher studied the world with a knowing eye that simply hadn’t been there in Michigan. There was a manic quality to his intelligence now.
Just like with his father.
And now he was lying to her.
When they left the sheriff’s office, they fought their way through the reporters and cameras. Christopher’s mother finally got him in the car. She was quiet for a moment as she turned on the motor and let the defroster work its invisible magic erasing clouds from the windshield.
They drove home in half silence.
Christopher apologized all the way home. But she said nothing in return. Not to punish him. But to get back the higher ground. Her son was growing up too fast, and she needed to know why. She’d already lost a husband to an overactive mind. She was not about to lose a son. When they reached their garage and were finally alone, she stopped the car.
“Christopher,” she said softly. “I have to ask you something.”
“Sure,” he said, sounding relieved to have her talk again.
“Why did you lie to me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. It’s okay. Tell me.”
She saw his eyes twitch. She saw the response being measured.
“I, um…I knew you wouldn’t let me go out to the woods.”
“Why?”
“Because I could have gotten lost out there again. I could have frozen to death.”
“But you did it anyway. Why?”
“My head hurts.”
“Tell me why, Christopher.”
“To build a tree house.”
“Why? What’s so important about a tree house?”
“Nothing, I guess,” he said.
“So, you risked your life to build a tree house that meant nothing?”
He suddenly went silent. Then, he did the best impression of a smile she had ever seen.
“I guess it seems kind of silly now that you say it,” he said.
“I’m glad you feel that way. Because you’re never allowed in those woods again.”
“But, Mom—”
“You’re grounded until Christmas.”
“But Mom!”
“Christopher. Your friends can lie to their parents. Every kid on earth can lie to theirs, too. But you don’t lie to me. There is no debate. There is no time out. There is no big hug, and ‘I understand.’ I’m the fucking boss. And my only job is to keep you safe. SO, YOU ARE GROUNDED. YOU ARE NEVER TO STEP FOOT IN THOSE WOODS AGAIN. You got it?!”
“I’m sorry,” he said desperately.
“Sorry isn’t good enough. Not for me.”
His eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry.”
“GO TO YOUR ROOM!”
Christopher went up to his bedroom, not knowing that once the door closed, his mother felt much worse than he did. She hated being that hard on him, but since she was unwilling to raise him with the leather belt she got growing up, it was the best discipline she had in her arsenal. She couldn’t let him lie. Her rules were still black and white. She couldn’t let him go grey. And she couldn’t let him out in the woods where they found the skeleton of a child.
She kept him in punishment all day. Other than a brief respite of a grilled cheese dinner and Children’s Tylenol for his headache, he stayed in his room. No TV. No books. He just lay in bed, looking at the picture of his father in the silver frame. She wondered if he wished his father were here. Maybe his father could explain what was happening to him. Maybe he would tell his father the truth. Right before bed, she came into the room.
“Listen,” she said. “I’m still mad, but I’m sorry I yelled at