town, we’d go to Syd’s and do homework together. He loved to draw, and I’d watch him doodle comics of the other customers in his notebook. Eventually we’d walk down to the snowy lakeshore and watch the wind whip the water into froth.
“So, are you taking the bus with me because you want to or because your mom is having meltdowns all the time?” I asked him one day in February, as we sat on a snow-covered picnic table, nursing rapidly cooling coffees.
He broke an icicle off the edge and gripped it in his glove like a weapon. “I told her she didn’t have to pick me up anymore and she was relieved.” He examined the pointy end of the icicle and then pointed it toward the water like a magic wand. “She’s doing this thing she does sometimes, where she doesn’t like to leave the house.”
“A thing?”
“Kind of, just, loses her equilibrium. First she’ll start making scenes in public—you know, screaming at valets and getting speeding tickets and going on spending sprees at Neiman’s. And then after my dad finally loses it on her, she’ll climb in bed and won’t want to get out again for weeks at a time. It’s part of the reason why we came up here in the first place. Dad thought that a change of scenery would be good for her, you know, get her out of the city and away from all the”—he put his gloved hands up and jerked his fingers in derisive air quotes—“?‘pressure’ of society life.”
I thought of the woman who was barely visible behind the wheel of the Land Rover—her hands sheathed in leather gloves, her head swallowed up by the fur of her parka’s hood. I tried to imagine her swathed in silk and diamonds, drinking champagne for breakfast and spending afternoons being pampered at the spa. “I had no idea that going to parties could be so hard. I’ll remember that next time I get invited to a ball.”
He laughed and made a face. “Mostly I think Mom was just embarrassing Dad by being so weird all the time.” He hesitated. “We both were. Besmirching the good Liebling family name. So he dragged us up here to the musty old ancestral estate for a time-out. Like naughty children. Behave yourself or I’ll make you stay here forever is pretty much the message. My dad’s a bully: If he doesn’t get what he wants at first, he’ll just threaten you until he does.”
I thought about this. “But wait. What did you do?”
He jabbed the icicle into the snow, leaving perfect circular stab wounds. “Well, I got kicked out of school, for a start. I was giving Ritalin to my classmates. They decided that made me a drug dealer. Even though I wasn’t actually taking money for it. I figured it was a public service.” He shrugged.
“Wait. Slow down. You’re on Ritalin?”
“They have me on everything.” He frowned at the whitecaps on the lake. “Ritalin, because I was sleeping too much and not paying attention in class and so they figured ADD. And then a lovely cocktail of antidepressants because I spend too much time in my room alone and apparently that means I’m moody and antisocial. Apparently if you don’t like to participate in things you must be mentally ill.”
I thought about this. “Then I guess I’m mentally ill, too.”
“Which explains why I like you.” He smiled, then ducked his head as if to disguise it. “I’m pretty sure they both just wish I was more like my sister. Vanessa does everything she is supposed to. Debutante and prom queen and captain of the tennis team, then shipped off to Dad’s alma mater so that they can brag about her at parties. She’ll get married young and push out a few heirs for them and look pretty in the family photos.” He made a face.
“She sounds awful.”
He shrugged. “She’s my sister.” He was quiet for a moment. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure my dad is afraid I’m going to end up being weird, like my mom, so he’s trying to knock it out of me before it’s too late. And my mom puts all her efforts into fixing me