Jean Naté cologne she splashed on herself when she didn’t feel like taking a bath.
No, the drugs were a recent development. And even though I didn’t buy Uncle Wonderful’s story that this was ALL MY FAULT, if I had been home I might have been able to stop it.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said to the shelves full of pills. “I didn’t mean for things to turn out this way. I swear I didn’t.”
The pills didn’t reply, and I spent the next few minutes searching for aspirin, Advil, or rat poison. When I couldn’t find any of those, I grabbed the least lethal-looking pill in my mother’s arsenal and washed it down with tap water. It kicked in while I was in the shower, and I felt so much better I was tempted to take another. But I decided against it. The last thing I needed was to get hooked on pain pills. Not to mention that the gentle throbbing at the base of my skull would be a potent reminder to never drink again. Ever.
Roy and Vinny had abducted me before I’d had a chance to check out the car in the garage, and now I was curious. My mother had zero interest in automobiles, and I expected to find some old beater like the rusted-out Monte Carlo or puke-green Buick she drove when I was a kid. You can imagine my surprise when I walked into the garage and found a brand-new Mustang GT sitting there. And by new I mean there were less than fifty miles on it.
I climbed into the car and took a deep breath. The smell of Armor All and leather tickled my nostrils, and I could picture myself tearing up the roads behind Wheaton. Underclassmen weren’t allowed to have cars, but seniors were, and most of my classmates had returned that fall with major motor vehicles. Along with my scholarship and job in the cafeteria, my lack of a car was another brick in the status wall separating me from the other students. My biggest fear was that Claire would dump me for some jerk with a Porsche. A Mustang GT, however, was a perfectly acceptable Wheaton mobile—especially a black one with a retractable moon roof and custom detailing.
The clock on the dash read seven forty-five, which gave me a little more than an hour to take my new ride for a spin before visiting hours at Shady Oaks. I pushed the garage door opener and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, and I could almost hear a couple of real mustangs frolicking around under the hood. I put the car in gear and began backing out.
I was halfway down the driveway when I spied O’Rourke on the mailbox and hit the brakes.
“What are you doing?” I asked out loud. “This car isn’t for school. This car is to keep you here. Just like this house and—”
Just like my mother trying to kill herself.
My chest pinched tight, and if I had any brains I would have started running at that very moment. Yes, I would have had to kiss Claire, Wheaton, and Princeton good-bye—not to mention my good name—but I was only seventeen years old and had plenty of time to come up with a new identity. My mistake had been to stay close to home. I should have left New York State entirely and relocated to a place where my family had no connections. Utah, Canada, Europe—the world was full of cities where I could have disappeared forever.
Why didn’t I run away? It wasn’t the Mustang, and it wasn’t the house. It wasn’t even my mother trying to kill herself. It was more like all that stuff mashed together. That, plus a false sense of confidence. Deep down, I totally believed I could beat my family at their own game. So I fired up the Mustang and spent the next hour tooling around the Long Island Expressway and pretending to be free of them all.
• • •
“Where the hell have you been?” Uncle Wonderful hissed when I pulled into the Shady Oaks parking lot. He was standing there waiting for me.
“Driving around,” I said. “Why?”
“Because you were supposed to be here two hours ago. Your mother is waiting for you.”
“But visiting hours don’t start for another three minutes.”
“Wrong, smart guy. Visiting hours end in three minutes.”
“But the clock on the dashboard says 8:57.”
“I don’t care what the clock in your car says. Don’t you own a watch?”
“I use