"And as for you, young man," she said, turning back to Ian, "if you disobey me this time, even in the slightest way. I'll see to it that your grandmother sends you not to a military school, but a behavioral school at which you will have no rights, not be able to communicate with anyone, and certainly not have any of your things ever. Just so you know, she already asked me for some recommendations and I have given them to her to consider." She sat back.
Ian stared out the window. I had no idea why I wasn't crying. I think I was just too much in shock, my tears stuck under my lids.
"In time," she said in a slightly softer tone, "I will reconsider everything if you're good, and we'll see if we can rescue any of this summer for either of you."
Ian stared at her with his eyes so firm and fixed, she finally had to look away.
"I know you slapped her, you know," he said.
"Pardon?'"
"I know you slapped Jordan and you washed her mouth out with soap."
"Really? Did you tell him what you said. Jordan, to deserve that?"
I pressed my lips together.
"That's good. I don't want to hear it. I just wanted to see if you would repeat it. Obviously," she said, turning to Ian, "she's learned her lesson. You can thank me for that"
Ian shook his head. "You couldn't do any of this if my mother was well," he told her.
"Yes, well, your behavior and your sister's behavior aren't going to help that situation at all. The more time your grandmother has to spend worrying about the misbehavior you two commit, the less time she can spend on seeing that your mother gets the best treatment possible.
"That," she added, "is why she needs me to be with you and with her. She has complete faith in me. I hope you won't force me to be any more severe than I have to be. Because," she concluded, "you should make no mistake about it--I can be."
We rode in silence the rest of the trip home. As soon as we arrived. Ian shot out of the limousine and into the house to see if she had indeed done what she had said she had done. By the time we had walked in and up the stairway, he had made his discoveries and stepped into the hallway.
"Where are my things?" he demanded.
"Get back into your room," she replied. She pointed to his door.
"I want to know where my things are!" he shouted. I had never seen him this angry with his face this flushed.
"You're not starting out on a good foot," she said. "I'm warning you. I'm moments away from calling your grandmother, who is dealing with another crisis at the moment and has no time for tantrums."
"What other crisis?"
She was quiet. I looked up at her and she glanced at me.
"Your father," she said, "tried to kill himself once he was told the full extent of his injuries."
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"I don't believe you," Ian said, but his voice quivered. I could see he wasn't confident.
"It doesn't matter what you do or do not believe,"
"How could he do that? He's paralyzed from the waist down."
"He used a knife with a serrated edge to cut his wrists and bled considerably before anyone
discovered it," she said bluntly.
Ian looked at me. He knew I understood how that could happen. He had once told me how close I had come to doing something like that to myself accidentally.
"Your grandmother is busy arranging for psychotherapy and getting him moved to where he will have twenty-four-hour observation. Now, are you satisfied you made me tell you all that in front of your little sister?"
"You enjoyed telling us," Ian said, but he was deflated. He turned and with his head lowered, walked back to his room.