Chill Factor
“It isn’t, and that’s what Scott will tell them.” Turning to him, Wes said, “They’ll probably just want to know how long you and Millicent dated and why you broke up.” Wes looked hard at Scott; Scott looked back at his father.
Dora looked at both of them and immediately sensed an unspoken communication. They were keeping something from her, and the omission was infuriating. “Scott, why did you break up with Millicent?”
“He’s told us why,” Wes said. “The new had worn off. He got tired of her.”
“I don’t think that’s all there was to it.” Looking directly into her son’s face, she gentled her voice. “What happened between you?”
Scott rolled his shoulders as though trying to shrug off the question. “Just like Dad said, we, you know, just lost interest in each other.” Dora silently communicated her doubt. “Jeez, don’t you believe me?” Scott shouted. “Why would I lie about it?”
“Maybe for the same reason you sneaked out of your room last night.”
He looked like he’d been hit between the eyes with a two-by-four. He opened his mouth, then shut it quickly, apparently realizing the futility of denial.
She turned to Wes. “This morning I discovered that the security alarm contact on his bedroom window had been disabled.”
“I know.”
It was now Dora’s turn to feel as though she’d been struck. “You know? And you didn’t tell me?”
“I know everything that goes on in this house,” Wes said smoothly. “For instance, I know that he rigged the alarm when he was seeing Millicent. He often sneaked her into his bedroom after we’d gone to bed.”
He must be telling the truth, she thought. Scott’s cheeks were flaming.
“It doesn’t surprise me that he sneaks out occasionally,” Wes continued. “It’s no big deal.”
She looked at her husband with incredulity. “I disagree.”
“He’s almost nineteen, Dora. Kids that age keep late hours. Or don’t you remember what it’s like to be young?”
Enraged by his condescension, she closed her hands into fists. “It’s not that he’s keeping late hours, Wes. It’s that he’s doing it sneakily.” She turned to Scott. “Where did you go last night?”
“Nowhere. I just . . . walked. Breathed. Because I can’t stand to be cooped up in this house all the time.”
“See?”
She ignored Wes. “Scott, are you doing drugs?”
“Jesus, Mom, no! Where’d you get that idea?”
“Drugs would explain your mood swings, your—”
“Will you relax, Dora?” Wes said, continuing in the patronizing tone she despised. “As usual, you’re blowing this out of proport
ion.”
She would not be swayed. “If it’s not drugs, it’s something else. What are you hiding from us, Scott?” She kept her voice soft and caring, nonjudgmental, nonthreatening. Going to him, she took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Tell us what’s going on. No matter how bad it is, your father and I will stand by you. What is it? Do you know what happened . . .”
She paused, unable to finish the dreaded question without taking a fortifying breath. “Was there more to your relationship with Millicent than met the eye? Have the authorities discovered something that—”
“Will you shut the hell up?” Wes took hold of her arm and yanked her around to face him. “Are you crazy? He’s not involved in that. Or illegal drugs. Or anything else except being a typical eighteen-year-old.”
“Let go of me.” She pulled her arm free. “Something is wrong with my son, and I want to know what it is before the FBI get here and I learn it from them. What is going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Something, Wes,” she shouted. “Our son is not the same person he was last year. Don’t tell me there’s nothing wrong! I’m not blind and I’m not stupid, although you seem to think so. I have a right to know what’s happening to my son.”
He thrust his face close to hers. “You want to know?”