Lay Me Down

13. Son.

{Pete}

There was an email from the school board in Pete's inbox early Monday morning with the subject line RE: CIARAN DOUGLAS. Pete read it with the laptop perched on his knees on the couch in the basement. His books were in boxes stacked in the corner, and this tattered couch from his first apartment was his new home office.

He shut the laptop without bothering to respond, shaken. Three weeks ago, Cary's father would have handled this missive from the superintendent of schools with brutal finality—now it was Pete's turn. Unbidden, Conall Douglas' last words returned to his mind: Violence is Ciaran's language. The only way he can be reached is through his skin. If you plan to have him in your home, you can learn that the hard way.

He breathed out, spreading his hands open on the smooth shell of the laptop. What is your way? He asked silently. I can't simply overlook this—and I am not that man. How can Cary be reached?

He packed the laptop away and dug out some books for work, then carried it all upstairs, feeling burdened by more than just his computer bag.

Cary was slouched at the table nursing a cup of coffee. Jon had his head in the fridge. "Dad, is there any orange juice?" he asked.

"I don't know, son," Pete said. He set his bag down on a kitchen chair, trying not to look directly at Cary. "I need to speak with you, Cary."

Jon's face appeared around the door of the fridge, a worried wrinkle in his forehead. Cary slid Pete a sideways look. His face looked heavy and dull.

"Alone?" Jon said.

Pete hesitated. "No, I think it affects you both. The school is requesting that Cary transfer to King George for the remainder of the semester."

"That's a school for, like, for young offenders," Jon burst out.

Cary ducked his head, weaving his fingers together around the mug. He didn't say anything.

"The school administration have asked for a meeting to discuss it. Cary, they want me to go in lieu of your guardian."

"Dad, you have to tell them to keep Cary at Eastglen—"

"No meeting." Cary said in a flat voice. "I'll go to King George."

There was a short silence.

"What?" Jon said. "Cary—no. Dad, you have to tell them ..."

"I'm my own guardian," Cary said. His eyebrows were drawn down low, and his eyes touched Pete's for a second, flat and expressionless. "I'm going to King George." He got up from the table and went to his room.

Pete saw Jon's face crack with devastation. "Dad," Jon said pleadingly.

"King George has smaller classes and closer adult supervision," Pete said. "It makes sense that they want Cary there."

"That's my only friend." Jon's voice broke. "You could have at least tried."

///

It was a very quiet van ride after Pete dropped the girls off at the local elementary school. Jon and Cary looked out their separate windows until they pulled up in the Eastglen parking lot.

"Don't do anything stupid," Jon said, shooting Cary a look as he got out of the van.

"I won't."

Jon nodded and went up the sidewalk without saying a word to Pete. Cary reached across to pull Jon's door shut, glancing at Pete when he sighed.

King George was across town in an industrial area, a small high school with barred windows and barbed wire strung along the top of the chain link fence. It wasn't, technically, a school for young offenders, but Pete guessed it had more than its fair share.