Lay Me Down

26. Raised you better than this.

{Pete}

Pete slipped into his bedroom after supper to check on Mel. The curtains were drawn, moving in the breeze from the fan. He touched the shape of his wife's foot under the covers—she didn't stir. He stood at the end of the bed, looking at the unmoving slope of her body, and then he couldn't help himself. He bent down beside her head, cupping his hand in front of her mouth to feel the warm puff of her breath. He was bent like that when her eyes fluttered open. He gave her a smile, his heart squeezing a little. "There's supper for you. If you're hungry."

She shook her head, her eyes already closing again.

He touched her cheek and stroked her hair back to her ear. "Did you take your meds today?"

She mumbled something and turned over.

Restlessly, he went to their tiny washroom. There was a plastic dispenser there with the days of the week on each tiny compartment. He popped SAT with his thumb and looked at the two little pills lying there. He popped open FRI—there were two little pills lying there as well.

He took a breath to try and get a little space to think. Two missed days weren't that big a deal. It was too late in the day for her to take one of the pills now anyway. He refilled each section of the box, noting that WED still had its pills too. He set it back on the edge of the sink, swallowing back the fear that lived closer to him some days than others. If ... something ... happened, and they slid down into that valley again ... he had a job. He could take another job. Jon was old enough to look after the girls now. If they had to, they could move closer to her mother for help with the girls when Jon went to college.

In the shadows of his ordinary daytime thoughts, some unconscious part of him always worked on the Plan B—what he would do to take care of the children and go on if he had to do it alone. If one way or another his partner was ... gone. He wasn't allowed to be afraid because there wasn't anything he could do to prevent it. He just had to figure out how to minimize the damage for their kids and get by. A part of him stepped aside from his feelings and just recognized that he was probably strong enough to do it. His body was healthy, and he could work longer hours at a harder job if he had to, regardless of what he was feeling in his off hours. Pete pressed his hand against his moustache, closing his eyes. He didn't need to imagine all that just because his wife was sleeping off a rough night in a hospital. She had good reason to be tired.

He stopped at the end of their bed to lay his hand on her foot and whisper a prayer for her before he went out.

He didn't notice Cary was gone until after he'd put the girls to bed. He usually checked on the boys' rooms before heading to bed himself—Cary's was empty, his sketchbook lying on his neatly made covers with a pencil buried in the pages.

A cold little hand touched the back of Pete's neck, and he went through the house, trying to not hurry, not to worry. Cary was not in the basement, or the family room. He wasn't smoking on the front steps or digging in the back flower bed. He tapped a knuckle on Jon's door and pushed it wider. The room was empty except for his son lying flat on his back, pillows shoved around his body to prop it up. "I don't need a tuck-in, Dad," Jon said without opening his eyes. A frown puckered his forehead.

Pete tried to keep his voice light. "Do you know where Cary went?"

Jon didn't look at him, but his ears turned pink—Pete's tension went up a notch. "No. No idea."

"He's not in his room."

"He's probably just outside having a smoke." Jon's voice cracked, and the pink spread over his cheeks. He had his eyes pinned on the ceiling like there was something much more important up there than his own dad standing in his doorway asking him reasonable questions and expecting truthful answers.

"I checked there. Did you talk to Cary after supper?"

Jon didn't say anything, and Pete put a hand on the doorframe to hold himself there. "Jon, I'm speaking to you."

"Yeah, I talked to him." Jon's fists closed on the blankets, and he turned his head, glaring at Pete. "He never said he was going anywhere. Is it my job to keep track of him now?"

Pete breathed in slowly. "What did you talk about? Was he upset about something?"

"No, he was fine," Jon snapped. "He even gave me his knife and said he wouldn't do anything stupid. He said he would go if I wanted, since we all know what he did now, and I said he could stay just like you said." Jon snapped his mouth shut, breathing quickly, his face still flushed.

That cold hand was back, squeezing until his neck was pinched and tight. All the words Pete could ever say would make no difference to Cary if Jon said otherwise. "Did you say anything else?"

Red-faced and glaring, Jon pressed his lips together on what Pete needed to know.

Pete felt himself get bigger, and, when his voice came out, it filled the whole room. "Jonathon Nathanial White, what did you say to him?!"

His son went red to the roots of his hair, and his hands fisted at his sides. "I didn't say anything!" His holler wasn't as loud as Pete's, and his face was crumpling with angry tears. "I didn't say anything about him leaving—you said he could stay even with ... all the shit he did and the lying about it. You never wanted me to be friends with him in the first place, so I don't see why you're so mad when I agree with you now. I never should have brought Cary here!"

Pete's whole body turned cold. "You told him that?" He managed to reset his volume this time, still gripping the doorframe. Plan B played out in his mind all in a second—what he would do with the girls if he had to go out and look for Cary, who he would have to call first if he found him... "Tell me the truth—did you say what you just said to Cary?"

Jon's mouth was a miserable line, and his chest moved jerkily in and out as tears ran down his face. It was plain that he had said something just like that.

Pete's words flew out as sharp and hard as stones. "Do you have any idea how fragile a person in Cary's situation can be? Do you have any idea how powerful your words are—how much you matter right now?" Jon wouldn't even look at him, and Pete wanted to grab his face and make him pay attention. He choked back the rest of the lecture, but he couldn't stop himself from delivering the punch line. "You know better. I raised you better than this."

Jon's eyes closed. "Sorry I'm such a big fucking disappointment, Dad." His voice was thin and sharp with sarcasm.

Pete took a hold of himself, choosing for the moment to ignore that. "Where would he go? Where should I look?"

Jon had his face turned away, covering his eyes while he fought to make his breathing even. "I don't know." His voice sounded a little strangled. "The ravine, maybe." His breath double-hitched and he swore, one hand fisting in the blankets. "I really don't think you need to worry about him, okay? He literally gave me his knife and said he wouldn't do anything stupid."

Pete tried to steady himself. All the words they'd just slung at each other seemed to wash back on him in waves, making it hard to keep his feet under him and go on having a normal conversation. He thought it was probably his fault Jon was in tears. There were so many broken pieces between them now that he didn't know where it was safe to hold on. "I hope you're right, son." He turned aside. "Whatever you said is said—and whatever Cary is going to do ..." He couldn't make those words anymore. "If you think he's coming back, I'll just wait."