When He Fell (29 page)

24
JOANNA

I get to Burgdorf at five, after waiting in a Starbucks by Grand Central, my stomach in knots as I read the
Daily Mail
article over and over again. I know it must be Jane who posted on MetroBaby.

The article quotes ‘a concerned Burgdorf parent’ whose child has been ‘overlooked and ignored by a school that prides itself on a nurturing and supportive environment’. I suppose I should be glad that the focus is mostly on Burgdorf rather than Maddie or me and Lewis, or Ben or Josh. The journalist clearly is out to rake up some mud about Manhattan’s private schools, but the trouble is, when mud is raked up, everyone gets dirty. This won’t be good for Josh, for any of us.

At five I make my way over to Burgdorf, circling around the block to Sixth Avenue. When I glance down the street I can see a couple of journalists lingering by the doors, even though most of the parents have already left with their children. Have they interviewed parents? What would they say about me? About Josh? What if the reporters dig and find out about Maddie and Lewis?
Maddie and Lewis.
I hate pairing their names together, even in my mind.

I knock on the side entrance, which is a metal door with no handles, used as a fire exit. It takes a few minutes but finally someone opens it. It’s one of the cleaning staff, and I can tell she recognizes me.

“I’m looking for Josh Taylor-Davies…”

“Upstairs.”

I follow her up the stairs to a classroom where the remnants of the afterschool club are hanging out. Josh is sitting alone in the corner, his arms wrapped around himself.

“Hey, Josh,” I say softly, and he looks up, any expression he might have had in his face ironing out to blankness.

I don’t know the teacher who is on duty, and she nods at me, her face tight. Does she blame me for this article, the bad publicity for Burgdorf? It’s my fault for telling Jane, but no one knows that. I hope.

I feel hot and prickly with panic as I take Josh downstairs and out the side entrance. We walk quickly away from Burgdorf and I wonder how long this will be news. Should I keep Josh off school tomorrow? I have a full day of appointments booked. I’ve canceled so many things lately, rearranged my work for Josh as well as for my parents. I’m afraid if I continue to cancel, I’ll lose patients, and that is something we can’t afford.

But I can’t think about that as Josh and I walk up Sixth Avenue, towards the park. Right now I need to think about my son.

“Hey.” I rest a hand on his shoulder as we keep walking. “You okay?”

He nods. We walk in silence for a few minutes and then he asks, “Why were reporters there?”

“Who told you about the reporters?”

“Everybody was talking about it.”

“Sometimes reporters want to make anything into a story.”

“It was about…about Ben, though, wasn’t it?” he asks, and he stares up at me solemnly, the expression in his eyes opaque.

I hesitate and then say, “Yes, Josh. It was about Ben.”

“What did they say about me?” he asks.

“They didn’t say anything about you. It was about the school, about the playground supervisors not watching where you and Ben were going.”

“It wasn’t their fault. Ben made sure they weren’t looking.”

“Why? Why did Ben want to go up on the rocks with you?” Josh doesn’t answer and I struggle to keep my voice even. “Josh, please. Tell me.”

“He wanted to tell me something,” he says, and then he keeps walking.

Lewis is waiting for us at home, standing by the door, looking anxious and tense as we come into the apartment.

“Outside…?” he asks and I shake my head. No reporters.

Josh disappears into his bedroom and Lewis scrubs his face with his hands. “What a mess. I called Maddie to see how she’s coping…”

“How
Maddie’s
coping?” The words burst from me before I can help it.

Lewis drops his hands from his face. “Don’t, Jo. Not now. Please.”

I bite my lip, hard. “How can I not? When you’ve
said
—”

“We were
friends
,” Lewis says, his voice rising. “We’ve been friends because Josh and Ben were friends. That’s all.”

“Except for the one time you kissed.”

“Are you going to keep throwing that in my face?”

I stare at him, full of fury and hurt, because he’s asking me to dismiss something that hurt me so much so
quickly.
It doesn’t feel fair. “Do you know,” I say, striving to keep my tone reasonable, “I didn’t realize you actually spent time together?” Lewis does not reply. “I thought you just dropped Ben off, after bowling or going to the park. But that’s not what you did, is it?”

Something flickers across his face and then disappears. “Not always.”

“So sometimes you hung out, the four of you?”

“You were busy, and Maddie worked flex hours so she could be around more.” I gasp at that, at the injustice of it, the implied accusation that this is something, at least partially, my fault“So we did things together,” Lewis continues. “But that’s all it was.”

“Halloween last year,” I fire at him. “You trick-or-treated together?”

His mouth tightens. “Yes.”

“The time you went to the farm in Queens, to pick pumpkins. Maddie came?”

He folds his arms. “Yes—”

“Kites. You made two. The four of you flew them?”

“You have a good memory,” Lewis grits out. “Yes, okay, fine. We flew them.”

“So when
wasn’t
Maddie with you?” I don’t wait for his answer. “And why did you never mention her? If it was all so innocent, why didn’t you ever say that you were with Maddie?” My voice rises to a near-shriek.

“Because I knew you’d react like this,” Lewis snaps, and stalks out of the room.

I sink down onto the sofa, my head in my hands. After a few seconds I hear a door open and I think it’s Lewis, but then I look up and see Josh.

“You were fighting,” he says quietly. His voice sounds flat.

I try to dredge up a smile, but I just can’t. “Grownups fight sometimes, Josh. You know that. Just like kids do. But we make up.”

He watches me for a moment. “You were fighting about Maddie.”

“Not really about Maddie,” I hedge.

“You were asking him what we all did together. And Dad said they were friends. I heard him.”

“Of course they’re friends,” I say. “Just like you and Ben are friends.”

Josh looks away. “Ben is getting better,” he says after a moment, and his tone has turned thoughtful, almost calculating.

“That’s a good thing, Josh, isn’t it?”

“When he’s better…will things be the same again? The way they were? Will we do all the things we did before, together?”

I want to promise that things will be exactly as they were, but I know I can’t. “Things will get better, Josh,” I say. “I know this is hard, but things will get better. And some things might even be the same.”

Josh nods slowly, accepting, and then he turns around and walks back to his room. I was trying to reassure him, but I feel like I said the wrong thing.

I hardly sleep that night; Lewis and I lie on the bed, our backs to each other, unspeaking. The silence is like ice, encasing us, separating us, and I can’t stand it. But I don’t know how to break it, either.

Morning comes and I am gritty-eyed and so tired I feel as if I am observing everything from a muted distance. Lewis and I move around each other in the kitchen like polite strangers, still not talking. I kiss Josh goodbye and head out, grateful for a little relief from the oppressive heaviness that lies over my home like a mantle, and yet I am so sad, so desolate, that every step feels like wading through a sea of glue.

The day passes in a slow blur. I check my phone for messages from Lewis, but there is nothing. At lunch I check the MetroBaby site, and see that the Burgdorf post is number three on the trending list, having been overtaken by a discussion on the ethics of installing nanny cams in your apartment and whether preservatives in baby food relate to autism.

I breathe a sigh of relief, because I am just starting to hope that this story is nothing more than a storm in a teacup.

On the way home from work I buy the
Daily Mail
at the bodega outside the subway station and see nothing about Burgdorf on the front page. Another sigh of relief. Maybe, after all this, we can actually move on.

We strive for normalcy that night; Josh talks about a new Lego installation at the store in midtown, where Lewis predictably took him that morning. I marvel at how resilient children are, at how Josh can go from wide-eyed sorrow to this enthusiasm for a Christmas tree made of over a hundred thousand pieces of Lego.

“With real lights, Mom,” he says, and I nod and smile.

That night when we go to bed Lewis pulls me towards him, fits me against his body. It feels so good, so right, that I nearly cry. I suck in a hard breath and whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” he says after a second’s pause, and we don’t say anything else; we simply cling to each other.

The next morning I juggle my appointments to take Josh into school. Neither Lewis nor I can afford to keep him off another day, and in any case we need to get back into the normal routine.

There are thankfully no reporters at Burgdorf, but there are parents, and they are glaring at me. I can feel their animosity, and I know Josh can too. I don’t understand it; maybe I shouldn’t have told Jane about the lawsuit, but she’s the one who ranted about Burgdorf online. Maddie is the one who is actually suing. Why am I the one taking all the hostility, all the blame?

Then it hits me.
Because I’m here.
Maddie hasn’t been back to Burgdorf since the accident, and no one but me knows that Jane was the original poster. And, of course, my son started it by pushing Ben.

I ruffle Josh’s hair as I say goodbye, trying to keep things upbeat, and then turn and see Mrs. James standing in front of the doorway to the fourth grade classroom, her arms folded.

“Mrs. Taylor-Davies?” she says, and she doesn’t sound friendly. “A word?”

I follow her up to her office and she gestures for me to sit down in front of her desk. I feel like a naughty pupil being called in for a scolding. Again.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the publicity caused by this entire episode,” she begins and I nod.

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you aware that when you enroll a child in Burgdorf you sign a form agreeing never to post anything online about the school, on any website?”

I stare at her. “You think
I
posted the thing on MetroBaby?”

She holds my gaze evenly. “It has occurred to me.”

And no doubt to other people too. So that’s why they were glaring at me. I almost want to laugh. “Trust me, Mrs. James, publicity is the last thing I want.”

“Even so, you might be angry about Josh’s suspension, looking for a way to lash out—”

I hold up a hand. “Spare me the psychoanalysis. I didn’t write that post.” I almost tell her about Jane, but I’m no whistle-blower and in any case I doubt she’ll believe me.

“We take this kind of defamation very seriously, Mrs. Taylor-Davies.”

“Oh, I’m sure. You take a lot of things very seriously.” I shake my head. “The only thing you don’t seem to take seriously is how my son isn’t coping.”

Mrs. James’s expression freezes. “If you wish to file a complaint against Burgdorf…”

“File a complaint? I’m not talking about a lawsuit, Mrs. James. Maybe you’re confusing me with Maddie.” I lean forward, nearly shaking with anger. “I’m talking about decency. The whole reason we sent Josh to this school. Because he is quiet, and a little different, and we thought this was the right place for him. And it was, at least I thought it was, until a bad thing happens and then you back away so fast you practically trip over your own feet! I know why you suspended Josh. You wanted someone to blame that wasn’t Burgdorf. You were protecting yourself, because you knew someone was negligent. Juliet or Helen or whoever the hell was on the playground and should have been watching. So you took the coward’s way out, the
cruel
way out, and blamed a child.” I break off, panting, and Mrs. James stares at me rigidly.

“If you are not satisfied with what we offer at Burgdorf, then maybe—”

I let out a wild laugh. “Not satisfied? That’s an understatement.” I shake my head, as a sudden, stunning realization crashes over me.
Why
have I kept Josh in this wretched school? Why have I insisted Burgdorf was necessary, important, when it’s only been contributing to our misery? I rise from my chair, filled with a sudden surge of reckless triumph. “You know what? I’m done. I’m done with you and your sanctimonious finger-pointing, and I’m done with this awful school. Consider this my notice. I’m withdrawing Josh.”

Mrs. James nods. She almost looks relieved. “I’m afraid at this late juncture the tuition for the academic year is nonrefundable.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “You think I care about the
money?
Keep it, Mrs. James. The last thing I want is to wrangle with you about money. I’d prefer never to see you again.”

I walk out of the office with my head held high, but it’s all posturing because in the stairwell down to the classrooms I collapse against the wall, trembling, as I realize all the things I just said and what I’ve just done.
I’ve just withdrawn Josh from Burgdorf.
I have no idea where he can go to school, what we’ll do.

It feels like there is no part of my life that is safe or sacred. No part that has remained untouched, all from one simple push.

Josh’s face pales and his eyes widen as I stand in the doorway of the classroom.

“Josh,” I call. “Josh, get your things. We’re going.”

This sets off a round of whispers like dominoes falling, and Josh rises from his desk and goes to his cubby on the far side of the room.

“Mrs. Taylor-Davies…” Mrs. Rollins says cautiously, as if she’s trying to calm a wild animal.

“We’re leaving,” I tell her shortly.

Josh comes to my side and slips his hand in mine. It feels like a gesture of solidarity, a statement. I squeeze his hand and look Mrs. Rollins in the eye.

“Goodbye,” I say, and walk out of the room with Josh.