By the time Robbie got home, it was six in the morning.
Dawn had already broken over the West Village. In doorways, the homeless were starting to stir, bags of rattling bones trying to shake off the combined effects of sleep and booze and move on before the first police patrols arrived. Robbie watched them. Not for the first time he thought how ironic it was that only a few feet of brick separated these hopeless hulks of human refuse from people like him: the richest of the rich. Those bums must think he had it all. What would they say if they knew how often he lay awake at night, in feather-bedded comfort, dreaming of blowing his brains out?
He had no key. That had been in his pants, along with the ecstasy. Limping down to the basement, he punched a six-digit number into the keypad by the service door, which clicked open obligingly. Welcome home.
He wondered what was going on back in Yonkers. Had the cops caught up with his three black buddies? Unlikely. But that didn’t mean he was out of the woods. Maureen Swanson might have spilled the beans, told the police who he was and where to find him.
Whatever. If she had, there was nothing he could do about it now.
Creeping up the kitchen stairs to the entryway, he was relieved to find the house silent and in darkness. He’d almost reached the top of the main staircase when a voice rang out behind him.
“I’m in the study, Robert.”
Shit.
Robbie’s heart sank, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach.
Please, please let him not have been drinking.
Peter sat on the red brocade couch. He was talking to his wife.
You know how difficult they are at this age, darling. I haven’t been firm enough with him in the past, that’s the problem. But it’s never too late to change.
Alex was agreeing with him. Standing by the window, in the green Halston dress he’d bought her for their tenth anniversary, she nodded encouragement. Where would he be without her? Her love and support meant everything to him. They gave him the strength he needed.
If it were just the trouble at school, I could forgive him. Even the drugs. But there’s Lexi to think about. He’s a terrible influence on her, Alex. He’s trying to take her away from me. I mean, I can’t allow that, can I?
Alex shook her head: Of course you can’t, darling. But let’s not waste all night talking about Robert. Do you like my dress?
I love it. You know I do. You look so beautiful.
For you, Peter. I look beautiful for you.
“Dad?”
Peter looked up. Alex had gone. The room swayed gently, like a ship. Everything was tinted with a sepia haze. It was like being inside an old photograph of the Titanic. Disaster had not yet struck, but it was imminent.
Peter Templeton waited for his son’s twin faces to merge into one before he spoke.
“Where have you been all night?”
Robbie shifted mutely from foot to foot.
“I asked you a question.”
“With a girl.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not technically.
“Which girl? Where?”
There was so much anger in Peter’s voice, Robbie found himself shivering.
“In Yonkers. We took a train,” said Robbie, deftly answering the second question but not the first. It wouldn’t help anyone to drag Maureen Swanson’s name into this. “Listen, Dad, I’m sorry about what happened at school today. Really. I don’t know why I do these things. Sometimes I…”
“Sometimes you what?”
Peter’s rage was growing. He didn’t want to hear apologies or explanations. He wanted Robert to admit his guilt. To acknowledge that he deserved to be punished. Punished for monopolizing Alex’s affection. Punished for turning Lexi against him.
“Sometimes I just can’t handle it.” For the second time that day, Robbie started to cry.
Don’t blubber, for Christ’s sake. Be a man. You’ve brought this on yourself.
Behind a red brocade cushion, out of view, Peter Templeton’s hand tightened around the gun.
When he took the Glock out of the safe a few hours earlier, he’d been fantasizing about killing himself. A bottle and a half of Scotch had robbed him of all rational thought and left him bitter and broken. He had failed. As a man, a husband, a father. The gun felt comforting in his hand. An escape. But then Alex had appeared; dear, sweet Alex. Peter stuffed the pistol under the cushion so as not to scare her.
Now he reached for it again. The cool metal pressed against his palm.
Robert had come home.
Robert needed to be punished.
Peter only half heard what the boy was saying.
“I’m not the same as the other kids. I don’t fit in at St. Bede’s. I don’t fit in anywhere. Maybe it’s because I miss Mom so much. Maybe…”
Robbie let the sentence trail away. Peter had tossed the cushion aside. He had a gun in his hand and was waving it around wildly, like a conductor’s baton.
He said: “Please. Go on. This is interesting.”
Cold fear gripped Robbie by the throat. He held his breath.
“Perhaps when you’re done, you can explain to me why it is that my daughter doesn’t want to know me anymore. Why you thought you had the right to steal Lexi from me.”
Robbie was shaking so violently he didn’t trust himself to speak. He’d seen his father drunk a thousand times, but until today Peter had never been violent. Maybe the slap he’d given Robbie in the office earlier had unleashed some inner monster? Like a shark who gets a taste of blood, then plunges into a feeding frenzy.
Robbie chose his next words carefully.
“Lexi has nothing to do with this.”