“Capitalism, pure and simple. They’ve bought up thousands of foreign corporations, usually through shell companies to avoid the political backlash. I wonder if Willard Osgood knows it. He’s somewhere to the right of Attila the Hun.”
“I wonder,” Nick said. “But no one’s a bigger archconservative than Dorothy Devries. And you can bet she has no idea.”
86
“Nick, I know you’re an extremely busy man,” Jerome Sundquist said, leading him past the framed photos of multicultural tennis champs, “but if anyone owes you an apology, it’s your son.” He spoke loudly so Lucas could hear.
Lucas sat in one of the camel-upholstered side chairs, looking small, shoulders hunched, furled into himself. He was wearing a gray T-shirt under a plaid shirt and track pants that were zippered above the knee so you could turn them into shorts, not that Lucas ever did.
He didn’t look up when Nick entered.
Nick stood there in his raincoat-this time he was prepared for the lousy weather, even brought an umbrella-and said, “You did it again, didn’t you?”
Lucas didn’t reply.
“Tell your father, Lucas,” Sundquist said as he took a seat behind his overly large desk. Nick wondered, fleetingly, why it was that people with the biggest desks and the biggest offices were often not all that powerful, in the scheme of things.
Then he reminded himself that Jerry Sundquist might only run a high school in a small town in Michigan, but right now he was as powerful in the lives of the Conovers as Willard Osgood.
Lucas cast the principal a bloodshot glare and looked back down at his feet. Had he been crying?
“Well, if he doesn’t have the courage to tell you, I will,” Sundquist said, leaning back in his chair. He actually seemed to be enjoying this moment, Nick thought. “I told you that the second time he was caught smoking he’d be expelled.”
“Understood,” Nick said.
“And I think I also told you that if we found drugs, we’d let the police prosecute.”
“Drugs?”
“The school board voted unanimously a few years ago that any student using, distributing, or even possessing marijuana on school property will be suspended, arrested, and face an expulsion hearing.”
“Arrested,” Nick said, suddenly feeling a chill, as if he’d just stepped into a meat locker. Lucas wasn’t crying. He was high.
“We notify the police and let them prosecute. And I have to tell you, Michigan tends to be tough on minors in possession of marijuana. The two-thousand-dollar fine is probably insignificant to you, Nick, but I’ve seen judges give minors anything from probation to forty-five days in prison, as much as a year.”
“Jerry-”
“Under Michigan law, we’re required to notify the local police, do you know that? MCL three-eighty, thirteen oh eight. We don’t have a choice about it.”
Nick nodded, put a hand on his forehead and began massaging away the headache. My God, he thought. Expulsion? There wasn’t another high school for forty miles. And what private school would take Lucas, given his record? How would Laura have handled this? She was so much better at difficult situations than he was. “Jerry, I’d like us to talk. You and me. Without Luke.”
Sundquist didn’t have to do anything more than raise his chin at Lucas, who quickly got up, as if shot from a cannon. “Wait in the faculty lounge,” he said to Lucas’s back.
“I’m sorry, Nick. I hate to do this to you.”
“Jerry,” Nick said, leaning forward in his chair. For a moment, he lost his train of thought. Suddenly he wasn’t a prominent parent, the president and chief executive officer of the biggest company in town. He was a high school kid pleading with the principal. “I’m as angry about this as you are. More so, probably. And we’ve got to let him know it’s totally unacceptable. But it’s his first time.”
“Somehow I doubt it’s his first time using marijuana,” Sundquist said with a sidelong glance. “But in any case, we have a zero-tolerance policy. Our options are severely limited here.”
“It’s not a gun, and he’s not exactly a dealer. We’re talking about one marijuana cigarette, right?”
Sundquist nodded. “That’s all it takes these days.”
“Jerry, you’ve got to consider what the kid has been going through in the last year, with Laura’s death.” There was a note of pleading in his voice that embarrassed Nick.
The principal looked unmoved. In fact, he looked almost pleased. Nick felt the anger in him rise, but he knew anger would be the worst response in this situation.
Nick took a deep breath. “Jerry, I’m asking for your mercy. If there’s anything I can do for the high school, the school system. Anything Stratton can do.”
“Are you offering a payoff?” Sundquist said, biting off the words.
“Of course not,” Nick said, although both men knew that was exactly what he was talking about. An extra deep discount on furniture could save the high school hundreds of thousands of dollars a year.
Sundquist closed his eyes, shook his head sadly. “That’s beneath you, Nick. What kind of lesson do you think it’s going to teach your son if he gets special treatment because of who his dad is?”
“What we talk about stays between us,” Nick said. He couldn’t believe that he’d just offered the high school principal a bribe. Was anything lower? Bribes-that was the coin of Scott McNally’s realm, Todd Muldaur’s realm. Not his.
Jerome Sundquist was looking at him with a new expression now, one of disappointment and maybe even contempt. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear it, Nick. But I’m willing to show some leniency on the grounds of his mother’s death. I do have to notify the police that we’re willing to handle the incident ourselves, and generally they leave it to our discretion. I’m giving Lucas a five-day suspension and assigning him to crisis counseling during that time and for the rest of the school year. But the next time, I go right to the police.”
Nick stood up, walked up to Sundquist’s desk and put out his hand to shake. “Thanks, Jerry,” he said. “I think it’s the right decision, and I appreciate it.”
But Sundquist wouldn’t shake his hand.
Ten minutes later Nick and Lucas walked out together through the glass doors of the high school. The rain was really coming down now-it was monsoon season, had to be-and Nick held up his umbrella for Lucas, who shunned it, striding ahead through the rain, head up as if he wanted to get soaked.
Lucas seemed to hesitate before getting into the front seat, as if contemplating making a run for it. As the car nosed through the parking lot and onto Grandview Avenue, the silence was electric with tension.
Lucas wasn’t high anymore. He was low, and he was silent, but it wasn’t a neutral silence. It was a defiant silence, like that of a prisoner of war determined to reveal nothing more than his name, rank, and serial number.
Nick’s own silence was the silence of someone who had plenty to say but was afraid of what would happen if he began to speak.
Lucas’s hand snaked around to the radio dial and turned on some alternative rock station, blasting it.
Nick immediately switched it off. “You proud of yourself?”
Lucas said nothing, just stared fixedly ahead as the windshield wipers flipped back and forth in a lulling rhythm.
“You know something? This would have broken your mother’s heart. You should be relieved she isn’t around to see this.”
More silence. This time Nick waited for a reply. He was about to go on when Lucas said, in a hollow voice, “I guess you made sure of that.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Lucas didn’t respond.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Nick realized he was shouting. He could see a spray of his own spittle on the windshield. He pulled the car over, braked to an abrupt stop, and turned to face Lucas.