Adam and Evil Read Online Free Page A

you to come today because I think Adam might benefit by seeing somebody.”
    “Dating?”
Mrs. Evans looked horrified. “Why? You’re like his father, thinking a girl can solve anything.”
    “Not that kind of seeing someone. Seeing a counselor.”
    “Well, Mrs. Leary doesn’t seem to want to be seen.” Mr. Evans gestured toward the empty chair.
    “If he’s on drugs,” Dorothy Evans said, “if that’s what … a treatment center, you mean?”
    “We don’t know that. That’s just it: We don’t know why he’s behaving—”
    “We? Speak for yourself. He’s my son, and I know precisely why he’s behaving as he does.”
    “Is he bad?” Mrs. Evans asked.
    “I couldn’t call it bad because it doesn’t feel deliberate. It feels as if … as if messages aren’t getting through. As if … well, I have his latest essay with me, and maybe that’ll make what I’m getting at clearer.”
    “What do you mean, messages not getting through?” Mr. Evans demanded. “You make it sound like Adam’s crazy!” He half rose from his perch on the arm of the chair.
    If only Philadelphia had volcanoes and had one now, with lava pouring toward us. We’d race away—separately. If only a gigantic hole would swallow the school and me with it. If only I’d heeded Mackenzie’s warnings, and my sister’s and her husband’s and Rachel’s, and had given Adam a lower grade and moved on.
    But here I was without hope of natural disaster, and I didn’t think it would work for me to say “never mind,” get up and leave. I understood now how all those kids who marched around announcing their demented and destructive plans were ignored until they actually killed somebody or themselves. I saw how tempting it was to become the next adult who stayed uninvolved. “I would never use a word like
crazy
,” I said softly. “Or think it. Or mean it. But it feels important to have Adam tested or evaluated.”
    “You think he’s disturbed?” Dorothy Evans said. “I’m a bad mother, is that what you mean? That’s what they say, isn’t it? It’s always something the mother’s done.”
    “Not at all. There are illnesses that typically start at this age. There are medications, really helpful treatments …”
    They stared blankly, severely, an urban, tailored version of
American Gothic
. In lieu of a pitchfork, a briefcase and a designer handbag. I waited for Rachel to return and say something clinical and illuminating, but she remained in absentia, wresting with her own child-related problems. “I’m fearful for him,” I said softly. “I want to make sure he doesn’t harm himself.”
Or anybody else, I
silently added.
    They stared at me with unreadable expressions. Finally the mister spoke, his voice dripping icy stalactites. “I think something is seriously wrong with
you
, Miss Pepper. I think, in fact, that you are out of your mind. What do you have against me or my son? What possessed you to make such a suggestion?”
    “Honest concern.” I could barely force the words out. A typhoon would do, I thought. A tornado. Aimed right at this room. Nobody hurt—just blown away, never to see each other again.
    “You are a single woman, aren’t you.” Not a question.
    I nodded anyway.
    “Childless,” Dorothy Evans said. “You’ve never been a mother, have you?”
    I shook my head.
    “I knew it. Women like you … you’re frustrated, jealous—”
    “No,” Parke Evans said. “I know why you brought this up. Very clever, you think, but it won’t work, so forget about your smoke screen. Trying to get us before we get you.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “The assault! The battery! Don’t think I don’t know that you molested my son!” He half stood, his face an angry mauve.
    “I never—”
    “You hit him! Grabbed him and assaulted him, and we are not about to let that pass. Very clever to create this diversion, but it won’t work.”
    I hit him? I hit a student? That was the most ridiculous— “You can’t