to the ground, a quadriplegic now and forever. Caroline had spent many hours talking to Kid about the accident; for some reason Kid had assumed a strong sense of guilt and shame and she assured him that he was not to blame. "People take risks," she told him, over and over again. "You can't protect everyone from what's nothing more than normal life."
But Kid changed after that incident. He became more withdrawn, spoke mostly in monotones and seemed to have little energy. Jack sat him down, asked him if he'd started taking drugs, but Kid denied that. There was no denying that a wall had come up between them, though, and then he came to Jack and Caroline at the end of his junior year, told them he was dropping out of school. Kid was very evasive, almost seemed angry, and reverted to his younger, sullen ways.
"Kid," Jack said, "I don't think this is something you can just decide on your own. Why don't you stay here a few days and we can discuss-"
"No!" It was the first time Kid had ever raised his voice to them. But he didn't back down. His words were forceful and full of fire. "There's nothing to discuss," he said. "I'm outta here."
"Is it anything we did?" Caroline asked. Her voice was soft and tentative, as if she were soothing a wounded puppy. "Because if it is, maybe we can fix it."
Kid responded to the softness. He looked, for a moment, as if he might collapse or burst into tears. But then his face turned grim. He wouldn't meet her eyes, just shook his head and clammed up again.
"I think you owe us more of an explanation," Jack said, and again Kid's anger seemed to surge through him.
"I don't owe you anything," he said, "except to get the hell away from you."
He refused to take any money, wouldn't give any further explanation. He said he'd get in touch as soon as he knew where he was going, but he never did. No call, no e-mail, no postcard with a phone number or address.
Not a thing.
One day he was there. The next day he was not.
Jack and Caroline were devastated. They discussed it endlessly. What had they done wrong? What had happened? Were drugs involved? Was he in trouble? They tried several times to find him through various friends and connections at St. John's. Bryan couldn't help them; he was devastated because Kid had cut all ties with him, too. Even Kid's mother had to admit that while she got postcards and letters from her son, she did not know how to get in touch with him. For many months, Kid's disappearance dominated their lives until Caroline said, "No more. We have to let it go," and when Jack said, "I don't know if I can," she shook her head firmly and insisted, "We have to. It's just as if we've lost another child."
Jack knew she was right. They had lost another child.
Gone is gone, Dora had said.
And Kid Demeter was gone.
FOUR
Jack Keller woke up, as always, one minute before his clock radio sounded. And, as always, as he'd done for nearly twenty years now, the moment he flicked it off he instantly reached over to lightly pat Caroline, to reassure her that he was up, that he was all right, and she didn't have to rise with him. That it was 4:30 in the morning and there was no reason on God's earth why she couldn't stay tucked under their pastel-blue down-filled comforter and sleep for five or six more hours while he went to the meat district and then the fish market and then, unless their new baby chef, whom they'd recently stolen from Danny Meyer and his Eleven Madison Park restaurant, had decided to go, to the Union Square farmers' market.
"Sleep," he would whisper in her ear almost every morning, then kiss her lightly, his lips barely grazing her soft cheek.
"Mmmmm," she would breathe her contented response, because even though she had no intention of doing anything but sleep, this was their ritual. She needed to feel his presence in the morning. However brief that presence was. She didn't like to wake up to find him gone. It frightened her. Caroline did not like either empty beds or
But Kid changed after that incident. He became more withdrawn, spoke mostly in monotones and seemed to have little energy. Jack sat him down, asked him if he'd started taking drugs, but Kid denied that. There was no denying that a wall had come up between them, though, and then he came to Jack and Caroline at the end of his junior year, told them he was dropping out of school. Kid was very evasive, almost seemed angry, and reverted to his younger, sullen ways.
"Kid," Jack said, "I don't think this is something you can just decide on your own. Why don't you stay here a few days and we can discuss-"
"No!" It was the first time Kid had ever raised his voice to them. But he didn't back down. His words were forceful and full of fire. "There's nothing to discuss," he said. "I'm outta here."
"Is it anything we did?" Caroline asked. Her voice was soft and tentative, as if she were soothing a wounded puppy. "Because if it is, maybe we can fix it."
Kid responded to the softness. He looked, for a moment, as if he might collapse or burst into tears. But then his face turned grim. He wouldn't meet her eyes, just shook his head and clammed up again.
"I think you owe us more of an explanation," Jack said, and again Kid's anger seemed to surge through him.
"I don't owe you anything," he said, "except to get the hell away from you."
He refused to take any money, wouldn't give any further explanation. He said he'd get in touch as soon as he knew where he was going, but he never did. No call, no e-mail, no postcard with a phone number or address.
Not a thing.
One day he was there. The next day he was not.
Jack and Caroline were devastated. They discussed it endlessly. What had they done wrong? What had happened? Were drugs involved? Was he in trouble? They tried several times to find him through various friends and connections at St. John's. Bryan couldn't help them; he was devastated because Kid had cut all ties with him, too. Even Kid's mother had to admit that while she got postcards and letters from her son, she did not know how to get in touch with him. For many months, Kid's disappearance dominated their lives until Caroline said, "No more. We have to let it go," and when Jack said, "I don't know if I can," she shook her head firmly and insisted, "We have to. It's just as if we've lost another child."
Jack knew she was right. They had lost another child.
Gone is gone, Dora had said.
And Kid Demeter was gone.
FOUR
Jack Keller woke up, as always, one minute before his clock radio sounded. And, as always, as he'd done for nearly twenty years now, the moment he flicked it off he instantly reached over to lightly pat Caroline, to reassure her that he was up, that he was all right, and she didn't have to rise with him. That it was 4:30 in the morning and there was no reason on God's earth why she couldn't stay tucked under their pastel-blue down-filled comforter and sleep for five or six more hours while he went to the meat district and then the fish market and then, unless their new baby chef, whom they'd recently stolen from Danny Meyer and his Eleven Madison Park restaurant, had decided to go, to the Union Square farmers' market.
"Sleep," he would whisper in her ear almost every morning, then kiss her lightly, his lips barely grazing her soft cheek.
"Mmmmm," she would breathe her contented response, because even though she had no intention of doing anything but sleep, this was their ritual. She needed to feel his presence in the morning. However brief that presence was. She didn't like to wake up to find him gone. It frightened her. Caroline did not like either empty beds or
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