At five o’clock, Lauren poured herself a glass of wine and did what she thought of as a “walkabout,” her personal tour of the construction to see what had been accomplished, which never looked like much. She and Hollis usually did this together, but he wouldn’t be home until seven and Fritz was at a tennis lesson that lasted until six. Given all the noise and the dust, the beeping of the heavy equipment backing up, and countless worker bees trooping in and out, she expected miraculous changes. Occasionally she’d note that a hunk of wall had been torn out or an inexplicable two-by-four had been nailed between two joists. Most of it was the same grim wasteland she’d been looking at for months.
She was relieved when she reached the wing where the guest bedrooms were located. When the time came, they’d freshen up the paint and wallpaper, but for now it was fine. Lauren and Hollis had taken the original master suite and Fritz was in a bedroom in this wing off the den. Fritz had asked them to put in a separate entrance for him, but Lauren had put her foot down. At fifteen, he didn’t drive, but he was hard enough to keep track of as it was. Once he had his license, he was going to take off like a shot. She didn’t want to give him carte blanche to come and go as he pleased. For now, he was good about showing up for meals, coming in at a decent hour, and helping around the house. In return, she’d instituted an open-door policy with his friends, who were welcome at any time. This measure of hospitality allowed her to keep an eye on the kids Fritz was hanging out with and gave her some assurance that he was behaving himself. She’d had a rough couple of years with him. At ages twelve and thirteen he was argumentative, rude, and uncooperative. She’d put him in counseling and that helped, as did the medication his shrink had prescribed. Now he was back to his old sunny self—the bright, funny boy she’d so adored since birth.
Passing his room, she reached out automatically and tried the doorknob, pleased to find the room unlocked. During the difficult years, he’d guarded his privacy, protecting his possessions as though he lived among traitors and spies. She knew for a fact that he was smoking dope back then because she smelled it through the heating vents, a phenomenon he was happily unaware of. She liked keeping track of what he did behind her back. It was a form of containment, insurance that his rebellion was well under their control. If he’d strayed too far, she would have stepped in, but he seemed to have gotten what his shrink had referred to as “oppositional defiance” out of his system. Now his vice of choice was an occasional beer, which she decided was harmless in the face of other, far more serious possibilities. His academic record at Climping Academy, the private school in Horton Ravine, had been another indication that he was on track. He wasn’t a brilliant student, but the “average” student at Climp was still miles ahead of anyone at the public high schools in the area.
She had named her son Friedrich after her father, but Hollis had started calling him Snickle-Fritz when he was not quite two and Fritz, the shortened version of the name, had stuck. The boy was of medium height, slightly built, which made him appear younger than he was. He wore his brown hair with a side part that was all but obliterated by the natural curl, more pronounced now that he was wearing it longer. His eyes were brown, his complexion clear. He was still baby-faced, though she imagined within a year his features would lengthen and mature. She had seen photographs of Hollis at fifteen and again at seventeen and the transformation had been dramatic.
After years as a loner, Fritz had recently befriended three boys who were also students at Climping Academy. One was a kid named Troy Rademaker, whose father had died the year before when a heart attack took him down. Troy was currently attending Climp on an athletic scholarship, which had been arranged in deference to his reduced financial state. Troy was the youngest of five boys in a family of Irish Catholics. His dad had been a draftsman in an architectural firm when he was stricken. He’d left enough insurance to pay the house off, but with not a lot left over, which meant that Troy was forced to fend for himself. Lauren thought this was a good example for Fritz, who tended to take his good fortune for granted. There had never been much chemistry between the two, but recently the boys had discovered interests in common, filmmaking being prime.
Troy was stocky, with a buzz cut of red hair and blue eyes. His smile was goofy, showing upper teeth that were crooked and really should have been corrected by now. The second kid was Austin Brown—again, someone Lauren had known for years. Troy and Austin were well regarded, made top grades, and were generally considered all-around good guys.
The third kid in the mix was Tigg’s son, Bayard, who was now living with his father and stepmother. He’d been with Joan in Santa Fe for the twelve years since she and Tigg divorced. Tigg didn’t get to see him often, but from what she’d heard, the boy was doing well until he reached puberty, when he’d started getting into trouble: truancy, failing grades, acts of vandalism that had cost Tigg plenty in restitution. The previous spring, in desperation, Joan had sent him back to his father with the clear understanding that the arrangement would be permanent. She’d had it with him.
The sudden friendship among the four had taken Lauren by surprise. Fritz was a sophomore, while Austin, Troy, and Bayard were juniors. As a result, when the cheating scandal had come to light, Fritz was mercifully in the clear. Lauren’s instinct was to shunt the subject to one side. After all, Fritz hadn’t been involved directly, so in some respects he’d been unaffected. The incident involved what was known as the California Academic Proficiency Test, given at the end of eleventh grade to determine eligibility for advancing to their senior year. Austin and Bayard were apparently in no danger of failing, but Troy’s grades were critical to his keeping his scholarship. He’d been caught cheating, as had a girl named Poppy Earl, another of the privileged Horton Ravine kids.