What Happened to the McCrays?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Twenty-Four

After the last bell rang that sunny Tuesday afternoon in late March, Casey threw her backpack over a shoulder and headed over to meet Charlie, like she did every afternoon. Her day ended a few minutes before his did, so she would walk across campus to the elementary school and wait for him out front. Once in a while, if she was extra early, she’d wander into his fourth-grade classroom to catch him there and spend a few minutes checking in with his teacher. Normally parents weren’t allowed to do that, but most of the teachers didn’t mind extending a professional courtesy every so often. Though, Casey figured those days were numbered. Charlie’s teacher wouldn’t mind her stopping by, but before too long Charlie might. After all, his tenth birthday was coming up in little more than a month.

She loved driving home with him after school. That time in the car was precious. He talked about what they were doing in class and told stories about his friends, gave her a good look into that part of his day when she wasn’t present. She had transitioned back to the middle school in sync with Charlie’s transition to elementary school, and the distraction of work helped. Especially that first day of classes each year when she and Kyle dropped him off to start the next grade. For some reason the passage of time hit her hardest on those days. Maybe because she and Kyle would get only one shot at being parents of a kindergartner or first grader or any year in school.

That particular afternoon Kyle was actually supposed to pick Charlie up. He usually stayed at the garage until five or six, but when Casey asked if he might be able to leave early that day so she could get some work done after school, he said sure, Mateo would cover. However, Kyle had texted her late morning to say he was sending a sick Mateo home. He worried about leaving the garage in anyone else’s hands, especially now, when they were overwhelmed. The snow was finally starting to melt from the roads, and everyone was in a rush to change out winter tires and fix damage caused by months of ice, salt, and potholes. So, though she was disappointed, she told him not to worry about it. His response had made her smile: You’re the best. You know how much? And she was sure her response had the same effect on him: Yes, and I still remember who said it first.

But their exchange had also made her feel guilty. Casey hadn’t been honest with him about why she wanted to stay late at work that day. It wasn’t that she had to catch up on grading and lesson plans, it was because she was supposed to hear back that afternoon about her application to grad school. At precisely three o’clock notification letters were being emailed to all applicants. She had hoped to be alone in her classroom when she got the news, good or bad, so she could take it in and figure out her next step. If she was rejected, it was pretty simple. That was the end of that, at least for now. If she was accepted, she had decisions to make.

When she arrived at the elementary school, Logan Lopez was waiting out front with Charlie. That didn’t stop Charlie from calling out an enthusiastic “Mom” and giving her a hug when she walked up. She counted herself lucky. Unlike most of his male peers, Charlie hadn’t become self-conscious about that kind of thing. Kyle had never been shy about showing affection in public, even at the garage in front of his crew. Hopefully Charlie would follow his lead.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said, hugging him back, then resting one hand on the feathery blond tips that poked out from under his hat. “Hey, Logan. We giving you a ride home today?”

Logan kept those long-lashed eyes on the ground and nodded, gripping the straps of his backpack. “If that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

They headed toward the middle school lot, where the Bronco was parked. The boys ran ahead, hopping from puddle to puddle and rating the magnitude of each other’s splashes. Even though it wasn’t three o’clock yet Casey checked her phone for new email. Nothing. So she followed the boys and tilted her face up to the sun, which had decided to make a rare and bold appearance for this time of year.

She often gave Logan a ride home. His mom, Sara, worked the lunch shift at the Dam Diner and couldn’t quite make it to school on time some days. Casey didn’t mind, Logan was a nice kid. A little rough around the edges at times, but it only took a minute to see past that. He and Charlie were opposites in some ways, which probably explained why they were a good fit. Charlie was sweet and soft-spoken, a little impulsive, and he always looked on the bright side of things. Logan was quiet and watchful, if a little brooding at times, and in the last few months, Casey had heard mention of an occasional attitude problem at school. The boys were on the same Squirt hockey team, and Kyle was their coach. The McCrays and the Lopezes hung out once in a while, a summer barbecue, occasional pizza after a game.

They loaded up in the truck and headed toward Logan’s house. Traffic leaving the schools this time of day was always slow, and she was tempted to glance at her phone but didn’t want to be a distracted driver, a bad example for the boys. Besides, it was better to wait until she had a few minutes by herself to process it, whatever it said.

“Look, Mom,” Charlie said, pointing out his window as they turned onto Market Street. “There’s Mr. Robar, planting more flowers.”

Casey glanced that way to see the man himself adorning a recent addition to his toilet collection with fake pink tulips. That feud had been going on for fifteen years now. Many people in town wanted the toilets gone for a variety of reasons: they were unsightly, signaled a lack of education and sophistication, which affected property values and made it hard to recruit professionals and businesses. Just as many took the other side: people were tired of the village board’s choosy approvals benefitting the interests of the powerful few in town, and Robar had the right to express himself on his land. Some even claimed—this last one was a stretch to Casey—that he was elevating ordinary objects to great art.

“Where does he get all the toilets?” Logan asked.

“A lot of people donate their old toilets to him,” Casey said.

“That’s cool,” Charlie said. “I would do that if I had an old toilet.”

“Why?” Logan asked. “Don’t you think they’re gross?”

“Not really,” Charlie said, shrugging. “They’re part of our town. It would be like something was missing if they were gone.”

Casey smiled and felt a rush of pride. Her nine-year-old son had just unwittingly hit on a rather profound idea. The toilets might be ugly, but that ugliness was part of the beautiful whole. Over the years she’d gone back and forth on this toilet issue herself, but Charlie had just sold her.

When she checked back into the boys’ conversation they were discussing the end-of-season team party the McCrays were hosting at their house that weekend.

“As long as it doesn’t warm up too much the next few days,” Charlie was saying, “my dad says our backyard rink should still be okay to use on Saturday. Right, Mom?”

“Yep.”

“And we’re gonna have a fire going for s’mores.”

“Cool,” Logan said. “But I don’t like s’mores.”

“How can you not like s’mores?”

“I don’t like the cracker part.”

Charlie brought his hands to his head in disbelief. “Logan, what are you talking about?” He went on to insist Logan just didn’t know how to make a good s’more.

Casey’s mind wandered back to the email she’d be receiving at any moment. If it was good news, if she’d been accepted, maybe she’d wait until after the party to talk to Kyle about it. Though, at this point, it didn’t matter when she did it, his first question was going to be Why didn’t you tell me about this? And she didn’t have a good answer, or, at least, not a simple one. She wasn’t sure how to explain that she’d never stopped thinking about grad school, but she hadn’t mentioned it because she didn’t want to worry him about something that might never happen. So in order not to worry me , he would say, you applied without even talking to me about it . And she couldn’t really follow that logic herself, so how was she supposed to make him feel better about it?

When she turned into Logan’s neighborhood, the boys were talking about Fortnite, their favorite video game. Casey and Kyle had held out on allowing video games for a while, but as a middle school teacher she knew they were inevitable. Her research had shown Fortnite to be pretty benign, so probably a good starting point.

“Did you watch those YouTubers I told you about?” Logan asked Charlie. “Gordi and Lance? They’re dorky, but really good.”

“Yeah, those guys are hysterical. Their channel is blowing up…”

The truth is Casey hadn’t seriously considered applying until she came across a university in California that offered a master’s degree in forensic psychology, with the option to do most of the work remotely, other than a few week-long visits to the campus. She knew it would be a stretch, but she was pretty sure she could manage both school and work, which would be necessary. They’d have to take on a hefty student loan.

They arrived at Logan’s house just as Sara pulled into the driveway. She climbed out of her little Toyota and waved. Her Dam Diner uniform—same one Casey had worn for a few years, it never changed—was spotted with food stains, her dark hair frazzled. Casey waved back and couldn’t help noticing her tired eyes and stooped posture. A few weeks ago Sara had mentioned that she and Lucas were having problems. Casey thought about getting out of the truck, spending a few minutes with Sara, seeing if she wanted to talk. But then Charlie and Logan would get started playing something, Charlie wouldn’t want to leave, she’d get stuck there for a while. So instead Casey gave Sara a wave and headed toward home.

“I thought Dad was picking me up today,” Charlie said. “He said I could help him fix the leak in the shop roof. He let me ride in the scissor lift with him yesterday.”

“He had to stay at work.”

In the rearview mirror Charlie frowned in disappointment. He loved nothing more than to be Kyle’s helper, took any chance he could to assist with various tasks. He wasn’t old enough to do anything too complicated on his own yet, but that didn’t stop him from trying. Just a few weeks ago, when Kyle left Charlie alone in Wyatt’s shop for two minutes while he grabbed something from the house, he came back to find Charlie painting expensive lumber with the wrong stain— I wanted to surprise Uncle Wyatt .

Charlie met her eye in the mirror. “Hey, can I take shots on you when we get home, Mom? We haven’t done that in a while.”

The truth was it was getting a lot harder for Casey to block Charlie’s shots, or just keep up with him on skates for that matter. But she said, “Sure,” even though they both knew he was going to have to take it easy on her. Kyle had started Charlie on the ice at two years old, so he’d already far surpassed her.

“Is Uncle Wyatt back yet?” Charlie asked. “He can play too.”

“No, he’s not home until tomorrow.” That would have helped. Wyatt was pretty good at maneuvering his chair around the little rink. He often got out there with a stick and passed the puck with Charlie, or they would all play 2 on 2, Kyle and Wyatt versus Casey and Charlie. But Wyatt wasn’t due back until the next day. He’d sold several pieces to a store in Boston the last couple years, and the owner had finally persuaded him to visit and talk about some kind of exclusive arrangement.

“Grandpa’s truck isn’t there,” Charlie said as they made the left onto River Road, bumped over the train tracks, and rolled past Danny’s house.

“He went snowmobiling. Won’t be home till late.” Which reminded Casey, she needed to get over there this evening and clean out his fridge.

She turned into their driveway and Charlie waved at Star, who was already looking out for them, front paws up on the windowsill in the living room. As soon as Star saw the truck she dropped from sight, undoubtedly dashing to the back door to greet them. As Casey pulled around the house she hoped Star hadn’t caused any damage inside. Kyle had trained her well, but at three years old she was still puppyish, and she wasn’t used to being cooped up all alone. She usually spent the weekdays with Wyatt in his shop. After Casey parked, Charlie unbuckled his belt and ran up the stairs to let Star outside. She greeted him like she hadn’t seen him in six months rather than six hours, almost knocking him down in the process. But he just laughed and let her maul him.

Casey checked her phone: 3:18. Anxiety bubbled in her chest when the email icon indicated one new message. But she didn’t open it, just grabbed her bag and climbed out of the truck.

“I’ll run Star,” Charlie said.

She stood on the porch, watched them chase each other around the ice rink, which ran alongside Wyatt’s shop. It was pretty impressive for a DIY project. Wyatt had designed it a few years ago, and each winter he acted as supervisor while Kyle and Danny put it together, ordering them around from his chair, quick to point out imperfections. But they let him do it because of the finished product: a raised, level, fifteen-by-thirty-foot ice rink, complete with boards and lights strung around the whole thing so they could use it in the dark. A warmer day of full sun like this wasn’t good for the ice—Casey could hear it melting. But temperatures were supposed to fall again, and there was no more blue sky in the foreseeable forecast, so the rink should hold for the party this weekend.

She put a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun and took a look at the roof of Wyatt’s workshop, which had started leaking last week. Melted snow had backed up against an ice dam at the rear edge of the roof and found its way inside around the chimney in Wyatt’s bedroom. Kyle had rented a scissor lift, hauled it behind the shop, and managed to get up there and chip off the ice, but he needed to patch and seal the leak before more precipitation moved in. He’d started yesterday and had planned on finishing this afternoon.

“I’ll get a snack together,” Casey called out to Charlie.

When she opened the door to the kitchen she gasped. The floor was littered with tiny pieces of red and blue material. She knew exactly what it was. The pot holder Charlie had made her in school two years ago. Star had pulled it from its little hook under the counter and shredded it beyond all repair. She fought the urge to cry. Though Charlie had made her countless drawings and projects, she used that pot holder every day, and it always made her smile. She was in the middle of sweeping it up when Charlie and Star came through the door.

It took him only a second to understand what had happened. “Uh-oh.”

“Yep,” Casey said, putting a fist against a hip and conjuring up a stern face. “What do you have to say for yourself, Star?”

Star lowered her head and tucked her tail while her ears went flat.

“I think she feels really bad, Mom,” Charlie said.

“I hope so.” Casey leaned toward Star to drive her point home.

Star hunched lower and refused to make eye contact.

Charlie looked up at Casey with a rueful grin— Come on, you can’t stay angry at that . “I can make you another one,” he said.

“Promise?”

He nodded.

Casey ruffled his hair. “Thanks.” She finished sweeping, then cut up an apple for him while he helped himself to a granola bar from the cabinet. After joining him at the table she pulled her phone from her pocket. She didn’t know why the hell she was so nervous about reading the email. Frankly, part of her hoped she’d been rejected so she didn’t have to deal with it. But it had been a while since she’d applied for something, since she’d been challenged that way. Her college GPA and old test scores were solid, her teaching experience should only help. The biggest variable was the essay she’d had to write…

“Do you think Dad will still work on the roof when he gets home?” Charlie asked.

“Hopefully. We really need to get that sealed up before it snows or rains.”

“Can I help, even if it’s after dinner? I know how to do it, Mom, and I really want to ride in the lift again.”

“We’ll see. It depends on how late it is, buddy.”

The corners of his mouth pulled down before he bit into an apple slice.

Casey glanced at the dark screen of her phone. The truth was she missed school, the studying, researching something until she really understood it, and then testing that new knowledge with an exam. She missed being graded on her work, though she wouldn’t admit that out loud. As a thirty-six-year-old, it felt sort of weak and petty to need that kind of external validation. But for so long grades had been her personal measuring stick, proof she could achieve. That’s why she was so nervous about reading the email. She might have failed at the one thing she’d always been able to count on: her academic performance.

“Can we take shots after I finish this?” Charlie asked.

“Sure. Afterward I’ll make hot chocolate.”

“With whipped cream?”

“Is there any other way?”

He smiled, and she noticed the gap between his front teeth was getting smaller.

She was thankful Charlie was a balanced mix of her and Kyle. He did well in school, but he also loved physical activity and the outdoors. She’d been mediocre at best when it came to physical pursuits, and she lacked any natural talent when it came to the creative arts. But she’d always been able to get the grades. And as much as she loved being Charlie’s mom and Kyle’s wife and a middle school teacher, she missed flexing her brain more, and she sometimes worried it would start shriveling up, like any muscle that wasn’t used and stretched consistently.

Charlie scrunched up his wrapper and stood. “Ready?”

“Yep. But I need to check my email real quick. Do you mind grabbing my skates from the shed and I’ll meet you out there?”

“How long are you gonna be?”

“Just a few minutes.”

He looked at the digital clock on the stove and held up a splayed hand. “Five minutes.”

“Deal.”

“Come on, Star,” he said, pulling his hat on.

Star rose from her spot under the table and followed him outside.

Casey picked up her phone, took a deep breath, and opened the email. She only needed to read part of the first line to know. Dear Mrs. McCray, Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you… She felt her face break into a smile while she skimmed the rest:… Graduate School of Forensic Psychology… invited to enroll in August… official letter of acceptance has been mailed… Relief and excitement rushed through her, and, as always when she had news to share, the first person she wanted to tell was Kyle.

There was no way around it, he would worry about so many things, several of which were valid. There was the cost, not just the expensive tuition, but she’d need to take a couple of classes over the summer to earn a few more psych credits—additional expense. After earning her degree she would need postgrad supervised clinical hours, many of which she wouldn’t get paid for. Eventually she could earn a really nice salary, but not for a few years. In the meantime they’d be picking up more debt while they were still paying off the garage and financing the new equipment Kyle had to buy last year.

She took a look through the window, laid eyes on Charlie as he and Star emerged from the little side shed and headed toward the rink. He was carrying two pairs of skates by the laces.

Then there was the time school would demand. Adding full-time grad student to an already loaded schedule was daunting, the evening and weekend hours she would have to give up, the travel to California, weeks away from home. She would be putting so much more pressure on them. Not just on her and Kyle, but on Charlie as well. Wyatt and Danny. The people who counted on her the most.

Her eyes drifted to the fridge doors, which were covered in family photos. One of her and Kyle swinging Charlie by the arms between them. Baby Charlie sitting in Wyatt’s lap, both wearing big grins. Possibly her favorite shot of all time: toddler Charlie using washable markers to color in tattoos on Kyle’s arm… She didn’t want to be so busy she’d miss out on these moments. There was also the very real question of where she’d find a job after all this sacrifice, the likelihood that they’d have to move if she was going to use such a degree to its potential. Could she ever ask Kyle to leave his business, and could she take Charlie away from everything he knew? Would she really want to leave Wyatt and Danny, upend all their lives?

That’s when a voice in her head said, You’re getting way ahead of yourself, Case . We’ll figure it out as it comes . Ironically, that voice of reason belonged to Kyle.

A snowball hit the window and she looked out to see Charlie standing by the rink, his hands raised in a Let’s go gesture. She checked the clock and realized she was already five minutes late. She held up a finger to Charlie— one more minute . He threw his hands up and turned back to the rink, shaking his head.

But she wanted to nail down the case she would make to Kyle. He would be focused on the cons, so she had some pros lined up for him: jobs at that level paid really well, the field was expected to grow faster than average over the next several years, in the end it would be a good thing for their little three-person team. She shook her head at herself. That wouldn’t make him feel any better. Bottom line, Kyle would be worried this whole thing was an indication of some deeper issue, that maybe she wasn’t happy. In his mind grad school, just like Dartmouth eighteen years ago, would open a door of no return. Wherever it led, it would mean change, and nothing scared her big, strong, tattooed husband like the idea of change.

Casey checked on Charlie, expected to see him lacing up his skates—always the left one first, just like his dad—but he and Star were wandering around the corner of the shop, probably headed out to the open area behind it to play fetch. She should get out there right now and soak up this time with him. How much longer was he even going to want to take shots on his mom? But she decided to let them play fetch for a minute and took a look at one of the attachments in the email. She felt a tingle of excitement in her stomach as she scanned a welcome letter outlining dates and deadlines, instructions on how to reply…

When Star started barking, Casey stood and moved to the window, bringing her phone with her. The barking was coming from behind the shop. She couldn’t see them, but they were probably playing snowball fetch, which got Star all worked up. She would bark incessantly while jumping up to try to catch the snowballs in her mouth.

She tapped her phone screen so it wouldn’t go dark, finished reading the welcome letter. She considered opening the second attachment, which was a list of classes for first semester. But then she noticed the time. She had now kept Charlie waiting almost twenty minutes, which was too long. Even if he was still playing snowball fetch, which had to be the case, because Star was still barking. So she slid her phone in her pocket. She’d look at it later.

While she slipped on her coat and hat Casey figured maybe the best way to ease Kyle’s worry about this whole idea would be to tell him it was really his own fault. She’d realized that while answering the essay question for the application, the one that asked why she wanted to go into the field of forensic psychology. She had written about how years of teaching and volunteering in their community made her want to learn more about how the science of psychology can be applied to the legal system. She was particularly interested in advocating for survivors of trauma, helping them understand their rights as they navigated legal processes. That had been largely inspired by Kyle. When her mom died she’d been too young and so lost, and he had helped her figure everything out, made her feel safe and in control again. Most people, she would tell him, weren’t lucky enough to have a Kyle to lean on. It would be hard for him to argue with that…

Casey stopped moving and tilted her head as she realized what was nagging at her subconscious. Star’s barking… It was off. Not playful. There was an urgency to it. She looked out the window to see Star racing toward the house at full speed. Charlie was nowhere in sight.

When she threw open the door, Star turned and ran back in the direction she’d come from.

Casey followed, running faster and praying harder than she ever had in her life.

She was present for all of it, though there was so much she couldn’t remember later. She was there when the paramedics arrived, and when Kyle got home shortly after. She was the one to call them, which she didn’t remember doing even though she knew she did. She was there when Charlie was airlifted to the SUNY hospital in Syracuse, and when the doctor, a faceless man Casey could recall nothing about, met her and Kyle in the waiting room after their two-and-a-half-hour drive and told them how sorry he was. He explained everything, used a soft voice and clinical words to talk about the severe skull fracture that resulted from the impact of the fall from the lift.

She was there when Kyle had to say the words to Wyatt and Danny that night because she couldn’t. They all cried together. She cried endlessly in those early days, even while she took charge of the details around Charlie’s cremation and service, which was the only thing she could actually do for him then. She was the one to find countless casseroles left on the front porch by the Foleys, who wanted to help but not intrude, though she had no memory of eating that food.

She was there when two sympathetic police officers came to the house to ask questions and take a report because they had to. Casey told them Charlie had been playing outside with Star while she was in the kitchen, which is when he must have decided to get in the lift. The officers took a walk behind the shop and said everything they saw confirmed what she said. It appeared Charlie had grabbed the keys from where they sat on a side table just inside the back door of the shop, the one that led to Wyatt’s little apartment. Then he climbed into the lift, turned it on, and pressed the up arrow—he’d seen his dad operate it—and, when he got to the top, he likely leaned through the safety bars, reaching for the can of sealant and paintbrush that were sitting near the chimney. Which is when he fell onto the concrete slab by the back door to the shop. The paintbrush was found on the ground next to him.

What Casey didn’t tell the police, or anyone else, was how long she’d kept Charlie waiting for her that day, how distracted she’d been by her acceptance letter. She waited for the questions— How long was Charlie outside by himself? What exactly were you doing when this happened? —but they never came. From anyone. Not even Kyle. Everyone assumed she’d stopped in the kitchen after they got home, to get Charlie a snack like any good mom would, and the lift had just proved too inviting to him. They didn’t know she was supposed to be on the ice with Charlie when it happened, letting him take shots on her. She never told anyone she’d been so absorbed in her own selfish plans she hadn’t been paying attention to her son. She accepted everyone’s sympathy and love and support while covering up her crime.

The police officially ruled Charlie’s death an accident, but that didn’t mean it was no one’s fault. In Casey’s mind, she was wholly responsible for Charlie’s death, and she started lying to everyone about it the day it happened.