I talked to his mom for a bit. A little while after Drew went upstairs, she turned to me, “Paige, can I ask you a question?”
Oh well, the charade never did last long. “Yeah of course, anything.”
“How… how is he doing?” she asked hesitently.
I sighed, I never lie to the parents, “He’s… ok. He’s surviving. He could be doing better… but he could be worse. I’m hoping he’ll come around. He just needs some nudging in the right direction.”
Or some annoying in the right direction.
She nodded, “I know, but I’ve tried everything… talking, asking questions, even psychologists… although that didn’t work out to well.”
I chuckled, “Yeah, shrinks don’t relate well to people in pain.”
She paused hesitently, “Can I ask you something else?”
Here it comes.
“Sure.”
“It’s just, as his mother, I need to know. Why are you doing this?” she watched me curiously.
I wanted to be as honest as I could, but I didn’t think this was the best time to spill the whole truth. I sighed, “It’s… complicated.”