As if we were expected to know that.
Both of us faked it and said, “Sure,” at the same time.
That made her smile.
She said, “C’mon in, guys.”
—
The house was a precisely calibrated mix of taupe and aqua. A taxidermy shark took up one high wall, a wooden frame filled with stuffed teddy bears, another. Wall three hosted a scatter of family photos: Haley Moman née Hartford, blow-dried, shorter than her by half a head, and a boy, always caught with his head down, features obscured by long, lank, tan hair.
Wall four was a life-sized painting of Haley Moman née Hartford in a strapless silver gown with an abdominal cutout that honored her navel.
“Taken from a red-carpet shot at the Emmys,” she said. “Back in the back-then. Wait here.”
She crossed the living room and an adjoining dining room, passed through what was likely a kitchen door, and returned moments later holding a bottle of Vitaminwater.
Milo muttered, “No graham crackers, shucks.”
Haley Moman said, “Pardon?”
“Nice house.”
“We try.” Sitting down with the poise of a yoga master, she dangled one leg over the other and swung it from the ankle down, uncapped the bottle, and took a long swallow.
“Okay, go. What’s theallegedclaim?”
Milo showed her the tweets.
She said, “This reads like teenage garbage—and this part about the doctors is absolutely nothing dangerous. Crispin is reflecting his reality. He’s always being trucked around to appointments. Allergist, pediatrician, ENT, orthodontist, behavioral optometrist.” A beat. She bit her lip. “His psychotherapist. So you see we are aware that he’s got issues. But this? It’s a joke.”
She handed the paper back to Milo. “Really, guys, I can’t believe you’re wasting your time on something so childish.”
Milo said, “According to the complainant, ‘MD’ doesn’t refer to medical doctors. It’s Crispin’s code for ‘Must Die.’ ”
“His code? Nonsense,” said Haley Moman. But her voice lacked conviction.
I said, “Does Crispin have strong computer skills?”
“Isn’t he entitled to a plus? Yes, he’s great with computers.”
“So he’s used to codes and coding.”
“Oh,please.That’s advanced math and whatever, this is a stupid letter thing. To me ‘MD’ means ‘medical doctor’ and until you can prove different, that’s the way it’s going to stay.”
Milo looked at me.
I said, “We’re really sorry if this is upsetting you but as a parent you can see that we need to follow up.”
“On the basis of this?”
“The complainant said Crispin also made verbal threats.”
“Where?”
“At school.”
“Hah. As if he’s there often enough to even talk to anyone—you need to understand, Crispin’s different but not in a bad way, he’s just different. Until his senior year, he was homeschooled. His therapist felt he needed a social experience before college, even with the adjustment challenges that were likely to occur. We go by what she says. She’s brilliant, a professor at the U., a doctorate from Yale. So please excuse me for trustingherand notthis.”
