WHO: Nolan and Elvera MacLaver WHEN: May 27th, late. WHERE: The MacLaver home. SUMMARY: Nolan freaks out. Elvera does the best she can with what she has. WARNINGS: Talk of drugs, talk of death, talk of possible murder, talk of cover-up.
Rosie was at a friend’s house, and she had no doubt that Nolan was likely… out.
And for once, she was thankful. Her feet hurt. Her bones ached. She wanted to settle into the couch and watch a movie that would make her have a good cry, if she could manage to stay awake that long.
So her surprise to find that the lights in the house were on was palpable, and she felt guilty for feeling disappointed.
Strapping on the same smile she’d worn on her most tired nights over the last twenty years, Elvera opened the door to their home and called out with a little, “Rosie? Nolan? It’s mom.”
“It’s me!” Was Nolan, and it was a Nolan that wasn’t asking about dinner, and wasn’t sprawled out playing mobile app games or watching basketball, this was a new, nervous Nolan. Jittery, a little bit. “Uh, in here.” And then, after a little bit, he’d blurt out: “So we should probably talk? Maybe talk? A little bit? About things?” His voice cracked, and he breathed out, a sharp huff. “Now. Or, I mean, later.”
“But probably now.”
Nolan was more his mother’s son than his father’s in that moment, and Elvera felt a wash of anxiety, edged out only by her need to protect.
“What is it, baby?” Elvera called out as she followed the sound of his voice with surprising speed given the state of her poor little feet.
He had gotten someone pregnant. His father bought him a motorcycle. He didn’t want to go to college after all.
She found him, hands already fussing with his hair. She slipped a curl between two fingers and settled it as she tried to settle herself. “What would you like to talk about?”
“Moira MacTeer.” His mom touching him helped and it hurt, because he went still beneath the warmth of her palms, but fuck he was crying, actually crying, hard enough it was just unstoppable tears streaming down his face. “I think I killed her. I mean, like, I didn’t push her or anything, I just...I just…” His voice cracked. Hitched.
Two palms engulfed his cheeks and urged him closer so that she might wrap a mother arm around him, a hand stroking the long of his back. He was too tall to tuck against her chest anymore; not unless her leaned down and in.
Her face was wrought with confusion, one that she didn’t bother concealing given his stream of tears. Still, a slimey ball stuck to her throat, and it took her a moment to speak. “You just what, Nolan? What is it, honey? Come on,” sweetly and softly, as if she were talking him out of a nightmare. “You didn’t kill Moira MacTeer.”
What was he going to tell his mom?
That question again. That question was a constant in Nolan’s life. It usually kept him from doing things - or encouraged him to do them - that question.
Now it just froze him, full deer in the headlights, and his hands were shaking when he anchored them against her sides. He had so much adrenaline blowing through his system he was actually shaking, full-body shivers. He felt sick. Sick and cold.
“What if I did, mom?” His throat felt tight, he felt like he’d swallowed something hard and bad and big. Something too big to force words around. “You know how I hurt my knee in November?” Felt impossible, each word squeezing out of him in short, uneven hitches. It felt hard to breathe.
“Mmhm,” she acknowledged, soft and coaxing. Like her son, something tight and bad and horrible started to build, and it was hard to keep her hands from shaking. So she continued to rub, letting her fingers massage into his scalp. “I remember.”
“You remember all the pills I got for it?” Came out in a burst, still squeezed, not enough air given to the words.
“Yes…” she grappled, trying to get one step ahead of him, trying to work out how to get from pills to murder.
“She bought them from me.” He knew that made it sound passive. Like he hadn’t done it. Like it had simply happened to him. Oops, I fell and sold some drugs. “All of them.”
Elvera tucked her head under her son’s in a way that was practiced; it was easier for him not to see the shock and panic if he settled into a hard hug instead. He could focus on the good she was pouring out, like the continued back rub, or the forced breath that she tried to hard to keep steady. If he sold her drugs. If she took them. If she drove-- her car was missing. She could be in a ditch somewhere. With her son’s pills.
Carefully, slowly, though her voice shook, “Did anyone see you?”
It was good she didn’t pull back, and it eased something the tiniest bit, so it all came flooding out. “No one saw, I don’t think anyone saw. It was the night of the Inn party, and I just thought...I don’t know what I thought. But it was so many, mom, if she took them all…”
The hard lump that made itself home in her stomach began to spread, strengthening to iron and Elvera did with it the only thing she could think of to do: she put it on as armor, deciding that it couldn’t choke her if she leaned into it.
After a short commercial’s worth of a pause, she let out the breath she had been holding and pulled back, cupping her son’s cheeks in between her hands.
“I need you to not tell anybody, Nolan. Okay?” Her voice sounded hushed and a little hurried. One hand lifted while the other still cupped, brushing against his face to wipe away tears and hair from his face.
“Not tell anybody, right.” He shivered once, then breathed, trying to breathe more steadily. Calm, calm, calm. He wasn’t calm, he couldn’t even pretend. “What if the police figure it out? Won’t they do blood tests? What will they...what if they ask? I don’t know why they’d ask me, but…” A quick, sharp babble, running together now that he’d told her, that she knew.
“I’m going to take care of it.” The word hung heavy. There was no certainty she could take care of it. There was no certainty to that at all. Her lips pursed, brows fraught with worry as she started, carefully. “Adults make mistakes, too. Even cops. If they have no reason to suspect… If--” She didn’t have the mind for this. The thought of lying to anyone, even by omission, and especially to the authorities.
A sigh.
“We’re going to figure this out, sweetheart. Okay?” She still had her purse hooked over her shoulder, which was just as well. Placing a small kiss on his forehead, she nodded him to the kitchen. “Make sure you eat.-” Her car was missing? Maybe she could find it. Maybe she could find it before the cops did. Maybe, if there were any pills in there…
Maybe a lot of things.
“If you need me-- if it’s about this conversation… Why don’t you say you’re craving a pepperoni pizza? We shouldn’t be texting about it…”
He breathed out, but it felt good to give this to his mother. That was what moms were for, right? No, not really. He felt the twist of that low in his gut. His mom definitely had enough burdens without him just piling this one on top.
But he didn’t know what else he could do, so he just nodded, mute for another moment before he said: “Pizza, right.” A little fainter-edged. “Thanks, mom.” Was softer. Quieter. Lower.
She stepped forward again, cupping his cheeks once more so that she could bring his head down, where she would place a kiss on top of his head.