“Be done in a second,” Brett said.
Mike had visited the E-SpyRight Web site and seen the first inducement in big, bold letters:ARE YOUR CHILDREN BEING APPROACHED
BY CHILD MOLESTERS?
ARE YOUR EMPLOYEES STEALING FROM YOU?
and then, in even bigger and bolder letters, the argument that sold Tia: YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO KNOW!
The site listed testimonials:“Your product saved my daughter from this parent’s worst nightmare—a sexual predator! Thanks, E-SpyRight!”
Bob—Denver, CO
“I found out my most trusted employee was stealing from our office. I couldn’t have done it without your software!”
Kevin—Boston, MA
Mike had resisted.
“He’s our son,” Tia had said.
“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”
“Aren’t you concerned?”
“Of course I’m concerned. But.”
“But what? We’re his parents.” And then, as though rereading the ad, she said, “We have the right to know.”
“We have the right to invade his privacy?”
“To protect him? Yes. He’s our son.”
Mike shook his head.
“We not only have the right,” Tia said, stepping closer to him. “We have the responsibility.”
“Did your parents know everything you did?”
“No.”
“How about everything you thought? Every conversation with a friend?”
“No.”
“That’s what we’re talking about here.”
“Think about Spencer Hill’s parents,” she countered.
That stunned him into silence. They looked at each other.
She said, “If they could do it over again, if Betsy and Ron had Spencer back—”
“You can’t do that, Tia.”
“No, listen to me. If they had to do it over again, if Spencer was alive, don’t you think they’d wish they’d kept a closer eye on him?”
Spencer Hill, a classmate of Adam’s, had committed suicide four months ago. It had been devastating, of course, hitting Adam and his classmates hard. Mike reminded Tia of that fact.
“Don’t you think that explains Adam’s behavior?”
“Spencer’s suicide?”
“Of course.”
“To a point, yes. But you know he was already changing. That just sped things up.”
“So maybe if we give him more room . . .”
“No,” Tia said, her tone cutting off any debate. “That tragedy may make Adam’s behavior more understandable—but it doesn’t make it less dangerous. If anything, it’s just the opposite.”
Mike thought about that. “We should tell him,” he said.
“What?”
“Tell Adam we’re monitoring his online behavior.”
She made a face. “What’s the point in that?”
“So he knows he’s being watched.”
“This isn’t like putting a cop on your tail so you don’t speed.”
“It’s exactly like that.”
“He’ll just do whatever it is he’s doing at a friend’s house or use an Internet café or something.”
“So? You have to let him know. Adam puts his private thoughts on that computer.”
Tia took a step closer to him and put a hand on his chest. Even now, even after all these years, her touch still had an effect on him. “He’s in trouble, Mike,” she said. “Don’t you see that? Your son is in trouble. He might be drinking or doing drugs or who knows what. Stop burying your head in the sand.”
“I’m not burying my head anywhere.”
Her voice was almost a plea. “You want the easy way out. You’re hoping, what, that Adam will just outgrow this?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. But think about it. This is new technology. He puts his secret thoughts and emotions down there. Would you have wanted your parents to know all that about you?”
“It’s a different world now,” Tia said.
“You sure about that?”
“What’s the harm? We’re his parents. We want what’s best for him.”
Mike shook his head again. “You don’t want to know a person’s every thought,” he said. “Some things should remain private.”
She took her hand off him. “You mean, a secret?”
“Yes.”
“Are you saying that a person is entitled to their secrets?”
“Of course they are.”
She looked at him then, in a funny way, and he didn’t much like it.
“Do you have secrets?” she asked him.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Do you have secrets from me?” Tia asked again.
“No. But I don’t want you to know my every thought either.”
“And I don’t want you to know mine.”
They both stopped, on that line, before she stepped back.
“But if it’s a choice of protecting my son or giving him his privacy,” Tia said, “I’m going to protect him.”
The discussion—Mike didn’t want to classify it as an argument—lasted for a month. Mike tried to coax his son back to them. He invited Adam to the mall, the arcade, concerts even. Adam refused. He stayed out of the house until all hours, curfews be damned. He stopped coming down to eat dinner. His grades slipped. They managed to get him to visit a therapist once. The therapist thought that there might be depression issues. He suggested perhaps medication, but he wanted to see Adam again first. Adam pointedly refused.
When they insisted that he go back to the therapist, Adam ran away for two days. He wouldn’t answer his mobile phone. Mike and Tia were frantic. It ended up that he’d just been hiding at a friend’s house.
“We’re losing him,” Tia had argued again.
And Mike said nothing.
“In the end, we’re just their caretakers, Mike. We get them for a little while and then they live their lives. I just want him to stay alive and healthy until we let him go. The rest will be up to him.”
Mike nodded. “Okay, then.”
“You sure?” she said.
“No.”
“Neither am I. But I keep thinking about Spencer Hill.”
He nodded again.
“Mike?”
He looked at her. She gave him the crooked smile, the one he’d first seen on a cold autumn day at Dartmouth. That smile had cork-screwed into his heart and stayed there.