Free South of Broad by Pat Conroy

We’re all here because of drugs. Our kids were arrested and thrown out of Porter-Gaud. The Kings have been very kind in helping us out.”
    “There must be some mistake, Simmons,” Worth said, his voice edged with a withering irony. “I don’t believe I directed the question to you. So I’d appreciate your silence if I can’t count on your support.”
    “Dr. King is checking her list,” Simmons replied. “You just asked her if we covered everything at our meeting. She was doing exactly as you asked. That’s all I’m saying.”
    Mrs. Rutledge joined the debate. “In my day, we just drank and got in trouble. I don’t understand anything about this drug culture. If Molly and Chad want to be bad, just go out to the beach house and get drunk. Sleep it off and come home the next day, and no one will be the wiser for it.”
    “If you don’t mind, Hess,” Simmons said, “we’d rather Molly not get drunk, and we’d much rather she sleeps in our house than your beach house.”
    From our end of the table, during the course of this low-key disagreement, I watched as Worth Rutledge drained his martini and sucked the onions off the toothpick. Another martini appeared by his plate without a hand sign or gesture being made. A waiter began ladling out a bowlful of she-crab soup as I heard the subject turn to me.
    “Hey, Leo?” Mr. Rutledge said. “You had some pretty big problems with drugs when you were younger, didn’t you?” With those words, Worth Rutledge altered the mood of our lunch.
    “Hush up, Worth,” his wife snapped. “For God’s sakes.”
    “I don’t think my son has anything to do with today’s meeting,” my father said. I had never appreciated his calmness under fire as I did then.
    “I asked you a simple question, Leo,” Mr. Rutledge said. “I think it’s a fair one under the circumstances. Maybe you can give our kids some tips on your rehabilitation. I looked up your record: you were caught with a half pound of cocaine and kicked out of Bishop Ireland High School. So I imagine you can offer some good advice to Molly and my boy.”
    “Attacking a kid,” said Simmons Huger. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Worth.”
    “I’d like Leo to tell us about his experience. It seems to have a lot of relevance to what we’ve discussed today,” Worth replied.
    “Yes, sir,” I admitted. “I was caught and charged with possession of cocaine. I’m still on probation and have some community service to perform.”
    “So you’re proof that this isn’t the end of the world for Molly and my boy. Right, Leo?” Mr. Rutledge’s voice intimidated me into confusion, if not silence.
    “I’ve got a couple of more weeks of court-appointed therapy, then I’ll—”
    “Therapy? You go to a shrink, Leo?” Mr. Rutledge was staring hard at me, failing to notice my mother’s arctic and dangerous silence.
    “Yes, sir,” I answered. “Once a week. But I’m almost finished.”
    “Son,” Father said, “you don’t have to tell Mr. Rutledge a thing about your life. It’s of no concern to him.”
    Mr. Rutledge turned to my father. “Beg to differ with you, Jasper.” When he pronounced my father’s first name, there was mockery. I knew my father was sensitive about his name and wished his mother’s father had carried a different one.
    “Daddy, your tone of voice,” Fraser said to her father, embarrassment reddening her cheekbones.
    “I didn’t hear anyone ask for your opinion, either, young lady,” her father retorted.
    Hess Rutledge entered the fray, but with trepidation. “She heard the anger in your voice, dear. You know how your anger upsets her.”
    Her husband threw up his hands. “All day I’ve been condescended to about my son, and what this does to his chances to get into a good college, and whether he’ll even graduate from his class next spring.”
    Then I heard my mother say, “Who was condescending to you, Mr. Rutledge?”
    “You were, madam,” he answered. “And