13

Harden’s office was a clean and spartan affair, with decor that looked like it had last been updated in the 1970s. His bookshelves were filled with great tomes about military history and religion. Interesting mix, I thought, but not surprising. In Coulee County, religion and violence were always close bedfellows.

Behind his desk were some photos of Harden with what I assumed were former students. In all of them, he stood in front of a concrete maze lined with plants, flowers, and hedges. The students smiled, while Harden posed as the proud father whose hard work had finally paid off.

“Those are my success stories,” he said.

“You’ve only had ten successes?” Ronnie asked.

It was actually a good question. I had been thinking the same thing. Harden, for his part, took the question in stride. “When I say successes, I mean successes.” He swiveled in his chair and pointed at a photo of a smiling red-haired kid. “That’s Jimmy Lawson.”

I waited for more.

“You boys don’t know Jimmy Lawson?”

“We’re from Arkansas,” I said.

Harden laughed. “Well, that explains it. Jimmy’s the new county prosecutor. He came through here in ninety-three. That kid was messed up. But I’m going to tell you what he needed.”

Ronnie and I both waited as Harden drew out the moment.

“He needed somebody to tell him no, and mean it. That’s what I did. I told him no. You’d be surprised how many boys crave that.”

I nodded, trying to decide exactly how to play this. I needed him to believe our boy was a good fit for the school, at least long enough to show me around, to let me meet the teachers, particularly Blevins, and get a feel for the place.

“My cousin lives in the area and she told us about the good work you do here, Mr. Harden. We’ve flown out from Arkansas to check the place out. I’d very much like to hear about your philosophy and maybe see the place. And meet some of the teachers.”

“Hold your horses,” he said. “This school ain’t for everybody. I’ll need to hear a little about your boy. And I’d like to meet him, of course. Why don’t you start by telling me why you believe your boy would benefit from a program like this. Did your cousin tell you what we focus on here?”

“She said you had a way of straightening boys out. That you’d been here for a long time and got the job done. My grandson, Leroy, he’s into drugs and guns, and recently we found out he got some girl pregnant. A middle-schooler. I’m ashamed to tell you these things, Mr. Harden, but I assume you’ve heard worse.”

Harden was silent for a moment. From somewhere outside, I heard some boys shouting, chanting something.

“What’s that?” Ronnie said.

“Just morning exercises,” Harden said. He stood and shut his office door. The sounds went away.

“I’m flattered that you’ve made such a long trip because of the good things you’ve heard about our school, but I’m going to be up front with you. I’m going to have to see if we have room. We’ve had an influx of new students lately.”

“Well,” I said. “I’d like to hear a little more either way. We’ve got to decide if this is the best place for Leroy. Like I said, meet the teachers and whatnot.”

Harden picked up the phone on his desk. “Mindy, can you ask Dr. Blevins to come to my office?” He hung up and smiled at us. “Excuse me,” he said. He walked out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

“What do you think that’s about?” I said in a low whisper.

Ronnie shrugged. “Why are we checking this place out again?”

“Abuse.”

“Right.” He nodded. “He’s the type.”

“What do you mean?” We were both still whispering so he wouldn’t be able to hear us right outside the door, but another possibility struck me. What if he was recording us? What if I’d said something that let him know I was here for reconnaissance and not for my grandson?

“I mean, he’s got that look. You know, handsome but a little creepy. Full of himself. Like your daddy.”

“Yeah,” I said, realizing there was definitely something about Harden that put me in mind of my father. I thought it was the air of confidence he exuded, the sense that he’d carved out his place and that even when the world around him changed, he’d just drag the old world with him, using it to insulate himself from the changes and requirements brought on by the new one.

The door opened up and Harden came in, followed by a large, bald man with a big smile. The bald man seemed almost boyish in his manner, like a big, goofy kid who’d found himself in a man’s body. He wore black sweatpants and a T-shirt that said SCIENCE IS ALWAYS CHANGING in large green block letters.

“This is Dr. Timothy Blevins,” Harden said. “We call him Coach. He teaches science and handles the coaching.”

“You have teams here?” I said, hoping he wouldn’t recognize my voice.

Dr. Blevins shook Ronnie’s hand and then mine, meeting my eyes with his own big brown ones. “No, not like that. I coach the boys on how to behave like men. I teach them to get in touch with who they are, who God made them to be.”

“I see.”

Blevins’s expression changed slightly. He looked less boyish and a little more crafty, like a kid who’d figured out he could steal bubblegum instead of paying for it. “Do I know you?”

“Maybe. You got ties to Arkansas?”

He seemed to relax. “No, my people are all from right here in North Georgia.” He beamed. “God’s country.”

“I have to admit,” Ronnie said, “it is pretty.”

An awkward silence followed.

“Well,” I said. “What kind of things do you teach the boys?”

I was talking to Blevins, but Harden was the one who answered. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Sorry to say, Mr. Jenkins, but I think we’re full at the moment. If you’d made contact just a week or two earlier, we would have had a spot, but …” He shook his head and held out his hands apologetically.

“Full?” I said.

“That’s right,” Blevins said. “Not a single room. We should be graduating some boys next spring, if you want to check back then.”

“Well, I sure do hate to hear that,” I said.

“It sounds like your grandson isn’t as bad off as some we have here,” Blevins said.

“He’s in pretty bad shape. What do you have here, murderers?”

I couldn’t miss the quick look Blevins and Harden exchanged. Then Harden smiled. “We’re just full. I think what Coach means to say is you seem like the kind of man who can figure this out. You got your son here. That’s two male role models, Daddy and Granddaddy. Hell, most of the boys we have haven’t had a single decent male role model in their life before they came here. Just stay on him. Discipline is key.”

“And don’t forget that the love of a father is crucial. Boys have to make a connection with male role models before it’s too late,” Blevins said. The way he said it made it clear he’d recited that line over and over again.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

We shook hands all around, and Harden opened his office door to let us out. “You can find your way out?”

“Sure,” I said, thankful they weren’t walking us to our car. I wasn’t done yet.

“Can you distract the girl at the desk?” I whispered to Ronnie.

“Sure. Easy.”

“Do it. I’m heading to the stairs. After I’m clear, get the truck”—I handed him the keys as we made our way down the hallway—“and meet me out by the gate.”

“When?”

“Give me twenty minutes.”

“What if you’re not there?”

“I’ll call you if something changes.”

“Okay, got it.”

When we made it to the desk, I turned toward the exit but walked slowly. Ronnie went toward the front desk. Once I heard him talking, I veered toward the stairs, moving quickly and quietly. I opened the door and disappeared into the stairwell.