CHAPTER ONE

Wicked cold rain blackened the night outside the small country house near Plant City while brilliant light and celebration reigned inside. Noisemakers, balloons, and spiked punch encouraged merriment, but Darla Nixon was isolated from the party both by the throbbing headache between her brows and because she was the boss. Not just another member of the team, she was the principal, responsible for everything about Abraham Lincoln Elementary. She felt her responsibilities keenly. And she loved her work.

When she closed her eyes briefly, her eyelids scraped like Brillo. She winced at the burn. A soothing tear escaped each eye. Exhaustion claimed her.

How long had it been since she’d slept? More than the routine insomnia she’d learned to cope with, her failure to rest over the busy holiday season had finally caught up with her. Darla craved the silence of the rain-soaked night, imagining it might soothe her to sleep.

A comforting hand rested on her shoulder. Darla opened her eyes to gaze into Marie Webster’s concerned face. The young woman was holding a glass of something stronger than spiked punch; the glow on her face was more than pride.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Darla smiled gently, laying her hand over Marie’s. The younger woman’s selection as Teacher of the Year had come as no surprise to her principal. Darla envied the kindergarten students who flourished under Marie’s nurturing, comfortable style. Many days, Darla wished she could sit in Marie’s lap and enjoy chocolate milk and gingerbread cookies, too.

“Is it your eyes?”

The tightly-controlled Marie didn’t drink often. Her words slurred around before they emerged too slowly. Darla didn’t mind. Marie was entitled to some fun; there was precious little of it in her life.

Marie’s query referred to the retinitis pigmentosa that was destroying Darla’s eyesight, marching forward relentlessly, blocking the light until ultimately she’d be blind. The day was coming. Darla had been staving it off for twenty years but she knew her luck would run out. Most RP patients were legally blind by 40, and Darla was more than ten years beyond that. She lived on borrowed light.

At her eye exam two months ago, the specialist had confirmed the blind spots in her visual fields that Darla concealed from everyone else.

“You must give up driving, Darla. Especially at night,” he’d told her, noting his recommendations in his chart as he talked. “You have almost no peripheral vision on the right side and your night vision is extremely poor now. Driving is too dangerous. For you, and for everyone else on the road.”

She’d told no one about the results of those tests, nor did she intend to. She couldn’t give up driving. Since her two sons left home for college six years ago Darla had lived alone. She took care of herself, drove to work and back, did her own food shopping and preparation. She would not give up her independence. Her old car had so many dents from her various misjudgments, Darla had stopped noticing them. No, she would continue to do what she’d done the past three years: drive as little as possible and hope for the best.

Now, Darla patted Marie’s hand again. “I’m feeling a little tired. Would you mind if I didn’t stay for the cake?”

“Of course not. I’d offer to drive you home, but I’m a bit tipsy.”

Before Marie’s words were spoken, Darla refused. The last thing she wanted was to spoil the party and draw attention to her condition. She suspected that her team would really cut loose once the boss was gone, and that was perfectly okay. They worked hard. They deserved to celebrate.

“Well, at least, let me see you out, then,” Marie’s selfless compassion seemed limitless, despite her own personal challenges. Marie handled her life as a single mother of a mentally-handicapped eight-year-old son with such aplomb. Oh, many times Darla had been the one to console Marie. Paul could be quite a handful. He acted out often, more like an irritable two-year-old than a child his age.

Paul had several medical problems and he was often mistreated by other children. Such inevitable events of childhood were especially cruel to the young woman and her hopelessly immature son. Still, Darla suspected Marie was stronger than she, even if Marie didn’t realize it.

Darla glanced up at the banner over the kitchen table. Teacher of the Year. Darla was proud of Marie, of all she’d overcome, of all she’d managed to accomplish. But she knew Marie had a tough road ahead, too. Paul’s mental capacity would not improve, but he would grow taller and stronger. His uncontrollable rages would become impossible for Marie to manage on her own. They’d discussed all of this before, and Darla had asked for legal advice about Marie’s options from her friend, Judge Willa Carson. Darla planned to persuade Marie with Willa’s help, but Darla said nothing more tonight. A party wasn’t the time or place for serious conversations.

Darla patted Marie’s shoulder saying, “Congratulations, honey.”

Marie replied, “I couldn’t have done it without you. You believed in me when no one else did. You’ve helped me so much with Paul. I can’t thank you enough, Darla. Really.”

“Where is Paul tonight?” Darla asked as they walked to the door. She watched Marie’s expression anxiously. The child meant everything to his mother, a situation destined to bring heartache.

“He’s staying overnight with a neighbor’s boy. It’s the first night I’ve had to myself in years.” Marie placed Darla’s sweater over her shoulders, opened the door, and held the umbrella over their heads while they walked across the muddy yard to Darla’s car.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Don’t worry so much,” Marie chastised her gently. “Paul’s played over there before. I think it’ll be all right. If not, I guess Ginny will call me and I’ll go pick him up.”

When Darla was safely inside, Marie leaned into the front seat and said, “Watch those trash bags out there. This wind is likely to have blown them into the street. Pickup isn’t until tomorrow.” Marie closed the car door firmly and stood looking into the window.

Darla started the car, turned on the lights, flipped the windshield wipers to high and waited. The wind blew hard, cold rain across the driveway, pushing Marie to hurry back to the house, unsteady on her feet. She waved to Darla from the doorway until something inside captured her attention. Marie closed the door firmly, extinguishing the stream of light that had brightened the sidewalk, plunging Darla into almost total darkness. Only her headlights dimly illuminated the yard. She shivered.

“No time like the present,” Darla said aloud, took a deep breath, pressed her foot on the brake pedal and shifted into reverse.