17
Sarah released the last of her second graders into the custody of the last hurrying parent and allowed herself to collapse at her desk for just a moment before she got up to straighten the room. Exactly six weeks ago today she had faced her class of second graders for the first time, and just this morning the calendar monitor had placed the last pasteboard apple on September 30.
The weeks had flown by, and she had discovered two things she hadn’t realized about teaching. One, she didn’t know half as much as she thought she did, and two, she loved teaching. She knew it was what she wanted to do when she went to college, and she had enjoyed her student teaching, but she had not been prepared for the sheer joy she felt when she and her very own class were engaged in learning. Maybe it had something to do with their age. Seven- and eight-year-olds seemed hardwired to love their teacher, if not everything she wanted them to do.
Her eyes fell on one desk, a little cockeyed from the others in the row, and she sighed. Olivia was not having an easy time of it. She was way behind the others academically, for one thing, but that wasn’t the real problem. Gran was working with her every day after school, and she’d soon catch up. It was that chip on her shoulder that was causing the real problem. She had come into the classroom with the attitude that no one was going to like her and she didn’t expect to like them either. Of course, it was becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Sarah got up and went to take the big September calendar down. She picked all the pasteboard apples off the numbered squares and put them back in their box. Tomorrow the new calendar monitor, Emma Anderson, would put the first pumpkin on October 1. Emma, who never got dirty, who never spoke out of turn, who was always offering to help, and who, quite frankly, really got on Sarah’s nerves.
For one thing, she was pretty sure that Emma was behind most of the animosity directed toward Olivia, not that Olivia didn’t help it along. Sarah had overheard Emma warning a group of kids not to play with Olivia because her mother said they’d learn too many bad things from her. Sarah had followed with a talk to the class about being kind and welcoming to everyone, and Emma had sat on the front row nodding at everything Sarah said. But it still seemed to be Olivia against the world.
“Hi. Are you busy?” Chris stuck his head in the door.
“Just turning September into October. Come on in.”
“Ah, so you’re the one who’s doing it, huh? I’d noticed it was happening.” He paused. “I wonder if you have a minute to talk.”
“Sure. I’d ask you to sit down, but . . .” Sarah gestured around the room of child-sized chairs.
“It’s okay. I’m not staying long. I’m just on my way back to work.” Concern marked his face. “How’s Olivia settling in?”
Sarah hesitated. “What does Olivia say?”
“Well, that’s why I stopped by. When I pick her up, she seems pretty happy, until I try to find out how her day went. Then she stops talking altogether unless it’s to say how much she hates everyone. But when she gets out of the car at your grandmother’s, she’s happy again. Do you know what’s going on?”
“It hasn’t been a real easy adjustment. It’s always hard being the new kid in class, especially when everyone else has known each other all their lives.” Sarah wished she could be more reassuring. “But I’m keeping an eye on things, and if a real problem develops, of course I’ll tell you.”
“Yeah, well, she’s not had it easy.” He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then blew it out in a gust. “Well, I’d better get back. It’s pretty much a madhouse over there. We’ve been getting deliveries all day.”
“How’s it going?”
“I know we’ll be ready by Saturday night. Rita says so, and I hear she’s never wrong about these things. But I have to say, I’m sure having to take her word for it. I know the food is under control, but that’s the only thing I know.”
“If Rita says you’re good, you’re good.” Sarah laughed. “Just run your kitchen and leave the rest to her. Did you sell a lot of tickets?”
“We’ve been sold out for nearly two weeks—and not just to local folks either.”
“I know. My friend Brandon is coming all the way from Chicago for this.”
“Yeah, right.” Chris grinned. “That’s exactly why he’s coming.” He headed for the door, stopping just before he stepped through it. “You’ll keep me posted about Livvy, right?”
“Absolutely.”
Chris threw her a grateful smile and closed the door behind him. Not for the first time, Sarah wished she had about five minutes to explain a few things to Chris’s sister. That woman had no idea what she was just tossing away. And Sarah wasn’t just thinking of Olivia either.
Chris could have put in at least a couple hours more work at the Dip ’n’ Dine when he locked the door and got in his Jeep. Elizabeth had assured him that he need not be concerned about those nights when he would be unavoidably detained, but he wanted to make them as few as possible. Olivia seemed truly happy and relaxed when he picked her up at Elizabeth’s, and he did not want to mess that up.
Olivia must have seen him pull up, because she came flying out the door as he opened the gate. “Come inside. I made some cookies all by myself. Miss Elizabeth didn’t do one thing.”
“Not one thing?” Chris let her grab his hand and tug him up the steps.
“No, sir.” Elizabeth met them at the front door with a smile and a plate of cookies. “I stood by with some advice, but Livvy did all the measuring, mixing, scooping, and baking by herself.”
“And I didn’t burn myself either, like you always say I will.” Olivia looked up at him, and the pride in her face touched his heart.
Why hadn’t he thought to cook with Olivia? He supposed he was either too busy at work or too tired afterward. Whoever said that being a single parent wasn’t for the faint of heart knew what they were talking about, that’s for sure.
“Here, have one.” Olivia took the plate from Elizabeth and held it up to her uncle.
Chris chose one and took a bite. “Livvy, these are amazing. Are you sure you did this all by yourself?”
“Ask her.” Olivia gestured toward Elizabeth with the plate, causing the cookies to come precariously close to sliding off the edge.
“Well, if Miss Elizabeth says so, it has to be true. But I have to say these are incredible. Good job, Livvy.”
“Have some more.” She held the plate up to him again.
“You don’t want your uncle to spoil his dinner, Olivia.” Elizabeth took the plate back and handed her a brown paper bag. “I saved some cookies for us to have when you get home from school tomorrow, but you can take the rest home with you. And don’t forget, I want you to show your uncle how well you can read too. So, five pages before you go to bed, okay?”
She looked at Chris for confirmation and he nodded. “Sounds great. Cookies, milk, and a good book. I can’t wait.”
Olivia skipped next to him as they walked to the car, and she was humming a little bit when he made sure her seat belt was fastened in the backseat. He knew asking the wrong question could easily bring on the sullen silence Olivia hid behind when she felt cornered, but she was in such a good mood that he took the risk.
“Livvy?” He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “How was school today?”
She shrugged. “Sort of okay. Mostly I hate it.”
“Why? Miss Cooley is nice, isn’t she?”
“She’s not as nice as when she took me to ride her horses, but she’s still sort of nice.”
“I’m glad to hear it. So why do you hate it?”
“Because the kids are dumb. And they’re mean.”
“All of them?”
“Yep. Especially Emma A.”
“Emma Anderson? The girl I met? I thought she seemed like a nice girl.”
“Well, she’s not. She’s mean and she makes all the other kids be mean too.”
“Does Miss Cooley know?” Chris had stopped under the carport of his singlewide and turned around to look at Olivia in the backseat.
She shrugged and looked away. Chris saw the light fade from her face and knew he was in danger of losing her to that dark place she hid in when life overwhelmed. He retreated.
“Okay. I want to go get dinner over with so I can eat some more of those cookies. What shall we fix?”
Olivia hopped out of the backseat, still clutching her brown paper bag. “Macaroni and cheese with hot dogs in it.” She didn’t hesitate. “The kind from the box. Not that kind you make.”
Chris followed her inside. There was a time, and fairly recently too, when boxed macaroni and cheese, not to mention hot dogs, would never have been found anywhere near his house. But he had learned.
There was something in the air the next morning that Sarah couldn’t quite put her finger on, but she felt a little uneasy. The class was a little harder to settle, but that could be attributed to the excitement that rippled through the room when she told them they would be going on a field trip to a pumpkin patch later on in the month. But there was more. More whispering, more giggling, more shoving in line. For the first time, she found herself exasperated with the entire class and not just a rowdy one or two.
It all came to a head during recess. Sarah didn’t have yard duty, so she was using the time to prepare for the next segment of the day when she heard the eruption of noise on the playground. She raised her head and listened briefly before returning to her task. The playground was well monitored, and all would be taken care of.
Suddenly Anthony Montoya and Ethan Casey charged through her doorway. “Teacher! Teacher!”
“Miss Cooley,” Sarah corrected automatically as she got to her feet. Now what?
“Miss Cooley! Olivia is beating up Emma A.!”
By the time Sarah got to the playground, the girls had been separated and the playground monitor was trying to establish what had happened. Both girls were crying and neither would answer any questions, but the group of students who had gathered around all vied with each other to be heard. Sarah raised her hands to quiet everyone.
“What is going on here? Emma? Olivia? What in the world happened?”
Olivia, still sniveling, shot a murderous glare toward Emma but said nothing. When Sarah pressed her, she looked at the ground and refused to talk. She wiped her eyes with her fist and her nose with the back of her hand.
Emma, however, was sobbing and ready to tell all. “She pushed me down, and I’m bleeding.” She showed Sarah a skinned knee and elbow that were indeed bleeding before she noticed further outrage. “And my dress is torn! It was new too.” She could not continue her narrative, so great was her grief.
Sarah took a deep breath. This was going nowhere. She looked at the crowd gathered around. “Did anyone see exactly what happened?”
Again they all erupted in explanation, and Sarah could gather nothing. “Okay, you and you.” She designated two of her second graders who she knew to be fairly serious. “You come with Emma and Olivia and me. We’re going to the principal’s office.”
Stopping long enough to ask an aide to stay with her class until she got back, Sarah marched a sullen Olivia, a loudly sobbing Emma, and two witnesses, grave with the importance of their task, off to the principal’s office to see if she could figure out what had actually happened.
Late that night, when Sarah took her mug of tea and her book and crawled into bed, she could only be thankful that at least the day was behind her. It had been a disaster. Mrs. Martinez, the principal, was much more adept at getting to the bottom of things and had it all sorted out in about two minutes. Sadly, it appeared that the physical attack, anyway, had been entirely one-sided. And Emma had gone down like a roped calf.
It still wasn’t entirely clear what had provoked the attack. Emma had said she had just asked Olivia where her mother was. Olivia hadn’t refuted Emma’s account. She had not, in fact, said a word in her own defense the entire time she had been in the principal’s office. Sarah knew there had to be more to it than that, but rules were rules. Violence definitely violated those rules; asking questions did not.
Sue Anderson and Chris Reed had been summoned to the school. Sue, quite understandably, was outraged. After all, it was her child with the bloodied knee and the torn dress. She pointed out that it was the school’s responsibility to protect children from bullies, that Olivia was twice the size of Emma even if they were the same age, and that she herself had warned Miss Cooley that Olivia bore watching.
In the end, Olivia had been suspended for three days. Sue thought the punishment far too lax, but Mrs. Martinez told her—and warned Olivia—that three days’ suspension was the penalty for a first infraction. It went up from there.
Chris apologized to Sue Anderson and Mrs. Martinez, offered to pay for the ruined dress, and took Olivia away. He looked so defeated and Olivia looked so hostile that Sarah’s heart broke. Just yesterday she had assured him that she had everything under control and that she would let him know if any problems developed. Today he was taking Olivia out of school in disgrace. She followed him outside and caught up with him in the parking lot.
“Chris.” He turned to wait for her to catch up. She only hoped that the anger in his eyes was not directed toward her. “Take her to Gran.”
He put his hands on Olivia’s shoulders and started to shake his head, but Sarah interrupted before he could say a word.
“Seriously. You both need some space. Gran’s is absolutely the best place for Olivia right now. I’ll call and tell her you’re coming. You can explain why when you get there.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and his face, usually so warm and open, was closed and grim. Finally, he nodded and walked away with Olivia. As his friend, and as someone who had come to truly care for Olivia, there was so much she wanted to say. She wanted to apologize for allowing the situation to escalate like it did; she wanted to say that she knew this wasn’t all Olivia’s fault and that Emma had played more of a part than she was getting credit for. She wanted to call out that Chris was doing an amazing job and that Olivia was a terrific little girl. But as Miss Cooley, second grade teacher, she could only watch him go, then turn and walk back to her classroom.
Sarah snuggled back against her pillows and tugged her covers up under her chin. She took a deep breath, held it as long as she could, and then released it in a long, gentle hiss. Time to let the day go. There were plenty more coming up she’d have to deal with.
She smiled to herself as she let her thoughts go to the upcoming weekend. Brandon was landing in El Paso Friday morning and would be in Last Chance by the time she got out of school Friday afternoon. She had to admit that while she originally hadn’t been wild about his idea of flying in for the weekend, she had come to really look forward to it. They were going out for dinner somewhere Friday night. He wouldn’t say where, but she knew it would involve a drive. Saturday they were going for a long ride at the ranch. Brandon wasn’t crazy about horses, but he was a good enough rider. And Saturday night there was “Hot Chile and Cool Jazz.” She was really excited about that, even if Brandon did keep teasing her about having a low threshold for excitement.
When the phone on her bedside table rang, she didn’t even have to look to see who it was. He was putting in long hours at work, and it was always after midnight in Chicago when he called.
“Hey there. I was just thinking about you.” Sarah smiled into the room.
“Really? That sounds promising. What were you thinking?”
“Oh, just about the stuff we’re going to do this weekend.”
“Oh?” His voice was low and almost purred. “And what kind of stuff is that?”
Sarah sat up and made her voice matter-of-fact. It was time to bring Brandon back to reality. “Dinner, horseback riding, the chile and jazz thing at the Dip ’n’ Dine. You know, the things we talked about.”
“Ah. And that brings me to the reason I called.”
“What?” Sarah did not like the sound of this. At all.
“Well, babe, I’m afraid I’m going to have to beg off this weekend.”
“You’re what?”
“Things have just gotten crazy. I’m going to have to work all weekend. I hate it that I’m not going to get to see you, but hey, you’re coming Thanksgiving, right? It’ll be here before we know it.”
“Then what was all that stuff about wanting to know what we were going to do this weekend?”
There was a pause on the line, and Sarah could almost see him shrug. “I don’t know. Just hoping I’d hear something I liked, I guess.”
It was Sarah’s turn to let the line go silent a moment. “Well, that really stinks.”
“Yeah, well, I hate it too, babe, but it can’t be helped.” He waited for a moment and then continued. “Listen, I still have a boatload of work tonight, so I’d better get to it.”
“All right. Bye.”
“Bye-bye. Call you soon.”
Sarah let her phone drop on the bed beside her. The chief drawback of cell phones, other than their occasional bent for self-drowning, was that you could not slam down the receiver. And if ever there were a time to slam a receiver, it was now.
She got out of bed and padded to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Her tea was cold and she was way too mad to sleep.