A Bend in the Road (4 page)

Miles looked up
at him. “What?”

“He didn’t have
a case. Beck Swanson suddenly got a case of amnesia about what happened.”

“But I was there—”

“You got there
after it happened. You didn’tsee it.”

“But I saw the
blood. I saw the broken chair and table in the middle of the bar.

I saw the crowd that
had gathered.”

“I know, I know.
But what was Harvey supposed to do? Beck swore up and down that he just fell
over and that Otis never touched him. He said he’d been confused that night,
but now that his mind was clear, he remembered everything.” Miles suddenly lost
his appetite, and he pushed his plate off to the side. “If I went down there
again, I’m sure that I could find someone who saw what happened.”

Charlie shook
his head. “I know it grates on you, but what good would it do? You know how
many of Otis’s brothers were there that night. They’d also say that nothing
happened—and who knows, maybe they were the ones who actually did it.  Without Beck’s testimony, what choice did
Harvey have? Besides, you know Otis.

He’ll do
something else—just give him time.”

“That’s what I’m
worried about.”

Miles and Otis
Timson had a long history between them. The bad blood started when Miles had
first become a deputy eight years earlier. He’d arrested Clyde Timson, Otis’s father,
for assault when he’d thrown his wife through the screen door on their mobile
home. Clyde had spent time in prison for that—though not as long as he should
have—and over the years, five of his six sons had spent time in prison as well
on offenses ranging from drug dealing to assault to car theft.  To Miles, Otis posed the greatest danger
simply because he was the smartest. 
Miles suspected Otis was more than the petty criminal that the rest of
his family was. For one thing, he didn’t look the part. Unlike his brothers, he
shied away from tattoos and kept his hair cut short; there were times he
actually held down odd jobs, doing manual labor. He didn’t look like a
criminal, but looks were deceiving. His name was loosely linked with various
crimes, and townspeople frequently speculated that it was he who directed the
flow of drugs into the county, though Miles had no way to prove that. All of
their raids had come up empty, much to Miles’s frustration.

Otis also held
on to a grudge.

He didn’t fully
understand that until after Jonah was born. He’d arrested three of Otis’s
brothers after a riot had broken out at their family reunion. A week after
that, Missy was rocking four-month-old Jonah in the living room when a brick
came crashing through the window. It nearly hit them, and a shard of glass cut
Jonah’s cheek. Though he couldn’t prove it, Miles knew that Otis had somehow
been responsible, and Miles showed up at the Timson compound—a series of
decrepit mobile homes arranged in a semicircle on the outskirts of town—with
three other deputies, their guns drawn. The Timsons came out peacefully and,
without a word, held out their hands to be cuffed and were taken in.  In the end, no charges were brought for lack
of evidence. Miles was furious, and after the Timsons were released, he
confronted Harvey Wellman outside his office. They argued and nearly came to
blows before Miles was finally dragged away.

In the
following years, there were other things: gunshots fired nearby, a mysterious
fire in Miles’s garage, incidents that were more akin to adolescent pranks. But
again, without witnesses, there was nothing Miles could do. Since Missy’s death
it had been relatively quiet.

Until the
latest arrest.

Charlie glanced
up from his food, his expression serious. “Listen, you and I both know he’s
guilty as hell, but don’t even think about handling this on your own. You don’t
want this thing to escalate like it did before. You’ve got Jonah to think about
now, and you’re not always there to watch out for him.” Miles looked out the
window as Charlie went on.

“Look—he’ll do
something stupid again, and if there’s a case, I’ll be the first to come down
on him. You know that. But don’t go looking for trouble—he’s bad news. So stay
away from him.”

Miles still
didn’t respond.

“Let it go, you
got that?” Charlie was speaking now not simply as a friend, but as Miles’s boss
as well.

“Why are you
telling me this?”

“I just told you
why.”

Miles looked at
Charlie closely. “But there’s something else, isn’t there.” Charlie held
Miles’s gaze for a long moment. “Look . . . Otis says you got a little rough
when you arrested him, and he filed a complaint—” Miles slammed his hand
against the table, the noise reverberating throughout the restaurant. People at
the next table jumped and turned to stare, but Miles didn’t notice.

“That’s crap—”

Charlie raised
his hands to stop him. “Hell, I know that, and I told Harvey that, too, and
Harvey isn’t gonna do anything with it. But you and him aren’t exactly best
friends, and he knows what you’re like when you get worked up. Even though he’s
not gonna press it, he thinks it’s possible that Otis is telling the truth and
he told me to tell you to lay off.”

“So what am I
supposed to do if I see Otis committing a crime? Look the other way?”

“Hell, no—don’t
be stupid. I’d come down on you if you did that. Just keep your distance for a
while, until all this blows over, unless there’s no other choice.  I’m telling you this for your own good,
okay?”

It took a
moment before Miles finally sighed. “Fine,” he answered.  Even as he spoke, however, he knew that he
and Otis weren’t finished with one another yet.

Three hours
after meeting with Charlie, Miles pulled into a parking space in front of
Grayton Elementary School just as classes were being dismissed. Three school
buses were idling and students began drifting toward them, clustering in groups
of four or six. Miles saw Jonah at the same time his son saw him. Jonah waved
happily and ran toward the car; Miles knew that in a few more years, once
adolescence settled in, Jonah wouldn’t do that anymore. Jonah leapt into his
open arms and Miles squeezed him tight, enjoying the closeness while he
could.  “Hey, champ, how was school?”

Jonah pulled
back. “It was fine. How’s work going?”

“It’s better now
that I’m done.”

“Did you arrest
anyone today?”

Miles shook his
head. “Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Listen, do you want to get some ice cream
after I finish up here?”

Jonah nodded
enthusiastically and Miles put him down. “Fair enough. We’ll do that.” He bent
lower and met his son’s eyes. “Do you think you’ll be okay on the playground
while I talk to your teacher? Or do you want to wait inside?” “I’m not a little
kid anymore, Dad. Besides, Mark has to stay, too. His mom’s at the doctor’s
office.”

Miles looked up
and saw Jonah’s best friend waiting impatiently near a basketball hoop. Miles
tucked Jonah’s shirt back in.

“Well, you two
stay together, okay? And don’t go wandering, either of you.”

“We won’t.”

“All right,
then—but be careful.”

Jonah handed his father
his backpack and scrambled off. Miles tossed it onto the front seat and started
through the parking lot, weaving among the cars. A few kids shouted greetings,
as did some mothers who drove their kids home from school. Miles stopped and
visited with some of them, waiting until the commotion outside finally began to
die down. Once the buses were on their way and most of the cars were gone, the
teachers headed back inside. Miles took one last glance in Jonah’s direction
before following them into the school. 
As soon as he entered the building, he was hit with a blast of hot air.
The school was nearly forty years old, and though the cooling system had been
replaced more than once over the years, it wasn’t up to the task during the
first few weeks of school, when summer was still bearing down hard. Miles could
feel himself begin to sweat almost immediately, and he tugged at the front of
his shirt, fanning himself as he made his way down the hallway. Jonah’s
classroom, he knew, was in the far corner. When he got there, the classroom was
empty.

For a moment he
thought he’d entered the wrong room, but the children’s names on the roll sheet
confirmed he was where he was supposed to be. He checked his watch and,
realizing he was a couple of minutes early, wandered around the classroom. He
saw some work scribbled on the chalkboard, the desks arranged in orderly rows,
a rectangular table cluttered with construction paper and Elmer’s Glue-All.
Along the far wall were a few short compositions, and Miles was looking for
Jonah’s when he heard a voice behind him. 
“Sorry I’m late. I was dropping off a few things at the office.”

It was then
that Miles saw Sarah Andrews for the first time.  In that instant, no shivers pricked the hairs on the back of his
neck, no premonitions burst forth like exploding fireworks; he felt no sense of
foreboding at all, and looking back—considering all that was to come—he was
always amazed by that. He would, however, always remember his surprise at the
fact that Charlie had been right: Shewas attractive. Not glamorous in a
high-maintenance way, but definitely a woman whose passing would cause men to
turn their heads. Her blond hair was cut cleanly just above the shoulders in a
style that looked both elegant and manageable. She wore a long skirt and a
yellow blouse, and though her face was flushed from heat, her blue eyes seemed
to radiate a freshness, as if she’d just spent the day relaxing at the
beach.  “That’s okay,” he finally said.
“I was a little early anyway.” He held out his hand. “I’m Miles Ryan.”

As he spoke,
Sarah’s eyes briefly flickered downward toward his holster. Miles had seen the
look before—a look of apprehension—but before he could say anything, she met
his eyes and smiled. She took his hand as if it didn’t matter to her. “I’m
Sarah Andrews. I’m glad you could make it in today. I remembered after I sent
the note home that I hadn’t offered you the chance to reschedule if today was
inconvenient.”

“It wasn’t a
problem. My boss was able to work it out.”

She nodded,
holding his gaze. “Charlie Curtis, right? I’ve met his wife, Brenda.

She’s been
helping me get the hang of things around here.”

“Be
careful—she’ll talk your ear off if you give her the chance.” Sarah laughed.
“So I’ve realized. But she’s been great, she really has. It’s always a little
intimidating when you’re new, but she’s gone out of her way to make me feel as
if I belong here.”

“She’s a sweet
lady.”

For a moment,
neither of them said anything as they stood close together, and Miles
immediately sensed that she wasn’t as comfortable now that the small talk was
out of the way. She moved around the desk, looking as if she were ready to get
down to business. She began shuffling papers, scanning through the piles,
searching for what she needed. Outside, the sun peeked out from behind a cloud
and began slanting through the windows, zeroing in on them. The temperature
instantly seemed to rise, and Miles tugged on his shirt again. Sarah glanced up
at him.

“I know it’s
hot . . . I’ve been meaning to bring a fan in, but I haven’t had the chance to
pick one up yet.”

“I’ll be fine.”
Even as he said it, he could feel the sweat beginning to trickle down his chest
and back.

“Well, I’ll
give you a couple of options. You can pull up a chair and we can talk here and
maybe we both pass out, or we can do this outside where it’s a little cooler.
There are picnic tables in the shade.”

“Would that be
okay?”

“If you don’t
mind.”

“No, I don’t mind
at all. Besides, Jonah’s out on the playground, and that way I can keep an eye
on him.”

She nodded. “Good.
Just let me make sure I have everything. . . .” A minute later they left the
classroom, headed down the hall, and pushed open the door.

“So how long have
you been in town?” Miles finally asked.

“Since June.”

“How do you like
it?”

She looked over
at him. “It’s kind of quiet, but it’s nice.”

“Where’d you move
from?”

“Baltimore. I
grew up there, but . . .” She paused. “I needed a change.”

Miles nodded. “I
can understand that. Sometimes I feel like getting away, too.” Her face
registered a kind of recognition as soon as he said it, and Miles knew
immediately that she’d heard about Missy. She didn’t say anything,
however.  As they seated themselves at
the picnic table, Miles stole a good look at her.  Up close, with the sun slanting through the shade trees, her skin
looked smooth, almost luminescent. Sarah Andrews, he decided on the spot, never
had pimples as a teenager.

“So . . . ,” he
said, “should I call you Miss Andrews?”

“No, Sarah’s
fine.”

“Okay, Sarah . . .”
He stopped, and after a moment Sarah finished for him.

“You’re wondering
why I needed to talk to you?”

“It had crossed
my mind.”

Sarah glanced
toward the folder in front of her, then up again. “Well, let me start by
telling you how much I enjoy having Jonah in class. He’s a wonderful boy—he’s
always the first to volunteer if I ever need anything, and he’s really good to
the other students as well. He’s also polite and extremely well spoken for his
age.”

Miles looked
her over carefully. “Why do I get the impression that you’re leading up to some
bad news?”

“Am I that
obvious?”

“Well . . .
sort of,” Miles admitted, and Sarah gave a sheepish laugh.  “I’m sorry, but I did want you to know that
it’s not all bad. Tell me—has Jonah mentioned anything to you about what’s
going on?”

“Not until
breakfast this morning. When I asked him why you wanted to meet with me, he
just said that he’s having trouble with some of the work.” “I see.” She paused
for a moment, as if trying to collect her thoughts.  “You’re making me a little nervous here,” Miles finally said.
“You don’t think there’s a serious problem, do you?”

“Well . . .”
She hesitated. “I hate to have to tell you this, but I think there is. Jonah
isn’t having trouble with some of the work. Jonah’s having trouble withall of
the work.”

Miles frowned.
“All of it?”

“Jonah,” she
said evenly, “is behind in reading, writing, spelling, and math—just about
everything. To be honest, I don’t think he was ready for the second grade.”

Miles simply
stared at her, not knowing what to say. Sarah went on. “I know this is hard for
you to hear. Believe me, I wouldn’t want to hear it, either, if it was my son.
That’s why I wanted to make sure before I talked to you about it.  Here . . .”

Sarah opened
the folder and handed Miles a stack of papers. Jonah’s work. Miles glanced
through the pages—two math tests without a single correct answer, a couple of
pages where the assignment had been to write a paragraph (Jonah had managed a
few, illegibly scrawled words), and three short reading tests that Jonah had
failed as well. After a long moment, she slid the folder to Miles.  “You can keep all that. I’m finished with
it.”

“I’m not sure I
want it,” he said, still in shock.

Sarah leaned
forward slightly. “Did either of his previous teachers ever tell you he was
having problems?”

“No, never.”

“Nothing?”

Miles looked
away. Across the yard, he could see Jonah going down the slide in the
playground, Mark right behind him. He brought his hands together.  “Jonah’s mom died right before he started
kindergarten. I knew that Jonah used to put his head down on his desk and cry
sometimes, and we were all concerned about that. But his teacher didn’t say
anything about his work. His report cards said he was doing fine. It was the
same thing last year, too.” “Did you check the work he’d bring home from
school?”

“He never had
any. Except for projects he’d made.”

Now, of course,
it sounded ridiculous, even to him. Why, then, hadn’t he noticed it before?A
little too busy with your own life, huh? a voice inside him answered.

Miles sighed,
angry with himself, angry with the school. Sarah seemed to read his mind.

“I know you’re
wondering how this could have happened, and you’ve got every right to be upset.
Jonah’s teachers had a responsibility to teach him, but they didn’t. I’m sure
it wasn’t done out of malice—it probably started because no one wanted to push
him too hard.”

Miles
considered that for a long moment. “This is justgreat ,” he muttered.  “Look,” Sarah said, “I didn’t bring you here
just to give you bad news. If I did only that, then I’d be neglectingmy
responsibility. I wanted to talk to you about the best way to help Jonah. I
don’t want to hold him back this year, and with a little extra effort, I don’t
think I’ll have to. He can still catch up.” It took a while for that to sink
in, and when he looked up, Sarah nodded. 
“Jonah is very intelligent. Once he learns something, he remembers it.
He just needs a little more work than I can give him in class.”

“So what does
that mean?”

“He needs help
after school.”

“Like a tutor?”

Sarah smoothed
her long skirt. “Getting a tutor is one idea, but it can get expensive,
especially when you consider that Jonah needs help in learning the basics.
We’re not talking algebra here—right now we’re doing single-digit addition, like
three plus two. And as far as reading goes, he just needs to spend some time
practicing. Same thing with writing, he just needs to do it.  Unless you’ve got money to burn, it would
probably be better if you do it.”

“Me?”

“It’s not all that
hard. You read with him, have him read to you, help him with his assignments,
things like that. I don’t think you’ll have any problem with anything that I’ve
assigned.”

“You didn’t see
my report cards as a kid.”

Sarah smiled
before going on. “A set schedule, too, would probably help. I’ve learned that
kids remember things best when there’s a routine involved. And besides, a
routine usually ensures that you’re consistent, and that’s what Jonah needs
most of all.”

Miles adjusted
himself in his seat. “That’s not as easy as it sounds. My schedule varies.
Sometimes I’m home at four, other times I don’t get home until Jonah’s already
in bed.”

“Who watches
him after school?”

“Mrs.
Knowlson—our neighbor. She’s great, but I don’t know if she’d be up to doing
schoolwork with him every day. She’s in her eighties.” “What about someone
else? A grandparent or someone like that?” Miles shook his head. “Missy’s
parents moved to Florida after she died, so they’re not around. My mother died
when I was finishing up high school, and as soon as I went off to college, my
father took off. Half the time, I don’t even know where he is. Jonah and I have
been pretty much on our own for the last couple of years. Don’t get me
wrong—he’s a great kid, and sometimes I feel lucky to have him all to myself.
But at other times, I can’t help but think it would have been easier if Missy’s
parents had stayed in town, or if my father were a little more available.”

“For something
like this, you mean?”

“Exactly,” he
answered, and Sarah laughed again. He liked the sound of it. There was an
innocent ring to it, the kind he associated with children who had yet to
realize that the world wasn’t simply fun and games.

“At least
you’re taking this seriously,” Sarah said. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve
had this conversation with parents who either didn’t want to believe it or
wanted to blame me.”