Cold River (10 page)

One of the women drivers nodded, and Mandy looked at Harvey, who stood on the bottom step. “Don’t you have an office, Harvey?”

Reuben Fellows offered, “He don’t want you to see his mess.”

“Well, we can’t keep these good people out of their break room. Let’s go into your office, mess or no mess.” She walked down the aisle and paused at the exit, smiling. “It was nice to meet you all.” She turned to Harvey. “I’ll follow you. Lead on.”

Harvey led to a room that was more cell than office. Thinking that the word
mess
was the understatement of the century, Mandy surveyed the grimy paperwork stacked on the olive drab metal desk, the gray steel filing cabinet, and the floor.

“I’m a bit behind in my bookwork,” Harvey mumbled.

Mandy did her best to suppress a smile. “Can you get another chair?”

Harvey disappeared for a moment and returned with a folding chair. He opened it, set it beside the desk, and then stood awkwardly, waiting.

“Thank you. Now, if you will close the door? Good. I appreciate you letting me come by here so I could see the bus facility. It helps me to get acquainted with the district. Please sit down.” Mandy sat in the swivel chair and gestured for Harvey to take the folding chair, which he did, sitting on the edge with his hands clenched in his lap.

They stayed in the office for an hour, at the end of which Mandy emerged with her briefcase in her hand. Turning to Harvey, she smiled and said, “I’ll see you in my office next week, then?”

Harvey didn’t return the smile. “I’ll be there.”

“All right. Now, can you point me to the cafeteria? I have to see Arvella Shonefeld.”

For the first time, Harvey lost his hangdog look. The corners of his mouth lifted. “It’s right across the way,” he said. “Come, I’ll show you.”

MANDY CHECKED THE
next-to-the-last item off her list, arched her back to stretch out some of the kinks, and swiveled around to look out her office window. The parking lot was empty except for Grange’s pickup, and she realized it had been a while since she had heard any of the normal noises of the district office in motion. She looked at her watch, saw that it was five minutes to five, and fingered the list, considering as she read the last item:
Contract notes in Hawes and Cally files
.
She sighed and muttered, “Come on, Mandy. Finish it up!”

Mrs. Hawes, a second-grade teacher, and Mr. Cally, high school math, were the last to be hired by the district, and therefore would be first to be let go because of budget constraints. The standard teacher’s contract was quite clear that today was the deadline for notices of non-renewal to be mailed. Mandy had dictated the letters to Mrs. Berman as soon as she got back at noon, and two hours later they were on their way to the post office.

Mandy printed out two copies of the abstract she had made of pertinent contract sections, along with her comments. She opened the first file, and before inserting the notes, she scanned Vonda Hawes’s profile information. A native of Limestone, she had graduated from Western Washington University three years ago. She married a local fellow and worked summers at a restaurant in town until a position opened up in the district.

Mandy next opened Sumner Cally’s folder. He was from the Midwest, and as Mandy flipped through his transcripts and application information, she was interested to find he had graduated at the top of his class from a small private college. His cover letter mentioned his love of math, his talent for making it relevant to students, and his desire to make a difference. He had included a picture, and Mandy, expecting a studious, shirt-and-tie fellow, was surprised at the tattoo of p on Sumner’s neck above the ribbing on his T-shirt.

Mandy punched two holes in the top of her notes. As she was undoing the metal fasteners on the files, she glanced at the copy of her letter and froze. The latch stayed half undone in her fingers as she read a note scrawled under her signature. She grabbed the other file and examined the copy of Vonda Hawes’s letter.

“Count to ten,” she admonished herself between gritted teeth, but she didn’t get past five before she sprang from her chair, scooped up the folders, and stormed through her door and down the hall to Grange Timberlain’s office.

His door was open, but she rapped on the frame before entering. The sound echoed through the quiet office, and he turned to face her with one eyebrow raised. His good eye widened when he saw her face, and when she tossed the files on his desk, he jerked his pencil out of the way.

“How dare you?” She was so angry that her voice quivered, and that made her even madder.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You added a post script to my letters before they went out.”

“Yes?”

“You don’t do that! It isn’t done! If something goes out with my signature on it, I need to okay it first.”

Grange leaned back in his chair. “If you had come and discussed this with me first, there would have been no need to add anything.”

“What was there to discuss? You said yourself that two teachers had to go, so we could balance the budget. I read the contract. Those letters had to go out today.”

Grange opened Sumner’s file and tapped the letter with the pencil he still held. “Today is the day, but whether these particular letters had to go out is debatable.”

“And just what’s wrong with them?”

“They’ll ensure that in next week’s mail, Sumner Cally will be sending out applications to other districts.”

“Hello? That’s the intent of the contract. It’s meant to protect teachers from a district waiting until there are no openings left before telling them their positions have been cut.”

“Yes. I understand that. But Mr. Cally is too good a teacher to let go. I’ve got five students signed up for AP math next year. That’s a first.”

Mandy leaned over and put her finger on the note Grange had written. “Come and talk to me about this,” she read. “What do you intend to say to Sumner Cally when you have this little talk?”

“I’m going to ask him to give us a little time. If I had written the letter, or had some input in its writing, I would have softened it, told him this was official notice, but we were trying to work something out.”

“And you would have laid the district open to a suit from the union when there wasn’t a job for him.” Mandy picked up the files and turned to go. “By contract, the letter cannot be ambiguous.”

“Well, as to laying the district open to a suit from the union, what about your little trick today?”

Mandy paused at the doorway and turned to face Grange. “What little trick?”

“Your sleight of hand over at the bus garage.”

Mandy frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you or did you not get Harvey Berman to sign something saying he would spread the extracurricular duties among all the drivers when I expressly told you that went by seniority?”

“I don’t know how well you read the contract, but there was certainly a provision there to have a supervisor with assignment duties in his job description. It seems to me that things have been allowed to continue because of tradition when all that was needed was for someone to care enough to do a little reorganizing.”

“And how are we going to pay for this reorganizing?” Grange drummed the pencil on his desk. “I can’t believe that Harvey went for this just because of a title.”

“Certainly he’s getting a raise. However, when you spread the overtime hours over all the men, the difference in what they make as opposed to what Harvey would have made will pay for his raise.”

Grange’s good eye narrowed and one corner of his mouth curled down. Mandy took it to be a look of disdain, and she felt the anger rising again. She concentrated on speaking slowly, as if explaining to a child. “I worked it out with Mo. We’ll have the same outlay, only we’ll have peace in the bus barn. And I’m going to get him some clerical help.”

“And where is that going to come from?”

“The same place we get the clerical help for the district offices— from student aides. What he needs are routines set up and someone to stay on top of it.”

“Who is going to set up these routines?”

Mandy had a fleeting thought about delegating that to Grange, and though she didn’t voice it, the idea was so delicious she had to smile. Instead, she said, “Maybe I’ll do it.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” Grange stabbed the pencil into a mug and threw up his hands. “What a great use for the mega salary they’re paying you! Have you tumbled to the fact yet that the reason we have to let Vonda and Sumner go is so we can pay you? Two teachers! The best math teacher we’ve ever had, and we have to let him go.”

Mandy was so surprised by Grange’s words that she couldn’t reply. Feeling as if she had been kicked in the stomach, she hugged the files to her and stood with her mouth open.

Grange apparently didn’t notice, because he went on without a pause. “By the time the classified union gets done with us, we’ll have to let another teacher go.”

That accusation helped Mandy find her voice, and she didn’t even try to keep the edge out of it. “Don’t be absurd! Two things are operative here. First, I didn’t act without legal advice. I knew I was on pretty solid ground, but I called the State Superintendent’s office and talked to their guru. Secondly, I would most forcibly remind the union that they represent all the drivers, not just the ones with most seniority.” Mandy’s voice rose as she warmed to her subject. “And by the way, do you know why Harvey and Les have all that wretched seniority? Because no one will stay in the job. They can’t afford to. There is no equity. Have you seen the figures on the turnover rate? How can you hope to retain good people if you don’t treat them like they have value?”

“Interesting,” Grange said through gritted teeth. “I wish you could hear yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re lecturing me about the district as if you’re not a part of it. You said, ‘How can
you
hope to retain good people.’ You didn’t use
we
.”

“Well, I’ll tell you, pretty much everyone has been doing everything they can to convince me that I’m not a part of any
we,
and I never will be.” Mandy slapped the files against her hand. “But I’m not yet convinced. Now, Mr. Timberlain, do you understand that I need to see anything that goes out of this office on a document with my signature?”

“And do you understand that the district will be better served by collaboration?”

“The two do not equate. I am asking you to adhere to standard protocol. You are asking to be included in making policy.”

Grange stood. “The policy is made, Dr. Steenburg. Your job— your extremely well-paying job— is to not get in the way.”

Mandy had no chance to step her usual three paces away, though Grange’s office was so small she would have been hard pressed to do so. She found herself looking up at him like a child, and her anger boiled over. “What I saw at the bus garage wasn’t policy, Mr. Timberlain. It was laissez faire that bordered on neglect because you’re afraid of the driver’s union.” She turned on her heel then stalked out of the room and down the hall to her own office, where she closed the door with more force than she meant to. She set the files on her desk, and then, with trembling hands, she put on her jacket and gathered her keys. As she turned out her light, she hoped mightily that she could get past Grange’s office and downstairs before he decided to leave.

She glanced through his door as she hurried past, but he was hunched over his desk with his back to her. She exhaled a great sigh and fled down the stairs, through the reception area, and out the front door.

Not wanting to stand in the rain looking for the Miata key on her ring, she stopped at the edge of the porch to find it. Intent on her task, she didn’t see the black Escalade until it had pulled up in front of her.

THE DRIVER’S TINTED
window rolled smoothly down, revealing Vince Laffitte’s angular face. “You’re frowning,” he said.

Mandy looked up and smiled. “My keys seem to have multiplied in the darkness of my purse. I was trying to find the one to my car.”

“I see you’re just leaving. Do you have time to talk for a moment?”