Danny's Mom (12 page)

I couldn't let Liz down. I hadn't stood up to Joe; I hadn't saved Danny. Now, I'd fight to save Liz. “What if we just exempt her from gym for the rest of the year? No big deal, right? You could do that for her, Bob.”

“You're right, I could. But I won't. It's fourth quarter. No one gets a schedule change or permission to drop a class this late in the year. If I change Liz's class, it will set a bad precedent. I'm not willing to do that.”

“And you know, Mrs. Maller,” Peter chimed in, “if Ms. Richardson can't control what goes on in her classes, I'd say she's got a really big problem. Wouldn't you?”

“Oh, come on,” I answered. “Ann has great control of her classes, and you know it. She does everything she can to keep all the kids safe. She and I have talked about that many times.”

Peter tilted his chair back. “Oh, I'm sure you have.”

“What is it with you two?” Bob asked again. “Why can't you just be civil to each other?”

“I don't know. It seems as if Peter's been angry with me since my first day in Meadow Brook.”

“Then let's clear the air, once and for all,” Bob said. “What's going on?”

Peter planted his chair on the ground and sat taller. Hands folded on the table, he looked directly at me. “Well, here's the thing. I know you like stories, Mrs. Maller, because you sure as hell listen to Liz Grant tell them all the time when she hangs out in your office. So here's a good one for you.”

I pulled in closer and challenged Peter with a cold stare. “You remember,” he said, “years ago when you came for an interview and I asked why you'd become a guidance counselor? You said you wanted to make a difference for kids and you could do that as a counselor in ways that other faculty members can't. And then I believe you said something like, ‘Counselors have one of the most important positions in a school.’ And as soon as you left, I told Bob you'd be nothing but trouble. Because you know, Mrs. Maller, counselors aren't the most important people on a faculty.” Peter wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “You know who's more important? We are. Bob and I make this building run. And we do a damn good job of it.

“So I told Bob we shouldn't hire you because you wouldn't know your place. I've always been a pretty good judge of character. But Bob wanted to give you a try. And it took a long time for your attitude to get in the way of your work. But I knew someday it would. And
now I'm sure even Bob's sorry he didn't listen to me in the first place. Because lately, Mrs. Maller, your attitude's getting in the way of everything around here, and I'm sick and tired of it.”

Peter shot out of his seat and stormed off. Bob stood and put a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, Beth, but it was finally time you two got things out in the open. We can't work well together when we hold grudges. So, now you know. I went to bat for you … how long ago? When was that interview?”

I turned in my chair to escape Bob's touch. “Almost eleven years ago.”

Bob moved to his desk. “Right. And I probably should have had you two air your feelings right at the start. But you know, Beth, hiring you was a good thing. You've done a great job. So why not just go back to being the old Beth Maller and stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.” Bob shuffled papers on his desk, then looked up. “By the way, you haven't said anything about my new tie. Ready to sing?”

“No.” I looked hard at the man who made the rules and steered the ship. “We're not playing games here anymore.”

Chapter Thirteen

C
allie huddled with three girls and Fred Morris in the back of the art room. “Yo, Mrs. Maller!” Fred called as I walked in. “How goes it?”

When Callie looked up, I gestured toward the door. “Okay, photo bugs,” she said, her voice rising above student conversations and a rap artist blasting from an old boom box on the window ledge. “Listen up! Bell's gonna ring in two seconds. Stay in the room till it does. And remember, outdoor shots tomorrow. So ladies, bring your sweaters.”

In the hall, Callie saw the anger and sadness that must have tangled in my eyes. She placed a hand on my back. “What happened?” Her gentle touch loosened the knot that tightened around my chest, but the bell rang before I could say anything. Students flooded the corridor. Fred bumped into me on his way out of the art room, then blended into the flow. At the end of the hall, he looked back and shouted, “Hey, Mrs. M., d'ya know where Tina is second period today?”

Kenny Roberts, a toothpick junior, cornered Callie. “Mrs. Harris, I have to talk to you about the art show.”

Callie's hand dropped to her side. “What do you have this period, Kenny?”

“It's okay, Cal,” I said. “We'll talk later.” I tried to smile, to convince us both I was all right. Then pushing myself into the swirl of Meadow Brook, I greeted students hurrying past. In the cafeteria, Hilda told me to help myself to coffee. “You can pay me tomorrow,” she called out from the kitchen.

Back in the center, I took four “While You Were Out” slips from Sue. Two students had been looking for me, and a parent had called to make an appointment. I held the fourth pink sheet while I sipped my coffee.
Kate Stanish
, it read. A check mark filled the box next to
Please call.
I studied the message as if Kate's name were a code.

She picked up on the second ring. “Beth, I'm so glad you called back.”

“But this isn't a good time for me to talk.”

“I understand. I just want you to know I've been thinking about you, and I wanted to make sure you're all right.” I wondered why this woman I didn't even know seemed to care so much about me. Was it only because we had both lost our sons?

“Actually, I'm not. I got off to a bad start this morning. It's already one god-awful day for me.” I struggled not to cry.

“Well, I know how hard it must be for you, especially doing the kind of work you do.” She paused, clearing space for me in the conversation. But I stayed silent, knowing I wouldn't be able to rake the tears from my words.

“Beth, would you like to have lunch someday? I'd love to get to know you better. You could come to my house, get away from school for a spell. How does that sound?”

“That's very kind of you.”

“You see, dear, I know what you're going through.”

I couldn't find anything to say.

“Beth, are you there?”

“I'm sorry.” I labored to get the words out. “I can't talk now. It's just … just that I'm having some trouble at work.”

“I see. But I do want to connect with you. You sound like you need a good friend and a good cry. I know how that feels. I've been there. And I do so admire you—the way you went right back to work. The way you get up and go to Meadow Brook every day. I could barely do anything for a year after Zach's father died. But you're a fighter, Beth. I know that about you already. Because if you weren't, you'd be home in bed right now, crying under the covers.”

Kate's understanding kept me on the phone. I thought about the luxury of bed, that sanctuary from grief. How I wished I had stayed there this morning.

“So, will you come for lunch? We could talk about your problems at work, or we could talk about Danny. You need to talk about him.”

I swallowed lukewarm coffee and thought about Joe in the diner the night before. His voice pounded in my head like the music in the art room:
You've got to stop thinking of him every minute.

“I'd like that, Kate. I will come for lunch someday. Just not now. I hope you understand.”

“Of course. We'll get together whenever you're ready. And please remember, anytime you want to talk, just pick up the phone and call. Will you do that?”

“Yes. And thank you,” I whispered.

“And you know you can always call Dr. Goldstein. Do you still have that number I gave you?”

I lifted my purse from the bottom desk drawer and took out my wallet. There, behind a dog-eared photo of Danny and Dad, was the pink paper with Dr. Goldstein's number under Kate's. “Yes, it's right here.”

“Good. Now one last thing, and then I'll let you get back to work. It's something Dr. Goldstein told me three years ago when Carl, my husband, died and I had to decide whether or not to sell
the house. Dr. Goldstein said that grief spills over onto everything. It stains our judgment. And right now your grief must be spilling onto Meadow Brook. But things will get better with time. Trust me.”

I didn't question then why I trusted her from the very beginning, why I embraced Kate's words like a kind of religion. I simply said goodbye and called Valerie Gordon's mother to set up a meeting. But when I hung up, I couldn't remember which class she said Valerie had been complaining about. Then I checked the program cards to track down the two students who had come to see me. “Beth? You need something?” Sue asked when she noticed I stood frozen by the file cabinets.

“No. I'm fine,” I lied. “Just thinking about something a parent said.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

“Sure. Could you buzz the music room? I want to see Alison Thompson, unless they're in the middle of something she can't miss.”

I knew why Alison had been looking for me: she wanted a call slip for seventh period. She had used me twice to get out of chemistry, where her lab partner, Mark Bolton, squeezed his pimples and gave off an odor like sour milk. I should never have given in to Alison. I knew the rule about pulling students from major subjects. But Alison was a solid kid with a better-than-decent academic record. And she said she needed to talk about colleges. Her mother was already giving her a hard time about going away to school the year after next. I suggested we meet during gym or music, or better yet, during lunch. That's when she hinted at problems with Mark.

“I just need a day off from my lab partner. Please, Mrs. Maller. And we can talk about colleges some more.”

I broke the rule then. I'd broken it twice. Now I knew she would want me to do it again.

It didn't take Alison long to get from the music room to my office. When I looked up as she walked in, I noticed the poster by my
door; a corner had peeled from the wall. “Come on in, Ali,” I said as I stood to tack it back.

Alison turned to read the message: W
HAT'S POPULAR IS NOT ALWAYS RIGHT; WHAT'S RIGHT IS NOT ALWAYS POPULAR
. M
AKE A DIFFERENCE!
D
O THE RIGHT THING
.

“You believe that, Mrs. Maller?”

“Believe what?” I scooted around her, back to my desk.

“You know,” Alison said as she pulled up a seat and settled in, “that bottom part: Make a difference! Do the right thing.”

“Sure. Don't you?” As I spoke, though, I wondered how I could expect my students to do the right thing when I couldn't even find the strength to protect Danny and Liz. I hadn't told Danny he couldn't drive that snowy night, and I hadn't made Meadow Brook safer for Liz. So, Danny was dead, and Liz still faced Tina. The truth was, I hadn't made a difference at all.

Alison seemed to consider my question. “Do the right thing,” she repeated. Finally, she answered, “I don't know, Mrs. Maller. I mean, it's really hard to do the right thing. Like with Mark Bolton. You know how the kids pick on him ’cause he's kinda gross? But he's not really a bad guy. I mean, like he does smell and his face is disgusting sometimes, but he probably can't help that. I sorta feel bad for him.”

I smiled. “You're a good kid, Ali.”

“But even so, I really, really don't want to work with him today. And that's the truth. I don't want to lie and tell you I need to see you about colleges. Not that our discussions aren't helpful or anything. But please, please could I have a call slip for seventh period today? This'll be the last time, I swear.”

I wrote the pass and made a deal. From then on, Alison promised, she would do the right thing: be kinder to Mark and tell her friends he's not so bad.

Alison left, and I thought again about the meeting with Bob and Peter. Why couldn't
they
do the right thing? How could it be more
important to follow protocol than to help Liz? I'd have to make sure Ann would keep up her guard during second period.

“Bob and Peter are a pair of eight-hundred-pound gorillas,” Callie said at lunchtime when I told her what had happened in Bob's office. “They get to do whatever they want. And they're at war with you now. I know it's unfair. But come on, they have all the power. Who do you think's gonna win?”

“But I don't get it. Why now? Bob even said I've done a good job in Meadow Brook.”

“Listen. That doesn't matter. It's like what Tom always tells the girls: If you do something wrong, fix it right away. Because the only thing people remember about you is the very last thing you did.”

“Hold on a sec. Are you saying that I did something wrong? I have something to fix?” I sat at my desk.

“Uh-uh. Don't get comfortable. We'll talk on the way to the faculty room. I'm starving.” Callie pulled a carrot stick from her lunch bag. “And I promised Denise we'd be there today. So let's go.”

“Hang on, Cal. You think I did something wrong, don't you?”

She pulled up a chair and unwrapped a peanut butter sandwich. “Well, just think about this: Didn't they tell you to forget about Ann Richardson? And didn't they tell you not to see Liz Grant? Didn't Peter tell you to send Liz to Debra?”

“But none of that makes sense, and you know it. I can't just ignore how the kids treat Ann. And I can't ignore Liz. And I certainly can't send her to Debra. What good would that do?”

Callie put down her sandwich. “You want to know what good that would do? It would save your job, that's what. Because what doesn't make sense is how you're acting like you don't care whether or not the big guys make your life miserable. And believe me, they will. You're acting like you have choices around here. You think they tell you something and you get to decide whether
or not to listen. But you don't have a vote, Beth. They make the freakin’ rules, and we follow them. And if we don't like it, well that's just too bad.”

Callie stood and threw her sandwich in the garbage can by my desk. “This sucks! It's the last time I'll put Mollie in charge of making lunch.”