At Risk of Being a Fool (12 page)

“
...
had our ups and downs, but when he threw the pickle jar at my windshield, I realized. Not that he’s violent, he’s so sweet, you know, it was just . . .”

Carol patted her hand. “I have the phone numbers for marriage counselors. What do you think?” She didn’t look hopeful.

Jeanie checked her watch. Five visits down, only this one to go. Jeanie caught Carol’s eye, pointed to her watch, and held up ten fingers.

Carol nodded. “Maybe anger therapy,” she was saying, as Jeanie closed the door.

Vic Dunlap, Mackie Sandoval’s favorite security guard, sat near a desk at the main door. Vic knew all the gossip about everyone in the building. Vic was nearing retirement age, and had thankfully quit fretting about his waistline. Mackie said that his wife called him the Pillsbury Doughboy. The legendary ticklish side of the Doughboy was part of the joke.

Jeanie joined him and leaned against his desk. “Hello again, Vic,” she said.

“Hi, need my report, ma’am?” Vic said, with mock solemnity. “Nothing new since ten minutes ago.”

Jeanie laughed. “Good.”

“Couldn’t get through to the clerk?”

“No, unfortunately. I need to talk to her about one of her employees. One of my students works here.”

“Student? Oh, the girl with the black hair, and the, uh . . .” he cleared his throat, “the purple eye shadow?”

Jeanie raised a tolerant eyebrow. “The one with the figure, you mean. Yes, that’s her. Sorrel Quintana.”

He poked his tongue into his cheek, considering. “Dorrie likes her. Mind you, it was touch and go there for a while, but she’s doing okay, I’d say. Of course, Hilda doesn’t like her, but Hilda doesn’t like me either, so what does that tell you?”

“A lot about Hilda.”

“Damned right. Hilda was pretty jumpy after our little scare last week. Can’t blame her, really. That little present in the bushes wasn’t the most calming thing.”

“How did you guys find it? Or can’t you tell me?”

“No secret. Somebody called in a warning. Then during the evacuation, we each took our regular assigned rounds, and I found that sucker myself. A suspicious briefcase, right there outside the judge’s office.”

“My goodness. It’s a good thing you didn’t try to pick it up.”

Vic looked embarrassed. “Well, yeah. Glad we got the phone call. Briefcases aren’t that uncommon around a courthouse, you know. That thing was hell warmed over, just waiting to take our heads off. You should’ve seen the bomb squad. They brought in this robot gadget to get the bugger, little remote control thing. Absolutely amazing. I’ve read about ‘em, but never seen one before. They blocked us all off, though, couldn’t see what they were doing. No biggie,” he said, with a wave of the hand. “Glad someone wants those S.W.A.T. jobs.”

“Why would someone set a bomb, and call in a warning? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Probably a threat, I figure. Like he’s saying, ‘See what I can do, watch yourselves, because next time’s for real.’ Or, could be, one person set it, and another person tipped us off.”

They looked at each other. “I’d like to think so,” said Jeanie.

“Me, too.”

Jeanie checked her watch. “I was afraid, from what Sorrel said, that all the landscaping was gone.”

“Oh, no, just bushes next to windows, and the window boxes. Janna, Judge Hodges’ new clerk, she was fit to be tied when they pulled out her window box. But that’s where it was, you know, under the judge’s window.”

“Any fingerprints? Other evidence?”

“Not that I know of. Not likely to find it, either, in my opinion. Don’t usually get stuff like that here in
Salem
. More a
Portland
kind of thing, big cities.” Vic’s face sagged. “Pitiful, what our world’s coming to. You elect a judge, let him see all the vicious stuff in the world, let him try to protect us, and then you throw a bomb at him. It’s not right.”

“He handled violent crime, huh?”

“They all do. He does juvenile crime, some domestic relations. You’d think juvenile wouldn’t be so bad, but I’ve heard stories. Like I say, it’s pitiful.”

“Some of them come from hard lives,” said Jeanie.

“Yeah, that’s what my wife says. What goes around, comes around.”

“I’ll go try to catch Carol again. If she’s still busy, I may come back and bug you some more.”

“No trouble, no trouble at all.”

~*~

Sorrel watched Jeanie and Carol. They were in close, serious conversation. She opened the front of the copy machine, and crumpled a sheet of paper. If someone came in, she’d just be clearing a paper jam.

Jeanie
never
came to work sites. Mackie must have sent her in, to see if she could spot something.

I must be crazy
, Sorrel thought.
I couldn’t even play with Tiffy yesterday, I’m wound up so tight. Mustn’t cry, mustn’t cry. They’ll know, they’re watching me. They’re always watching me. Especially now.

Could they tell? Just by looking at her? If Torrez found out, she’d be back in Corrections in the blink of an eye. If she only knew for sure about that bomb. If it was him, she’d have to run. She’d be dead meat, if he was after her. She’d have to leave Tiffy behind. She couldn’t lead him to Tiffy . . .

Sorrel pulled the mirror out of her purse. The bags under her bloodshot eyes were worse than Jeanie’s. With trembling hands, Sorrel repaired her makeup and botched the eyeliner. She swore and dropped her hands. She had to ease up some, or she’d go off the deep end for sure. Carefully, she corrected her makeup. She still looked like hell. Fear did that to you.

Guys were shits, no two ways about it. Some were worse than others; some were worse, some were worse
...
Oh God. Jeanie was still out there. What could they find to talk about? They had to be talking about her. They knew something.

Sorrel sidled through the back door and into an unused office. She punched a number on the phone, waited for it to pick up, waited for the recorded message, and the beep of the voice mail.

“You were right,” she said. Desperation drove her voice up, made it shrill. “I can’t take this any more. Help me, would you? I need help, real bad.”

She hung up, wrapped her arms around herself, and rocked back and forth.

Tiffany. Oh God, Tiffany.

~*~

“Hey, Jeanie, you got any books on them blueprints?”

“Well, no, I don’t think so,” Jeanie said, stymied. “I’ll call Mr. Rivera, and see if he can loan us some books. Maybe he’s got some software. I wonder if our machines would run AutoCAD.” The two computers sat at the back of the room, under dust covers. Jeanie’s efforts to incorporate computers into the study programs had all failed. They didn’t talk, chat, surf, or play games. It would be nice to have a valid use for them. “I do have some books on areas, and some problem sets on computing amounts of wallpaper, paint, and boards. How about those for now?”

Quinto flipped through the books. “Hey, here’s some stuff on triangles. Mr. Rivera, he says the triangle is strong. They use ‘em all the time in buildings.”

“Good idea. Go ahead and start with that.” Quinto set to work with a will.

Jeanie caught Tonio staring at her, a frown on his face. Dillon slammed down his book and thrust out his jaw. “Jeanie. How come you were checking up on me?”

“I was at everyone’s workplace today,” Jeanie said. “Mackie couldn’t make it this time, and she asked me.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Dillon, I don’t know what you think I was doing, but I went to every student’s workplace this morning. Ask them.”

“Yeah,” offered Quinto. “She saw the stuff I was doing. I showed her all about them blueprints, that tells about buildings. It was cool.”

“She came to the child care too,” said Rosalie. She bounced on her toes behind Jeanie.

I need shackles for that girl,
thought Jeanie. She made small herding motions, and Rosalie went back to her seat. “See? Ask the others. Tonio? Brynna, Sorrel?”

Brynna and Tonio nodded. Sorrel looked from Jeanie to Dillon. “Yeah,” she said finally. “She was at the courthouse too.”

“Are you feeling all right, Sorrel? You look ill,” Jeanie said.

“I’m fine.” Sorrel ducked her head towards her book. “Didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.”

Dillon gave Jeanie an unreadable look. “Huh,” he said. Corrigan ambled up to Dillon and nosed his hand. Dillon pulled back as though his hand burned.

“It’s okay,” said Jeanie, smiling, “if you touch my stuff. Even my dog.”

“I don’t like dogs.” Despite that, he was careful when he shifted his chair, avoiding Corrigan’s paw. He seemed to have finished talking.

“Rosalie, essay time. Come on, girl, let’s get going. Which one did you choose?”

“This one here.”

Well, wonder of wonders, Rosalie had actually read the essay topic list. “Discuss a happy childhood memory, and how it relates to your life today,” read Jeanie. “Have you decided what memory to write about?” Jeanie rather hoped it wasn’t about breaking up a wedding reception.

“My Dad used to take me to the park, and push me on the swing.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I always liked swings. I felt like I was flying.”

“Yeah, that’s it, Jeanie. Like I was flying. It was exciting, but I was safe, you know? Because my Daddy, he was always there to catch me.”

Rosalie’s lip quivered. Oh no, not again. “That’s a wonderful memory, Rosalie. So, now, if you start out talking about the park, and your feelings—”

“He’s not there to catch me, now, Jeanie.”

If she only had a dollar for every time she and Rosalie had gone around this mountain. “What other memories do you have, Rosalie? Playing with your sisters? Did you take any trips?”

“Jeanie, I miss my Daddy something awful. Why won’t he talk to me no more?”

“For God’s sake, drop it, Rosalie,” Brynna said. “I’m sick of it. You whine all the time about your shitty father.”

“Don’t you say that about my father,” Rosalie said, her voice shaking.

“I’ll say what I want, girl.”

“Brynna,” said Jeanie. “Hush.”

“But she’s always going on, like he’s some kind of angel or something. It makes me want to puke. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” she mocked. “Grow up, will you? Catch me, crying about my father, don’t even know who the fucker was. Don’t need him, not with uncles like I got.” Her face went red, then white.

“Brynna, stop, honey.” Automatically, Jeanie reached for the nearest room divider, dragging it between the two girls. “Rosalie, sit down now, and write your essay. Your subject is just fine. Don’t get off track, hear me? Now stay put.” Jeanie pulled an extra chair next to Brynna’s desk. “Sit down, Brynna. Here.” She grabbed a Kleenex box, and dropped into the chair. The barest outline of Brynna’s history was in the files, and a ghastly reading it made. “It’s okay, Bryn, you’re not living there any more. You’re safe.”

Brynna grabbed a wad of Kleenex. “Safe. Like hell. The whole world’s like that. Draggin’ kids into the back room—”

“It’s not, Brynna. The world isn’t like that. I’ve taught kids for years and years, and raised boys of my own. There’s a huge world out there, and in most of it, none of those dreadful things ever happen.”

“I want to hurt ‘em, Jeanie.” The vicious, yearning note seemed to echo through the room. “If I had my way, they’d be hamburger, just like that construction guy. All of ‘em, any man’d do that kind of thing! Rip ‘em to shreds, plastered on the walls, all of ‘em. I want to hurt ‘em so bad. Minute I get back to
Portland
, I—”

“So, stay here in
Salem
, no problem. Keep away from them.”

“Happens here, too! This girl at Futures, too, her daddy was always doing it. Her mother didn’t give a damn, any more than mine, the bitch.”

“Brynna, you never have to see any of them again.” Jeanie fought the urge to pat Brynna’s hand. Brynna had had too many people touching her, too many ways.

“Them and their damned parties. Dishing out all their good stuff, drugs, booze, and me. Maybe I’ll get me a pipe bomb, God, I know just who to call—”

“Brynna, it was their fault, not yours. You’re a survivor, Brynna. Don’t let them control your future.” It was all words, just words. Brynna had heard all of it before, many times. How could words fight the destruction her family had inflicted? “Brynna, I admire your strength. You haven’t let them crush you.”

Brynna shot her a sarcastic glance. Her eyes wavered and dropped. “Huh.”

“Just keep plugging away, Brynna. And don’t go back to
Portland
until you can put the memories behind you.”

Corrigan, with his nose for difficult situations, appeared by her feet. Jeanie picked him up and offered him to Brynna. After a moment’s hesitation, Brynna held him. Corrigan nestled close, licking the salty tears from her face.

After a time, Jeanie retreated, leaving Corrigan to continue the counseling session, while she moved on the familiar rounds of helping Tonio with grammar, Dillon with graphing, Sorrel with spelling, Quinto with triangles, and Rosalie with the ever-present problem of staying in her seat. After a time, she saw Brynna back at work, with Corrigan asleep on her feet. Jeanie tucked the room divider back against the wall.