“It's a teachers' in-service day.”
The conversation stalled until the woman at the counter ran out of things to do to cloak her eavesdropping. She departed slowly while Ed scooped a croissant onto a plate for Leslie.
“I love those,” she said.
“I remember,” he answered, which was a dumb thing to say because it struck the poor girl speechless.
“Who's saying Mrs. Mansfield is dead?” Audrey finally asked, freeing Leslie's tongue.
“Oh”âshe tore her eyes away from Edâ“Casey Wilson, who you probably don't know because he was a freshman last year, well, he's a sophomore now and he's also the son of Captain Wilson, who's Sergeant Mansfield's boss at the police station. He put a rush on the forensics because it affects one of their ownâ you know how they are about that kind of thing. Well, Casey said that his dad said that the blood they found in the street Wednesday is most definitely Mrs. Mansfield's, they matched her DNA and everything, and Dr. Wheeler, who consults for the force sometimes and was out here last week when they needed a reliable measurement of how much blood there was, he said there's no way someone could have lost that much blood and lived.”
“That's terrible news,” his mother said, and she looked even more pale than she had a second ago. “I really hope it's not . . . the whole story. I'm Audrey Bofinger.” She leaned out over the counter, extending her hand to Leslie.
“This is Leslie Wood,” Ed said. “Senior at Mazy. Math whiz.”
“I've seen you around,” Audrey said. “Nice to finally meet you.”
The girl seemed to shake his mother's hand without actually touching her fingers.
“I'm very sorry about your teacher,” Audrey said. “This must be a really rough time for all her students, the whole school.”
“But your family
hates
her! How can you be sorry?”
“We don't hate her, Leslie,” Ed said.
“I thoughtâ”
“You can't believe everything everyone says.”
His mom said, “Leslie, do you want an espresso? Then maybe you and I can sit down and talk.”
“Yeah, that's a good idea.” She turned to Ed. “Can you sit with us?”
“Can't. Customers.”
Audrey picked up a demitasse cup.
Leslie leaned toward Ed and lowered her voice. “They're saying your parents plotted to kill Mrs. Mansfield.”
“They didn't.”
“What can you say to such an awful accusation? But I can see why people believe it. After the whole saga of you and Miralee, and the church and all.”
“That'll be $4.48,” Ed said.
Leslie pulled a five out of the pocket of her hoodie. “I mean, she's the reason why you're not at college right now, isn't it? Because you couldn't keep your grades up after it came out that Miralee was pregnant, that the whole academic probation thing was killer, and Davis reneged its acceptance of you.”
Ed put her change on the counter and pushed it at her. He let his eyes convey annoyance that would've been rude to put into words.
“Oh no. I'm sorry, Ed. I'm a terrible person, the most insensitive in the world.”
Her embarrassment was so genuine that he gave her the benefit of the doubt. “No, you're not. You're just supersmart.”
“About facts, maybe, but I'm always forgetting how people must
feel
.”
“It's okay.”
“I'm so, so sorry.”
His mother carried the espresso around the end of the counter. She gave Leslie the tiny ceramic cup and started speaking out of Ed's earshot as well as everyone else's. Leslie glanced over her shoulder at Ed. Her eyebrows formed a peak of regret that wrinkled her high forehead.
Ed turned away and went into the rear of the kitchen. His father was carrying a sack of flour from the receiving door into the pantry. Their eyes passed over each other's in that way of people who are pretending not to know, or not to have seen, or not to have heard. Ed had noticed but never understood that look before Miralee's pregnancy. Now he saw it in everyone, and most frequently in his father. Most days he believed his dad hadn't paid for her abortion. His father had never lied to him. And he thought his dad believed Ed didn't know about the pregnancy before it was too late. But Ed had lied to his father once or twice, and that might have affected Geoff's opinion of him.
Ed went back to help heft in more of the fifty-pound sacks, which Estrella's husband would have delivered sometime during the morning rush.
Ed had nearly become a father himself. Or was a father, based on his own belief that life began at conception. And, having become a father, what did that change in his relationship with his own dad? Everything, it seemed. The more difficult question that plagued Ed was this one: was he
still
a father, now that the baby was dead?
It was a question God wouldn't answer, and Ed saw that as part of his deserved punishment. God was holy, and his expectations were high, and his grace wasn't a license to get through life scot-free. Ed accepted this; he was mature enough to own up to his mistakes, even if he still didn't understand how or why loving Miralee Mansfield had turned out to be such a beast of an error.
Leslie was right about that much, at least. If everyone else was thinking the way she was, his mother's simple traffic accident would soon become a twisted melodrama.
With a sack on his shoulder, Ed passed his father, this time not making eye contact. In the pantry he dropped the heavy load of flour onto the floor so that it stood on end in its own little cloud of fine dust. He returned to the kitchen.
“She ees a good girl,
mijo
,” Estrella said as he passed her where she stood forming white dough into loaves shaped like rugby balls.
“What?”
“She say all the wrong words, but she come here for the right reasons, no?”
“Who, Leslie?”
“Who else would fit thees description?”
Ed covered up his anxieties with a weak smile. “And what makes Leslie Wood so perfect?”
“What I say about being perfect?
Nada
. I said your mama needs right now to know some things before the police know she knows. Thees what I said.”
“Wow. Okay. I think I know what you just said.”
“Ees a nice thing for a girl to do for you.”
“I thought you said it was for my mama.” Ed elbowed her arm.
“What's for mama ees for the whole family. You should know thees at your age!”
He laughed. “Yeah, I know. But things are about to get complicated.”
“
SÃ
, I hear thees word a lot lately,
comp-lee-cate-ed
.”
“You say it like it tastes bad.”
“Ah no. What can I say? People would feel better if they eat more bread. Like thees one.” Estrella waived a flour-coated hand toward Leslie. “Should she ever turn down a warm croissant on a plate, I would know her character immediately. Her heart ees less complicated than most.”
Diane stopped at the table to pull the dirty stainless-steel bowls off the lower shelf for washing.
Estrella set aside another formed loaf and said to her, “Thees ees correct, yes, Diane? You agree? One should never turn down warm bread.”
From Ed's point of view, Diane seemed to be a mere blink away from tears at all times, though he'd never actually seen her cry. She gave them both a panicked glance as if acknowledging she'd heard the question might oblige her to answer it. She ducked her chin to her chest and marched the pans back to the sink.
“See? She agrees.”
“Leslie just has a crush on me, Estrella, that's all.”
“Aha! Proof that I am right. And that ees all I have to say about that for now. Do you hear me?” Ed opened his mouth, and Estrella said, “Because if I think you are not hearing me I can talk for longer than I can bake bread.”
“I hear you.”
“That girl ees worth your attention. Don't pretend she ees not.”
“Okay! Okay!”
“So I am done with you now. Go. I am busy, and you have customer.” Estrella nodded toward the register.
“And you have a cat,” Ed said, pointing at the stray, who had come in with his father's last load of flour. That animal was always looking for an in.
“Breakfast time!” she said. “Here, kitty. Let me wash off thees dough.”
The man standing at the counter was tall and trim and completely familiar to Ed. “Coach,” Ed said, unspeakably embarrassed to be standing in front of Nolan Henderson in a flour-dusted apron instead of a basketball uniform.
“Ed, how are you?”
“Been better.”
“It's been awhile.”
“Yeah.” Of course, Ed had gone out of his way to avoid anyone he knew since losing his scholarship. That had proven harder than usual this week.
“I'm sorry to hear what your family's going through.”
Ed nodded, a little offended that Coach was fishing for information. The man should speak to Leslie. “It can't be easy for all of you at Mazy right now either,” Ed said.
“No, true. Everyone likes Julie. We're all worried, of course.”
In the silence that followed, Ed could not summon the courage to say
We're hoping for a good ending to this story
or
I'd rather be
anywhere but standing here in front of you right now
or
I'm so sorry I
let you down
.
“What can I get you?”
“Large black coffee and one of those onion bagels. Cream cheese on the side.”
Ed cleared his throat. “You want that toasted?”
“Please.”
Coach put his cash on the counter while Ed went through the motions of pulling things together.
“You playing any ball these days?”
“Not much.” Ed kept his back to the man while the bagel went through the toaster belt. The glowing conveyor warmed his face. “Heard it was an in-service day for all of you.”
“Well, the boss doesn't mind if some of us do our service out. But listen, Ed, there's a men's basketball league that meets Saturday nights at the community center. You ought to come play with us sometime.”
“Okay. I'll think about it.” But he decided right away that he'd never show up. He placed the items on the counter in front of his former mentor.
The man took them in hands large enough to palm a beach ball. Ed thought they shook slightly. But that was only his imagination, wasn't it? Everyone knew Coach was a recovering alcoholic, and it was low of Ed to wish that someone had bigger problems than his own right nowâproblems that would divert some unwanted attention. Nolan Henderson was admired by all of Cornucopia for overcoming, for doing good by the kids he trained, and for winning two state championships in the years he'd been at Mazy.
“We all hit tough times now and then,” Coach said. “It's easier if you don't go it alone. Speaking from experience.”
Ed nodded once. He watched his former coach walk across the room to an empty table and eat his breakfast in solitude. Quite alone.
Audrey was having a difficult time focusing on Leslie's words. Her period had started early and was accompanied by discomforts that Audrey rarely experienced. She feared the stress of the accident and of Julie's disappearance must be getting to her. The downfall had started with her uncharacteristic rudeness toward Diane. The woman, though shy and a self-professed criminal, had proven to be dependable, even kind. And this girl sitting across the table from her needed comfort, possibly even safety.
“You must be upset about what might have happened to your teacher,” Audrey said patiently. She felt an unexpected sweat break out on her forehead, feverish.
“It's terrible. I'm so worried. I had to come here when I heard about the blood.”
“Giving us that information is kind, but it makes me worry for you. We don't know what happenedâor if someone might hold it against you if they learn that you're looking into things.”
“I'm not looking into anything, really. I just thought . . .”
Audrey saw the coffee cup tremble in the girl's fingers.
“You didn't think that you might test my reaction with that news, did you? Form some opinion of my guilt by how I reacted?”
Leslie blushed.
“Trying to be an investigator is a lot different from just speculating about what happened. What if you stumble onto something you have no business knowing?”
The girl shrugged. “So, what if? Are you saying someone might want to hurt me?”
A hot flush spread out across Audrey's neck, and she touched it gingerly. Her skin itched. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Me? I'm fine. You don't look so good, though.”
“Right. It's just that sometimes IÂ . . . Never mind. Leslie, all I meant is that no one knows what happened out there.” She gestured toward the intersection. “I guess I'm saying anything's possible, and you should be careful.”