The Book of Joby (27 page)

Frank paced up and down the shiny pastel hallway like a shooting-gallery duck, careful to avoid Miriam’s bee-stung eyes. They’d been examining Joby since before Frank’s arrival half an hour ago. Was it supposed to take that long?

Along with everything else, Frank hated how perfectly this validated Miriam’s damn dreams. Her nightmares had returned in mid-July. He’d done everything he could to be understanding, but she seemed to expect him to help her tie Joby to a chair until her sleep improved! She hadn’t wanted Frank to replace Joby’s bike. Now Joby had virtually handed her the final word, and she was acting as if that made the accident all
Frank’s
fault somehow. Half of him wanted to let Joby
walk
until high school if that’s how long it took him to learn a little caution. The other half didn’t want to let Miriam win. She’d been having these damned nightmares for
months
after all. So one of them finally comes true? What did that prove? Law of averages, right?

To be fair, Cally, down at the Filling Station, had helped him put some of it in perspective. At first he’d been reticent to mention anything so personal as troubles at work and home to a bartender, however attractive, but Cally always seemed so happy to listen, and so good at seeing right to the heart of things. She’d put her finger on the source of Miriam’s trouble right away, explaining that Frank’s difficulties at work threatened Miriam’s sense of security, and so, afraid to confront her husband about it directly, Miriam was trying to retrieve control of her life through Joby. When Frank had tried to talk with Miriam about it, however, she’d simply flown off the handle, and accused him of being every kind of pompous, manipulative ass. He shook his head, and tried to remember their last truly happy moment together.

Sooner or later, it all came back to those damned Goldtree bastards. He’d gone over every detail of that mall design with them a hundred times before construction began, and they’d applauded like trained seals. Not until the damned showplace had started going up had they begun squawking about the “pricey materials,” and “architectural extravagances.” Those damned
extravagances
had been their favorite selling points back when there’d still been time to drop them! And his
faithful
partners! They deserved medals for dodging
bullets under fire, every one. He shook his head again. God! What was he doing thinking about
work
when his kid was lying in a
hospital bed
?

“Mr. and Mrs. Peterson?”

Frank strode quickly to where Joby’s doctor waited outside the examination room. Miriam was right behind him. Without thinking, Frank reached back for her hand, but she wouldn’t take it. God, she was angry. . . . Then again, so was he.

“We’ve looked Joby over pretty carefully,” the doctor smiled, “and except for a couple of nasty abrasions and a bump on the head, he seems fine. He’s a very lucky boy.”

Oddly, Miriam turned away then, looking angrier than ever. Not for the first time, Frank wondered if his wife was . . .
okay.
The thought sent chills down his back.

“We can take him home then?” Frank asked.

“I’d prefer to keep him overnight, just for observation,” the doctor said.

“Is that necessary?” Miriam asked before Frank could reply.

“No,” the doctor said, shrugging. “But he did have quite a fall.”

“He’ll stay,” Frank said before Miriam could get started. “May we see him?”

“Of course,” the doctor said, turning to lead them into the room. “I certainly hope they catch the guy that hit him.”

“Amen to
that,
” Frank replied, wishing fervently for someone he could hit without guilt or reservations.

After his night at the hospital, Joby had spent another very unhappy day at home before going back to school. His father had driven him there. The bike hadn’t been that badly damaged, but they’d taken it away, and wouldn’t say for how long. When Joby had explained about the brakes, his father had gotten the bike and shown him that they were working just fine, so, once again, he’d been deemed a liar.

At school, however, Joby discovered that being run down by a car was just about the neatest thing anyone he knew could think of, and was rather enjoying his sudden celebrity by the time the bell rang and his crowd of fans escorted him to their new classroom. There, instead of Miss Meyer, he discovered a young, primly attractive woman he had never seen before. She had short, dark, shiny hair, and wore a gray dress suit that made Joby think of bank commercials.

“Hi, Joby. I’m Miss Stackly, as your classmates
already know,
” she said, as if he’d missed an assignment or something. “Miss Meyer broke her hip in a fall
last month, and won’t be able to teach this year, so I’ll be your fifth-grade teacher.” She leaned forward to shake his hand. “I’m
very
glad you’re finally here!” She looked up and smiled at the class. “There must be easier ways to get out of school than throwing yourself in front of a car, mustn’t there, children?”

Everyone laughed, and Joby knew it was a joke, but something in her voice had made it sound as if she really thought he’d just done it trying to get away with something.

Smiling down at him again, she said, “I’m afraid you’ve already got some catching up to do, Joby, so why don’t we sit down at lunch and go over what you’ve missed.” It was not a request. There went his lunch hour.

They were silent as they walked into Joby’s school for their parent-teacher conference with Miss Stackly. Such silences had become so usual that Miriam hardly noticed anymore.

She had opened Joby’s last report card expecting further evidence of the student Mrs. Nelson had praised the previous spring. Instead, she’d found a long string of C minuses above a handwritten list of concerns filling the “Comments” box. The teacher’s words still seemed etched on her retinas:

Joby seems to like working at his own pace, and in his own way. This appears to be deliberate disobedience rather than mere immaturity or ignorance of school policy. He is not working to potential, or making wise use of his time, and he holds his pencil the wrong way when writing. I have spoken to him about this many times since school began, but he is still doing it!!! It has been a pleasure to have him in class.

Miriam had found Miss Stackly’s final blandishment as offensive as it was incomprehensible. Confronted with the report when he came home, Joby had simply burst into tears and run to his room. Later he had mournfully sworn to be working harder than ever, claiming that Miss Stackly hated him, and that nothing he did was ever good enough. Miriam had come this evening braced to meet the Wicked Witch of the West, but the woman who greeted them was attractive, pleasant, and apparently very sincere.

“Thank you so much for coming.” Miss Stackly smiled, waving them both toward seats. “I know Joby’s very disappointed about his report card, and it must have come as a surprise to you too. That’s why I’m really so glad we’re getting this chance to talk.”

“Us too,” Frank replied evenly. “Joby’s always done reasonably well in school before. My wife and I are rather concerned about the sudden change.”

“I appreciate and
applaud
that concern, Mr. Peterson.” She smiled earnestly. “And I’d like to start by reminding everyone that a grade of C indicates perfectly
acceptable
work. Joby is certainly not failing in any way, and he’s been making a much better effort lately, so we’re definitely
not
in any kind of crisis. I see this more as a valuable opportunity to steer him toward higher achievement.”

“I don’t want to sound defensive,” Miriam said somewhat coolly, “but it’s always seemed to me that Joby was already something of an
over
achiever.”

Miss Stackly gave her a wrenchingly sympathetic smile. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell either of you what an amazingly gifted child you have, but it’s crucial that such children be challenged. After being allowed to glide by on his extraordinary talents for so long, being asked to truly stretch himself for the first time undoubtedly feels like persecution, but I assure you, nothing could be further from my intention.”

Miriam wasn’t going to let her off that easily. “On his report card,” she pressed, “you expressed concern about the way he holds his pencil, but his writing seems very neat to me, and his spelling has improved tremendously during the past year. He’s worked very hard at that. Shouldn’t we be more concerned with these things, than how he holds his pencil?”

Miss Stackly didn’t seem the least bit defensive. She merely nodded, as if carefully weighing Miriam’s point. “You know, those comment boxes are much too small.” She smiled apologetically. “I so often wish there were room to address more than the problems there.

“Joby is a wonderful child,” she went on to assure them, “but his very rich imagination sometimes draws him into a kind of
fantasy world,
which is fine for smaller children, but Joby is reaching the age where, if we’re not careful, he could start to become socially isolated, and functionally impaired in all sorts of ways. I’d really like to see him reading a little less fiction, and concentrating more on core academics. Some organized team sports might help his sense of discipline.”

“My son has always been
plenty
athletic, Miss Stackly,” Frank replied with barely suppressed rancor. “If I know
anything
about Joby, it’s
that
. And I’m not sure what
social isolation
you’re referring to, but he’s about the most popular boy I’ve ever seen.” His tone became more heated. “You’re new here, of course, so you may not have—”

“Frank,”
Miriam interrupted, blushing.

“Mr. Peterson, I could not agree more,” Miss Stackly insisted. “And
really,
I am
so moved
and
encouraged
every time I meet people who love their children like the two of you so clearly do. But I want to help keep him in step with his peers, so that he’ll still be that same wonderful boy when he graduates from high school.” She offered them her most ingratiating smile yet. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you both so much that, well, I can hardly wait for our next conference!”

Miriam left not knowing what to think. She had often heard that even the best children went through difficult phases. Perhaps she had only herself to blame for being naive enough to think that
her
child would be different.

Benjamin sat with Joby and Jamie outside the auditorium, still flushed and glazed in sweat. When they’d all decided to try out for Mr. Bingham’s fifthand sixth-grade after-school basketball team, Benjamin had thought a tub like Jamie’s chances pretty poor. It had never even occurred to him that
Joby
might not make it!