Authors: Meg Gray
The morning’s conferences were more
enlightening than Emma anticipated. She learned Avery’s parents were getting a
divorce and every other Friday her dad would pick her up so she could spend the
weekends with him in Vancouver. Maria’s mother’s girlfriend was moving in with
them and needed to be added to all of Maria’s emergency contact information.
Oscar would not be at school next week. His mother was having a hysterectomy
and he’d be staying at his grandmother’s house. Hans’s family planned to move
back to Germany at the first of the year and Nicolai’s father had taken a job
on the east coast. Emma noted every change, so she could keep track of all of
her students.
At half past three o’clock that
afternoon, Emma sat and waited for Mr. Lewis to show up for their conference.
At three forty-five, she called his office
and spoke to the receptionist.
“This is Ms. Hewitt. I had an
appointment scheduled with Mr. Lewis today at three thirty. He isn’t here and I
will need to reschedule with him. I only have two times available tomorrow, so
please have him call me as soon as he gets this. Thank you!”
By the time she closed and locked her
classroom door on Friday, she hadn’t received a return phone call. Monday
morning Emma photocopied the samples of Brayden’s work she intended to show his
father, sealed them along with the progress report into a manila envelope, and
put it in Brayden’s cubby. That afternoon she made another phone call to the
law firm, explaining that the progress report was in Brayden’s backpack. She
asked Mr. Lewis to call her so they could discuss it. Once he looked at the
progress report and saw how Brayden was struggling, he would call. She was sure
of it.
Thursday morning Emma was in her
classroom dropping ten kidney beans into small paper cups while her class was
in the library. Suddenly, a distraught looking Brayden dashed back into the classroom.
He looked like he was on the verge of tears.
“Brayden, what is it?” Emma asked.
“I forgot my library book and Ms.
Simmons says I can’t get another one if I don’t bring it back.” Worry lines
creased his forehead as he stomped to his coat locker. He pulled his coat from
the hook and threw it on the floor before sitting inside.
“Brayden,” Emma said, calmly walking
over to him. “Did you put your book in the library basket this morning?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and shook
his head.
“Let’s check your backpack. It might
still be in there.”
With his arms still crossed, he moved
out of his locker. Emma reached for his backpack and slid the zipper open.
Brayden reached inside and extracted his library book. The anxiety slackened in
his body and the scowl left his face. Before Emma zipped the bag closed, she
noticed a manila envelope inside—
the
manila envelope she’d sent home. She
pulled it out and turned it over. The seal wasn’t broken. Emma’s heart sank as
she pulled the zipper shut, manila envelope in hand. She followed Brayden out
of the classroom and walked him back to the library.
“Brayden,” she said when they turned
down the main hallway. “Does your dad check your backpack at night?”
“No,” he replied shaking his head.
“Who picks you up after school?”
“My dad.”
Emma nodded and held the library door
open for Brayden. She waved to Ms. Simmons letting her know Brayden had
returned. Internally Emma fumed. If Mr. Lewis was too busy to return her calls
or check his son’s backpack then she would confront him. A plan began to
formulate in her mind. She was going to hand deliver the envelope to him.
Today.
At the end of the day, Emma dismissed
her class and walked her students to the after school club in the gymnasium.
The kids hung up their backpacks and coats in the janitorial closet turned coatroom
and checked in by inserting a wooden craft stick into a library card pocket
with their name and picture on it. She found Miss Lisa, the college student,
who ran the program.
“Hi, Ms. Hewitt,” the petite dark haired
young woman said.
“Hi, I was wondering if Brayden’s dad would
be picking him up today.”
“I’d assume so,” she said. “No one else
is on his pick-up card.”
“What time does he usually pick him up?”
Emma asked.
“Six o’clock, if we’re lucky,” she said,
rolling her eyes. “Sometimes he’s even later than that and we’ve had to call
him.”
“Well, then I guess I’ll be back at six,”
Emma said. “I have some papers to give him and I’d like to talk to him about
Brayden.”
“Good luck with that,” Lisa said. “He
hardly gives anyone here the time of day. He takes Brayden and gets out of here
as fast as he can.”
“Well, I’ve got to try,” Emma said,
forcing a note of optimism into her voice. “But thanks for the heads up.”
Emma worked for the next hour cleaning
up the classroom, sorting through the kids’ work from the day and stapling handprint
turkeys on the bulletin board outside of the door. Emma flipped through her
lesson plan book, noting which activities Mary Ellen had not yet prepared for
her and headed to the copy room. The faint smell of cologne met her at the door
and she felt her knees go soft. Alec Martin, the young special education
teacher, stood at the copy machine.
“You need this?” he asked Emma when she
set her papers on the workbench behind him.
“Mmmhmm,” she answered, drinking in his
good looks—the blond hair and muscular build.
He pulled his papers from the tray and
flashed a smile. “It’s all yours,” he said before leaving the room. Emma ran
her copies and cut strips of construction paper until the entire workbench was
covered with her projects.
At five-thirty, Emma’s stomach grumbled
as she piled her stacks of papers and projects up in an alternating fashion.
She lugged her work back down to the classroom and wondered if Seth was home
yet.
Seth was working from the Portland
office this week and Emma enjoyed spending the evenings with her roommate. Last
night they sat on the couch eating take-out from Styrofoam boxes.
Her stomach grumbled again.
Emma set her projects down, fished her
cell phone out of her coat pocket, and dialed Seth’s number. He didn’t answer,
so she left a message that she was still working and shared the idea of
ordering in Chinese food. She hoped her offer would keep Seth from popping
another one of those frozen dinners in the microwave that made the whole
apartment smell like a school cafeteria.
Emma organized her projects on the counter
top behind her desk. From here, she had a clear view of the front of the
school. She looked up when Mr. Martin left the building, carrying his bike down
the steps. Once on the road Mr. Martin pedaled away.
At precisely five fifty-seven, Emma saw
the tall lean, well-dressed figure of Mr. Lewis cross under the street lamp in
front of the school. She snatched up the envelope sitting on her desk and
hurried down the hall. Her name badge and keys attached to the maroon colored
lanyard around her neck bounced against her chest, making a clanging sound. She
felt like a cow ringing her bell to let the farmer know she was coming. She
pressed her hand to her chest to stop the noise and turned the corner falling
into step right behind Mr. Lewis.
“Mr. Lewis?” she called.
No response and if she wasn’t mistaken it
seemed like the man’s pace just increased.
“Mr. Lewis,” she said, a little louder
this time and he stopped, but didn’t turn around. “I found this in Brayden’s
backpack today.” She presented the envelope as she came up beside him, but he
didn’t look at it.
Mr. Lewis stared down at her, his
posture commanding and intimidating. Emma backed off a step, feeling a sliver
of discord wedge between them.
“What were you doing going through my
son’s backpack?”
Emma startled at the tense accusation in
his voice and watched as his hands balled into fists.
Emma opened her mouth and then closed it
again. She wasn’t prepared for his line of questioning. Her confidence wavered.
She wanted to turn and run, but couldn’t. Finally, she had the attention of
Brayden’s father and she wouldn’t let it slip away. Assuming a stance that was
marginally as strong and intimidating as his, she took a breath to regain her
composure.
“I was helping him look for his library
book,” she said, lifting her chin. She wanted to show him she couldn’t be
bullied. “And I found this.” She pushed the envelope toward him again.
“
In
Brayden’s backpack?” he
clarified, taking his eyes from her for only a moment to grab the envelope.
“Yes, and I can see you haven’t had a
chance to look over Brayden’s progress report yet. I left you a message on
Monday that I was sending it home.”
“Well, I’ve been busy,” he said, showing
no shame or apology.
“Please,” she said. “Take the time to
look it over.”
Mr. Lewis glanced down at the yellowish
brown package in his hands and she waited, hoping he’d say something, ask her
anything. She watched him, looking for some sign of interest in his son’s
progress, but there was none.
He stepped away from her without even so
much as a sideways glance.
“Mr. Lewis,” Emma called after him. “You
are getting my messages, aren’t you?”
With an exaggerated sigh of impatience,
Mr. Lewis stopped and turned around. “Yes,” he said, fixing her with his cold blue
eyes. He was challenging her. Emma could see the fight brewing inside him, but
she wasn’t going to take his bait. He found her and what she had to say
insignificant. She only hoped the contents of the envelope would speak for
itself.
Emma nodded, turned away and pulled her
lanyard from her neck. Her hands began to shake as she felt the adrenaline let
loose in her body. In her classroom, she went straight to her desk and pulled
on her coat. She stuffed her keys into the pocket and threw her bag over her
shoulder. She switched the classroom lights off and slammed the door shut
behind her.
Her heart was racing and her hands were
shaking. That little conversation hadn’t gone very well. All she could think
about was how distant and brusque the man was, how difficult was life at home
for Brayden? Had the extra time she spent waiting to have a conversation with
his father made any difference? The only thing he seemed to care about was that
she’d been in Brayden’s backpack. What was he going to do—sue her for caring
more about his son than he did?
She pushed through the heavy metal doors
and galloped down the front steps. She drew in a ragged breath as the evening’s
first raindrops fell from the sky. Her heart thumped again as she returned to
her awful conversation from a few minutes ago. She crossed in front of the
school and reached into her bag. The street ahead of her was dark and her guard
was down when she pulled the cheap little black umbrella from her bag.
She didn’t see the man in black jeans
and a dark plaid shirt approaching her, and she certainly wasn’t ready for him
to grab at her bag. Instinctively she held fast to her quilted teaching bag and
swung at the man with her tiny extended umbrella. He blocked her shot and yanked
at the bag again. A flood of lights swept over them and she fell backward,
hitting the pavement hard.
Voices yelled. She couldn’t make out the
words. She was dazed. It all happened so fast and then it was quiet. Two hands
reached out for her and Emma let herself be hauled to her feet. She looked into
the deep blue eyes of the man that was there, holding her. Her knees buckled
and he pulled her closer.
“Easy now,” Marcus said, catching Ms. Hewitt
as she almost slipped from his grasp. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. He was supporting all her
weight and she was trembling. The rain began to fall harder. Hunched against
the downpour Marcus guided Ms. Hewitt to the other side of the car with one arm
around her waist. He opened the passenger door.
“Get in,” he ordered and was glad she
had the sense not to argue. Running around to the other side of the car he
picked up her bag, some spare change, and a couple of pens. The rain had
plastered the scattered papers of crayon drawings and wildly colored turkeys
and pumpkins to the sidewalk. He tore most of them in his haste to peel them
away. A raft of purple craft sticks studded with gold glitter and obscure
drawings was in the middle of the sidewalk, he tossed it in assuming it
belonged to Ms. Hewitt.
He dropped the bag on the floor in the
backseat and pulled off his wet jacket. Brayden watched him, a puzzled
expression engraved on his face. The earbuds from his video game dangled in his
hands and Marcus could hear the soft sound of his game’s repetitive music. He
gave his son a tight smile before sliding into the driver’s seat. Raindrops
snaked their way down his forehead. He wiped at them and then tried to dry his
hands on his pants, but they were as wet as the rest of him. He shivered
against the cold settling into his body and turned the heater up, muffling the
Bach concerto playing on the stereo.
“Are you okay?” he asked Ms. Hewitt
again. He saw the nasty fall she’d taken on the sidewalk. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine,” she said and dropped her
gaze to her lap. “A little sore, but nothing serious.” Marcus kept his eyes on
her as she lifted the umbrella from her lap and let out a tiny wooden laugh
when it went limp. She dropped it on the floorboard and shifted in her seat.
Marcus caught the wince in her face.
“Would you like me to take you to the
hospital, just to be sure?” he asked.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. She
still wouldn’t look at him. “I think I just want to go home. If you don’t
mind…” she paused, turning her head to look at him, but once her eyes met his
she looked away again. Lifting her chin and squaring her shoulder, just like
she’d done back at the school when he’d challenged her, she spoke again. “Never
mind, I only live a few blocks from here. I can walk.”
“I’ll drive you,” Marcus said. “I think
we can both agree walking isn’t a good idea right now.” He waited for her
consent—a tiny drop of her chin, which he took for a nod—before he pulled away
from the curb. The rain poured from the starless sky and he flipped the
windshield wipers into high gear. “You know you shouldn’t walk alone in the
dark,” he added, sounding more like a scolding parent than a concerned citizen.
“I know, but there was something I
needed to stay late for tonight.” There wasn’t accusation in her voice, but
Marcus knew exactly what she was implying; it was
his
fault she stayed
late.
Marcus gripped the steering wheel and
wrenched his hands around the soft leather. He left the school in a ball of
rage after she ambushed him in the hallway. He didn’t appreciate being attacked
with his guard down and all the way out to the car he fumed with indignation.
If there had been a garbage can on his way out the door, the envelope would be
stuffed inside it right now.
Progress report, I don’t think so,
he’d thought as soon as he felt the thickness of the envelope. Did she really
think she was fooling him? It was probably a pile of statements she’d filled
out with her charges against him and his inadequacies as a father. If she wrote
one thing about Brayden being a bad kid, he’d have his legal team on her so fast
she’d regret every word she wrote down.
Looking at her now, from the corner of
his eye, sitting stoically in the darkened interior of his car he softened. No
matter how much she angered him with her surprise confrontation, she’d gotten
much worse from her attacker.
He couldn’t make out her features in the
darkness, but remembered the soft golden luster in her young eyes and the way
she’d tried to smile at him before he lashed out at her.
He used his anger on her just like he
did everyone else. It was his emotion of choice these days. People tended to
leave him alone when they thought they made him angry. That’s what he’d tried
to do with Brayden’s teacher tonight. Judging by the way she stalked off
earlier he was pretty sure he’d succeeded.
“Turn left on the next street,” she
directed. Before making the turn, he looked back in his rearview mirror and
caught Brayden with that same puzzled look on his face, as if he was trying to
understand how his teacher had ended up in their car.
“How was school today, Brayden?” he
asked determined to show Ms. Hewitt he was a good father.
“Fine,” the response came from the
backseat.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
Great,
Marcus thought,
this was the same conversation they had every day. He was hoping Brayden would
rise to the occasion in front of his teacher and tell him something, anything
about his day at school. His plan had backfired and now he was sure he just
reinforced this woman’s low opinion of him as a father.
“Brayden,” Ms. Hewitt’s voice was soft.
“Why don’t you tell your dad about the book you picked out at the library today?”
Through the mirror, Marcus caught a
flicker of excitement in his son’s eyes before it blew out. “It’s about pirates,”
he muttered.
“This is my building,” Ms. Hewitt said,
pointing to a quaint three-story red brick apartment house tucked between two
row houses. Marcus pulled to the curb and shut off the engine.
“Maybe you and your dad could read it
together tonight before you go to bed,” she said, braving a smile over her
shoulder at Brayden who returned it. Turning back around she deliberately dipped
her gaze to avoid Marcus and then reached to unfasten her seatbelt.
“There’s my roommate!” She pulled on the
door handle and jumped out of the car. “Seth!” she called and the man about to
enter the building stopped. She ran, joining him under the awning, and buried
her face in his chest. The other man put both arms around her and enveloped her
trembling body. He whispered something into her hair before gently kissing the
top of her head.
Boyfriend?
Marcus caught himself wondering, as he stepped out of the car and pulled her
rain-drenched bag from the back seat.
“Be right back,” he told Brayden and
then rushed through the rain to join the couple under the shelter of the
awning.
“Marcus Lewis,” he offered immediately
holding out his hand to the roommate—what had Ms. Hewitt called him again.
Something that started with an S…Sam or Steve?
The two briefly, but firmly, shook hands.
“Someone attempted to mug Ms. Hewitt tonight,” Marcus continued as he handed
over the bag and reached for his wallet. “She’ll need to call the police and
report it. Here is my card, in case an eye witness account is needed.” Marcus
returned his wallet to his pocket as Ms. Hewitt lifted her head and stepped
back from her roommate.
“Oh my God, Emma, are you okay?” her
roommate asked, holding her at arm’s length.
She wiped the tears from her eyes before
speaking, “Yeah, I’m alright.” Ms. Hewitt leaned into the other man for support
just like she’d leaned into him earlier. Without another word, Marcus nodded,
and turned to leave.
“Thank you!” the man called out. Marcus
didn’t turn back, just raised his hand to wave off the thanks. He hadn’t done
anything really, except delay the poor woman’s walk home.
Back in his car, he watched the two
figures enter the building together. He turned around in his seat to see
Brayden doing the same.
“Is Ms. Hewitt, okay?” Brayden asked,
still watching the building.
“Yes, I think so,” Marcus replied.
“But she was crying and you asked her if
she was hurt?” Brayden looked at him and then back at the building.
At the school, Brayden had plugged into
his video game as soon as he was buckled into his seat and Marcus didn’t know
what he’d witnessed. Hopefully nothing, but seeing his teacher cry and driving
her home had obviously alerted him that something was wrong. Now Marcus would
have to deal with that.
“Well, yes,” Marcus said, turning back
around in his seat and fastening his seatbelt. “She fell down. I was afraid she
might’ve gotten hurt, so we stopped to help her.” He hoped that was enough of
an explanation to satisfy his son’s curiosity.
“Why didn’t the other guy help her up?”
Marcus froze, “What other guy?” He tried
to act confused as he started the car’s engine.
“The one who ran away after you yelled
at him.” Brayden’s voice was small.
“Um, well, because he pushed Ms. Hewitt
down.” Marcus chanced a look in his mirror to gauge his son’s reaction.
Brayden’s eyes grew wide with disbelief.
“Why would he do that? Ms. Hewitt’s so nice.”
“I don’t know, Bray,” he sighed.
Maybe
because he needed to score some fast cash for his next fix.
Marcus had only
seen the guy for a moment, but his blood shot eyes and rail thin body told him
enough to know the guy was probably a junkie. His thoughts flashed to Vanessa
and he wanted this conversation to end. He didn’t want to talk to his son about
how some people are so consumed by addiction they jeopardize the safety of
innocent people to get their next fix.
A light came on in a third story window
of the building as he pulled away from the curb.
“Is Ms. Hewitt a good teacher?” Marcus
asked, thinking back to how Brayden just said she was
so nice
.
“She’s okay,” Brayden said with a shrug
and popped his earbuds back in, returning his attention to his video game.
Okay!
Marcus thought,
he thinks she’s okay!
That was high praise coming from Brayden.