While My Sister Sleeps (16 page)

He googled David Harris, but got many pages of different David Harrises. Narrowing his search, he typed in “son of Oliver.” Seconds later, he had what he wanted.

Smug, he sat back. The idea that Oliver Harris's son taught
nearby was a windfall. The guy didn't know it yet, but he was about to meet his new best friend. Well,
almost
about to meet his new best friend. It would take some finesse. That was where Molly came in.

Leaning forward again, he pulled up her e-mail address, but there was Robin's, right under it in his address book, and the thought of Robin twisted his gut. So he wrote his note to Robin. It wasn't long. None of the notes he sent her were. He just wanted her to know that she had reason to recover.

Feeling profoundly sad, he sent it off. Then he pulled up Molly's address and simply said, “After I left you last night, I tried to kill the piece on Robin, but they'd already gone to press. I won't tell anyone what you told me, and there won't be anything else until you give the okay. You can trust me on that. I'm still shocked about Robin, but it must be even worse for you. Can I do anything to help?”

DAVID
Harris didn't have to read from a text. Sitting on a corner of his desk, he faced his eighth graders. “Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation …”

He recited the entire address, all two minutes worth, and was gratified that his students were listening. “Think about the words,” he told them and repeated the address. He slowed at the parts that had always touched him the most, culminating with, “… we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain …”

Of the subjects in American history that he taught, the Civil War was his favorite. He had visited every major battle site, knew that 620,000 deaths made the Civil War the country's
bloodiest and that 200,000 boys under the age of sixteen had fought in the ranks over the course of those four years. He also knew that Ulysses S. Grant had been an alcoholic before rising to become the Union's top general, and that the Confederacy's Stonewall Jackson died of complications from a wound inflicted by one of his own men. Of many points of Civil War trivia, he particularly liked these two. They offered lessons about the precariousness of life and the sweetness of redemption.

David identified with both.
Life can turn on a dime
, his father always said.
The direction you head in when it does makes all the difference.
Oliver Harris took pride in what he had done following those turn-on-a-dime moments in his life. The long list of his successes cancelled out the few failures he'd had.

David didn't have a list to hide behind. He was only thirty-one. Everything he did showed.

He was thinking about that as he laid the groundwork for the Confederate States of America, talking of secession, Lincoln's inauguration, and the shots fired on Fort Sumter; but his eye kept returning to Alexis Ackerman. With her dark hair pulled back starkly and her layered tees snug, she looked bony and even more pale than usual.

Too soon, the bell rang. He barely had time to mention the assignment before he was drowned out by the rustle of backpacks and the shuffle of students leaving the room. He was turning back to his desk when he heard several gasps.

Alexis was on the floor by her desk, clinging to the chair. He hurried down the aisle. “You all go on,” he urged the others and hunkered down by her side.

“I don't know what happened,” she said in a wispy breath. “My legs just didn't work.”

“Are you dizzy?”

“No. I didn't faint. I'm okay now.” Though her face had no color, she pushed herself up.

He stood to give her space, but when he said, “I'll walk you to the nurse's office,” her eyes grew large, haunting her thin face.

“No, I'm fine. Really. I just need lunch.” She gathered her things.

He guessed she would go straight to the salad bar and help herself to lettuce. “You've lost more weight, Alexis.”

“No, I'm holding steady.”

“Steady at what?” he asked.

“I just look thinner in these clothes,” she said without answering the question. Floating past him, she made for the door. She looked back with an apologetic smile. “I'm really fine, Mr. Harris. Really. That was just a weird whatever.” Turning away, she dissolved into the hall.

David needed lunch, too; but rather than head for the cafeteria, he went outside, down the front steps of the middle school, and across the street to the administration building. The superintendent had an office on the second floor. He was on the phone when David arrived, but the door was open. He gestured for David to wait.

Having been seen, there was no retreat. Otherwise, David might have lost his nerve. He didn't have the best of records where going out on a limb was concerned. Things seemed to backfire or, at the very least, cause more angst than good for those involved. It was fine for his father to pontificate about life turning on a dime, but the events on which Oliver's life turned were business-related. Rarely did they have to do with character, and certainly not with life and death as had been the case on the Norwich road Monday night. Molly was right; David couldn't
not
have revived Robin. But what good had it done?

And now here was Alexis. Her parents had eyes.

But parents saw what they wanted to see. His own brother had been addicted to their mother's painkillers before a math teacher called him on it, and only because
he
knew the signs. It was handled quietly. That brother, now forty-two, was slated to take over as publisher when Oliver retired. As attentive a mother as Joan Harris had been, she had never explained why she didn't notice her painkillers disappearing.

“Come on in, David,” Wayne Ackerman called from his desk and, when David went to close the door, said, “Leave it. Our A/C is on the fritz. The more air circulating, the better. What can I do for you?”

Wayne was a plain man with a penchant for dramatically dark shirts and ties. His office, done in dark woods, was crowded with family pictures in chocolate brown frames. Wayne and his wife had five children; their faces were everywhere in his office, just as they were all over town. But Wayne's warmth didn't stop with family. He prided himself on knowing every teacher in his system. Granted, as school systems went, this one wasn't large. But he was a master at making the personal connection. David had been to his office many times.

This was the first time he had come of his own accord. Committed, he sat and quickly said, “I'm worried about Alexis.”

“My Alexis?”

“She just had an episode in my class. She didn't faint, but her legs gave way. I wanted to take her to see the nurse, but she refused. I'm worried, Dr. Ackerman. She's painfully thin.”

“She's a dancer,” Wayne said. “Dancers are always thin.” He brightened. “Have you seen her dance? She's being primed as a soloist.”

“I haven't seen her myself, but I hear she's incredible. I just worry. Dancers often have eating disorders.”

Wayne dismissed that with a wave. “Her ballet teacher would tell us if she saw a problem.”

“Even if severe thinness is part of the culture? I talked with someone last night—”

“About my daughter?” Wayne cut in.

“No. About the general symptoms of anorexia. I've seen many of them in Alexis.”

“Today, David. Did it occur to you that she might have the flu?”

“This wasn't the flu.”

“Do you know that for sure?”

“No,” David conceded. “But I'm worried, Dr. Ackerman. I had Alexis in class last year, too. She was thin then, but the change over the summer is frightening. Now she's even thinner. Her voice is weaker. She doesn't hang out with classmates. She sits alone in the lunchroom.”

“She studies through lunch,” Wayne explained, “so that she can spend the rest of the day at the studio. She's very focused. I don't see anything wrong with that, David, and if you're saying she doesn't have friends, you're wrong. Her friends are dancers. They come from all over the state to dance at the academy. She sees them every afternoon.” He frowned. “Are other teachers talking about this?”

“I don't know. I haven't raised the subject with them.”

“Good. Please don't. My daughter's health is our business, not yours,” he stated, and his good humor went downhill from there. “I don't like the idea that a young teacher with no kids thinks he knows about mine. I've raised five children and done a damn good job. My kids don't do drugs. They don't drive
drunk. My sons respect women, and my daughter has a future ahead of her. I don't want rumors starting because one teacher thinks he sees something to worry about.”

His phone rang. Putting a hand on it, he stared at David expectantly.

Dismissed, David left the office, went down the stairs and out into the sun, but he took no pleasure in the glory of the day. He stood on the sidewalk with his hands on his hips, disappointed in himself for botching his case. He had made the grand gesture … for what?

Oliver could make the grand gesture and end up with a prestigious newspaper to add to the group. His siblings could make the grand gesture and earn a promotion. Even his mother made the grand gesture and, yeah, it was often a charitable one, but it worked. She got accolades for everything she did.

David didn't want accolades. He hated the limelight. But he loved teaching, especially at the middle school level where the kids were vulnerable and in personal flux, and the wrong turn could echo for years.
Life can turn on a dime. The direction you head in when it does makes all the difference.
David knew that. But when he tried to do something good, it came out wrong.

And here was a perfect example. Wayne Ackerman came up from behind and passed him by without a word. Watching him go, David wondered whether Alexis would get help and, if so, whether he would be here next year to see it.

OLLY TOOK HER LAPTOP TO THE HOSPITAL.
Nick's article continued to reverberate, with e-mail coming in fast. She figured that if she answered it from there, it would be as if Robin were involved. If nothing else, it would help pass the time.

Kathryn was sitting at Robin's bedside. She had her elbows on the bed and was holding Robin's hand to her own neck.

“Hey,” Molly said gently. She didn't ask about change. Nothing was different except the curve of her mother's back. Kathryn's spirit was starting to drain. “More flowers?” she asked as a diversion and read the cards.

“Getting a little out of hand,” Kathryn murmured.

“Would you like me to clear some out? We can have them taken to the children's floor.”

“Pretty soon. For now, this is fine. Plants are my friends. They make this all feel less strange.”

“Really,” Molly said in agreement. “I just came from the greenhouse. Same thing. A comfort.”

Kathryn let out a long breath.

Molly thought she looked more pale, and had the sudden vision of
Kathryn
having a heart attack. “Are you okay?”

“No. I'm dying inside. There's this sense of injustice. Like I'm the mother of someone sentenced to die, only I don't know what Robin did that was so bad.”

“Nothing bad, Mom. She inspired everyone. Half the people in the lounge are here to show support. They just love her. They'd tell you that themselves,” she coaxed, but Kathryn gave a short, can't-go-there head shake. “What about e-mail?” Molly tried. “You'd feel good reading them.”

“Like rough drafts of a eulogy?” Kathryn asked and shot a helpless look at the ceiling.

“It's about doing something to pass the time,” Molly said. “I just came from work.” When Kathryn simply stared silently at Robin's face, Molly gave her an update on Snow Hill. She didn't mention Liz.

Kathryn gave little sign of taking anything in. So Molly drew up a chair, opened the laptop, and pulled up her e-mail. More notes had come even in the short time since she last checked. “Here's one from Ann Currier. Do you remember? She was—”

“Your fifth grade teacher.”

“Dearest Molly, I'm horrified to read about your sister. She's in my prayers.” Molly shot back a quick thank-you and pulled up the next. “This is from Teddy Frye. Robin dated him in college.”