In her bedroom he pulled the sheet up to her chin before he perched on the edge of her bed. “Need anything?”
Her eyes were already drifting shut. “Bambi’s mama died.”
He couldn’t imagine what that had to do with anything. “Yeah, I guess she did.”
“But his daddy found him. In the forest.”
Joe seemed to remember something like that. Bambi was a cartoon he’d avoided since childhood, Bambi and every cartoon and movie where an animal died. Life was already too sad.
“My daddy’s no good,” Corey said.
Joe suspected she was right. “You don’t know that, Brown Eyes.”
“My mama said.”
“Maybe your mama was wrong about him.”
“I’d like to have a dad...dy.” The last word drifted into silence.
He stood and looked down at her. In the glow of her night-lights her face was wistfully angelic. “I’d like to have a little girl,” he whispered.
Sam cuddled against Joe as he slid back into his own bed. He put his arms around her and closed his eyes. But sleep didn’t come for a long, long time.
Chapter Twelve
TURKEYS MADE FROM brown paper shopping bags hung from the classroom ceiling grid on green and gold ribbons, and costumed Native American chiefs hand in hand with Pilgrim men in wide-brimmed black hats smiled from crayon drawings that lined the walls. Sam tidied tabletops so that she could place the children’s chairs on top of them for the night. The school janitor always appreciated the help.
“Corey, help me gather up these workbooks, would you?”
Corey started on the other side of the room, piling books against her chest. The cast had been gone for weeks now, and her arm had healed perfectly.
The missing cast wasn’t the only difference in the little girl. She weighed more, noticeably so. The extra weight particularly showed in her cheeks and torso. Corey would never be plump; she seemed to burn off most of what she ate. But she looked decidedly healthier, no longer pale and undernourished. Her hair had grown a bit longer and Sam tied it back from her face with ribbons or barrettes every morning. The effect was charming.
This afternoon she was dressed in a deep violet shirt with matching pants and bright pink sneakers. She wore plastic rings on every finger, and she wanted to get her ears pierced, just like Mary Nell. Sam was going to let her do it as a Christmas present.
If Corey was still living with her at Christmas.
“I’m getting tired, Miss Sam,” she said. “Can I go out and swing?”
“Promise you’ll stay in the school yard? No chasing after kittens or blue jays?”
“Just did that once!”
“Once was enough. I thought I’d lost you for good.” The words had a hollow ring. Sam was going to lose her for good. It was only a matter of time.
Corey slipped into her jacket. “I promise.”
Sam watched Corey skip out the classroom door, then she went back to her work. Only somehow she never quite got to it. She stared out the window until a woman cleared her throat in the doorway.
“Penny for your thoughts? Heck, you’re worth more than that. I’ll give a dime apiece.”
Sam turned to smile at Polly. “Sorry. Nothing I’m thinking is worth even a penny.”
“I just saw Corey runnin’ down the hall. Mary Nell’s still here, too. She went after her.”
“Good. She’ll be sure Corey stays around. Sometimes she forgets she’s got someone taking care of her now. She’s used to being able to go off and do what she wants, when she wants.”
“Yep. Her life’s different, all right. So’s yours.”
“That it is.” Sam started clearing tables again.
“You going to the bonfire tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Well, we’re headin’ over that way, too. Thought, if you didn’t mind, we’d take Corey home with us for the afternoon so she and Mary Nell can play. Then we’ll feed her dinner and bring her to meet you at the high school.”
“Mary Nell really enjoys being with her, doesn’t she?”
“That’s one smart little girl. Even keeps Mary Nell on her toes.”
“I wish Carol saw it that way.” Sam had already talked to Polly about the antagonism between Corey and her second grade teacher, Carol Simpson. Until Corey had become Carol’s student, Sam hadn’t realized how rigid Carol’s standards were. But it had become increasingly clear as the months of school progressed that Carol disliked Corey as much for her high IQ as for her primitive manners and occasional grammar lapses.
“Have you tried to talk to her?”
“I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to make things worse for Corey, and I don’t want to create a rift with Carol. I keep hoping she’ll see what a great little girl Corey is and loosen up a bit. This can’t be the first gifted child she’s taught. She must have learned some strategies for coping.”
“Yep. Shuttin’ her eyes.”
“Polly!” Sam couldn’t help herself. She laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Joe asked from the doorway.
“Polly’s being outrageous.” Sam went to greet him. She put her arms around his neck and gave him a light kiss on the lips. “That shirt should be illegal.”
The junior clothing and fashion design class had made the shirt for Joe as a classroom project. Wide vertical stripes of red and gold traversed the width. The high school motto, Scholarship Is Its Own Reward, was embroidered on the pocket.
“Turn around, Joe,” Polly ordered. “Let me see the back.”
He complied. An appliquéd bulldog, sequined saliva dripping from three-inch fangs, covered the whole panel. Once upon a time the Sadler High mascot had been—quite naturally—a fox, since the school was located in Foxcove. But the first time it became clear that the new girls’ varsity basketball team would have to be called the Sadler Foxes, the mascot had been changed. Jokes about being full of bulldog were easier to take.
“You can just stand next to that bonfire tonight and ignite it with that shirt,” Polly said.
“He has to stand there to give a speech, anyway,” Sam said.
Joe faced them again. “More like a pep talk. Rah-rah stuff. Why we’re going to win the homecoming game tomorrow, even if we haven’t won a game this season.”
“Are we goin’ to win?” Polly asked.
“Are you kidding? Half the team’s in bed with the flu, the other half wishes it was. I might have to get out there and play myself.”
“Now that’s a game I’d watch with real interest. Real interest. You in those tight pants and all.” Polly patted Joe on the cheeks as she squeezed past him. “Don’t forget, I’m takin’ Corey. See you tonight.”
“She’s taking Corey?” Joe’s eyes sparkled.
Sam laughed. “You sound like a man in the market for an uninterrupted dinner.”
“I wish.” He put his arms around her, even though there were people passing in the hallway. “But there’s a pep-squad hot-dog roast before the bonfire. Did you forget?”
“I guess I did.”
“You’re invited, you know.”
“Maybe I’ll come. I can fend off the cheerleaders for you.”
“Oh, the pleasures of having a wife.”
“Don’t think I don’t notice they’re all crazy about you. I know what goes on in the hearts and minds of teenage girls.”
“Really? What does?”
“Things no teenage boy would believe.”
“What about elementary school teachers? What goes on in their hearts and minds?”
“Exactly the same things.”
He laughed, a deep, seductive rumble that made her wish there was no hot-dog roast. “I’ve got to be back at school early, but there might be ti
me to run home and...change,” he said.
The invitation was clear. She smiled her answer. Their relationship had been filled with unfamiliar twists and turns for almost a year now, but she was beginning to have faith that the road would straighten out for them again. If Joe wasn’t exactly the same man she had married, he also wasn’t the man who had withdrawn completely at the diagnosis of his infertility. He was quieter and more self-contained than in the early years of their marriage, but with his personal pain had come a new maturity, a new patience with the faults of others.
She still yearned for their old intimacy, for sex unhampered by shadows of their failure, for evenings spent planning their future. There was no talk of the future now, as if it were still in jeopardy. And despite what appeared to be a truce on the subject of Corey, it was still clear that Joe had no intentions of permanently welcoming her into their home if her father couldn’t be found.
But he was still the man she adored, the only man she ever wanted in her life. And now, faced with the blatantly sensual flicker in his eyes, her heart beat gratefully—and faster.
“Samantha? Joe? I’m glad I caught you both.”
Sam recognized the voice before she saw the man standing behind Joe. She watched Joe close his eyes, as if saying a prayer for patience.
“Ray.” She stepped back to give Joe space to compose himself. Dr. Ray Flynn, the sole purveyor of psychological services for all of Sadler County, was not Joe’s favorite colleague. Nor hers. “What can we do for you?”
“I’d like to see you in my office, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ve got a busy schedule this afternoon, and so does Sam. Can it wait?” Joe asked, turning to face him.
“It could, I suppose. But the problem just keeps growing and growing....”
Sam knew immediately what, or rather whom, the problem must be.
Joe nodded. “All right, then. But let’s be brief.”
Sam admired Joe for asking the impossible. Ray had never been brief in his life. He was a man who could take a full minute to say excuse me, half an hour to tell about his drive to school, half a day to recap the other half. And in addition to being long-winded, he was narrow-minded and shortsighted.
They followed Ray into his office. Sam had known Ray would want to talk to them here, where he felt relatively safe and in charge. In the hallway, with Joe looking down at his balding dome, Ray would feel his authority was under challenge. Here he could sit behind his desk and tap a pencil in emphasis as he spoke.
“Have a seat. Have a seat.”
Sam wondered if Ray was going to repeat everything because there were two people in front of him. It promised to be a long session.
“I won’t beat around the bush,” Ray said after long minutes of doing just that. Sam knew he believed that small talk would put them at ease. Instead Joe looked like a man on the edge of an explosion. “I’ve been talking to Carol Simpson about the child.”
Sam felt her temperature rising. “What child?”
Ray frowned. “Why, Corey. Corey Haskins.”
“There are a lot of children in the building,” Sam said pleasantly. “It does help to identify them by name.”
“She is living with you? Still living with you?”
“Yes.” Sam bit her lip to stop herself from repeating it.
“And you plan to continue letting her live with you?” His distaste was clear. He might as well have asked if Sam and Joe planned to continue to dump their garbage in the school hallway every morning.
“We plan to keep her with us until her father is found,” Sam said.
Ray sat back and made a tepee of his fingers. Sam thought Elmer Fudd would look much the same sitting that way—except noticeably cuter. “And when do you suppose that might be? Do you know? Can you guess?”
Sam started to speak, but Joe interrupted. “Neither Sam or I predicts the future very well. The authorities are still looking. What’s your concern?”
Ray’s eyes widened with distaste. “I’m just trying to help, Joe. That’s what the school board hired me to do.”
“Well, we’d like to help, too,” Sam said. “But we can’t until you tell us what the problem is.”
“The child is the problem.”
“Corey, you mean.”
“Yes, of course. Who else would I be talking about?”
Sam gave up trying to make her point. “Exactly how is Corey a problem?”
“She was your student last year. Just last year.”
“Yes.” Sam waited.
“Samantha, you know how disruptive she can be in a classroom. How disobedient. Yet you insisted that we not send her to a special needs school. That was a very grave mistake. Very grave.”
Sam remembered exactly how furious she had been last year at Ray’s insistence that Corey be placed in a special school. Now she was twice as furious. Too furious to speak.
“Let me get this straight,” Joe said, leaning forward. “You’ve done tests, and the results show that Corey’s emotionally disturbed?”
For a moment Sam thought Joe was using Ray to prove his own misgivings about Corey. Then she saw that Joe’s foot was tapping. It was a sign Ray should heed.
“Yes, of course I’ve done tests.”
“Exactly what?”
“The standard tests for a situation like this one.”
“Which are?”
“Well, I’d have to pull her records. I test a lot of children. I can’t be expected to remember every test I’ve given.”
“Yet you called us in to give vague opinions? Even though you don’t have any data in front of you?”
“Carol Simpson has been talking to me. Every day. To me.”
“I saw the workup that was done on Corey last year,” Sam said. “There was nothing, nothing at all that indicated she was really disturbed. She was an incredibly intelligent child in an unfortunate home situation. Her behavior was a reflection of both, not of any problems that couldn’t be dealt with in the classroom.”
“Your bias is obvious.”
“Our bias.” Joe touched his chest. “Ours, as in both of us. If Miss Simpson is having problems with Corey, then she’ll need to give some consideration to better ways of solving them. We can give her suggestions. Like allowing Corey to read ahead, to supplement her daily busy work with some creative projects, like not raising her voice at Corey when she makes a mistake.”
Ray looked stunned. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Here you sit, two teachers—and you a principal, Joe—and you’re refusing to listen to another professional? She’s not even your child. She’s living with you. Just living there.”
“And as long as she does, we’ll keep her best interests uppermost in our minds,” Joe said.
“You’re making a mistake. A big mistake.” Ray began to tap his pencil. “Not just in defending her now, in spite of the assessment of a respected teacher, but in keeping the child at your home at all. You have a special place in this community. This isn’t a big city. Maybe you don’t understand. This is a small town, and we look up to our teachers and administrators here. We look up to them. Having that child stay with you is only going to hurt your image in the community. Your standing. You have your standing in the community to consider.” He was getting more and more flustered. He tapped louder and harder.
Joe stared at him, narrowing his eyes like a certain blond hellion. “I want to understand, Ray, I really do. Let’s both be absolutely clear about what you’re saying. First, there’s a young resident of Foxcove, a child born and raised here, who has no standing in this community herself?”
Ray swallowed audibly and tapped.
Joe went on. “And you’re recommending that we dump this child somewhere else, somewhere out of this community, or at the very least in a program out of everybody’s
sight? Not because she’s really disturbed, but because her family was poor, and her behavior isn’t always exemplary? Am I clear about what you’re saying?”
“She is disruptive. She is an angry, disruptive child.”
“I have about a hundred kids at the high school who fit that description. Shall we send them all off, Ray? Shall we find homes for them outside Sadler County?”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
Joe stood. “Then I’ll be reasonable. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to call a meeting with Sam and me and Carol Simpson. You’re going to sit there and smile, and Sam and I are going to tell Carol exactly what she can do to make her job easier and more enjoyable. Luckily for her, we live with Corey, so we know what works and what doesn’t. Luckily for everyone in Sadler County, see? Because now, Corey’s got someone in her corner, and that should smooth over any problems that might come up.”
“But—”
Joe waved away Ray’s response. “And when we’re all done, you’ll enter our suggestions into Corey’s permanent record. That way it’ll be clear to personnel in any school she’s transferred to that this is an extremely bright child who responds well to additional stimulation. Your notes will help one little girl find her place in this world, and you will have done your job. Admirably.” Joe leaned farther forward. “Admirably, Ray.”
“Well, that’s not a bad idea, I—”
“You’ll have to excuse us now. I hate to rush off, but Sam and I’ve got a busy afternoon ahead. Glad you cared enough to bring us in.” Joe motioned to Sam and she leaped to her feet.
“‘Bye, Ray,” she said as Joe tugged her from the room.
“Tornado alert. Whoops, too late, it’s already passed,” she said in the hallway.
“I wonder how many kids have been pigeonholed and sent away by old Elmer Fudd in there,” Joe said when they were halfway to their cars. “I’m going to start pulling records tomorrow.”
“Joe...”
“No, I mean it. We’re under obligation to provide the least restrictive environment for all the kids of this county. Tomorrow I’m going to find out if that’s what we’re doing.”
The Trouble with Joe Page 17
