by Susan Finlay
Claire rolled over in bed and tried to push away those old memories. That flight had ended with an FBI agent handcuffing her and taking her in for questioning. She’d handed over Callum’s laptop computer and entered the program. She punched her pillow hard. It’s no use, she thought. No matter how hard I try to fix the problems in my life, I can’t. She hadn’t jumped ship, and yet she was drowning. She pulled her blanket over her head and let the tears roll down her cheeks.
In the morning Nancy said, “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own today? I can stay another day.”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “I will be all right alone.” She made an attempt to smile, and hoped it was convincing. Then, as an afterthought, she said, and really meant it, “I appreciate everything you’ve done. I couldn’t have made it through this without you. And Ron. Please go back to work. I’ll see you there on Monday.”
“I’m glad I could help. I know Ron feels the same. Should I drop Marcus off at the nanny’s apartment on my way?”
“You wouldn’t mind doing that?”
“It’s not a problem. I already know where she lives.”
“Yes, then. Thank you. I’ll call her and let her know you’re coming.”
Before Nancy left, she stuck her head back into Claire’s room. “I just got off the phone with Ron. Your car is still at the school. If you give me your car key, I’ll pick up Marcus after work in your car and drive him here. Ron will meet me here and then drive me back to the school.”
“Oh, thank you, Nancy. I’m sorry I’m so much trouble.”
“No problem, just feel better.”
Claire called the nanny and told her about Nancy dropping off Marcus and picking him up, then she walked downstairs and hugged Marcus before he left with Nancy. When they were outside, Claire closed the door and locked it. She double-checked the deadbolt, then sat down on the floor, covered her face with her hands, and cried herself to sleep. She woke up later on the hard floor. She pulled herself up and padded into the kitchen. The digital clock read 10:33. How could so much time have passed already?
She sat down on the sofa. Her back and necked ached, probably from lying on the floor, she decided. Picking up the remote control, she turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, but finding nothing of interest gave up and turned it back off. She picked up her mobile phone lying on the coffee table and looked at the message list. Steve had called twice yesterday. She carried the phone upstairs, placed it on her nightstand, and lay down on the bed. She thought about dinners with Steve, how he’d made her laugh; his jokes and his stories about his growing up. They could intelligently discuss almost any topic. Did he know how rare it was for her to find someone with whom she could do that? She pictured his face, his warm blue eyes, and smiled. She was pretty sure she was falling in love with him. That brought up a new dilemma. It was bad enough having to hide her real identity from him, but how could she not tell him about what had happened today? She couldn’t tell him and she couldn’t not tell him. Their relationship, like her life was a doomed conundrum. She sighed and then groaned as images from the attack pushed their way back into her mind.
What could she have done to prevent it? Frank had told her the previous principals were incompetent, yet they hadn’t allowed something like this to happen. What did that make her? She glanced at the bottle of prescription pills on her nightstand. How many of them would she have to take to end it all?
She rolled over and pushed that thought out of her mind. Eventually, she fell asleep, but several times over the weekend, especially as her back-to-work day grew closer, she glanced at that bottle.
BY MONDAY MORNING her physical pains had eased. Claire surveyed herself in the bathroom mirror. While her clothing hid most of the black-and-blue marks on her body, other marks weren’t so easily hidden. She stared at her face, which reminded her some piece of fruit, a nectarine or plum perhaps, bruised in several places from falling off a tree branch prematurely. She wrinkled up her face and puckered her mouth. Now she really did look like a prune! She would have laughed at the comparison under better circumstances. Taking her makeup kit out of a drawer, she began to work on concealment.
An hour later she bit her lip as she studied her work. It looked dreadful. Her mum would never be have allowed herself to be seen in public looking so artificial. Claire took a moist cloth and blotted away some of the powder, the dark-circle-diminisher, the foundation, and the blush, and then smoothed and blended the remaining spots. Most women could probably have worked magic, but not her. Applying makeup was decidedly not one of her talents—another notch to add to an ever-growing list.
Turning from the mirror, she left the bathroom and went to Marcus’s room to help him get ready to go to Kate’s. Half an hour later she pulled their coats from the closet, and bundled up Marcus. It was snowing outside.
He fussed and squirmed, and it was nearly impossible to tie the string on his hood.
On her drive to the school, after dropping off Marcus at the nanny’s apartment, she chided herself for not going for the gun that she’d confiscated and locked in her desk drawer. She shook her head. Wouldn’t have done any good anyway. What did she know about guns? Nothing. And was the gun even loaded? She’d locked it up without checking. What an idiot.
She parked in her normal space in the school car park, and sat there, trying to find the nerve to get out of the car. Ron had sent her a text message this morning telling her that he and Nancy had cleaned up her office over the weekend. Still, the thought of entering her office was making her sick to her stomach. Ron would be there soon. Best to wait for him. She sat there for fifteen minutes, constantly turning every which way to make sure no one was lurking about. By the time she saw Ron’s dark blue SUV pull into the car park, her neck was hurting again.
Ron parked next to her and waited for her to get out of her car.
“You made it,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” she lied, making her best attempt at pasting on a smile.
“Glad to hear it. Are you ready to go inside?”
She nodded and matched his pace as they walked so she wouldn’t get left behind, especially while they were on the side of the building where the evergreen bushes were.
He unlocked the front door of the building and turned on the lights. She hesitated, and he gave her a questioning look. She took a deep breath and followed him inside.
“You don’t have to do this today, you know,” he said when they stood outside her office. “Maybe you should wait a few more days. Give yourself more recovery time.”
Her mouth was dry and she wasn’t sure she could speak, but she had to try. “No. I’m ready. I’m fine.”
Unlocking her door, he opened it, reached inside and flipped the light switch. He handed her the keys. She stood frozen, staring into the office.
“Are you sure you’re ready? Do you want me to go in with you, keep you company? I can set up my laptop in your office.”
She wasn’t sure of anything except that she didn’t want to be here. Don’t tell him that. He’ll think you’re a baby. Remember the magic word—fine. Everyone accepts ‘fine’. Marcus, Nanny Kate, Nancy, Steve.
“I’m fine. You don’t need to stay. I’d rather be alone, anyway.”
“Whatever you want. If you need me, you know where to find me.”
She stared a moment longer, then turned her head to look at him. He was already gone. All right, then. Time to take the plunge. She stiffened her back, bracing herself, and entered the office. Why hadn’t she asked Ron to check it out first, make sure no one was hiding? Get a grip. The door had been locked. It’s safe.
Slowly, she walked over to her desk chair, peeking around the furniture and under the desk to be sure, but stopped where she’d dropped her mobile phone. Her eyes filled with tears and she had to force herself to stop them. Finally getting to her chair, she plopped down and stared at nothing, only seeing the visions inside her own head.
>
A century later someone knocked on her door. Claire stared at it, afraid to move or make a sound. The door slowly opened and she stifled a scream.
“Ron told me you were back. I hope you’re feeling better.” It was Kim.
“Thanks. I—I might still be contagious so I’ll stay in here and get caught up on paperwork. I don’t want to expose anyone to the flu. If anyone needs the principal, please send them to Ron.”
“Will do. Let me know if you need anything.”
A couple minutes later, Kim returned. “Would you like some coffee? It’s fresh.”
“No. Thank you. I’m fine. I just want to be left alone.”
Kim gave her a questioning look before turning and pulling the door closed behind her with a loud click.
By ten o’clock Claire had answered most of her emails, except for the ones she forwarded to Ron or to Bill Wilson. She looked at her calendar. A budget report was due on Wednesday. That was something she could handle. She’d barely begun working when her phone rang.
Ron said, “We have an emergency in the gymnasium. I need your assistance.”
She hung up the phone and stepped out into the outer office, then made her way through the corridors which were filled with students rushing between classrooms. She tried to avoid physical contact as she passed through the crowd.
In the gym she learned that two students had brawled and one of them was injured, possibly a concussion. Paramedics and police were on their way. She stood around watching. What was she supposed to do? When the police arrived a few minutes later, she glanced at Ron. He looked her way and she mouthed ‘I’m in the way. You can handle this,’ and then carefully walked back to her office.
RON FINISHED HIS report with the police, and went back to his office. He glanced at Claire’s office on his way. The door was closed.
He exchanged glances with Kim.
She shrugged her shoulders, and asked, “Has she come out of her office today?”
“I saw her once,” he said.
“Is something wrong? I know she’s been sick, but she nearly bit my head off when I asked if she wanted coffee and again when I tried to send a boy and his parents to her office. You were busy. What was I supposed to do with them?”
He kept his face blank, although he was worried. Clearly, Claire wasn’t ready to be back. What was he supposed to do about that? Damn. He didn’t want to go over her head to Frank. Okay, give her a couple days, he told himself.
“What did you do?”
“I apologized and told them I’ll have to reschedule.”
Over the next couple of days, he kept a close eye on Claire—at least when she was out of her office. Most of the time, she kept herself closed off, literally, and when she was out of her office, she walked around like a zombie. It wasn’t until late Wednesday afternoon that she finally met with two teachers and with one student and her mother. Again this morning she met with a small group of teachers. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
After lunch, he stood near Kim’s desk discussing the student who was taken to the hospital on Monday. Claire rushed by and went into her office, slamming the door behind her.
Kim said, “What was that about?”
“Damned if I know.”
“I’m getting worried,” Kim said. “Parents are pissed because she set up appointments with them yesterday, and now she’s cancelling them. What is going on?”
“Huh? I hadn’t heard anything about that.”
“I’ve gotten four phone calls in the past hour from parents complaining. Your schedule’s already full. What am I supposed to do about the meetings?”
“I’ll try talking to her.”
He knocked on her door, then opened it and stepped inside and closed it.
“We need to talk, Claire.”
She didn’t respond.
“Have you tried talking to a counselor? You’ve been through a trauma. You need some help.”
“I don’t need anything. And I don’t want to talk. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do.”
AFTER RON LEFT her office, Claire started shaking. She picked up her mobile phone and called Brad.
She told him about the attack, choosing her words carefully because she was afraid she might fall apart.
When she finished, he groaned. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I—I don’t know. I thought I could deal with it, but I can’t. I need you to bring me in, Brad. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. This is a bad place and I’m getting more frightened to come to work. I can barely drag myself here.
“Before I do that,” he said, “I need a copy of the police report to show my boss.”
She didn’t respond.
“Claire, are you still there?”
“There isn’t one. A police report, I mean. I—I didn’t report it.”
“You what?”
She explained what happened, how Ron had taken her to the hospital and helped her. She tried to explain why she kept it a secret.
“You expect me to believe this? I believed you when you said someone was watching you, even though my boss didn’t buy it. But you’ve gone too far. I might have believed it if you’d called me the day it happened, but a week afterwards? No way.”
“I’m telling you the truth. You know me. I’m a terrible liar. I couldn’t make up something like this.”
“Sorry, Claire.”
“I can’t take this anymore. If I stay, I’ll get fired. I can’t do this.” She didn’t tell him how close she was to taking a whole bottle of pills and ending it all.
“You’re gonna have to make the best of your situation. You taught at Oxford and Weymouth University for Christ’s sake! You don’t have any excuse for not being able to handle the job.”
“It’s not the same.”
After she hung up, she remembered the visit to the hospital. Surely he would accept a report from them as proof. She dialed Brad’s number again. He didn’t answer.
Twenty minutes later, her phone rang and she grabbed it. It had to be Brad. He must have seen that she tried to call him back.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Claire, it’s Steve. I’ve been calling you all week. I’ve been worried about you.”
Her heart stopped. She’d been dreading this call. She bit her lip, took a deep breath and let it out. “Oh, Steve. Sorry I didn’t return your calls. I’ve been busy. Uh, I have someone in my office.”
“Okay, I won’t keep you, but I want to see if you’ll have dinner with me again on Friday night.”
“I’m still not feeling well. I’ll have to pass. Maybe another time.”
Steve was silent for a moment, then said, “Did I do something wrong?”
“No. I can’t talk right now. Like I said, I have someone in my office.”
She hung up the phone and hid her face in her hands.
Ten minutes later she packed up her laptop and stood up. She grabbed her handbag and started to walk toward the door. Remembering the gun in the desk drawer, she went back to her desk and unlocked the drawer. She took the gun and dropped it into her handbag, then walked out of her office, locking the door behind her. She walked by Kim’s desk and said, “I’m going home.”
Kim looked at her as if she thought she’d lost her mind.
On her way home, as she was sitting at a stop light, she looked around and waited for the light to change. In a park on the corner she noticed a teenage boy sitting on a picnic table bench, his gangly legs sprawled. He looked familiar. The light changed. She flicked on her turn-signal and made a right-hand turn giving her a closer view. Was that Curtis Browne, one of the boys who were sent to her office on her second day of work?
Oh bloody hell! Keep driving. Pull up to the driveway on the left, turn around and drive home. But she didn’t. She pulled into the car park, got out, and walked toward him. He looked almost as miserable as she felt. He apparently saw her coming and twitched as if he would bolt. But he didn’t. She sat down next to him on the bench and glanc
ed sideways at him. He looked younger than she remembered—a little boy in a big body.
“Why aren’t you in school, Curtis?”
He looked at his feet and didn’t answer.
“Please talk to me, Curtis.”
He turned his head and looked up at her. “Why aren’t you in school?”
“Fair enough. I’m having a really bad day. I had to get away.”
He didn’t say anything. He looked back down at his feet. “I’m having a bad day, too.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
They sat quietly for a while.
“You know,” Claire said, “It’s really cold out here. Would you like to get something warm to drink? There’s a coffee shop down the street. It’ll be on me.”
He looked around, then said, “I guess that’d be okay.”
After the waitress brought drinks, Claire said, “You can talk to me. I’m a good listener. Although I’m not good at much else, I am good at that.”
He looked surprised.
“The other kids, well, they’ve been teasing me. A group of jerks stuffed me in my locker yesterday. I couldn’t get out. I kept banging and screaming. Finally, another student heard and let me out. It must have been fifteen minutes later. I got a tardy slip from Mr. Owens. He sent me to Mr. Baker. I got detention and my mom yelled at me for causing trouble.”
“Did you tell Mr. Owens or Mr. Baker what happened?”
Curtis bent his head. “No,” he whispered.
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t rat on bullies like that.”
“Didn’t you want to make sure they didn’t do that to you again, or to anyone else?”
“They woulda got detention and that woulda pissed them off. They already stuffed me in a locker. What do you think they would do if they were really mad at me?”
Claire studied the boy. She had so many questions she wasn’t sure which one to ask first. Finally, she said, “Why did they stuff you in the locker if they weren’t mad at you?”
