Susan rolled her eyes. “And come back and work till dark, if I know you. By home, do you mean your dad’s?”
“No, my house here.”
“Have you moved back in to town?”
She shook her head. “I’m still out at Dad’s. But I’m thinking about moving back into the townhouse. Let my dad have his life back.”
“Getting a little tense out there, is it?”
“I’m more worried that the longer I stay, the harder it will be for Dad when I leave.”
“You might be surprised how willing he is to let you go.”
Bryn stared at Susan, not sure what she was getting at. She was pretty sure Dad would try to talk her out of moving back into town, but now that she was so involved in the work at the shelter, she was eating up a lot of gas getting back and forth every day—sometimes twice a day.
Living at Dad’s had helped her stretch Adam’s insurance and pension payments, and if she could find a decent job at all, she’d decided to try to hang on to the townhome. She was ready to have her own life again. Maybe Dad was, too.
Susan touched her arm. “I didn’t mean to imply you’d overstayed your welcome. That’s none of my business. I just know with Davy—as much as I enjoy having him around, I don’t want him there forever. For his own sake as much as mine.”
Susan’s son had ended up quitting college in the middle of the semester and was living at home. He’d helped with the shelter on occasion. It had been hard for Bryn to face him. Like most of the people she’d written letters of apology to, she’d never heard back from Susan’s sons. Susan claimed they’d forgiven her, but Davy was pretty messed up, and she didn’t think he had been before he’d lost his dad.
Susan brightened. “Hey, you knock yourself out and get that wall done. But I’m going home for lunch, and you’d better not be here when I get back.”
Bryn laughed, but a lump formed in her throat—one of gratitude for Susan’s undeserved friendship. Every day there were reminders of the tragedy her carelessness had caused. Sometimes she thought it would be easier to move far away where no one knew her story. But the thought of having to confess what she’d done all over again, having to reveal her secret every time she applied for a job, every time she made a new friend—if she ever fell in love again—quickly made her realize that it was a blessing to live right here where everyone knew what she’d done and—for the most part—accepted her and had forgiven her.
She frowned, though, remembering her conversation with Myrna Eckland last week. She’d gone to talk to Myrna about getting back her job at the library. It was obvious from the minute she walked into the library director’s office that Myrna was not happy to see her. She told Bryn they weren’t looking for anyone and that she didn’t “foresee needing additional help anytime in the future.” She’d coolly dismissed Bryn and closed her office door behind her.
That hurt, but Bryn could take a hint. She’d shed a few tears when she got back to her car. The incident had hammered home the fact that there might always be struggles because of the black mark on her life. But even as she wept, she’d felt God’s loving arms around her. This was her life now, but God would be with her. It was a promise she embraced anew every single morning when she opened her eyes and remembered the terrible thing that had happened.
She hadn’t told Dad yet, but she had a job interview at Hanson’s Market tomorrow. She’d heard checkers made pretty decent money, and though the thought of meeting the public like that every day scared her witless, she felt like it was the direction God was leading her.
She couldn’t keep sponging off of Dad. Maybe Susan was right, and even if Dad balked at Bryn’s plan to move back into town, if he was ever going to be able to retire, he needed to be putting away the money he was spending to feed her. She couldn’t live with her daddy forever. Not if she wanted to move on.
Sparky would stay with Dad. She smiled, realizing that was probably one point of her leaving that Dad would declare nonnegotiable. She’d miss him, but the change in Dad since he and Sparky had bonded did her heart good. For that matter, the changes in Sparky were nothing short of a miracle. Maybe he’d just grown out of puppyhood, but Dad had the dog trained to sit, stay, roll over, play dead . . . she’d lost track of their repertoire, but it was impressive. It would be a small sacrifice to leave the dog with the man who’d become his true master.
She pictured herself moving back into the apartment and felt an equal mix of excitement and apprehension. It would be hard to come out of hiding, as she’d essentially been at Dad’s. But it was time. With God’s forgiveness, with Judge Clyne’s sentence, and now the opportunity to help get the shelter rebuilt, she’d been given a new chance at life.
This time, she would take it.
He smiled to himself,
thinking about the
reactions he was bound to get
with today’s little display
of pyrotechnics.
38
Friday, June 20
Okay, guys, come on now . . . quiet down. Does everybody have their goggles?”
Garrett looked around the table at the eager, suntanned faces eyeing him through the oversized safety goggles he’d borrowed from the high school science lab. They were finishing up the first full week of summer school, and already he’d grown to enjoy the little ragtag group of third, fourth, and fifth graders who’d been assigned to his class. He was determined to make summer school a positive experience for them, and this week’s science experiments had proved just the ticket.
He smiled to himself, thinking about the reactions he was bound to get with today’s little display of pyrotechnics. “Okay. I think we’ve got everything we need . . .” He loosened the lid from a jar of elemental sodium, the magic ingredient in today’s demonstration.
“We’ve been talking about chemical reactions. Remember how the baking soda—sodium bicarbonate—reacted to the vinegar? What happened?”
Matthew, a wide-eyed third-grader with an ear-to-ear smile raised his hand. “It fizzed up all over the place. Like a volcano!”
“Yeah, it was awesome!” Brittney Lane, another of the third graders, propped her elbows on the table and leaned in for a better look at the materials Garrett had assembled.
He winked at her. “If you think that was awesome, wait till you see what happens today. We’ve saved the best for last.” He cleared his throat and tried to look menacing. “Brittney, you might want to move back a little.”
The students laughed, and choruses of “Cool!” went up from the fifth-grade boys.
“Who remembers the chemical name for plain old water?”
Hands shot up. “H2O.”
“That’s right. Today we’re going to find out what happens when you mix plain old H2O with elemental sodium.” He took the lid from a gallon jug of water. “Mark, would you pour some water into the beaker? About half full.”
For once, Garrett’s biggest troublemaker did as he was told. The other kids looked on.
Garrett lifted a chunk of the soft metal out of the jar with tweezers and used a scalpel to cut off a small piece. “Did you notice that the sodium is stored in oil in the jar? Can anyone guess why that might be?”
Blank stares all around.
“Well, you’re about to find out why it can’t be stored in water. Think about what we’re studying. Chemical reactions.”
A dozen heads leaned in close.
Garrett looked around the table, checking that everyone still had their goggles on. “Okay, stand back a little.”
He placed the beaker inside an aquarium and carefully plunked the lump of elemental sodium into the water. The beaker sparked and burst into flame. For several seconds, the little ball of fire hopped across the water, producing oohs and aahs from the budding scientists. Garrett had observed the chemical reaction often enough to know that the kids’ faces were more fun to watch even than the miniature fireworks display.
When the hunk of sodium had been consumed and the flame extingui
shed, Matthew looked up at him with that trademark smile. “Can we do it again, Mr. Edmonds? Please?”
The other kids took up the chorus. Garrett smiled and reached for the tweezers.
“Get a bigger piece this time!” Mark shouted. “We can blow up the whole school, man!”
Garrett laughed. “Not gonna happen. This isn’t something to mess with. But I’ll tell you what, you go home tonight and ask your parents to help you google ‘elemental sodium and water,’ and you’ll see what a big hunk of this stuff can do.”
He repeated the demonstration and had their undivided attention as he explained how the chemicals reacted with each other. Looking up at the clock a few minutes later, he was surprised to find it was almost ten o’clock. “Hey, guys, we need to wrap this up. Put your glasses away and take your seats, please.”
When they were all settled in working on individual projects, Garrett’s growling stomach reminded him that he hadn’t taken time for breakfast this morning. Kathy had brought some of her famous Snickerdoodle cookies to the teacher’s lounge, and he decided to make a quick run for a cup of coffee and a cookie.
He backed toward the door. “You guys keep working. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He slipped out the door and waited outside for a second, listening to be sure they stayed quiet.
He went to the door of Lucy Brighton’s classroom next to his to ask her to keep an eye on his class for a minute, but it sounded like she was in the middle of a lesson. No problem. He’d pour a quick cup of coffee and wolf down the cookies on his way back to the classroom. If he hadn’t mentioned he was stepping out for a minute, the kids wouldn’t even have missed him.
The cookies were as good as he’d imagined, and he licked the last crumbs off his lips and headed back to the room, trying not to spill his coffee. Kathy Beckwith stopped him in the hall, and they talked for a minute about a field trip they were planning for the last day of summer school.
He glanced at his watch and was startled to realize he’d been gone almost five minutes. “I’ve got to run,” he told Kathy.
He took another sip of coffee, then took off as fast as his full coffee cup would allow.
He was twenty yards from his door when a blast like a gunshot echoed through the halls. It sounded like it had come from his classroom.
His heart pounded in his ears, and hot coffee sloshed out on his hand. When he heard the screams, he was certain they came from his classroom.
In a single motion, he deposited his coffee cup on the floor by the janitor’s closet and took off at a sprint down the hall.
Throwing open the door, he was met by a haze of smoke. The girls and the third- and fourth-grade boys were huddled behind Garrett’s desk whimpering or crying. The two fifth-grade boys stood with their hands over their mouths, looking down at Mark Lohan, who lay in a heap on the floor.
In a split second, Garrett knew exactly what had happened. The open jar of elemental sodium and a beaker roiling with smoke told the story.
“Jillian, go get Mrs. Brighton. Now!” Garrett rushed to Mark’s side, knelt beside him, and put a hand on his neck. Oh, please, God. Please, let him be breathing.
Mark moaned and stirred, and to Garrett’s immense relief, he rolled over onto his back. Before Garrett could stop him, he struggled to his feet.
“Are you okay?” Garrett put his hands on the boy’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Did you get burned?”
Mark shook his head, shamefaced.
“He put a whole big hunk of that stuff in the beaker!” Matthew tattled.
“Shhh.” Garrett hushed them all and turned back to Mark. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m okay. I didn’t know it would do that. I swear. I didn’t know.”
Thank God he’s all right! Garrett’s knees went weak with relief.
By now the hallway outside his room was filled with curious students and teachers.
“What happened?” Lucy Brighton hustled in, her face white as chalk, voice quavering.
Garrett held up a hand and motioned his students to take their seats. Turning to Lucy, he forced his voice steady. “A little extracurricular experiment, apparently. It looks like everybody is okay.”
Lucy shooed her students back to her room next door, and within a few minutes the hallway outside Garrett’s room was quiet again, his students’ heads bent over their work.
But Garrett was deeply shaken. It was bad enough that he’d left his classroom unsupervised for almost five minutes, but he’d been utterly careless to leave that jar of sodium where the students could get to it. Every year some kid wanted to try a bigger chunk. He knew the temptation that stuff was, once the kids saw its magic. To make matters worse, he’d left the beaker of water sitting where he’d left it, intending to clean up while the kids were at recess.
He watched Mark carefully until lunch. He seemed to be fine, though it was a subdued version of Mark Lohan—no doubt thinking he was headed for the principal’s office the minute the recess bell rang.
Garrett debated sending him to the school nurse’s office. But if he did that, he’d have to file an accident report. He was lucky—
No. Trembling, he realized the truth: he was blessed beyond expression. When he thought about how much worse it could have been . . . if one of the kids had been badly injured—or God forbid, killed . . . He shuddered at the thought.
And suddenly, his thoughts took him where he hadn’t been willing to go before. If Mark had died, if five of his students had been killed or maimed by the explosion, how could he ever have lived with that guilt?
Might he have been tempted to somehow exonerate himself by slipping into denial?
Of course he might have. What normal person wouldn’t want so badly for what happened not to be true, that he would somehow make himself believe he wasn’t guilty?
Knowing himself the way he did, he might have tried to shift the blame onto someone else. Blame Kathy for distracting him in the hall, or blame Mark for doing what any curious fifth grader might have done.
What he’d done today was no less negligent or careless than what Bryn had done. If anything, his negligence was worse because the safety and lives of children had been entrusted to him.
The only reason Bryn Hennesey had sat before a judge, and Garrett Edmonds would not, was the outcome of their mistakes.
He’d been “fortunate” no one was hurt. Blessed with an outcome he could live with, blessed beyond what he deserved. For some unfathomable reason, God had spared him a tragedy that made him physically ill to even consider.
Why hadn’t God extended the same grace to Bryn? Garrett would never understand that as long as he lived. It certainly proved that in this fallen world, life wasn’t fair.
He let himself dwell on what had happened, and carried the comparison further. What if one of those kids had been Bryn’s child? Could she have ever forgiven him?
He thought of her sweet spirit, the compassion she’d shown to Charlie and to her father, to the homeless people at the shelter—even to the dogs, taking Sparky in on such short notice for Charlie’s sake.
He let himself remember the days he and Bryn had spent together, and he was pretty sure he had his answer. She would have forgiven him. Difficult as it would be, he didn’t think she would have allowed anger and bitterness and unforgiveness to fester the way he had.
He sank into a chair, suddenly drained of energy. He owed her an apology. He’d treated her as if she’d acted purposely and maliciously. She’d been neither. She’d made a mistake. A terrible, consequence-filled mistake. But a mistake nonetheless.
Part of him wanted to get in his truck and go talk to her this very minute. But he felt a gentle prompting in his soul. There was Someone else he needed to make things right with first.
. . . for a week now,
he’d known that he needed to
call her and apologize.
39
Friday, June 27
Garrett wiped his palms on his khakis and
picked up the phone, every bit as nervous as he’d been as a gangly teenager the night he’d called to ask Melissa McGuire to the prom.
Where had that thought come from? The comparison bothered him. He wasn’t asking Bryn on a date. But for a week now, he’d known that he needed to call her and apologize.
As of this afternoon, summer school was over, and he didn’t want to face next week—and the rest of the summer—without at least attempting to make things right with Bryn. He didn’t deserve an easy pardon, but he hoped she’d at least hear him out. He had to at least try.
He tried her cell phone and got a message that it was no longer in service. He was tempted to give up, but he’d heard that Bryn had moved in with her father shortly after she’d turned herself in. He called Information for Hugh Terrigan’s number and had the operator dial it for him.
The phone rang three times before the answering machine picked up. A male voice instructed him to leave a message, but midway through the recording, the answering machine clicked off and the same male voice came on the line. “Hello? This is Hugh . . .”
“Mr. Terrigan, this is Garrett Edmonds. Does Bryn happen to be there?”
An overlong pause. Bryn’s father must know who he was. “Bryn isn’t here.”
“Do you know where I could reach her?”
“May I ask why you’re calling?”
He closed his eyes. He wouldn’t blame Bryn’s father if he refused to tell him anything. “I owe her an apology. It’s . . . kind of a long story, but I’d like to talk to her, if she’s willing.”
“Bryn moved back to the Falls a few weeks ago. She’s careful about her phone . . . the media kind of stalked her for a while. I don’t feel comfortable giving out her number, but I can tell her you called.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Another pause. “I think Bryn would like to talk to you. She’s doing her community serv—” He stopped, as if he’d said too much, but then seemed to change his mind. “She’s helping Susan Marlowe get the homeless shelter ready to open again. She spends most of her time down there lately. I don’t think she’d mind me telling you that. You know where it is?”
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