The only advantage to my space was that no one could find me. If I needed time to plan lessons in peace and quiet, or required privacy to confer with a colleague, I had it.
When I spotted Rosita Stitsill standing outside of my classroom as I returned from my thirty minute lunch, I knew that she’d had to ask someone how to find me. She looked small, as if she wanted to disappear. As I approached my door to unlock it, she asked if I had a minute.
"Just one." My terseness surprised even me.
The cacophony of voices preceded my sixth grade troop and the tromping of their footsteps reminded me of mallets pounding an oversized bass drum. As they wound their way around the corner, I recognized that Rosita and I had sixty seconds or less to wrap things up. We huddled in the doorway, protecting our secret.
"I came to apologize for disrupting your life, but I had to find the truth about my husband’s death."
"Did you really think he was still alive?" I asked.
"I wasn’t sure, and I needed to be certain for our safety."
"Safety?"
"He tried to get rid of the boys and me. I’ve never been able to relax, even after so many years. He is in the back of my mind always. I must stay alert. He may still want us dead." She looked desperate. Panicked. What did she think I could do?
"I don’t think you have to worry," I told her. "According to the detective I spoke with a couple of weeks ago, your husband is deceased. There’s nothing to be concerned about."
She reached out to hug me. "I’m sorry," she said again.
The students squeezed past us in the entryway, gathering their books for the afternoon. I returned her embrace, and she slipped away.
Our conversation nagged me. Drawn in by both curiosity and empathy, I certainly didn’t need the added headaches. My life stressed me out enough. Why couldn’t I put it to rest?
I found Di, sharing the encounter with her.
"She has a lot of nerve, doesn’t she?" Di said.
"I wish I understood her motivation. At first, I felt sorry for her. Now that she’s told me all this stuff about her husband trying to kill her and the boys, I’m not sure what to believe. The story just doesn’t add up. I don’t understand why, if she thinks her husband is still alive and I’m married to him, she didn’t come forward a lot sooner."
"I totally agree. In her shoes, I’d be checking out every possibility. What about money? How’d she survive? And didn’t Scott Davis at Hillside mention a parent with your same last name a long time ago? Didn’t he tell you he told her to come and see you?"
"Good point. I taught at the same school her son attended and she never stopped by to meet me."
"When were you there?" Di asked.
"Four years ago. That’s a long time to wait to find out if someone is married to your husband."
"It sure is. You know Emilio’s in my third hour class. He’s polite, smart, and handsome. Charming, really. It’s not like she would have minded drawing attention to her kid."
"Exactly. I suspect that there are some skeletons in her closet," I told her.
The bell rang, jolting us from our tête–à–tête.
"Gotta run, darn it." Di squeezed my arm.
"I’ll catch up with you later."
The troops headed our way. We ducked out of the hall and back into our rooms, lest we be run down by the thundering herd of students.
As I headed to Jack’s fourth hour Math class, I wondered why Rosita hadn’t called the cops years ago. Why wait?
"Hey, Stitsill, what’s up?" Jack asked as I entered his room.
"Nothing, Jack. Just a little preoccupied is all."
Jack landed one of his basketball–sized love pats on my back and some advice to go along with it. "Well, snap out of it, woman. Your little buddy, Timmy, has a Petri dish from science class in here. I think he lifted it from Crotchet’s room. You better make sure he doesn’t have another Exacto knife, either. She won’t be happy."
"Got it."
After the last of the kids raced out the door and quiet filled the halls, I wandered down to Di’s classroom. Her door stood open. She sat at her desk, hovering over maps of Canada.
"Got a minute?" I asked.
"Any excuse to put off correcting these monstrosities. What’s up?"
"I’ve been thinking about Rosita Stitsill’s visit. There’s more to this than meets the eye. She’s after something. Think about it. Supposedly, she has a job. Yet she made a special trip over here in the middle of the day, two weeks after she calls the cops on me, and comes in to apologize? It makes no sense."
"I agree. Something’s fishy. And you know what else? Emilio’s been missing a lot of school lately. He’s in my homeroom so I get the absence report whenever he’s out. Get this. The reason for his absence? It’s listed as ‘personal,’ which often translates into an ill parent, or a child custody debate in a divorce, but that wouldn’t be the case with him."
"Can you ask him why he’s been missing so much school lately?" I hated to put Di in a weird position, but hey.
"That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ll let you know."
"Thanks, Di." I stood up, then hesitated. "Do you think I’m crazy? I almost feel as if I’m on the verge of paranoia."
"Of course, not. I’d wonder, too." Di giggled. "It’s kind of fun, isn’t it, solving this big mystery?"
"I guess it beats writing lesson plans."
"Too bad we still have to do that."
"Too bad."
After first hour the following morning, I spotted Di racing down the hall. She looked excited.
"Well," she started, "I asked him. Emilio’s been missing school to go to court."
"Why on earth would he need to go to court?"
"It made me curious, too, so I asked him."
"I can’t believe you had the nerve to ask," I admitted.
"I know." Di grinned. "I figured out early on, if I ask the questions, the kids will answer."
"What did he say?"
"You’ll find this rather interesting. I sure did. He’s going to court to have his name changed. He shrugged and said it was his mom’s idea."
"What do you mean? Change his name? You mean changed from Vieira to Stitsill?"
"Yes," Diane replied quietly, reflectively.
"I don’t get it." Pressure rose in my throat. "The woman approaches me and confides that her husband tried to kill her and her kids, and now she’s going to change her son’s name? Change it to the name of the guy who wanted her dead? Tell me this makes sense!"
"It doesn’t." Di’s brow furrowed.
Sure enough, I received a name change notice in my school mailbox from the counselor a week later. Emilio Vieira’s name had been changed to Emilio Stitsill.
I went straight to Di’s room.
"Di, do you have any friends left at Scott’s elementary building?" I asked. She had taught first grade there after my departure.
"Some," she answered.
"Know anyone who’d mind getting us a copy of Joey Stitsill’s birth certificate?"
"Emilio’s younger brother?" Di narrowed her eyes. "Let me think about it."
I felt funny asking her to collude with me. Catholic guilt. Ethics. Again, I surprised myself. Feeling so guilty for doing something not so bad.
"Let me see what I can do."
The following Tuesday Di handed me a sheet of paper as we walked down the hall.
"It took a while, but here you go," she said.
"What’s this?"
"Joey’s birth certificate. I couldn’t ask anyone to fax it to me, because then the secretaries might have noticed. So, I had to find someone I trusted to make a copy and then mail it to me."
"Good thinking," I said.
Joey had been born locally, in July, ten years ago. Rosita’s name and age matched the information on Emilio’s document. But unlike Emilio’s birth certificate, this birth certificate contained the father’s information as well. His name: Jon Lyon Stitsill. His birth date, the same a
s my Jon’s. At least, the month and day. The year, exactly ten years earlier. Judging from the photos I’d seen, Joey’s father would have been forty years old at his birth. Rosita would have been twenty–seven.
I did a mental recap. She’d had Emilio out of wedlock at the age of twenty–five. Shortly after that, she married a man she hardly knew, moved to the States, and they’d had a child together. Boom. Boom. Major changes for a young woman.
I wondered how and why she’d latched onto the guy. Attractive enough, true, but thirteen years older. I reminded myself that desperate times call for desperate measures. Their marriage had brought her to the States, and it had provided security for her and her son. But what of his motivation?
Chapter Five
THE REMAINDER OF the school year stayed quiet on the Stitsill front. Jon traveled a lot that summer, so I pretty much had full–time responsibility for our crew. Gratefully, one of the perks of teaching was, when I was off, so were the kids. It meant quality time with them, at home and at my in–laws cottage on the lake. By fall, the mystery of my husband’s stolen identity had faded to the background.
A grueling September followed. By the end of the month, life as working mother left me drained. Jon’s travel didn’t let up, and my students avoided doing their homework and acted out in class. I didn’t teach in a Cadillac district. It was more like a rusted out Pinto. Budget cuts and increased paperwork thwarted me at every turn.
Joey Stitsill, Emilio’s brother, now attended our school. Seemed no matter how hard I tried to avoid it, the Stitsill mystery tugged at me. Hounded me, even.
Jack sauntered into my room on a Friday. I knew what he wanted. It was Payday Friday, which meant libations at the bar across the street. Except I could never go. I had responsibilities.
"Hey, Stitsill, it’s that time again."
"I know. You’re here to invite me to the bi–monthly gathering." I smiled with resignation and shrugged.
"Admit it, woman," he said. "You need it."
I thought for a long moment. Jack was right. I needed to get out. To feel the love and support of my friends. They sustained me. Camaraderie and having a little fun would do me good. But I had kids at home. And no husband. Again.
"I have to get home."
"To hell with that. You’re coming. Who do I need to call? Your mom? A sitter?"
"My mom is dead. You know that. And I don’t have the energy to look for a sitter right now. Plus, it’s too early." I glanced at the wall clock. "The teens I know are in school."
"I’ll be back." Jack turned on his heels and advanced down the hall with ten yard strides.
I shrugged and sighed. Then, I pulled out my cell phone and perused my contacts. Nope. I didn’t see anyone there who I could call last minute and ask to bail me out of motherhood.
I returned to my Special Ed duties, unaware that Jack had taken control of my life. The result: the kids—all of the kids—enjoyed a sleep over that night with a friend and her children. And moi? I took a rare night off from motherhood, drank too much with my colleagues, and paid with a severe case of the queasies for the balance of the week–end. That’ll teach the teacher!
∞ ∞ ∞
Di and I pulled into the school parking lot at the same time on Monday morning. I paused mid–stride when she announced, "Joey Stitsill came into my room before the bell on Friday."
"For what?" I asked as I resumed walking.
"He asked about you."
"Really? I wonder why."
"He seemed uneasy, even."
As the kids darted around us, I met her gaze.
"Depends on what his mom’s said to him, doesn’t it? Holy moly," I muttered as we headed for our respective classrooms.
I blinked in surprise when I noticed the young boy who stood at my closed classroom door. Not one of my students, but a real cutie.
I smiled at him. "Can I help you?"
"I just wanted to say hi," he said.
"Good morning," I answered, setting down my bags and unlocking my classroom door. "I’m Mrs. Stitsill, and you are?"
"Joey Stitsill," he said. He possessed dark, thick hair and black eyes—surely a tribute to his Mexican heritage. His confidence suggested a strong personality behind the good looks.
"Joey, I’ve heard nice things about you from your teachers. And we share the same last name. That’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it?"
I thought back to Di’s comments of a few minutes earlier. Joey had been asking questions. Guess he’d decided to come right to the source.
"Yeah. Do you think we’re related?" His intent gaze sparked my curiosity.
"No, honey, I don’t think we are," I answered. "Your mom and I have talked, and I think that there are just a lot of things that we have in common, but not any relatives. Why do you ask?"
"I just wondered," he said. "And I wanted to meet you." His teeth, some of the straightest and whitest I’d ever seen, gleamed in the early morning light.
"You’re at school early," I observed.
"Yep, I asked my mom to drop me off before school," he said. "I wanted to meet you."
"It’s my pleasure, Joey," I said. "Come and see me anytime. I love visitors."
Joey flashed another big, friendly kid smile. He threw his arms around me and held on tight. Surprised, I gave him a quick squeeze and a pat on the back.
"You’d better head down to the cafeteria now. I need to tend to a few things before the school day begins."
"Yes, ma’am," he agreed.
"Great meeting you," I said as he left my class.
"You, too," he answered.
He headed off down the hall and melted into the throng of students. To me, he seemed the picture perfect kid.
Teaching special education for my whole darned life has given me the opportunity to do lots of diagnostics. I’m the person who tests children for a multitude of disabilities. I size them up. Over the years, I’ve gotten pretty good at assessing their abilities, their personalities, and their areas of concern.
In the after moments of Joey’s surprise visit, I mentally ticked off the boxes in my head.
Impeccable manners. Engaging personality. Handsome. Intelligent and inquisitive, he knew how to take the initiative. There aren’t many sixth grade boys who’d introduce himself to a teacher for personal reasons. Maybe he, too, wondered if I’d been married to his dad. Perhaps he questioned his history. Or did I represent a link to his dad? More food for thought.
Chapter Six
TUESDAY SUCKS. THE day drags. Staff meetings occur on Tuesdays. After school. A staff meeting on Tuesday makes the week feel eons long.
We collected our meeting agendas as we headed into the room, taking our seats and waiting for Miller, our fearless leader, to begin. We went through the usual boring announcements about standardized testing dates, the importance of reliable results and high scores. Blah, blah, blah. We were all thinking about getting out of there. Nothing more.
"Next on the agenda," Miller boomed, "you will see that we have a parent request for a tutor from our staff. Mrs. Stitsill, Joey’s mom, has some concerns about his academics. She would like a staff member, someone familiar with our curriculum and routines, to work with him. I know that, most of the time, you receive these requests from individual parents, but Mrs. Stitsill called me, so I wanted to pass the word along for her."
With a single, silent glance, Di and I exchanged a thousand words. I wanted her to volunteer. I knew I couldn’t do it. Mrs. Stitsill would be suspicious of me.
"Can you do it?" I whispered.
"Shhh. I’ve got it."
Diane raised her hand. "Excuse me, Mr. Miller. Does this mother expect someone to come to her house? Is she looking for remedial instruction or just a homework helper? Also, how much is she willing to pay?"
The room exhaled a collective chuckle. Asking any of us to tutor after an already long school day would require some serious cash. Not one of us got paid enough for our day job.
Diane’s ploy worked.
By making the job less attractive, she secured it for herself. She flashed me a grin and a wink. Miller moved on with his agenda. When the meeting ended she scurried out the door.
"Mr. Miller, Mr. Miller, wait." Diane chased him down the hall. "I’m serious about the tutoring job. I’m looking to earn a little extra cash." Diane had won sole custody of her home after her divorce.
"I’m not sure how much Mrs. Stitsill is willing to pay. You’d have to speak to her. But you are the first and only person to show any interest, so I’ll pass along your name and number to her if you’d like."
I followed close behind, straining to hear each and every word.
"Mr. Miller?" I spoke up. "Has anyone offered to tutor the Stitsill boy yet?"
"Sorry, Samantha, you’re a moment too late. Mrs. Rossi has just offered. You know how I handle things. First one out of the gate gets the job."
"Sure, I understand. Good luck, Di."
"Thanks, Mr. Miller," Di said. "You can have her call me, or I can call her. You decide. Have a good night."
As Miller walked into his office, Diane caught up with me. She high–fived me as we turned the corner.
"You were amazing," I told her.
"Thanks." She sashayed her way down the hall.
"You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?"
"Very. Besides, I have a good feeling about this," Di said. "We can get more information. Joey will be a great resource, and he won’t even know it."
"Di, he seems like a really good kid. He’s well–behaved, a hard–worker, and clean." Diane’s a little OCD.
She smiled. "It’s fun to have a little adventure in our lives, don’t you think? You can’t do it, and Mrs. Stitsill doesn’t know me from Adam. It’ll be perfect."
Jack met up with us as we made our way into Di’s classroom. "What are you two up to this time?"
Diane couldn’t stop giggling.
I played innocent. "She’s dreaming of beer, and you know how easy it is to get her tanked." I rolled my eyes.
"Staff meetings will do that to you," Jack mumbled as he headed past us.
"See you in the morning, Jack," we chorused.
Identity Issues (The Samantha Series) Page 4
