Twenty Minutes Late

by Caroline Crane

  Twenty past four. It was two-ten when they hauled him out of class and sent him to the headmaster’s office. He remembered his classmates snickering. He remembered the secretary gaping as she ushered him into the conference room.

  They said they had warned him. Several times. He supposed they must have, if they said so. Apparently, it was a crime, trying to make peace with a girl who despised him.

  She was the first girl he’d ever felt close to, aside from his sister. They weren’t even that close, although he’d had hopes.

  Now it was over, he was in deep shit, and he couldn’t figure out why. One of the words they used was “stalking.”

  Sam Yeager, attorney for the school, paced the small room and roared.

  “Do you not, Benjamin, understand that NO means NO?”

  Five times already he’d made that point. Furthermore, the name wasn’t Benjamin.

  Yeager had a red face, a balding head, and orange-gray mutton-chop whiskers. With those whiskers, Ben could see him as an old-time riverboat gambler.

  His pencil began to move. They would think he was taking notes. Cartooning wouldn’t enter their minds, but Yeager made the perfect subject.

  Yeager took a gulp of water and went on, playing to the headmaster more than to Ben.

  “You were warned, were you not, Benjamin? Dr. Payton here warned you. The girl herself told you no. Are you not aware, when a person says no, that NO is what they mean?”

  Ben gave his gambler a striped shirt. He hid it with his hand and tried to explain. “Yes, I do understand what ‘no’ means, but she never actually said it. She didn’t use that word at any time. She was more what you’d call equivocal. I have this—”

  “Are you getting smart with me, young man?”

  What was so smart about that? “I’m telling you the facts. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  Yeager turned to the headmaster, who sat across from Ben. “You put up with this?”

  Payton only shrugged. He seemed as confused as Ben felt. It should have been within his power to put an end to this charade, but Payton wasn’t known for either guts or brains. All he had was some sort of doctorate in education that supposedly qualified him to run the Lakeside School.

  The clock jumped ahead another minute. It was a large, hexagonal conference room clock with Roman numerals. In all his years at Lakeside, Ben never knew it had a conference room. It was a cramped little space next to the headmaster’s office, barely big enough for a round polished table and eight chairs. Two windows looked out on the lake and part of the field where Lakeside’s football team was practicing.

  Ben sketched in a face and started on the hair. He made it frothy, like beer foam, with whiskers to match.

  Yeager took another drink and picked up a sheet from the stack of papers next to his water pitcher.

  “Let me refresh your memory, Benjamin. It says here that as long ago as last April you were told to have no further contact with Kelsey Fritz. That means—” He counted on his fingers, “no emails, no phone calls, no face-to-face. Was that too much for you? Was it?”

  Ben remembered it well. “But I didn’t. Not for the whole semester.” Nobody told him it applied to all future semesters.

  “And yet,” Yeager continued, “on the twenty-fourth of September you accosted the girl in an upstairs hallway.”

  He made it sound like rape. “I didn’t ‘accost’ her. I never did anything violent or threatening. I knew she was upset and she wouldn’t say why. I thought if we could talk about it, I might—”

  “You didn’t know why she was upset?”

  Ben sketched in suspenders. And a bowtie.

  “No, I really didn’t. I have trouble understanding people when they—won’t talk.” He could have said more, but didn’t want to come across as blaming the so-called victim.

  Yeager leaned into his face. “Maybe you need to work on your interpersonal skills.”

  Ben planted his elbows on the drawing as Yeager tried to see it. “That’s exactly the problem. My social skills. It’s a neurological thing. I was born that way.”

  Payton should have known. Payton kept silent.

  Yeager prowled around the table and paused again to look through his pile of papers. “Did it not occur to you, Benjamin, that you were what bothered her?”

  “Bennett,” said Ben.

  Yeager glowered. Ben explained. “It’s Bennett, not Benjamin.” His name must have been on those papers.

  “All right, Bennett. Do you recall that encounter? What did she say?”

  Ben drew a hat on his gambler and stuck a daisy in it. “Do you mean the one in September? She didn’t say anything. Sir. She turned and walked away.”

  “What did that tell you?”

  Didn’t he just answer the question? He put polka dots on the bowtie.

  “It meant—she didn’t say anything. Sir.”

  Yeager sucked in his breath, muttered “Smartass,” and went back to his papers.

  He hadn’t sat down all afternoon. Must have had hemorrhoids.

  He looked up suddenly. “Do you not, Benjamin, understand the meaning of the word ‘no’?”

  After two hours, the man had no fresh ideas.

  “Yes, sir, you made it very clear. But would you mind explaining ‘aggravated harassment’?” Ben tried to shift his cramped legs. He had a nearly irresistible urge to tap his foot, drum his fingers. They would think he was crazy. They thought so anyway. His ears rang from Yeager’s loud voice and his brain felt like pea soup.

  Yeager swallowed more water and choked on it. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”

  “As best I can, sir, but I’m not exactly sure what it means. You told me I harassed her. I never meant to do that. I only wanted to find out what went wrong. If it was something I did, or some misunderstanding, I thought we could straighten it out.”

  Yeager’s stare was blank.

  Ben tried again. “I liked her.”

  Yeager hooted. “We’re aware of that.”

  Then what was the problem? This sort of thing happened all the time. As if everyone else had a secret code that Ben wasn’t in on. It was the story of his life.

  “Last April,” Yeager said, “You were warned not to have any further contact with Kelsey Fritz.”

  More repetition. They must have fallen into a time warp. Some kind of endless loop. It reminded him of his first ride on a merry-go-round. He was four years old. The music was so loud it made him cry. He wanted to get off but it kept going faster and faster. His mother stood watching and smiling. He thought she was laughing at him. Later she said she was only trying to give him “heart.” That was what she called it. Heart. He never understood what people were up to.

  Yeager continued, “But did you listen? No, you did not. You went on harassing her, making her so afraid, she’s forced to carry a knife to protect herself.”

  From him? This was surreal.

  “What do you say to that, Benjamin?”

  “I thought it was illegal to carry a concealed weapon.”

  Maybe that only applied to firearms. Yeager made an explosive sound, like a sneeze.

  Ben went on quickly, trying to get it all in while he could.

  “I don’t understand. I never threatened her. I thought we were friends. We had a lot in common, or so I thought. We both liked science fiction. There was a sci fi movie at the Playhouse. I asked her if she’d like to go with me. I swear that’s all I did but for some reason she got upset. She wouldn’t tell me why. I thought if we could discuss it—”

  Yeager drank more water and stared at Ben over the rim of his glass. For once, he listened instead of yelling.

  Ben glanced at Payton’s stony face and went on. “Okay, I’m sorry I bothered her. I only wanted to straighten things out and I couldn’t understand why she refused to talk. You’ve made it very clear that she doesn’t have to and I accept that.”

  He didn’t really, but thought he had better say it.

  To him it seemed obvio
us that Kelsey was the problem. First, for her inability to talk things over and get them settled. And then, carrying a knife. What was she thinking? How neurotic could a person be?

  How could they allow it? Maybe they invented it to bolster their case. To prove what a menace he was. Ben had no doubt they were capable of such sneaky behavior.

  “She can put away her knife,” he said. “I won’t ever bother her again. I won’t even look at her.”

  That brought up another question. “What if I, like, accidentally bump into her in the hall? Does it count if it’s an accident? Can I say excuse me? Or is that not allowed?”

  If she didn’t stab him first.

  He felt bad, if she really was so afraid. But how could she be?

  “Accidentally! Accidentally!” Yeager sputtered. “You can’t wait, can you?”

  What was wrong with the man? Ben tried to clarify. “The halls get crowded, people rushing between classes.” He looked to Payton for confirmation. How could the asshole just sit there?

  “No contact of any kind!” Yeager roared. “Is that clear?”

  At last Payton spoke. It was not what Ben expected.

  “I’m sure you remember, Bennett. Last year there was a disreputable old derelict who loitered around the school. We tried to get rid of him but he always came back. Did you ever wonder what finally happened? The police came and led him away in handcuffs.”

  It took Ben a moment to figure out what that had to do with him. Poor old guy. Nobody should end up an unwanted derelict.

  It could happen to people who didn’t fit in. People like himself. What a stupid, stinking world.

  Yeager said, “You will receive a list of the charges against you, Benjamin, as soon as they’re ready. That should give you time to prepare for the hearing.”

  What hearing? Like a trial? They were putting him on trial just for talking to a girl? Why didn’t they say anything before this? Or did he miss it?

  Yeager went back to his papers. Ben could barely make out the top one. With its bold font and distinctive layout, it could only be an email. That confirmed what he already suspected. Kelsey had printed all his emails and turned them over to Payton. All his private thoughts and feelings that were meant for her alone. All the times he pleaded with her. He thought of it now as pathetic.

  But that was life. His, anyway. Stupid, stinking life.

  Chapter Three

  Two police cars came, and then Olive. Her face was pale with the lipstick chewed off.

  She spotted Cree on the sidewalk “What happened?”

  Cree tried to speak. Her mouth had gone dry. “I got here as fast as I could, but I—and Davy was alone. He acted groggy. He said Kip was in the crib but he wasn’t. We looked everywhere, all through the house.”

  A policewoman stood by taking notes. “Was the door open?”

  “No. Locked,” said Cree. “The back door wasn’t locked but that’s a fenced yard.”

  Olive moaned. “I was only gone a minute.”

  “We had a problem at school,” Cree said. “I came as fast as I could.” Never before had Olive left for work before Cree was there.

  Olive stomped into the house. “Where’s Davy?”

  She grabbed his arm. “You little shit. What did you do?”

  Cree swept the boy out of her reach. “He didn’t do anything! He must have been asleep. At first he didn’t even know Kip was gone.”

  Olive fumed. “I thought you’d be coming right away.”

  “I did. As soon as I could. We had some trouble at school. It was only twenty minutes.” Not counting the stuck lock. And Troy. Maybe another two or three minutes, but no more.

  The policewoman asked, “Are you sure the door was locked?”

  “Yes. I used my key.”

  The woman turned to Olive. “Did you lock it when you went out?”

  Olive tried to remember. “Maybe not. I thought Cree would be coming. Or maybe I did, I don’t know.”

  “I did come,” said Cree. “As soon as I got out of school.”

  Olive couldn’t look at her. Or anyone. Cree remember that call to Bernie’s Bar & Grill. Olive had just gotten there. And Mr. Culpepper said she left more than an hour before. What was she doing all that time?

  Davy stood by, looking miserable. Cree took his hand and led him outside. “Let’s go see the police cars.”

  There were two of them and several officers. Davy seemed glad to get away from his mother.

  A crowd had gathered, with Grandma giving everyone a full account. Jasper, in her arms, proved a welcome diversion for Davy.

  Several motorists slowed to watch. A black pickup pulled to the curb. Its window went down and a thin face with a goatee looked out. “What’s going on?”

  Cree said nothing. This was a family problem, not a circus for nosy passersby.

  Grandma elbowed her aside and went over to the truck, carrying Jasper. His little goblin face bristled and he growled.

  “Shut up, you.” She gave him a shake and said to the man, “There’s a kid missing. That’s all I can tell you. It just happened.”

  “That so? Boy or girl? How old?”

  “A boy. Very small.”

  “I’ll be on the lookout.” The man drove away.

  Cree said, “He can’t have walked out. He’s only eighteen months. He just started walking.”

  “That’s late, eighteen months,” Grandma said.

  “It doesn’t mean anything. You told me I was late walking.”

  And now she could dance. She would be dancing still if Madame Olga hadn’t moved to Wisconsin.

  It made her think of Stacie, who got to star in Madame Olga’s Nutcracker. And now had Troy. For the Harvest Moon Dance.

  Grandma said, “Cheer up, kid, they’ll find him. He can’t have gone far.”

  “Do you realize I might lose my job? That would be the end of everything. If I’m not earning money, I can’t take lessons in New York.”

  “Pardon me, miss,” Grandma said. “This is not about you.”

  “I know that. But I’m in it, too. It’s my whole future.”

  A mustard-color car joined the others at the curb. The man who got out of it wore a mustard plaid jacket and carried a small notebook. He looked around, then selected Grandma, who was closest. “Phil Reimer.” He held out his hand. “From The Chronicle.”

  “You’re the press?” Grandma batted her lashes. She wore blue mascara to match her eyes. “I’m Iva Mellin from across the street. This here is my granddaughter. She babysits these kids.”

  It occurred to Cree that publicity might be a good thing after all. “Lucretia Penny. They call me Cree. We live over there.” She pointed.

  It was a house much like Olive’s but better kept. It had a fresh coat of paint in a color they called eggshell, and blue trim. The lawn was lush and green and her mother’s garden bloomed with asters and chrysanthemums. With roses, giving what Mom called their last hurrah, in October. Olive had no flowers at all, only a patchy lawn and a house with flaking white paint.

  Reimer asked what time Cree had gotten there and what she found.

  “I don’t see how he could have walked out,” she said. “Olive can’t remember if she locked the door but it was locked when I came. And Davy was alone. He said he didn’t see anything. He must have been asleep.”

  “So if the kid didn’t walk out—” Reimer held his pencil ready.

  “Well—he can barely walk at all. And the door was locked when I came. Even if she left it open, I can’t see him locking it after himself.”

  “You say the other kid didn’t see anything?”

  “That’s what he says. He wouldn’t, if he was asleep. I thought he seemed kind of groggy”

  A voice boomed over the crowd. “Listen up, people!”

  It was Mrs. Bosley, from the big gray house on the corner, trying to organize a search party.

  At the end of the block, where Riverview made a sharp turn down to the lower village, was a small patch of woods. The p
olice had already searched it, but Mrs. Bosley wanted her own share in the drama.

  Grandma set Jasper down. “If anybody can find him, this dog can. Let’s go, kiddo.”

  Cree took Jasper’s leash and followed the others. It was the only wild area in the neighborhood, and it stayed wild because it was too steep and rocky to build on. Years ago, she and Stacie used to play there. Now Stacie played games of her own.

  The policewoman chased after them. “Just a minute, folks. They’ve already gone over that and they might want another look. I’ll have to ask you to stay away.”

  “We won’t touch a thing.” Mrs. Bosley marched on.

  Reimer said, “She’s right. It’s a detective’s nightmare, amateurs mucking up the evidence.” But he, too, kept going, taking notes as he walked.

  The policewoman gave up and went with them to keep control. She made them stop at each house along the way to check backyards, garages, tool sheds.

  It wasn’t much of a woods and Cree knew every inch of it. There was an area that became a small pond when it rained, and an outcropping of bedrock that Stacie said was a castle and she was the queen. At the time, Cree never questioned how Stacie always got to be queen.

  Mrs. Bosley divided them into pairs. She snared the reporter for herself and they set off toward the rock castle. Bosley walked around it calling, “Here, Kippie, Kippie,” as though he were a dog.

  The first thing Jasper did was take a dump. Embarrassed, Cree handed the leash to Grandma and hurried on ahead. She wished she knew what Kip had been wearing.

  She stopped, excited by a glint of red among the leaves. It was only a flattened Coke can. If she could be the one to find Kip, it would make up for at least some of that rotten day. Instead, the woods reminded her of Stacie. She was glad the shallow pond had dried and presented no danger to wandering toddlers.

  The whole woods was so small there was no part of it they could miss. They emerged into the parking lot of a discount beer and soda store. From there, they tramped back through the woods to Olive’s house.

  Down the street, a white Mercedes pulled into a driveway.

  “Your mom’s home,” Grandma said. “Must be getting near dinnertime.”

  “How can anybody think of dinner?”