At Risk of Being a Fool (6 page)

“Will you be back this evening, or are you taking the night off?”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. I thought I’d bring Rita down.”

“Great. So, Edward, how was your walk? Did you feed the ducks? They look forward to seeing you. Just like your lovely wife does, doesn’t she?”

“I haven’t seen my wife,” said Edward.

Jeanie tensed, but Nadezda dove in first. “Of course you have, Edward. She’s been walking with you. A nice long walk, just like when you first got married.”

“No,” said Edward. “This is the other one. Not my wife.”

“Well,” said Nadezda, putting an arm around his shoulder, “the other one will be back soon. The visiting nurse wants you all to herself for the moment.”

Jeanie kissed him on the cheek. “Good-bye, Edward. I’ll see you in a little bit.” She turned quickly and started out the door.

Behind her, Edward said, “She shouldn’t kiss strangers. My wife wouldn’t care for that at all.”

“Well, we just won’t tell her then, will we?” said Nadezda. “Hang on just a minute, would you, Jeanie?”

The door closed with a heavy click. Jeanie waited, sternly controlling the wobble in her chin. Edward’s movements were a little looser with the new medication dosage. In a week or two, with his state more predictable, perhaps she could take him home for another overnight visit.

Nadezda stepped outside. “Thanks for waiting. Jeanie, your windows lock down, don’t they? So people can’t wedge them open?”

“What? Oh,” said Jeanie, astonished, “yes, when the boys were here, they cut bars for them. They put about a thousand locks on each door. What’s the matter?”

“Last night we had a prowler. Nate heard him and scared him off.” Every night, Nate patrolled Oriole’s Nest and the retirement complex next door. “The guy was in the back yard, looking in the windows. Fortunately, none of the residents saw him. He jumped right over the fence when he saw Nate, so hopefully he’s scared off for good. We called the police, and there’s no damage. But Kherra and me, we got a bit worried about you. Your place isn’t even fenced. So you be careful, you hear me?”

“I’m always careful,” Jeanie said, touched. “Probably somebody’s after your drug cabinet. Maybe a burglar with high blood pressure? I’ll check the windows when I get back, just to be sure. Don’t worry about me.”

Jeanie left, still mulling over Edward’s recognition of Bryce Wogan. Perhaps he’d remember the name in an hour or so, but probably not. She dismissed Nadezda’s warning. All her valuables were in storage. Who could possibly be interested in her?

~*~

He leaned against the building and gauged the shadows in the darkness. The security fence wobbled. His mouth quirked as he vaulted over it. Maybe there were too many people climbing over it at night.

There wasn’t much security on the construction site. Since Wogan’s little accident, a couple of guys drove by at night. They got out of their cars and poked around with flashlights, but they weren’t fast on their feet. Too many burgers and fries. They were no trouble. More to the point, Rivera was always the first on the site; poking things with long handles, wearing goggles and hardhat. That was Rivera, all right. He was so fuckin’ conscientious. He was also predictable.

The question was, where
wouldn’t
Rivera look?
He gave the site a long look, watching for movement or red lights from security cameras. He prowled softly, keeping his hands in his pockets. Klutzes didn’t make it for long.

The crew hadn’t broken through into the building yet, to connect the new part with the old. It looked like a fort built with cinder block Legos. Framing two-by-fours filled the gaps with sharp lines, horizontal and vertical, like bars.

His stride broke for a moment, and recovered.

The scaffolding climbed around the construction, like a frame around a picture. Rivera left a neat site, especially lately. There was the trailer, of course, but it was too chancy. There was no telling who’d open it next. Supposedly, the new guy was foreman and Rivera worked under him, but you’d never know it from the way they acted. There was no rhythm, no method to their work, not like when Wogan was around.

He stepped into the open framework, checking out the crosspieces holding the window braces upright. His gaze traveled high into empty space. The trusses would go there. Trusses held a multitude of hiding places. That could work. He thought about the cinder blocks, with their neatly molded holes, but gave them up. The blocks would mess up the explosion, rather than add missile force. The trusses were probably best, more effective.

It would take them another couple weeks to get that far. That was okay. He had lots of time. The important thing was to do it right, and get away clean. Not to get caught by the cops, and sure as hell not by Rivera. He had to keep his homeys out of it, too. It was safer, for them, and for him.

He tested the scaffolding ladder with one foot. It rocked some, but that didn’t bother him. Noiselessly, he climbed to the top.

CHAPTER
FOUR

Bright Futures Transition Facility for Girls squatted in the middle-class neighborhood like a sulking bulldog amidst poodles. An unnaturally clean bulldog. The pavement looked as if someone routinely scrubbed it with a toothbrush. It matched the landscaping, with every bush sculpted, not into beauty, but conformity. Clean, sterile, almost snobbish propriety was the order of the day.

Jeanie shifted to the other foot as she waited on the doorstep. Perhaps it was only Mackie’s stories, Sorrel’s sullen silence, and Brynna’s paranoia that made her expect the worst at Bright Futures Transition Facility for Girls.

“Yes, ma’am, can I help you?” The girl bowed her head, presenting a view of perfectly clean hair and nothing much else. The blondish hair was dull and dry, separated into two exactly symmetrical portions, like a stick of butter sliced with a hot knife.

“I’m Jeanie McCoy. I teach at the GED school. I’m here for Sorrel Quintana. Mrs. Mahoney said she’d been delayed, and I offered to come get her.” Last week Jeanie had offered to transport Rosalie from Esperanza. Esperanza’s wide, bright halls and relaxed atmosphere had warmed her. Rosalie had responded to the sharp-eyed housemothers with mingled irritation and affection, just as Jeanie’s sons had spoken to her in their youth.

The girl’s fleeting glance lit on her face. “I’m afraid she’s with Mrs. Torrez right now,” she said, with the air of reciting a hard-learned lesson. “Would you care to wait in the rec room?”

“I haven’t met Mrs. Torrez yet,” Jeanie said cheerfully. “Why don’t I join them?”

The girl’s instant recoil took her two steps back into the hallway. Jeanie followed. This poor, nervous child was a juvenile offender? Still, perhaps Mrs. Torrez’s extreme control was necessary, particularly if Brynna and Sorrel were a representative sample. The girls always took every inch offered and several miles that weren’t.

The girl scuttled ahead of her, pausing at the end of a side hallway. “Mrs. Torrez’s office is the last door on the right.” She snatched up a basket of cleaning supplies and vanished, removing herself from any possible blame for Jeanie’s actions.

The inexorable march of a single voice sounded from the office. Jeanie frowned after the girl and then at the closed door. With sudden decision, she knocked on the door and turned the handle without waiting for an answer.

Mrs. Torrez sat enthroned behind a massive desk of black metal. Her excruciatingly perfect black-and-white hair formed a helmet around the commanding face. Steel-gray eyes matched the metallic sheen of the tailored business suit. The curtains on the only window blocked outside light and roaming eyes. Sorrel sat across from her, peculiarly colorless under the fluorescent lights.

Jeanie might have been invisible, a speck on the floor to be mopped up later.

“
...
Unfortunate behavior, Miss Quintana, especially following yesterday’s expedition to the police station to make your statement regarding the courthouse incident. I hoped we had come to an end of this intolerable rebellion. But clearly not.” The verbal dagger pricked with every word.

Sorrel looked fixedly at a knot in the floorboard between her shoes. “I didn’t do nothing.” She clasped her hands in her lap, the knuckles white.

“Ah. And yet the girls were full of your little stories.”

“We was just talking. It was rec time, we’re supposed to talk.”

“And I suppose,” the soft voice went on, “you forgot our rule about war stories? About egging others on to acts of violence?”

“I didn’t. It was just, you know, we was talking about our families, that’s all.”

The scene of debasement tore at Jeanie’s gut. Without knowing the rights or wrongs of the matter, she ranged herself beside Sorrel. Mrs. Torrez’s eyes never flickered in her direction.

“Your ‘family’? Oh yes. Your disgusting story about a family riot. Perhaps you don’t understand civilized behavior, Miss Quintana, but disrupting a wedding is hardly a usual topic in girls’ recreation, at least at this facility, no matter what you may brag of at home. Of course, I suppose I can hardly expect true comprehension from one of your family background. Your grandmother, actually stomping—”

Sorrel boiled out of her seat. “You keep your fuckin’ mouth off my grandmother.”

Jeanie stepped in front of Sorrel with a warning look. Sorrel flinched, closed her eyes, and sank into the chair.

“I beg your pardon?” said the voice, detached, mocking. “Did you speak to me?”

Jeanie turned, her mouth agape. Mrs. Torrez reached towards a set of forms squared neatly on her desk.

“Because if you did—”

“No,” said Sorrel. The words jerked out in spurts. “I mean, I’m sorry. I forgot, like, that we’re not supposed to talk about before we
...
I mean, before.”

“Estelle,” said Jeanie, with determined good-humor. She’d be damned if she’d call her Mrs. Torrez. “I’m Jeanie McCoy. I’m Sorrel’s teacher. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Ah yes,” said Estelle Torrez. Her glance flicked the doorway and sliced across Jeanie’s cheek. A slight rearrangement of her swivel chair brought Sorrel back into view.

“I’m afraid,” Jeanie said firmly, “this misunderstanding is my fault. Sorrel and I were discussing essay topics, working on brainstorming techniques so she doesn’t freeze come test time. The story of the prank at the wedding came up then.”

“Prank.”

“Yes, a prank. Some families pull pranks on each other at weddings. It’s traditional. My own father carried a whip and shotgun to my wedding reception.”

“Really. Well, Mrs. McCoy, I can’t answer for what may be traditional in your family, but that’s not overly important. You don’t appear to be quite with the program, and that is important. By glorifying disorderly behavior, Miss Quintana is undermining the structure of this facility. She must adapt, because if this facility doesn’t suit her, she will need to await placement elsewhere. Won’t you, Miss Quintana? I believe you’ve been down this road once before?”

The naked pain in Sorrel’s face shook Jeanie to the core.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Torrez,” Sorrel managed to say. “I didn’t mean to undermine the facility. I . . .” Sorrel paused, peering at the desk as if hunting for an apology written there. “I think the things I’m learning here are important. I’m really sorry.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your concern. This little matter will be noted in your file.”

“Yeah.” Sorrel said, almost inaudibly. “Can I go now?”

“Perhaps you—”

“Yes,” said Jeanie shortly. “Here are the keys, Sorrel. Go get in the car.”

“She will not—”

“Sorrel is late for class, which began ten minutes ago at a place several miles from here. Move it, Sorrel, the class is waiting on you.” Sorrel escaped with the keys.

Estelle Torrez remarked, “She is to be supervised constantly. The police indicated as much yesterday, during that unsavory little ordeal. It quite threw our schedule to the winds. Letting her out with your keys is unwise.”

“Sorrel was under my authority as of ten minutes ago. Humiliating young people is unproductive. Moreover,” Jeanie added with malice aforethought and careful emphasis, “it’s unprofessional.” There! She’d thrown the gauntlet, with the ultimate insult of Jeanie’s world. Brynna’s pithy obscenities weren’t even in the same league.

Estelle Torrez read the challenge instantly. “Mrs. McCoy, I don’t require lectures on professionalism from a woman reduced to teaching juvenile offenders.”

“Reduced? Oh Estelle, how utterly petty.” Now that Sorrel had escaped the woman’s clutches, Jeanie’s anger drained away. “It’s impossible to be ‘reduced’ to teaching.” Prodded by an unnamable instinct, she added, “You must be a lonely woman. I’m sorry.”

Estelle rose. “How dare you?”

Jeanie met her eyes with pity. “I’ll be going now. If you ever need to talk, Estelle, just call me. Jeanie McCoy. I’m in the book.”

She stood there for a moment. Estelle Torrez said nothing.

Jeanie left, closing the door gently.

~*~

Quinto drew a man’s face, all angles and ill temper. Sorrel recovered her dignity with the help of a hand mirror. Dillon listened to his headphones, his eyes at half-mast. Brynna studied a lipstick ad in a fashion magazine. Tonio wrestled with a math problem. Rosalie wandered around the room. Jeanie perched on a table, talking quietly with Mackie Sandoval.