Bayview Heights Trilogy (32 page)

She saw Kevin’s hands fist on the small ledge
before him. “You got your own life.”

Not anymore
. The selfish thought
came out of nowhere and Lacey quickly banished it. “They built a
new indoor track at the high school,” she said, to change the
subject. “It’s opening to the public next weekend. I’ll be able to
run all winter.”

Kevin’s smile was genuine. “I’m glad for you,
Lace.” He glanced at the folder she carried. “What’d ya bring
me?”

Lacey’s stomach clenched. “Those forms I told
you about last time. For the Graduate Equivalency Degree
program.”

The expression on Kevin’s face degenerated to
pure contempt. “I don’t want them.”

“Just read them, Kevin. Please.”

“Why?”

“Because when you get out of here, you’ll
need at least a high-school diploma.”

“I tried to get a high-school diploma, and
that bastard kicked me out.”

Lacey sighed. Kevin’s undiluted hatred of
Seth Taylor exacerbated their grandfather’s animosity toward the
man, and sometimes her own.

“You have a second chance, Kevin. Please just
look at them.”

Kevin shook his head. “Give up on me, Lacey.
I’m not going anywhere in life.”

Reaching over the half wall, she took her
brother’s hand again, though this time he flinched at the contact.
She remembered how his little palm used to slide eagerly into hers.
“I love you,” she said, choking back emotion. “I’ll never give up
on you.”

For a moment, a look of such intense
despondency shadowed Kevin’s face that Lacey wanted to weep. Then
the sneer reappeared. “Well, I’ve given up on myself.” Kevin stood
abruptly. “I gotta go. Bye, Lace.”

Lacey watched her brother signal the guard,
who opened the heavy door. It clanked shut behind him with
finality. She cringed. Clutching the folder on degree equivalency
programs, she stood and made her way out of the visiting room.

In the waiting area, she reached down and
picked up the copy of the
Herald
she’d left on the seat.
Taylor’s smiling face mocked her.

Damn you, Taylor
, she thought as she
headed for the guard station.
Damn you
.

o0o

PHILIP SQUATTED and stretched out his
arms to the boy.

The child teetered, his brown eyes
glowing, his chubby cheeks rosy with delight. “Pa...Pa...Pa,” he
said as he took his first steps.

Tears clouded Philip’s eyes. “Come on,
boy. You can do it. Come to Papa.”

One more...two more...three more steps,
and the baby gripped Philip’s large hands.

Philip scooped up his grandson. “Good
boy, Kevin. Good boy.”

“Grandpa…”

Philip started, then came awake. “What…”

“Shh, Grandpa, it’s me. Lacey. You fell
asleep in the recliner again.”

For a minute, Philip let himself sink back
onto the chair. His granddaughter was leaning over him, concerned.
She looked so much like her mother, except for her thickly lashed
light brown eyes, which she got from the Cartwrights. But her wavy
blond hair, slender build and peaches-and-cream complexion
resembled her namesake—the Lacey family.

Kevin was the spitting image of Tom, Philip’s
only child. God, Philip missed them all so much.

“Grandpa? Are you all right?”

He smiled at the only family he had left.
She’d been ten when her mother died giving birth to Kevin, fourteen
when Tom was killed by a drunk driver. After his son’s accident,
Philip had left his position at the
New York Times
to buy
the
Herald
so that he could work in town and raise her and
her brother; he’d loved every minute of it. Still, when the time
came, he’d done a good job letting Lacey go. He’d smiled when she
went off to college—his alma mater—and practically burst with pride
when she got her first reporting job at the
L.A.
Times
.

Until his heart attack. After that he’d
become weak and needy. And he hated himself for it.

“How are you, honey?”

“Fine.”

She wasn’t. She looked tired. And upset.

“How’s Kevin?”

“Good.”

Philip waited until Lacey hung up her coat.
“What did you talk about?”

“Not much.”

“Did you bring him the GED information?”

“Yes.” Lacey gave him a brief account of the
conversation.

Philip sighed and thought about probing for
more information about his grandson. But the lines around Lacey’s
mouth and the tautness of her features made her look older than her
thirty-four years tonight, so he backed off.

“Dani called while you were gone.”

Lacey’s smile was like unexpected sunshine in
February. “Sorry I missed her.”

“She and I talked.

“Don’t start, Grandpa.”

“She’s right, Lacey. You need to go
back.”

Lacey stood. “I’m not going back and leaving
you alone.”

His heart constricted, not from angina this
time. How could he be doing this to the girl he loved so much?

How can you not?

Damn, he hated this dependence. He’d rather
be dead than an albatross around her neck. He remembered so vividly
when he was her hero...
Papa, look, the science project we
worked on, I got an A...Papa, I’m going to be the editor of the
high-school paper because they said I knew so much...Grandpa, I got
into UCLA, just like you...

Now she was sacrificing her career for him.
It was hell getting old.

“Lacey, I can’t let you do this anymore.
You’ve been home for over six months.”

“It’s my choice, not yours. I’m going to get
some hot chocolate. Want some?”

He studied her. Chocolate was one of her few
weaknesses and indulging in it was a telltale sign that she was not
doing well. “Honey, I…” But what could he say? That he didn’t need
her? He did. Though he was financially secure, he was physically
and emotionally unable to support himself any longer.

He thought about what Celia Trenkler said
today when she’d come to clean the house...

If you aren’t happy, Philip, do something
about it.

I can’t fix my heart.

It’s your head that needs fixin’. You can
do something about that...

Damned woman. Why did she stick her nose into
his business, anyway?

“Grandpa? Do you want some cocoa?”

He eased forward and wrestled himself out of
the chair. Standing, he looked down at his beloved granddaughter.
“Sure. I’ll make some popcorn to go with it.”

And just like when she was little and needed
comfort, she nestled her hand in his—it was still smaller—and they
headed for the kitchen.

o0o

Six fights at the high
school last week saw one student hospitalized and the other
teenagers involved suspended.

The administration
clearly lacks the ability to control the school environment so that
this kind of violence doesn’t erupt. Perhaps if there was better
supervision kids wouldn’t have the opportunity to raise their
fists. It seems obvious to this reporter that the staff is not
teaching the students to respect each other. Surely this value
should be instilled along with instruction on reading and
writing.

The administration
needs to find more effective answers to the problem of violence in
the school. Suspensions help no one. Getting rid of the kids isn’t
the answer.

What do you think?

Seth Taylor slapped last night’s edition of
the
Bayview Herald
down on his desk and glanced at the
phone. What the hell? He didn’t have anything to lose. He dialed
the paper’s number and drummed his fingers on the newsprint until
she answered.

“Lacey Cartwright.”

“Ms. Cartwright? This is Seth Taylor.”

She waited a telling moment before she
responded. “Yes, Mr. Taylor. What can I do for you?”

The formalities were odd, he thought. Though
it was only thirty miles outside of New York City, the Long Island
village of Bayview Heights still had a small-town mentality for the
most part, and people were low-key and informal. Almost everyone
was on a first-name basis.

Except the principal of Bayview Heights High
School and the editor of the
Bayview Herald
.

“I’d like to talk to you about yesterday’s
editorial.”

Again, a meaningful pause. “All right.”

“The time and place at your convenience.”

“I have a meeting with the superintendent
tonight at six. It shouldn’t take more than an hour. Why don’t I
come by your office around seven?”

“Fine. I’ll see you then.”

Stifling the urge to slam down the receiver,
Seth glared at the phone after he hung up, then grabbed a pen and
pad to make a list of things he wanted to discuss with Ms.
Cartwright. What did you tell a woman who hated you? Frustrated, he
threw the pen onto his desk and searched for the folder on the
school’s Christmas activities. He tried to concentrate on the
student council report, but his mind drifted. Tossing the notes
aside, he rose and crossed the office to stand in front of his wall
of memorabilia. It usually cheered him up, but tonight it had the
opposite effect.

The picture of his eighteen-year-old son only
made him miss the boy more. He’d tried to call Joey earlier, but
couldn’t reach him. Seth smiled. He could picture Joey in his dorm
room at UCLA, looking older and more mature in the college
atmosphere than he had at home.

Seth wished he didn’t have to wait until
Thanksgiving to see Joey again. But the boy had been adamant about
sticking it out until the holiday. Seth had bitten his tongue to
keep from telling Joey that it was more for him—Seth—than for Joey
that Seth wanted to fly his son home in October. But Seth had to
let go sometime. To stop the dull ache in his heart that came every
time he realized Joey was grown up, Seth focused his attention to
the newest plaque on the wall.

Educator of the Year. Now that was ironic.
He’d recently received the prestigious Phi Delta Kappa award at a
time when he was seriously questioning his career in education and
what good he’d done in his twenty-five years of service. Seth
fought the pessimism rising within him. Lately, he’d felt he hadn’t
accomplished enough. And, of course, he’d made some mistakes—big
ones, especially in his first year of teaching. His naiveté—and his
belief he could effect positive change in even the most difficult
student—had led Seth to defend a boy despite criticism from other
teachers. The student, Tim Johnson, had abused Seth’s trust with
tragic repercussions.

Which brought him full circle to the problem
at hand. Turning, he went back to the desk and scanned again the
editorial on student violence—written by the sister of another boy
Seth had been unable to save.

Over the years, Seth had put his failure with
both Tim Johnson and Kevin Cartwright into perspective. Despite the
former
Herald
editor’s attacks—Philip Cartwright had not
pulled his punches—and now his granddaughter’s witch-hunt, Seth had
hung on to the fact that he’d done what he thought was best for the
school at the time. Lately, though, with these midlife doubts about
his success in helping kids, his decision didn’t seem so clear-cut.
He wondered if, because of the incident with Johnson, he’d acted
too harshly with Kevin. He sighed heavily.

“What was that sigh for?”

He looked up at the smiling face of Cassie
Lansing, one of his best teachers, who was scheduled for a budget
meeting with him. She was his greatest success. She’d been a tough
streetwise kid eighteen years ago in this very school. When he’d
had her in his English class, he’d turned her around, and she’d
gone on to become an English teacher, just like him. When he’d
taken over as principal of the high school twelve years ago, he’d
talked her into coming back to town to teach in their newly formed
At-Risk Program. Often, just watching her work her special brand of
magic with the kids was enough to confirm he’d done some good.

She plopped down on a chair and stared at
him, waiting for an answer.

Finally he said, “The sigh was because of
your budget numbers, Cass.” He picked up the folder from his desk.
She wasn’t going to like his cuts, and he hated disappointing her.
“You’ve got to trim the allocation for your department.”

“I can’t trim it anymore,” she told him
implacably.

“Order four sets of novels instead of five.
Two poetry books instead of three. Make the kids buy their own
notebooks.”

“Why are you nickel-and-diming us?”

“Nickels and dimes make up the budget.”

Cassie frowned as she stared at him. “Seth,
something’s wrong.” She hesitated. “You’re behaving strangely these
days. And this stuff—” she nodded toward the folder “—was never a
big deal to you.” Before he could respond, she added, “Mitch thinks
there’s something wrong, too.”

Seth watched as Cassie leaned back and rested
her hands on her rounded belly. It took some getting used to seeing
tough-guy Cassie softened by falling in love with Mitch Lansing,
the cop who had worked in her class last year. Now she was married
to him and almost seven months pregnant. Seth was finally adjusting
to the changes in her.

“I’m only reacting to Leonard Small’s demand
that taxes go down. He’s got an ax to grind with the high school
and we’re being attacked for overspending.”

“Board members always have an ax to grind.
You know that. So what else is bothering you?”

Seth considered confiding in Cassie. She was
a loyal supporter and unabashedly trustworthy. So he asked, “Have
you seen Lacey Cartwright since she came back to town?”

Smiling, Cassie dropped her hand to the
tattoo on her right ankle—the one she’d gotten during her days as a
street kid. “I spoke to her briefly when she got back in April. I
told her how sorry I was about her grandfather.” She paused,
looking rueful. “But things got so hectic, and we haven’t gotten
together for a proper reunion yet.”