Damaged (15 page)

“Going to the bathroom, be right back,” Mary said to her, making the I-Have-to-Pee face that every woman had made at one time or another. She kept going, snapping photos of the wooden doors on either side of the hallway. On her right was a wooden door that read Ladies' Room in old-fashioned gold script, and beyond that at the end of the hallway were double doors with another Art Deco sign,
AUDITORIUM
.

Mary wanted to find the room in which Patrick was assaulted and she sensed she was getting closer. She hurried past the auditorium and encountered another right turn, which she took, finding herself on another hallway lined with classrooms. She picked up the pace, snapping a few pictures on the run, and noticed that the children in the classrooms seemed older, and she passed classroom 501, so she knew she had reached the fifth-grade classrooms.

She walked past 502, and 503, on alternating sides of the hallway, and finally reached Patrick's classroom, which was on her left. She stole a glance inside to see a young, blonde teacher, but then kept going, trying to find the room. The classrooms ended, and on the far left, near another stairwell, she spotted a wooden door similar to the administrative doors, unmarked and without any window. It was wider than a conventional door, and Mary remembered that Patrick had said something about floor machines being in the room. It could be that the door was wide enough to permit floor polishers and the like to be stored there.

Mary crossed to the door, turned its brass knob, and opened it. At first she couldn't see anything because it was windowless and dark inside, but she closed the door behind her, used her phone as a flashlight, located the light switch, and turned it on. Ancient fluorescent lighting flickered overhead, illuminating a long, rectangular utility room lined with a few old stainless-steel floor polishers with oversized orbital brushes, then a bunch of mops in scuffed yellow rolling buckets, and at the farthest side, away from the door, was a wide washbasin.

Mary took pictures of the room, snapping as many as she could to examine them later. Her chest felt tight the entire time, and she was afraid of being discovered, so she finished quickly, turned off the light, then slipped out of the room. She headed back toward the office, mentally retracing Patrick steps, now that she understood the school layout. She could imagine exactly how what Patrick had described had taken place. If Patrick was heading toward the auditorium and straggling at the end of the line, which was likely considering he didn't have any friends in class, it would have been easy for Robertson to pick him off from the crowd. Then all Robertson would have to do would be to steer Patrick in the opposite direction, head back toward the utility room, and close them both inside. The utility room was off the beaten path near the stairwell, and since all of the students and staff were at the assembly, nobody would've heard or seen anything amiss.

Mary had gotten part of what she had come for, now it was time to get the rest. She went back down the corridor that ended in the auditorium, then took a left and headed for the office, surprised to see that coming toward her in the opposite direction was the lawyer for the school district, Kevin Reynolds, striding toward the office in a suit and tie, and cool aviator sunglasses. A former power forward at Villanova, Kevin was hard to miss because he was so tall, plus he liked to wear his hair in a bushy Afro that added two inches to his height. He was biracial, with light skin, gorgeous features, and a confident smile. None of the female lawyers minded when he appeared for the district.

“Hey, Kevin!” Mary called out to him, putting on her game face. “You're here early.”

“You're here earlier.” Kevin grinned, hooking his sunglasses with a finger and looking over them, his hazel eyes knowing. “What have you been up to?”

“Uh, I had to go to the bathroom.” Mary gestured vaguely behind her, but Kevin only chuckled.

“Please. You think I'm stupid just 'cause I'm pretty?”

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mary spent the next hour presenting Patrick's case to Kevin and Julie Latimer, the Special Education Director, who greeted them with a nervous smile. Julie was in her early thirties, with light brown eyes, a long nose, and a heart-shaped face framed by short brown hair that was cut in a wedge, with one side higher than the other. She had on a light blue tank top with white Capri pants and matching sandals, and even so, looked uncomfortable in the stifling air of her tiny office, which lacked not only a window, but oxygen.

The three of them huddled around Julie's clunky wooden desk, which was cluttered with newsletters, workbooks, an old Mac laptop, and a Week-At-A-Glance spiral calendar, as well as a pink Play-Doh cup, a multicolored array of old Silly Bandz around a Phillies mug, photos of a chubby ginger cat and kittens, and a stack of confiscated cell phones. Mismatched file cabinets lined the walls, covering the rose-marble wainscoting, and above that were an array of motivational posters, a green sign that read
COLLEGE BOUND HIGHWAY
, and
PRACTICE RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS
in rainbow letters.

Mary showed Kevin and Julie that Patrick was identified in first grade as having a reading disability, but since then Grayson had not programmed him for reading support in any meaningful way. She presented Patrick's case, that he was still at first-grade reading level, hadn't been reevaluated within three years, and needed intensive remediation for his dyslexia. She moved on to his anxiety issues, arguing that they went hand-in-hand with his untreated dyslexia. The connection between stress, anxiety, and dyslexia was well-known, in that dyslexic children experience an inordinate amount of stress arising from the fact that no matter how hard they try in school, they fail. Combined with the bullying from classmates, it resulted in them shutting down and destroyed a child's self-esteem, which was happening with Patrick.

“Okay, we hear you,” Kevin said when she was finished. He leaned away from the table, glancing at Julie. “What has Grayson done to program for Patrick? Would you like to explain your side of the story?”

“Yes.” Julie flashed her nervous smile. “Well, Mary, we know what we're doing. We do guided reading.”

Mary knew that wasn't enough. That just meant that the teacher stood at the front of the classroom, reading aloud while thirty students watched. That would be like showing someone a set of weights and expecting them to get in shape without lifting them.

“Our teachers work hard, and they know what they're doing. That's balanced literacy.”

“But that is not a research-based reading intervention program. Patrick needs intensive interventions. He is only going to get further and further behind. The longer you wait, the harder it is to catch up, so the gap between him and his peers widens. That's why you start to see the behaviors, the shutting down and the vomiting. We're losing this kid.”

“Look, I get it, I wish we could do more, but we don't have a special ed teacher to pull him out into a small group. I requested for this building to have an additional teacher and to have teachers trained in a research-based program, but I got turned down. The budget isn't there for it. I don't have the staff or the teachers to give him what he needs.”

Mary turned to Kevin. “So that's an utter failure to program for him—”

“You made your point, Mary.” Kevin raised his hand gently, so Mary moved to the next issue.

“What are you doing about his anxiety? He's school-phobic, he gets bullied by the other kids because he can't read and now he's throwing up. Has anybody made the connection between his anxiety and his dyslexia? Doesn't anybody care?”

Julie leaned over. “Mary, you have to understand our position. It's not like we don't care about Patrick. We do. We care about all of the children here.”

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to criticize you. I'm trying to get his needs met.”

“I know.” Julie nodded, meeting Mary's eye directly. “And I wish I had a counselor here. We do the best we can with the resources we have.”

Mary appreciated her frankness. “I get it, you're doing the best you can with the support you have.”

“Exactly.” Julie nodded, frowning in a plaintive way, her eyebrows sloping down unhappily. “You know, I agree with you that his anxiety, the vomiting, all of those behaviors, are getting worse. The kids tease him, Up-Chucky, all that. And to be completely honest with you, it is very disruptive to class when he vomits. Ms. Krantz, who couldn't leave class or she would be here, says it's disgusting to clean up and the smell never leaves the classroom. You could meet with our guidance counselor, but she's only here one day a week because of the budget cuts. She'd tell you the same thing.”

“I'm sure.” Mary was getting the hint that although Julie had compassion for Patrick, nobody would mind overmuch if he went to school elsewhere, so he could smell up
their
classroom.

“As far as psychological help for him, granted, somebody should be connecting the dots.” Julie spread her delicate hands, palm up in appeal. “Believe me, I'd appreciate whatever you can do to get this school more resources. You know what it's like in the district, thanks to the politics in Harrisburg. They're starving us. We've gone through years of budget cutbacks and over three thousand layoffs. Do you know that there are 173 teacher vacancies in the district—that's classrooms that don't even have a
teacher
? There are 123 schools without full-time nurses and 50 without full-time counselors.”

Mary knew it was true. Philadelphia's was the eighth-largest school district in the country, with 14 percent of students in special education, but state government had slashed the city's education budget by a billion dollars. Tragically, children all over the district were underserved, and two children had even died last year in elementary schools without nurses, one due to an asthma attack that should not have been fatal and another due to unspecified causes.

“Mary, I'm truly sorry we missed him, and I guess we did because, well, I have so many students and the initiative for counseling often comes from the parent. Or in Patrick's case, his grandfather.”

Mary moaned. “But it's not fair to blame his grandfather. It's not his job to provide the services, it's yours. It's the school's responsibility under the law.”

“I'm not making excuses, but I'm only one person. I look to our Grayson parents to partner with me and to raise issues they feel are important. You can't imagine how many parents—and
grandparents—
call me on the phone, asking for counseling. I checked, and Patrick's grandfather has never made any such request.”

“But again”—Mary couldn't let it go, or maybe she just felt defensive on Edward's behalf—“under the law, it's not his responsibility, it's the school's.”

Kevin interjected, “Mary, in the ideal world, you're right.”

Mary frowned. “No, it's not the ideal, it's the
law
.”

Kevin held up his big hand, like a stop sign. “Be real. The squeaky wheel gets the grease. You can understand why Julie has to deal first with the parents requesting help, and she's swamped. Patrick fell through the cracks. It's not impossible to miss the student who needs psychological services but whose caregiver doesn't request any.”

Mary couldn't hide her pique. “Is it easy to miss when he's throwing up in front of you? Because nobody misses him when it's time to send him to a cooling-off room.”

Kevin frowned. “What's got into you today? You're not usually so caffeinated.”

“This is a tough case, Kevin.” Mary softened her tone. “You can't program for him, you don't have the staff or the resources. A school like Fairmount Prep uses research-based reading programs, and with respect to anxiety, they have an in-house psychologist who offers counseling services in what they call a STEPS program.”

Kevin chuckled under his breath. “Fairmount Prep is private and at thirty-five grand a year, they can offer Paradise. We can't.”

“I know that.” Mary met his eye evenly. “That's why he should be placed there, it's perfect for him. We have to put him where he can get help before it's too late. We're losing this kid. He's not just falling through the cracks, he's
disintegrating.
Please consider settling this for tuition.” Mary tried to dial it back. “I'll prepare a settlement proposal and detail my position.”

“Send me a letter,” Kevin answered, meeting her eye.

By this time the meeting was over and Mary left Grayson. She looked around for the brown sedan or the red Passat but again, saw neither. She chirped her car unlocked and hurried across the street. She reached her car, got inside, and started the engine and AC. She checked her phone, but Edward still hadn't called back.

She pressed in Edward's number, but the phone rang and rang, and the call went to mechanical voicemail again. She wondered if Edward had taken Patrick to the zoo or someplace fun, as Cassandra had suggested, but there was only one way to find out. Mary decided to drop in at the house, since they lived so close.

She pulled out of the space, drove down the street, took a right, and in no time, was driving down Moretone Street. All the time she was scanning the street for the brown sedan or a red Passat, but they weren't in sight. She questioned whether that had been Robertson in the sedan yesterday or if she had made a mistake, but she stayed on alert. She spotted a parking space directly across the street from the O'Briens', so she pulled in, parked, and got out of the car, crossing to the house. She glanced up at Patrick's bedroom window but it was too dark to see inside.

She hustled up the few steps to the front door and pressed the buzzer, waiting. There was no answer, so she pressed it again, then called out, “Edward? Patrick?” She waited a minute, listening, but there was still no answer, and after a few minutes had passed, she tried one more time. The house sounded still, and she figured they had gone out, which made her happy.