Danny's Mom (25 page)

Do it right the first time so you won’t have to tear it down and start again
. That’s what Joe always said. He and I hadn’t built our relationship right. I see that now. A storm far less powerful than grief could have ripped it apart. I wonder about building it back. I know that’s what Joe wants. He calls every night. And last week he came into the city twice, though he says he’s not comfortable seeing me in Rayanne and Andy’s apartment, surrounded by their furniture and using all their things.

There is one item that’s mine, though. Just last week, I wandered into a store to pick up a greeting card for Callie, who, in addition to calling, sends me a funny card with a note every few days. Her misspelled words don’t bother me at all now. At the store, in the card aisle, I saw a rack of coffee mugs—all simple white china, each with a letter of the alphabet. I reached for a B.
B
for Beth. Just Beth. That mug now sits on the kitchen counter in Rayanne and Andy’s apartment.

Joe thinks I should look for my own place, “unless you’re ready to come back to Bay View,” he said on his last visit. I told Joe the truth then: I don’t know if I am coming back. So he wants me to use some of the college fund for a temporary sublet or a short-term lease. Nothing fancy. Just a place of my own for the time being, because we can’t ever know what the future will bring.

Kate was right about that—about the unpredictability of life. Sometimes I still hear her voice:
You just can’t know what tomorrow will bring.
Last spring I’d have guessed that Kate would have been in my life forever. Yet, I’ve spoken with her only once since the senior assembly. I called when I sent in my letter of resignation. Maybe I felt the need to tie up loose ends, to define our relationship before shelving it in my mind. Or, maybe I was finally angry enough to lash out at Kate for having blamed me for the explosion at school. But when she picked up the phone, I didn’t say much—just told her I was leaving. Kate wished me luck. “And let me know when you’re settled, dear. Perhaps we can get together then.”
No way
, I said to myself.
Find someone else to fill you up when you’re lonely. 
“Maybe we could visit in the city,” Kate went on, “away from Meadow Brook.”

I still dream about Meadow Brook High School. Dr. Goldstein says my dreams help me sort out the anger and sadness that have shadowed me since Danny died. He says that trying to make sense of my emotions guides me toward the future, while playing
What if
tethers me to the past. Two of my dreams recur. In one, Tina drags me to the gym, where Liz hangs by the neck from a rope. In the other, Peter chases me until I fall into a hole at the end of a hall.

Callie tells me she hears Peter’s in the running for a job as principal of Garden Grove High School. Rumor has it that when Peter and Bob disagreed on the candidate to replace me, Peter got his resumé in order.

Callie tells me about Tina too. She’s in Callie’s photo class now.“What’s up, Mrs. Harris?” Tina said at the beginning of second semester. “And how’s your girlfriend, Mrs. M., doin’?”

Callie told me that every time Tina asked, Callie gave the same answer: “She’s doing fine. Thanks for asking. And lose the gum, please.” Tina stopped asking about me, but she continued coming to class with a purple wad in her mouth. All that cracking and bubble popping drove Callie mad. So, after a couple of weeks, Callie finally said, “You can’t chew gum in here, Tina. And if you don’t like that rule, drop this class. I wouldn’t miss you.”

I certainly don’t miss Tina, but I do miss working with students. Last Sunday I saw an ad for a part-time counselor at a private school on the Upper West Side. When I stopped at the post office on my way to Starbucks this morning, I heard Danny’s voice as I sent off my letter of application:
Way to go, Mom! Way to go!

Acknowledgments

Heartfelt thanks to family and friends who read early drafts of this book and cheered me on—and to those who cheered from the sidelines. How lucky I am to have you on my team.

Special thanks to my agent, Jennifer Lyons, who got the ball rolling; and to my wonderful editor, Julie Matysik, who not only “gets” my novels but also “gets” me. What a pleasure it is to work with you and the dedicated folks at Skyhorse.

And belated thanks to my former students, who were, actually, my best teachers. You are still in my thoughts—these many years later.

Without you all, there would be no book. I am filled with love and gratitude.

Chapter Eight

I
n the morning, Hilda, the Meadow Brook cafeteria aide, greeted me as she loaded bottled water into a mini-fridge. “Help yourself to coffee, Mrs. Maller. Just made a fresh pot.”

I poured and saw Danny in his Superman costume. Coffee splashed on the metal tray-slider ledge. “Rough night?” Hilda asked.

“It shows, huh?” I reached for napkins.

“Don’t bother. I’ll clean it.”

“Thank, Hil.” I fumbled for quarters.

“Forget it. Catch me tomorrow.” She handed me a white plastic lid. “And by the way, Mary Grant’s kid was here. Asked if I’d seen you yet.”

At my desk, I sipped from the Styrofoam cup as I glanced at notices and mail. Debra didn’t knock. I looked up when she said, “Hey, Beth. Sorry to barge in, but I’m supposed to collect two dollars for the Sunshine Fund. I think they’re out of money again.”

“Sure.” I fished singles from my wallet and saw the folded pink slip with Kate Stanish’s number, sandwiched in the bills compartment.

“Oh, and Beth, Liz Grant’s been asking for you.”

“I heard.” I raised my coffee. “Hilda just told me.”

“Okay. Well, anyhow, she came here too, and I did offer to see her, even though the first bell hadn’t rung yet. But she said no.”

I handed Debra the dollar bills. “Careful,” she said. “My nails are wet. Just did a top coat.”

The moment Debra left, I reached for my coffee and swallowed quickly. Too fast. Too hot. Tears came easily. Or maybe it was fatigue that made me cry. Or the photo on the bookcase: Joe and me at the Clam Shack in Maine.
Charlie’s Clam Shack. Fresh Seafood Since 1950. Eat Clams!
I unfolded Kate’s number and dialed.

The machine clicked on. “You have reached the Stanishes. Please leave a message after—”

“Hello?” Kate answered before the beep. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Stanish?” I reached for a tissue.

“Yes. This is Mrs. Stanish. Who’s calling?”

“Kate?” My voice cracked.

“Yes. This is Kate Stanish. Who is this, please?”

“Mrs. Maller. It’s Beth Maller from the high school.” I squeezed the words out.

“Beth. What a pleasant surprise! Now, can you hold for a moment, dear? I was just getting out of the shower when I heard the phone.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll call some other time.”

“Don’t be silly. You just stay put. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Embarrassment crept in. Why had I called?

“Now then, you sound upset. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I really don’t.” I didn’t mean to sound rude.

“Well, that’s all right. I’m glad you rang all the same. And I want you to keep my number. You will, won’t you?”

Something in her voice made me feel as if I were in a rocking chair. Rocking slowly. Very slowly.
Hush, little baby. Don’t say a word.
I took a long, deep breath. “Thanks, Mrs. Stanish.”

“Kate.”

“Yes. Thank you, Kate. This is crazy. I don’t know why I called.”

“Maybe you remembered what I said: People like us need each other. So I want you to know you can call anytime.”

“Thanks. You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”

“Well, maybe I do. And when you’re ready to talk, I could refer you to someone who might help.”

“What do you mean?”

“His name is Dr. Goldstein. Elliot Goldstein. He helped me when Zach’s parents died, and then again three years ago, when I lost my husband.”

“But I don’t think anyone can help. I just go through the motions.” I reached for the photo of Danny in his backward baseball cap. “Sometimes, Kate, I don’t even want to be here anymore.”

“Beth, listen to me now. I’m going to give you Dr. Goldstein’s number.”

Though my voice wouldn’t come, I was sure Kate knew I heard her. I wrote Dr. Goldstein’s number under hers on the pink slip of paper.

Two hours later Liz Grant ran into my office. She slammed the door, tucked herself into a chair, knees to chest, and cried. “Don’t tell my mother. Please, Mrs. Maller, don’t tell my mother.” Liz looked up when I squatted in front of her. I pushed a strand of hair from her face and handed her a tissue. She scrunched it in her fist.

“What happened, sweetie? What’s wrong?”

Liz leaned forward, placing hands on top of her head. “Promise you won’t tell my mother. They’ll kill me if anyone finds out I told. They’ll kill me if they see I’m talking to you, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

I lowered her arms, then lifted her chin. “I’m always here for you, Liz. You know that, don’t you?” She nodded.

I sat in the other brown chair and faced her. “Now, tell me what happened.”

“I thought they were…they were…I thought they were gonna rape me. They emptied my locker. And they made me take my gym clothes off. I was so scared, and I didn’t know what to do. And they said if I called for help, they’d…they’d—”

“Okay, sweetie. Back up a minute. I need to know who’s
they
.” I placed my hands on hers.

She pulled back. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you. I never should have come here, and I have to go to English now. I’ve probably missed half the class already. So just forget it, okay? Forget it.”

I stood her up and hugged her. Liz folded into my arms. “I can’t forget it, ’cause you’re a terrific kid, and I care about you. This is serious, Liz, and I want to make sure no one will hurt you. So, this is what we’re going to do. You’re going to tell me exactly what happened, and then we’ll figure out what to do.” I felt her whole body sigh. “But first, how ’bout we go wash up?”

Liz backed away and sat. “I can’t. What if they see me in the hall or the girls’ room?”

“I’ll go with you. No one’ll bother us.”

“No.” She lowered her head, spoke softly into her lap. “They said they’d kill me if I told anyone.”

“Okay, Liz. You stay right here then. I’ll be gone for just a minute. No one will see you in my office.”

I closed the door behind me and headed to the cafeteria for a bottle of water and a paper cup. Then I stopped in the girls’ room for paper towels. Peter and I nearly crashed into each other in the hall outside the counseling center. He looked at the towels and grinned. “Cleaning day, Mrs. Maller?”

“No. I just need to take care of something.”

“Well, I hope it’s nothing pressing, ’cause I have to talk to you about Gary Johnson. Bob and I just went over third quarter grades with Steve. I assume you know Gary failed math again.”

“Yes. But I’ve got a student in my office now. I’ll get back to you about Gary.”

“Why don’t I wait? Take a load off my feet.” Peter opened the door to the center and followed me in.

“I may be awhile. I’ll buzz you when I’m finished.”

“I said I’ll wait. How long could you be? Oh, and I see Debra’s not with anyone. So I’ll just keep her company while you finish with…who did you say you’re with?”

“I told you I’m with a student. I’ll see you in a few minutes, okay?”

A smirk tugged at Peter’s mouth. “No. Not okay.” He opened the door to my office. “What the hell’s going on here?” Peter asked as he looked from Liz to me.

I kept my voice low and even. “She’s got a problem. I’ll find you as soon as we’re finished.”

“You’re finished right now.” Peter walked in and hovered over Liz. “Okay, missy. This isn’t kindergarten.” Liz hugged her knees.

“Please, Peter,” I said.

He marched from my office, motioning for me to follow. “Mrs. Maller—”

“I’ll fill you in later. Right now we’ve got a problem, and I’d like to do my job and handle it.”

“Your job? Is that what this is about, doing your job?”

I put the water and paper towels on the round worktable and closed the door to my office, hoping to save Liz from Peter’s rage.

“If you want to do your job, Mrs. Maller, then I suggest you stay the hell out of everyone else’s business. Liz Grant is not your student. Bob told you not to meet with her, to send her to Debra. Why can’t you understand that?”

In a way, Peter was right, I suppose. I wasn’t handling Liz correctly. But, of course, I couldn’t see that then. All I saw was a fragile child who ran to me for help, and a menacing adult who smashed us with his power.

“Listen, Peter.” I tried to lessen the blow. “Liz has a problem, and she came to me. I couldn’t just turn her away.”

Peter’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the back of a chair. “No, you listen, Mrs. Maller. And you listen good. I’ve had just about enough of your nonsense. You send Liz to Debra right now or I will.”

I caught sight of the door and prayed Liz hadn’t heard us. “Peter, I—”

“Forget it. I’ll do it myself.”

Liz looked up when Peter barged in. “Okay, Liz. I don’t know what’s going on here, but—”

“Mrs. Maller?” Liz called in a five-year-old voice.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m right here.”

Peter turned to glare at me, then faced Liz again. “No, it’s not okay.” He moved closer to her. “This isn’t kindergarten. I’m trying to run a high school here. So if you have a problem, you see your counselor. And that’s not Mrs. Maller.”

“Please, Peter, just give me a minute with her.”

“No. I’m talking to Liz now. And this is none of your business.”

I leaned against the round table and squeezed its edge. From where I stood, I saw Debra on her feet by the door to her office, Peter towering over Liz in mine.

“As I was saying, missy, this is high school. You have a problem, you go to your assigned counselor. So, you have two choices. You can see Ms. Greene right now—I know she’s in her office—or you can go back to class. Which will it be?”