The Still of Night (2 page)

Lord, you balance the whole universe. Help me to balance these needs
. As Sammi calmed, Jill watched the erupting forces in Joey subside, as well. She glanced at the other two students. Angelica was labeled SLIC: significant limited intellectual capacity. She had brain function that simply couldn’t match her desire to learn. Her type A personality would not let her give up, and Jill longed for her success, especially when getting the brighter, more capable kids to even try was a challenge. Some days Angelica was truly her saving grace. She was well named.

And there was Chris. Jill suspected his condition was more likely sleep deprivation than low functionality. The domestic strife in his home was heard all down the block at all hours, and his blank, semicomatose refusal to perform could be partly attributed to that. Even in the midst of Sammi’s tantrum, he looked glazed.

“All right, pay attention. I want to read you a story.”

Angelica’s round brown eyes found her immediately. She loved stories and curled her legs up under the pink skirt that matched the many pink barrettes clipped onto tiny coarse black braids. Sammi’s sobs became gulping breaths.

Jill used a firm, soothing tone. “Do you want to hear the story, Joey?”

He kept rocking but stilled slightly when she said, “It’s about a rocket. And a monkey.”

Sensing peace, Jill risked loosening her hold on Sammi. The girl was big for eight, a possible growth disorder in addition to her chemical imbalances. Sammi glared at Chris, who had expended the energy to set her off in the first place by making fun of her reading. Climbing down, Sammi deliberately kicked his knee.

“Ow!”

Chris kicked back, and Sammi charged him. As Jill moved to intervene, he pulled a fishing knife from his pocket. Jill lunged for the knife, gripped Chris’s arm, and took him down. Chris, who hardly had energy to write his name, fought until she trapped and subdued the scrappy nine-year-old. Jill’s heart pounded. This was not some innercity school where kids knifed each other; this was small-town, middle America farm country—probably why it was a fishing knife and not a switchblade.

Within moments, Pam had hold of Sammi, and they pulled the children apart, still kicking and hollering.

“Too loud!” Joey pressed his hands to his ears.

Jill couldn’t worry about that now. She jerked the knife from Chris’s hand. “Where did you get this?”

“It’s mine.”

“Not anymore.” With the knife in one hand and the child in the other, Jill marched for the office. Presenting herself in this sort of situation to Principal Fogarty would not be pretty, but she had no choice. Her kids were rarely armed but invariably volatile. It came with the territory, but somehow Ed Fogarty always saw it as her fault. Still, she had no choice. School policy left no ambiguity in this situation.

As the stress drained, she realized Chris had grown soft in her grip. Why did he carry a knife? Protection? She frowned down at him. “Don’t you know better than to bring a knife to school, Chris?”

He had retreated into his stare.

He would be automatically suspended. She could possibly advocate against expulsion, due to his independent educational program. Even so, she would probably not see him until next school year. Disappointment and failure threatened her resolve. But there was no way around things now. She just hoped Pam had kept Joey from harming himself. Pam was a good teacher, but the kids didn’t always respond as well to her somewhat abrasive style.

As they approached the office, Chris held back. Jill stopped and turned. “I’m sorry, Chris. You made a really bad choice. Not only did you bring something dangerous to school, you used it as a weapon.”

“He’ll kick me out.”

Jill nodded. “Yes, for a while. You should have known that would happen.”

His eyelids drooped. “I’ll have to stay home.”

Jill heard the anxiety behind his dull words. “Yes, you will. Unless your parents make other arrangements.”

He didn’t answer, but his eyelids flickered.

“Is there a problem with staying home, Chris? Something I need to know?” She’d checked all year for signs of abuse, given him chances to talk, but he never did. Now he just stood there without so much as a headshake.

She took his shoulder gently. “We have to go in.” She opened the door and propelled him into the office. Mr. Fogarty responded to her with all the grace she expected—that of a bull on a tightrope. At least he blew it out with her, and by the time Chris’s mother arrived from her job, he was diplomatic and presented a gracious front. The woman looked as dull as Chris, took Fogarty’s explanation with hardly a word, then jerked Chris out by the arm. Jill sighed. The best she had managed was to keep things open for Chris next year.

By the day’s end she had earned a caramel Frappuccino. It wouldn’t spoil her appetite for the evening, just replenish her drained energy. She normally eschewed caffeine, but Dan would come for her in a little more than an hour, with some special plans he’d alluded to. Suggesting she dress up had been especially significant, since they spent more time together in sweats and running shoes. Tonight, she didn’t want to look like something dragged through the drain.

She was just to the makeup stage when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Dan, Jill. Do you mind meeting me at Marchelli’s?”

Marchelli’s?
She smiled to herself. And it wasn’t even a meaningful occasion. “Running late?” She rubbed a smear of moisturizer into her neck.

“We’re on a call. I’m not sure how long it’ll take. Could be serious.”

She heard radio noise over his phone. “Go ahead, Dan. I’ll hold down the table till you get there.” She could hardly get upset over his doing his job, keeping Beauview safe and honest.

After an hour and a half of raspberry Italian sodas, the first thing she said to Dan when he arrived was, “I need the ladies’ room.”

“I’m sorry, Jill.” He’d obviously changed in a hurry. His tie was askew and one side of his collar bent up.

“It’s all right.” But she had spent the hour and a half worrying about Chris. Maybe his inattentiveness was a defensive posture. Maybe … She shook her head. It was time to let it go and enjoy the evening with Dan. They’d only dined at Marchelli’s once before, on her birthday.

When she came back to the table, Dan had straightened his tie. His bulky neck wanted out of the collar. Not all men looked better in a suit. But she appreciated the significance.

She sat down. “Okay, here’s my day in a nutshell. Chris was suspended for possessing and wielding a weapon in the classroom. Sammi’s meds were wacko, and Joey had a serious regression in the use of bathroom facilities, probably due to the antagonism between the aforementioned pair. Mr. Fogarty indicated that I do not have control of my caseload and informed me that, contrary to policy, I must reapply for my position as coordinator next year, and I will be considered along with all other contenders, including a new hire I have yet to meet.”

Dan frowned appropriately at that. She’d made it all sound comical, but it was starting to eat her up. She gave the best she had to her kids, fought for them, hurt for them. And days like today left her searching for the reason. She closed her eyes and sighed. “I just thought I’d get that out of the way.”

Dan laughed softly. “Makes my foot chase of a teenage burglar sound tame.”

“Was that the call?”

He nodded. “He was quick, too. Or I wouldn’t have been so late.”

“Did you work up an appetite?”

Dan raised his brows. “Hungry?”

She pushed aside the menu she had read word for word, including the gratuity policy on parties over eight and the accepted credit cards. “I was too worried about Chris to eat lunch. I haven’t had anything but Frappuccino and Italian sodas since dawn.”

“I thought I detected caffeine. You either need to become a regular user or avoid it altogether.”

“It’s more effective on a haphazard basis. Keeps the shock effect at full voltage.”

The waiter approached with an air of stiff annoyance at having had his table held up with nothing yet to show for it. “Are you ready to order?”

“Desperate to.” She chose manicotti with half clam alfredo and half sun-dried-tomato marinara. Dan ordered the peppered steak marsala. He detailed the chase for her as they nibbled breadsticks and thick, spicy minestrone. It had been one of the more serious calls he’d handled lately. The young man had broken into a home in one of the nice neighborhoods, loaded his car with electronics, and started on the gun collection by the time the private security system brought Brett and Dan to the scene. Brett covered the car to make sure the suspect couldn’t double back and escape while Dan chased him down on foot. Dan could run forever, but his speed was not that great. Still, he cornered the kid and took him down, not unlike what Jill had been forced to do with Sammi.

She shook her head. “Do you think it was something in the air?”

Their entrees arrived, and the heavy starch neutralized the caffeine before she was halfway through. She settled down to enjoy the second half. “You haven’t told me what we’re celebrating.”

For answer, Dan pushed aside his plate and looked at her for a long moment, then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a photograph. He slid it face up with one finger to the middle of the table between them. Jill looked at the modest house in the photo: some character, but not overly picturesque. She looked back at Dan.

“It’s for sale. I was thinking … maybe we could do a joint mortgage, fix it up nice, and if things were working out well …”

“Things?” Was he actually saying what she thought?

He pulled a slow half smile. “We’ve had ten great months and …”

“And what, Dan?”

“I’m ready for the next step.” He pulled his tie loose and opened the top button of his shirt, then gave her his direct cop gaze. “Jill, I know you have reservations. So do I. That’s why this is a good—”

“What exactly are you proposing, Dan?” He winced. “I’m a little leery of that word. I think if we worked into it, made sure we were—”

“Intimately compatible?”

“Exactly.”

She stared into his blunt face and wondered if he had any idea that he had just capped her day.

Jill left the restaurant, thankful she had driven herself. She needed some miles behind the wheel. As she drove, she studied the opaque sun, caught like a melon-colored Frisbee in the net of trees along the horizon. Who had tossed it there, and would they come thundering across the sky to snatch it up and send it reeling once again? What careless feet would trip through the branches green with leaf and quickened sap? What eager hand would reach for it?

The Midwestern humidity dimmed it to a lunar impotence, so much tamer than the Phoenix sun. That fiery orb ruled the desert sky like a god, dominating the scaly plants and beasts, breaking their wills, grinding them down to the base elements of survival … or so Dan had said when he returned from his sister’s wedding this past weekend.

Phoenix had been too hot, even for a man who liked to get out and sweat. He wanted his own exertion to cause it, not the blazing sun. That was Dan, one hundred and ten percent, whether he was running down a punk peddling drugs or pumping iron or racing his bike. The one area he didn’t excel in was listening.

How else to explain his proposal? The man she respected, enjoyed, maybe even loved, had completely ignored everything she’d told him since their relationship had become serious.
What exactly are you proposing, Dan?
He’d made it sound so homey, so convenient. So non-committal. Attending a wedding had no doubt sparked his consideration of the next step. But not influenced it deeply enough.

She switched hands on the steering wheel of her almost new Civic. Almost, meaning less than two years old, but purchased used from her friend Shelly, who won—actually won—a Miata in a raffle. She could still feel the grip of Shelly’s hands on her upper arms as they had jumped up and down, laughing in disbelief.

Jill reached over and turned down the air-conditioning that was raising the hairs on her arms. Her plan was to leave Beauview behind and put miles of cornfields and highway between her and home. Dan had probably gone straight home and hit his weight bench. He would work it out through his pores; she’d rather run away.

But not entirely. She had school tomorrow; students depending on her, kids whose lives would be traumatized if she left them to a substitute, even another team member. Consistency was crucial. And in this last week of the school year their stress levels rose, as evidenced by today’s stellar performances. Summer vacation was no celebration for many of them. It meant change, and they had spent nine months grasping one set of expectations only to now face a new set.

Some of them she would tutor twice a week through the summer so they wouldn’t lose all they’d accomplished during the school year. Three months was interminable for their retention. Without tutoring, she’d be starting from scratch when she rolled up to the next grade level with them.

Even though the highway stretched out before her, she recognized the end of her tether. So at the next exit, she left the highway and started back. Hands had snatched the sun and taken it home. The sky dissolved into dusky hues of peach and lavender, and the farms on either side of the road had that complacent, settled look. Instead of reentering the highway, she followed the country road that would wind back to rejoin it eventually. It would be dark when she got home. No one would notice she went in alone, nor what condition her mascara was in, though tears had yet to come.

With a sniff, Jill fanned her fingers through her hair from the forehead to the crown, then examined the ends hanging midway down her chest, fine and straight and blond. Ash, actually, though she’d never liked that description. It had been silvery blond when she was small; fairy hair, her mother said. It was still thick and soft but lacked the luster it once had. Maybe she should highlight it, frost it, streak it—something with an attitude. But she had no one to impress now, and she was clean out of attitude.

A Mendelssohn concerto, soothing and vibrant, filled the car from her stereo as she merged back onto the highway, but gathering brake lights ahead caught her attention. The lanes were moving, but at a crawl. And the cars veered and wound erratically. What on earth?