Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
On Thursday Helen made her coffee extra strong, put on a simple lavender dress that she liked to think of as subtle, and resolved again to put the noises of the night behind her. Squirrels, the echo of a ticking clock, a demented woodpecker—the tappings could have been any of those things.
The fact that Becky hadn
't been able to hear the sounds
meant nothing. Who
'
s to
say whether her hearing was as
good as her mother
'
s?
In any case today was not the day to be tired and dragging. Nathaniel Byrne—or, more likely, his proxy Peaches Bartholemew—was bringing little Katie to school during the last class. It was absolutely critical to Helen that they be impressed. She felt as nervous as a schoolgirl herself, with a stomach full of butterflies and a heart that wouldn
'
t stay quiet.
What if they didn
'
t like the
facility? What if they decided
to shop around a bit? What would she do without Katie?
She wanted Katie there.
Helen blinked at the th
ought. Where had it come from?
She didn
'
t need Katie, really;
as it was, it was going to be
awkward to bump one of the twelve children already ac
cepted—probably that bratty Me
ri
elle who
'
d wedged open the paint closet during Helen
'
s interview with her mother.
So why the anxiety? Why was it that as soon as someone mentioned the name Byrne, Helen felt an unease that amounted to queasiness? She might have pondered the question forever if the irate driver behind her hadn
'
t blasted her out of her reverie with one long lean on his horn.
She turned the Volvo quickly into the parking lot of the preschool and pulled into one of the reserved slots. There were many others available for parents dropping off and picking up; space was no problem at The Open Door.
The preschool operate
d out of a charming nineteenth-
century brick building that once had been a small bank. Helen, catching a wave of renovation that was sweeping over historic downtown
Salem
, had timed her purchase well. Despite the fact that bringing the building up to code had not been cheap—and even without the dollar value of the school
'
s reputation—the place was now worth far more than she and Hank had invested in it.
Even if it weren
'
t, Helen would still love it. She and Hank had sunk so much of their time and emotions into their little brick bank. Together they had hired the contractors, working side by side with them sometimes; together they had prowled tree farms and nurseries for Arbor Day sales and midwinter specials. The Catawba rhododendrons, barely up to her knees once their root balls had been buried, now grazed the six-foot wood fence that separated the north side of the property from the street. The mountain laurels, the junipers, the replanted Christmas trees—every one of them had a story to tell, and she loved them all for the memories of them.
Helen wished she could let Hank know that his favorite mountain laurel, the red one, had managed to survive that blistering summer after al
l. It was now as bushy and bud-
covered as the pink and the white ones, thanks to Hank
'
s skill and patience. The wish to tell him was surprisingly sharp—as if she suddenly realized she
'
d left the iron on. With a start, Helen realized that it was April first.
The anniversary.
She sighed and tried to shake herself free of the memory of it, at least until after school, and hurried up the flagstone path that led from the parking area to the attractive main entrance, set diagonally across one of the front corners of the building.
She slipped a key through the lock of the plate-glass door topped by an attractive Palladian window and stepped inside to a cheery reception area dotted with bright-colored chairs and low-hung posters of fairy tale characters and— far more interesting to Helen—samples of the children
'
s latest art projects. The Little Mermaid was all very well; but little Davey Mersten
'
s sense of color was nothing less than sublime.
Disengaging the alarm, Helen walked past the huge steel vault that remained from the building
'
s life as a bank and went directly to her office opposite the reception area. She scanned the messages that had come in after she
'
d left; with any luck, there
'
d be one from Merielle
'
s mother wanting her deposit back.
Just the opposite: there were messages from two more eager-sounding parents of three-year-olds. Helen shook her head in wonder. Where were all the kids
coming
from?
"
Yoo-hoo!
"
came a voice Helen knew well.
"
Who
'
s in?
"
"
I
'
m in the office, Janet,
"
said Helen to her long-time
administrative assistant
. Janet Harken, now fifty-eight, had taken the job on the day her daughter and son-in-law had packed up their kids and moved to the West Coast. She needed surrogate grandkids, she
'
d told Helen, and she needed them fast.
It was a match made in heaven: Janet
'
s office skills were good, her love for children, boundless. She was the one who stayed, if the late-afternoon person didn
'
t show, when a parent was held up. She was the one who was first to notice if a child came in sad or sick or—on several depressing occasions—with suspicious bruises.
Nothing got past Janet. She was Helen
'
s extra eyes and ears, a guardian angel at the gate of the preschool. Steady as a rock, Janet never got ill, angry, or flustered. In three short years she was planning to retire with her husband to
California
. Helen dreaded the day.
But for now she was in Helen
'
s office, filling it with her usual aura of warmth and security. She was like a pair of soft mittens, a cup of hot tea.
"
You saw the messages?
"
she asked, unbuttoning her plain wool coat.
"
Where on earth will we put two more?
"
"
On the waiting list; it
'
s all we can do,
"
Helen answered, sighing.
"
For goodness
'
sakes, why so glum?
"
asked Janet.
"
This means that word is really getting around about The Open Door.
"
"
We
'
re going to have to bump Merielle Hawkins,
"
Helen confessed.
"
I may have to honor an earlier commitment I made,
"
she added vaguely.
"
I
'
ll know more later today.
"
"
Me
ri
elle? Good,
"
Janet said with a comically grim smile.
"
In that case, I won
'
t have to padlock the paint locker.
"
She folded her coat over her arm and gave Helen an appraising look.
"
You look nice today,
"
she said with her kindest smile. She knew very well what day April first was.
"
You have some color for a change. You got a good night
'
s sleep, then? Finally?
"
"
Sure did,
"
Helen lied. A little makeup had given her what a rotten night
'
s sleep could not.
"
So it was the pipes and not squirrels?
"
"
Apparently,
"
said Helen, lying again.
"
Huh. But why,
"
Janet asked,
"
would the sounds return every night at the same time? It doesn
'
t make sense. You
'
d almost think—
"
"
It was air in the pipes,
"
Helen said in a testy lie. She brought herself under control and said far more pleasantly,
"
Janet, be a dear and bring me Kristy Maylen
'
s lesson plans for next week, would you? I want to see what kind of tie-in she
'
s planned to the field trip.
"
With that, Helen closed the subject of the nighttime knocks and jiggles
once and, she hoped, for all.
****
At three in the afternoon the little brick bank began to empty out. As usual at that time, the energy level was high:
Excited children poured out of their classrooms bursting with Most Important News about their day, while harried mothers made themselves pause long enough to listen to their stories. Everywhere there was coming and going, laughing and calling, punctuated by sharp little reminders to hurry up, hurry up.
The children looked especially sweet because today was the day they
'
d had their photographs taken. Helen, substituting for a teacher, was explaining to Stephanie
'
s mother why Stephanie was wearing emergency pants (she
'
d fallen partway into the toilet—after the photo, thank God—and her jumper had got wet.)
During the conversation, Helen chanced to look out the windows of the classroom and caught a glimpse of a black Porsche pulling into one of the reserved parking places. Since neither she nor any of her staff could afford a Porsche—and wouldn
'
t pick black if they could—her curiosity was aroused. She said good-bye to Stephanie and her mother and waited to see who it was who could be so successful and still not be able to read two simple words:
Staff Only.
Ah. He was taller, she saw, than the magazine photo of him sitting on the stump suggested, and he was dressed far more authoritatively in a dark business suit and a brightish tie that got lifted in the afternoon wind and plastered against his lapel. His hair was long enough to be tousled, though he didn
'
t seem the tousleable type; she suspected he left it a little shaggy by design, to make himself seem more down to earth.
And he was late.
He went around to the other side of the car and opened the door for Peaches, who slid out of the low-slung seat with enviable grace and then unfastened Katherine from the back
seat while her father glanced around, taking his measure of the place. After that, each of the adults took one of Katie
'
s hands and the three—looking like
your
average Ralph Lauren ad—began walking toward the building.
Helen could have flagged them directly into the classroom; but she preferred that they come in through the rather grand entrance, so she went quickly around to her office, dodging little ones and their mothers along the way. Though she felt instinctively at an advantage on her own turf, she was amazed at the thunder of her heartbeat. It didn
'
t seem like her own heart at all.
Too much caffeine
.
She
whipped open the door of the closet-sized bathroom in her office and checked her hair and makeup in the oval mirror above the pedestal sink. Surprise: She didn
'
t need the blusher after all; her cheeks looked downright feverish. But her black hair was smooth and straight, thanks to a recent cut, and her dress had managed to make it through the day without a speck of pee or paint on it. So far, so good.
But what if Katie doesn
'
t know me?
she
wondered in
sudden panic.
What then?
Again she surprised herself. Why should Katie know her? Their only contact had been brief, and a month had passed since then. To Katie, Helen would seem like just another lady who was way, way taller than she was.
Helen took a deep breath. Katie had to know her, or she wasn
'
t sure what she
'
d do.
She stepped into the hall in time to see Nathaniel Byrne get the door for Katie and Peaches. The child and her beautifully dressed nanny went through and, after holding the door for two mothers leaving with their kids, Katie
'
s father stepped inside for his first impression.