Dr. Bennett fans herself again, and this time I can smell the lotion on her skin, like tangerine and grapefruit.
She pats my arm. “Jack, can you give me the grand tour? I had an appointment with your dad and was supposed to meet him here at the house, but I guess he got caught at work.”
“That happens a lot,” I say.
The dryer chimes, signaling the load is done, and Isabel excuses herself to go check it. She hands me Sam, who wriggles out of my arms and runs to the sofa to bury his head. I guess she's decided Dr. Bennett isn't a mass murderer or robber.
When we walk through the rest of the house, Dr. Bennett looks up at the high ceilings and the fancy molding around the windows. The carpet, creamy white, makes her ankles wobble because it's so thick. Dr. Bennett purses her lips when we get to my bedroom. I feel my face get hot. It's empty, except for a small table, my backpack, my comic books, and my bed.
“Dad doesn't want the place all cluttered up,” I say, repeating what I've heard since we moved in. “Want to see the kitchen?”
Sam wants to be carried then, and plays with Dr. Bennett's dangly earring. When we get to the kitchen, Dr. Bennett asks for a glass of water. Sam sits on her lap.
“Sure,” I say and get a cup from the cabinet.
I open the freezer, which is bare except for ice, grab a handful, and plunk it in the plastic container. When I open the fridge and reach for the bottled water, it hits me how every shelf is empty. There's an apple, a leftover soft drink, half full, and a jug of sweet tea. I catch Dr. Bennett looking, but she doesn't say a word. She drinks the water and sets the cup in the sink.
“Well, Jack, I'll be sure to tell your dad that you were an excellent host. It was great to meet Isabel. Does she do a lot of cooking? I suppose she's not much into country fried steak, meat loaf, and ribs.” Dr. Bennett grins.
I laugh. “She's the best,” I say. “Tamales, enchiladas, tacos.” I rub my belly in anticipation of tonight's supper.
“That's great,” Dr. Bennett replies and reaches over to rub my head. Sam's cuddled into her shoulder, fingers in his mouth.
I point to the square cooler with the shoulder strap in the corner. “She brings us dinner every day and takes the leftovers home at night, unless Dad wants them.”
“Wow, you're lucky to have Isabel. I'm glad you have her around.” She sets Sam on the floor and calls good-bye to Isabel.
I walk with her to the door. “Bye,” I tell her.
“Thanks, Jack. See you soon.”
I close the door and lock it behind her, then wait to hear footsteps. Her heels clicking down the steps. But there's nothing. I hold my breath and listen. There's a murmur, Dr. Bennett talking on the phone to someone.
I strain to hear, scrunching up as close as I can to the crack in the
door. “This is Dr. Lucy Bennett. I'm about to leave Mitchell Carson's place of residence. His home visit with the children was scheduled for this afternoon.”
My heart lurches. “Mr. Carson didn't find time to meet with me, unfortunately. I did speak to the sitter and his son, Jack. Because of my extraordinary patience, I gave your client an extra twenty minutes to remember our meeting. However, he's still not here. I can't overlook this.”
The words burn a hole into my chest. What does this mean for me? For Sam?
Dr. Bennett starts to walk away. “I'll notify Judge Crane first thing tomorrow,” she says.
I swallow hard. My dad's definitely in trouble.
TUESDAY, APRIL 27
I've made a special trip to Miss Beulah's, and my Jeep is filled with the buttery scent of still-warm blueberry scones. I park in front of Mobile Prep and balance the box of pastries and carafe of Columbian coffee on my way into the main office.
“Hey, everyone,” I say with a big smile and set my surprises on the counter. “I brought everyone some treats this morning! Just a little thank you for all of the hard work you do.”
A startling round of nothing greets me. Blank faces. Stone smiles. Mechanical gestures, like puppets on a string. My mouth goes dry, but I single out the person I know best. Her gray hair is shorn close to her head.
“Miss Anne,” I say. “It's so good to see you.”
“Thank you.” Her voice is shaky.
My heart drops as she turns away. I watch her hands quiver as she feeds the copy machine. One finger presses a green button and the huge gray box whirs to life. The copy light flashes across the width of her belly, back and forth. Paper spits out with the beat of my pulse, one-two, one-two. She holds up her index finger and moves her mouth, counting. Another employee walks by and ignores me.
Swallowing my hurt, I press on anyway. “Miss Anne, I know
you're busy, but I was hoping to speak to Mr. McReed.” I raise my voice above the clatter of the copy machine. I shift my briefcase on my shoulder and interlace my fingers.
She pauses and glances back at me, “I'm sorry, Ava, he's not in right now.”
A few students wander in, sign a sheet, look me up and down. They whisper and erupt into a fit of giggles. Another teenager makes an announcement over the loudspeaker about yearbooks. The UPS man stops in, grabs a signature. At least he nods hello. I'm invisible to everyone else.
My feet begin to ache. I'm tired of smiling. I feel foolish and desperate. By this time, I've leafed through the school newspaper and read every single announcement tacked up on the bulletin board. The copy machine finally stops. Anne takes her sweet time collating and stapling. When she turns, I lean forward to catch her.
“Please, I realize that perhaps I should have called first. Can you spare just a minute?”
Anne shifts her gaze to the floor then back to me. “What can I do for you?”
I practically melt in relief. Finally. I move closer to the counter and speak softly. “I was hoping to talk to someone about coming back.”
“Back?” Her body jolts as if an electric shock has run through it.
“Yes.” I try not to frown at her reaction. “Everyone's always talked about me coming back. There being space here at the school whenever I decided I was ready. Don't you remember?”
Anne's painted-on eyebrows almost jump.
“Um, I'm so sorry, dear.” She clenches her stack of papers. “And there are no openings at the school. None. Budget cuts and all. However, if there's something else we can do for you, let us know.” Her chest flushes and blotches. She's perspiring, for goodness sake.
My throat chokes with anxiety. “Perhaps I misunderstood.” I slip
a hand into my briefcase and pull out the résumé and cover letter I've prepared for Mr. McReed. “Could you make sure the assistant principal gets this anyway?”
Anne holds out her palm as if I'm going to bite her fingers off. Even she's not sure what or whom she should believe anymore.
I whisper, “Please. I'm not trying to put you on the spot. Would you just ask Mr. McReed to hang on to this in case something opens up?”
She takes the envelope with two fingers. Nods. And waits for me to leave.
I raise my voice several octaves, force a cheery wave. “Well, thanks so much. Take care.” My face stings bright red with embarrassment. I can't help but think I'm in the midst of a nightmare I can't wake up from. I practically slink away, a garter snake weaving deep into the sawgrass. And then it hits me when I start to open the door.
There's no need to tiptoe or apologize. I'm Jack's mother. I used to work hereâand when I did, I had a backbone. I stomp back to the double-glass doors. Inside the office ladies are engaged in the gabfest of the century, like flapping and pecking pigeons. The lone holdout, Miss Anne, stacks papers on the periphery. The gossip halts when I reappear.
“Pardon me. I forgot to ask,” I say, folding my arms. “Which one of you ladies called Mitchell to come get Jack on Friday? After the disagreement he had with another student?”
The office workers exchange uneasy glances. From the corner of my eye, I watch Anne swallow. Maybe she wasn't here. But she knows.
I muster up my sweetest, most concerned voice. “The handbook says the parents are to be notified,” I say. “Both parents.”
I allow this to sink in.
“While I'm sure your oversight was unintended, other parents
may have cause for concern if you continue to neglect communicating in a timely way.”
This time I get a murmur of support. Better than nothing.
If using kindness in the face of adversity is the type of damage control Graham is talking about, at least I'll leave the building with my dignity intact. I walk back toward the parking lot, shoulders back, head held high. If Mitchell wants to take me down, he's not going to win without a fight. And I'm just getting started.
TUESDAY, APRIL 27
Balancing the novel on my knees, I start to read chapter one. It's pouring rain outside, my tennis shoes and socks are soaked, and my shirt's damp and clammy against my skin. I shiver. I don't feel like talking or playing games or doing anything other than getting lost somewhere else. Anywhere else but Mobile, Alabama. Or Dr. Bennett's office.
I concentrate on the words, the heavy feel of the book in my hands, and breathe in the sharp, woodsy smell of brand-new pages and fresh ink. Ava mailed it to me, and thankfully, Isabel found it and slipped it into my room before Dad saw it. There's no telling where it might have ended up otherwise. When Dr. Bennett comes in the room, I put the book down beside me.
“I'm going to let my assistant hold Sam for a while so that we can do an activity,” she says. “Would that be all right, Jack?”
I don't think I have much of a choice, but I need to be polite. I glance up. “I guess so.”
“Reading anything good?” she asks and motions to the novel now on the floor.
“Yup. Rick Riordan.”
“He's great,” she agrees and walks to the corner. She has something under a big blue tarp. It's heavy, and she strains, the wheels creaking, as she pushes it to the center of the room.
“A sandbox?” I'm surprised when she pulls off the cover. “Isn't that for little kids?”
“Sure,” Dr. Bennett answers. “But sometimes it's fun to do this kind of stuff when you're a teenager or adult, right?” She continues, “Like mud pies in the rain, playing charades, hide-and-seek.”
“Um, okay.” I guess I never thought about it.
“And you've got a great imagination,” Dr. Bennett says, probably to encourage me. “I thought you could just relax and spend some time messing around with this. Better than just letting me sit here and ask you questions all day while we stare at each other, right?”
I lift my shoulders an inch and let them fall. “Right.”
“So”âDr. Bennett produces a bag and holds it upâ“here are some things to get you started. Just do whatever you want with them.” She pauses. “Within reason. And in the sand.”
“In the sand,” I repeat and reach my finger toward the box. I draw a long, deep squiggle, feeling the sand push against my skin.
“Want a soda? I'm thirsty. Sprite?”
I nod, brush the grains off my hand, and take the bag. When I look inside, it's full of superhero figures like Spiderman, Batman, Black Canary, Green Lantern. There are a few creepy guys: Frankenstein, a zombie, a pirate, wild animals, a dragon. And some normal, everyday humans, including a miniature baby with reddish-blond hair like Sam's.
Dr. Bennett comes back, sets down the soda, but keeps her distance. I draw three distinct areas and put Frankenstein inside the first one. A small boy and a baby sit nearby. Black Canary's by herself on top of a mound of sand on the opposite part of the tray. Dead center, I set up a few lines of smaller figures, almost in classroom style. I draw a long rectangle around this group.
I take the boy from the square and put him in the center. I bring several same-sized figures to confront him. They fight and argue. I pause the action and swoop my arm, holding Batman. I make him pick up the boy and drop him with Frankenstein. The boy takes the baby to the corner of the square. Black Canary comes down from the hill and stands on the edge.
“You can't come in,” I make Frankenstein growl.
I bury Black Canary in the sand behind the hill. I hesitate, then make Frankenstein burst through an invisible door and wrestle with the boy.
“Don't ever do that again,” I yell, leaning Frankenstein over the boy. “You'll be sorry.”
I grab Green Lantern and fly him straight into Frankenstein, who flips off the sand tray. Spiderman web-slings in and grabs the baby.
“Who are you?” I have the boy ask Spiderman. “Are you good or bad?”
I look up at Dr. Bennett. She's watching.
“I can't tell anymore.” My eyes fill with tears. I throw the figurines across the table. They land and stick out at weird angles.
We both stare at the sand table.
“Anything you want to talk about?” Dr. Bennett finally asks. “I hear you had a rough week.”
I sniff. “Some people at school said crappy things about Ava on Friday. So I punched one of them because he wouldn't stop. Then my dad got me this great Element Man comic book but ripped it up after he found out about detention. I can't do anything right.”
Dr. Bennett just listens.
“And Sam and I broke some stuff by accident at Grandma Ruth's. I got in big trouble over that. Everybody's mad.”
“I'm not upset.” Dr. Bennett tilts her head. “I know your brother loves you.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my sleeve.
“What about Ava?” Dr. Bennett says. “Do you think she cares about you?”
“She spends all her time with Sam,” I choke out.
“Do you talk to her when she's here?” she asks gently.
“Not too much . . .” I jerk to attention. “How do you know? Did she tell you that?”