Danny's Mom (16 page)

Callie was right: An eight-hundred-pound gorilla does whatever he wants. And Peter wanted to crush me like a cigarette. He rapped my desk. “When I ask you a question, Mrs. Maller, I expect an answer.”

“It was a personal call. Sorry.”

He closed the door, closeting us together, and pulled up a chair. “Now you listen to me, Beth. I don't know what's going on around here, but I do know that we pay you to do a full-time job. And that means keeping your personal business out of Meadow Brook. That phone is not for personal calls. And if you have a cell phone, don't let me catch you on that, either. Not during school hours. Do I make myself clear?”

I met his gaze. “Perfectly.”

“And another thing while we're at it. We don't pay you to wander around this building. So, when you're out of the office, you need to let Sue know where you are. Understood?” Peter got up and opened the door, then faced me one last time. “So, would you mind telling me where you were a little while ago?”

“I was in the art room. Some of my students asked me to come by to check out the prom decorations.”

“So, you went to see Mrs. Harris.”

“I told you, Peter. I stopped by the art room.”

“Well, that's something else we don't pay you to do, to hang out in the art room, especially when there's supposed to be a class going on in there. I guess you think you decide when you and your gal pal get time off. But you know what? You don't. And that art room's not your private playground.”

Sue brushed against Peter as he marched from my office. “Beth,” she said, “Mrs. Stanish has been trying to reach you again. She wants you to call her right back.”

Chapter Eighteen

I
apologized to Kate for hanging up and promised to call her from home. The rest of that morning, I busied myself with interim reports and scholarship applications. When Callie came by during fifth period, I told her about my separate clashes with Tina and Peter. “So, let's eat here, Cal. Two rats in one day are enough.”

“Sorry, but my lunch is in the fridge. So we've got to go to the faculty room. I can't just pick up my sandwich and come back here. Last time I did that, Joanne made mince meat out of me. I guess she's jealous of our friendship.” Callie tugged my arm, steering me away from my desk. “And you know what they do with mince meat, don't you?”

“No, what?” I stepped back to grab my purse.

“Hah, hah, hah,” she said in comic vampire tone. “They feed it to rats. Because rats eat anything.”

“Well, they certainly took a bite out of me.”

Callie smiled and ushered me to the door. We stopped at Sue's desk. “I'll be at lunch, just in case anyone asks,” I reported as I glanced at the clock. “And if Mr. Stone comes by, please tell him I went to the faculty room at eleven-o-six.”

“Yeah,” Callie said. “And you can tell him I'm there too, since we don't have a private playground.”

“Just tell him I'm at lunch,” I said, my voice dry and cold.

But Callie wouldn't quit. “And if Mr. Stone has a problem with that, tell him it sure looks like
he's
been taking plenty of meal breaks lately.”

I elbowed Callie on the way out of the center. “Watch it. Aren't you the one who told me to stay out of trouble so those bastards don't get me?”

“Yeah, well, they finally got you. And you know what? I'm not gonna let them get away with it.”

“You've got to stay out of this, Cal. It's enough they're gunning for me. I don't want them coming after you too.”

“Hey, this is Callie Harris you're talking about here.” She resumed her vampire speech, which made me smile. “Nobody messes with the woman who gave them that fabulous art show. Nobody!” She linked her arm in mine and gentled her voice. “And nobody messes with her best friend either.”

We entered the faculty room. Callie tilted her head and sniffed like a dog. “The vegetarian's out sick today,” Joanne said, explaining the absence of odor. “See what happens when you eat all that broccoli and healthy stuff? You get sick.”

“Well then, I guess the opposite's true too,” Callie said. “Explains why I'm so healthy.” She pulled her lunch bag from the refrigerator. “It's all this poison I consume. Garbage, my friends.” Callie tossed her brown paper sack onto the table. “Pure unadulterated garbage. My very own health food.”

I took the chair across from Joanne, whose fingers explored a school salad. “Checking for worms?” Callie asked, settling into the seat next to mine.

“No. Bugs,” Joanne answered. “I hear the cafeteria's crawling with them—cockroaches the size of Mr. Rat. So, I thought I'd better take a look.” She flipped a slice of tomato, rearranged carrot sticks. “It's funny, isn't it?”

“What?” I asked.

“Give her a moment to crank up the wit machine,” Callie muttered.

Joanne grinned. “Well, in the real world, people look before they leap, but in Meadow Brook, we look before we eat.”

Callie shook her head as she unwrapped a bologna sandwich. “Cool it, Joanne. We're not in the mood.”

“What's the matter?” Denise asked, cradling Mr. Rat in her lap. She stroked him with her right hand, ate Fritos with her left. “Are they giving you a hard time again, Beth?”

I nodded. Callie spoke for me. “And not just the big guys. Now a student too.”

“That's impossible,” Denise said. “No student would ever give Beth a hard time.” She looked at me. “The kids love you.”

“Thanks,” I said, “but we've got a few rats around here.”

Denise lowered her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Denise. I'm not talking about
your
rat. I'm talking about the ones who ruin this place.”

Denise crumpled the empty Fritos bag and lifted Mr. Rat to her shoulder. “I know. There are all kinds of rats. White rats, like Mr. Rat here, they're the good guys.” Mr. Rat's tail swished over Denise's chest. “Scientists use them to study behavior, disease, and all kinds of things.” Denise bent her head, nuzzling her chin on Mr. Rat's tiny head. “You're a trailblazer, Mr. Ratsky.”

“Oh, let's not get carried away,” Joanne said. “The only trailblazers around here are the Key Clubbers, marking the halls with candy wrappers. I take it you've all noticed the litter. It's amazing they're allowed to sell that junk in school.”

“What's amazing about that?” Callie asked. “Lana's the adviser. The Key Club gets to do whatever Lana wants.” Callie jabbed my shoulder. “Hey, maybe she's a small gorilla in disguise.”

“I don't get it,” Joanne said.

“You don't have to,” Callie answered.

Joanne pushed her chair back and headed for the ladies' room. “Bell's about to ring,” Denise announced. Mr. Rat squealed as Denise stood and walked around the table. “He's really very sweet, Beth. Feel how soft he is.”

I shook my head.

“I won't let his tail hit you. I promise.” Denise squatted and took my hand. “Don't think of him as a rat. Think of him as my pet, like a dog.”

I thought of Moose and scratched Mr. Rat's head with my index finger. His fur calmed me, like the rabbit's foot I had carried in elementary school. Denise smiled. “I really hope things get better for you, Beth.”

Callie and I dashed into the ladies' room. “Oh my God!” Callie whispered. “I can't believe you touched the rat.”

I pulled the lever on the soap dispenser. It spit only air. “Dammit! Why isn't there ever any soap in here?”

The bell rang. Joanne called from one of the stalls, “Wait! Could you please find me some toilet paper? No toilet paper. No soap. What do they think we are? Animals?”

“That's right,” Callie said, as I slipped paper under the door to Joanne. “Welcome to Meadow Brook, home of the roaches, rats, and gorillas.”

“Again with the gorillas. What's with that?” Joanne asked as the toilet flushed.

“Sorry, can't hear you,” Callie said. She laughed and pulled me from the bathroom.

Joe went for a run after work that day. When he came in, I told him Dad had offered to bring dinner. “Guess I can't say no,” Joe said, his words muffled by the towel mopping sweat from his face. “But I sure don't want him here again.” Joe ripped off his T-shirt and balled it in his hands. “All this pretending. I hate it.”

“Pretending? What pretending?”

“When your father's here, we have to pretend we're the same as before.”

“No, we don't. We don't have to pretend anything.”

“Of course we do. We always pretend when he's around. We pretend we're still a family.”

“Then you know what, Joe? Don't. Don't pretend. Don't talk to us. Don't even come to the table.”

Joe ran upstairs. I heard the bathroom door slam, then water whooshing through the pipes. The house hissed like a snake.

Dad called again to ask what we wanted for dinner. I told him neither Joe nor I was hungry. Joe had mountains of paper work, I said. He'd probably pass on dinner. But an hour later, my father barreled through the door with his familiar greeting, suddenly sandpaper on my brain:
Hey, honey. How's my girl?
The smell of meat and peanut sauce filled the kitchen.

“I brought you a surprise,” he said as he unpacked a brown paper bag. Egg rolls and spare ribs, moo shu shrimp, chicken with mushrooms, rice, and packets of condiments. Cellophaned fortune cookies tumbled onto the counter.

I set the table. Two places. I was certain Joe would hide. And as I reached for serving bowls, I realized that I hoped he would. I'd had enough confrontation for one day.

“You're awfully quiet tonight,” my father said as he plated the moo shu pancakes.

“Just tired, Dad.” The lie came so easily. “And let's not put everything out. There's way too much food. It's only the two of us. Joe'll probably work through dinner.”

“What's keeping him so busy?”

I poured water and brought the glasses to the table. “Just catching up on bills, I think.”

“Well, shouldn't we call him? I know he's not a big fan of Chinese food, but I bought the chicken with mushrooms for him. Figured he'd be okay with that, seeing as nothing's chopped too much and he'll know what he's eating. And maybe he'll even try a spare rib. Wouldn't hurt him, you know.”

“He'll come down if he's hungry.”

“Well, he could come down just to say hello. I haven't seen him lately.”

“Dad, please. He knows you're here. Maybe he needs time to himself tonight.”

I scooped a thimbleful of rice onto my plate and looked at Danny's empty seat. He and Noah would have loved this feast, I thought—especially the moo shu shrimp, which they always wanted instead of moo shu chicken. And though the egg rolls wouldn't have been a big hit—Danny hated the egg rolls from China King—the spare ribs would have gone over well. I picked one up and turned it in my hand. In my mind, Danny and Noah staged a spare rib duel, bones clunking like swords.

Dad intruded on my fantasy. “You're supposed to eat the spare ribs, honey, not study them.”

“Oh, I was just thinking how Danny loved Chinese food, how I used to take him and Noah to China King when Joe worked late.” Longing mixed with the anger I had carried home from Meadow Brook and with the bile in my throat from the scuffle with Joe. I put down the spare rib and wiped my hands. “Sorry, Dad. I just have a lot going on right now.”

My father halved an egg roll and passed me a piece. “Wanna talk about it?”

I shook my head.

“Okay. Well then, how ’bout I talk? You just relax and try to eat a little.” Dad touched my hand. I pictured the Meadow Brook staff lining up to pat me on the head. A chorus of teachers:
There, there now, Beth. Everything's going to be fine.

I tuned in when my father said something about Saul refusing to take his car back to the dealer. “So, don't you think Martha's right, honey?”

“I'm sorry. What were you saying?” I picked at the egg roll.

“Oh, nothing important. Just blabbing about Saul and Martha again.”

“You're lucky you have them.” I spooned moo shu onto a pancake. “I don't know where I'd be without Callie and Tom.”

“And without Joe. That's your most important relationship. Don't you forget that now.”

“Actually, Joe and I are having problems.” I bit into the pancake and willed my tears to stay back. “He hates it when I talk about Danny.” My voice broke on Danny's name. Dad got up and pulled me from my chair. For the very first time, I resisted his hug. “You can't make it all better, Dad.”

He pulled back and took his hands off my shoulders. I stood still, listening to Joe's footsteps on the stairs. My father sat down. I ran my hands over my eyes and moved to the counter, where I pushed around cartons of food.

“Hey, Al,” Joe said as he pulled a beer from the refrigerator. I inched away from him and took out a plate and silverware.

“I know this isn't your favorite, but Beth told me you probably wouldn't be joining us. So I thought I'd give her a treat. Though it seems she's not hungry.”

Joe fell into his chair and turned over an egg roll.

“You probably won't like that,” I said matter-of-factly. “But there's some plain chicken with mushrooms. I can heat it for you.”

Joe gulped his beer. “Don't bother. I'll try it the way it is. Probably won't eat it anyhow.”

I emptied the container of chicken into a bowl and avoided Joe's eyes when I put it on the table and took my seat.

Dad started the conversation. “So, I take it you've been pretty busy, Joe.”

“Uh-huh.” Joe segregated the mushrooms, then scooped chicken onto his plate.

“What's going on at work?”

“Nothing much. The usual, I guess.”

My father turned to me. “And you, young lady? What's happening at work with you?”

“Oh, the usual, I guess.” In copying Joe, I knew I had spoken the truth: confrontation had become the norm in Meadow Brook.

“Well I'll be.” Dad slapped the table. “This is a first for this family. We haven't got anything to share.”

Joe put down his beer. “Maybe a first for you, Al, but not for us.”

“I don't understand.”

“It's simple. Beth and I haven't had anything to share since the accident.” Joe stood up. “And don't call us a family. We're not anymore.” Joe grabbed his beer and left the kitchen.

“What's going on?” My father reached for my hand. I drew away and began clearing dishes. “Whatever's happening between you and Joe can be fixed, honey. And please, don't pull away from me too.”