Identity Issues (9 page)

"Uh–oh. What did you tell her?"

"I asked her if I could get back to her. I mean, what if it isn’t safe?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if Stitsill shows up?" Di whispered again.

"He doesn’t know we saw him or suspect anything unusual." I tried to reassure her. "It shouldn’t be a problem. I know it’s a little creepy, but I wouldn’t worry too much. Even if she’s sure he’s alive, she obviously doesn’t want anyone else to know."

I acted like I knew what to do. Maybe that would make Di feel better.

"On the other hand, if I go to the house, maybe we could get more information," Di admitted.

"Do you think so?"

"It might prove advantageous." She laughed nervously. Her gaze traveled furtively up and down the hall, searching for eavesdroppers.

"Shit!" I hissed. "We both know something isn’t right there, and I don’t want you in any danger because of my idiotic nosiness."

"This is a lot more fun than checking papers." Di giggled then clapped a hand over her mouth.

"I don’t know. I’d just feel better if we maintained a certain distance. Going into their home might be too close for comfort." Putting Di in danger was not my goal, but the thought of getting more information appealed. Truth be told, I wanted her to do this. "I can’t tell you what to do. Ultimately, it’s your decision. You know I’ll support you whatever you decide." The voice of reason.

"I’ll tell her that we’ll try it. I’ll say that I have some concerns that the environment might be too relaxed for Joey to perform well. I’ll do it for two sessions and then we’ll evaluate our success or failure. How does that sound?" Di asked.

I nodded. "You’ll have a way out if you feel uncomfortable. Who knows? It could be fine, right? At least you like Joey. When will you start?"

"Tomorrow." Her dark eyes registered timid resignation.

"That’s awfully soon." I felt breakfast surging up from my stomach.

"It’s during the daylight hours, at least."

The first bell of the day rang. My students had a test, and the accommodations required that I read it to them. The tests weren’t designed for Special Education students, so I rephrased the lingo. Since five class hours made up the day, I read the test five times. An imperfect system. A migraine and exhaustion were my reward at the end of a very long day.

I couldn’t find Diane in her classroom or the office, so I headed home without touching base with her. I hurried to pick up the kids at the bus stop so that we could head out to the park for an hour before going home to start dinner and homework. The day was uncommonly warm and sunny, and breathing fresh air and feeling the sun on my back would do me good. I hoped it would clear my head, too.

Our quaint little turn of the century town was filled with antique stores and housed two main restaurants at the town square across from the Daily Grind. Salt Park was situated at the north end of town. The river running through its center provided a soothing rush of water and the play structure occupied the boys while the girls explored the woods.

The sun revived me. Physically and emotionally. Parenting and working full–time took a toll on me. As I sat on the wooden park bench, I looked back at the years and wondered how I did it. No matter how hard Jon tried, his overseas trips occurred frequently. I knew how much better it was to see him face to face. His colleagues obviously wanted the same contact.

We drove home around six. Not in the mood to cook, I resorted to macaroni and cheese, then whipped up a quick salad for myself. Nutrition for me, junk for the kids. Some days, it was the only way to manage. Homework time continued with relatively painless problems. I felt grateful. The kids looked happy, having had time outdoors and comfort food.

Diane called about 8:30 p.m.

"What’s up?" I asked.

"I’m nervous about going to the Stitsill’s," she confessed.

"Why? What are you worried about?"

"I don’t know, but you know me. If I let my mind wander, everything I come up with produces a full–blown anxiety attack."

I laughed. "You’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Just go and do your thing with Joey. Nothing will happen. Look at it as an opportunity."

"An opportunity for what, to get myself killed?"

"Relax. It’s a chance to scope out the house. Be an observer. Get Joey started on his work, then sit back and take in your surroundings. Check for signs of his dad. You know, check for family photos. See if he’s in any of them." I thought fast. "Maybe they know he’s alive, and they’re covering for him. On the other hand, he could be visiting after they’re asleep without them even knowing. You can be a spy," I told her.

Finally, Di laughed. She couldn’t help herself. "Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll just go in and case the joint."

"Exactly."

"Did you tell Jon about seeing Stitsill yet?" she asked.

"No. I haven’t talked to him since he left. Besides, I can’t tell him over the phone. He’s in Korea this week, home for two days, and then out to L.A. for four. He can’t catch his breath as it is."

"I totally understand." Di let that one ride. "Hey, did I tell you I’m going out with Maria’s brother again?"

"That’s great! What’s his name?" I asked.

"Chris."

"You guys really hit it off when you went for coffee. Do you think there’s something there?"

"You’re going to think I’m weird, but yes. I felt it right away. We talked on the phone over the weekend. In fact, we yakked for three hours. You know, the getting–to–know–you chitchat. It was fun. My stomach had butterflies the whole time. He’s great looking and an amazing listener."

"The most unlikely of combinations. You sure he’s a guy?" I laughed before asking, "When are you going out?"

"Dinner. Saturday night."

"Does he look like Maria?" I was going out on a limb here.

"Yes and no. You can certainly see the resemblance. But he’s much cuter." Diane giggled.

"That’s good news!"

"He’s dreamy. Tall and broad. Looks like a linebacker, but with a great face. Some of those football guys look like they’ve had their faces pushed in. Chris, on the other hand, is one of those good–looking, cares about clothes and appearance kind of guys. He smells good, spends time on himself, but in a good way, if you know what I mean."

"He’s a metro sexual who meets your high standards," I supplied. Di scared me sometimes.

"Exactly. Anyway, I think there are possibilities with this one. I’m trying not to get my hopes up too much. I don’t want to be disappointed again," she admitted.

"I can relate. Be sure and let me know how it goes. Where are you going to dinner?"

"Mexican Village."

"Sounds great. I’m envious," I said.

"Why? What’s your weekend like?"

"Jon will be gone until a week from Tuesday, so I’ll be shuffling kids around and playing single mom for yet another weekend." I heard my own sadness.

"I’m sorry. Doesn’t sound like much fun. Don’t you get lonely?"

"Yeah, and I hate it," I admitted. "Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. You know me, I’m ‘Miss Roll with the Punches.’"

"I should let you go. After all, we do have to get up early."

"Ain’t that the truth?"

"I’ll talk to you tomorrow."

"Have a good night, Di."

D
IANE HEADED TO Joey’s house at 4:00 p.m. on Tuesday. I didn’t hear from her that night. It killed me not to call her, but I thought it best to play it cool.

"Hey," I said when I saw her early Wednesday morning.

"Hi," she said, averting her eyes.

Immediately, my heart began to race. "How’d it go?"

"We need to talk. Can you come down to my room?"

Diane’s room sat right across the hall from the Cafeteria, where mustard yellow cinder block lined the walls while horrid maroon linoleum lined its floors.

"Sure."

"I need to stop at the lounge first and drop off my lunch," she whispered, and then distracted me with mundane chatter. "I would have gotten in touch last night, but Chris called and we got talking. He’s a chatty boy, that one. We were on the phone until ten."

"No problem," I assured her.

I helped Di haul her bags to her room. The halls remained quiet and empty. Her door was locked, and she didn’t have her keys, so I used the master key I’d acquired some time ago. Possession of a master key, totally on the hush–hush, made me the envy of the staff.

"So, how was it?" I asked.

Di shook her head. "Rosita looks like shit. Her hair’s thinning, and she has this gray pallor that doesn’t even look human. She can barely lift her head off the couch."

"She was on the sofa?"

"Uh huh. Joey greeted me at the door with that big grin that he always wears. He looked so glad to see me."

"You’re a stable force in his life right now. I’m sure the poor kid is frantic. His thinks his dad is dead, his mom has cancer. Imagine."

"I know." Di nodded sadly. "Anyway, we studied at the kitchen table. The house is as neat as a pin. Kind of like mine." She chuckled. "A place for everything and everything in its place."

"Are her refrigerator shelves lined with paper towels?" I joked.

"Will I ever live that down?"

"Not if I can help it."

Di rolled her eyes and continued. "Rosita called to me from the family room. I found her flat on her back on the couch. I almost didn’t recognize her. She looks about eighty years old. Six weeks ago, she looked healthy, the picture of health, in fact. Now she’s just skin and bones, and her hair is so fine, you can see her scalp."

"The poor thing."

Di nodded.

"What did she want?" I asked.

"Just to say ‘hello’ and thank me for coming. I did what you suggested and looked around. I tried to think of it as taking inventory, just checking." Di’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling as she recalled the space. "The family room is modest. The house is tiny, the furniture not new, but not worn either. There’s an Early American floral sofa in there."

"I bet that made your skin crawl."

"Not my style. But I did like the white–glove cleanliness of the place."

"I’m sure you did. C’mon, don’t keep me in suspense. What else?"

"Just the couch and a matching chair in the family room. One of those three–tiered pine bookcases against the opposite wall. A 21–inch television set on a little stand in one of the corners. The kitchen table’s a round honey maple with ladder back chairs. Four of them. It’s a very plain home. Just the basics. Nothing extra."

"You sound like Sherlock Holmes. What about photographs?" I asked.

"She has 8" x 10" framed photographs of the boys on the wall in the entry way. Other than that, there was just one of her and the boys that was taken when they were little."

I nodded. "Do they look happy in the photo?"

"The boys do, but she has that deeply wounded look in her eyes that touches your soul. I think I’d be sad in her situation, too."

"She always looks sad. I can’t imagine. Were there any snapshots of him? Evidence of him being around?"

Di’s lips formed a thin line as she shook her head. "Not that I could see."

The bell rang, catching both of us off guard. We both flinched.

"It’s late."

"I’m surprised the kids aren’t barging in here already," I said, glancing at her classroom door.

"They know not to come inside if the door is closed."

"You’ve trained them well. I’d better get down to my room before the final bell."

"See you at lunch." Di smiled.

The busses lined the back lot, and their doors opened simultaneously. By 7:50 a.m., the halls resembled a main thoroughfare in Tokyo.

My morning plans included co–teaching in Jack’s class.

"Today, ladies and gentlemen, we will be learning about refliprocals," Jack told them, taking center stage like a circus announcer.

"A refliprocal, or reciprocal, as it’s called in the mathematics world, is simply a fraction that we flip upside down. For example…" He wrote on the board as he taught, animated as he engaged his students.

So darned quick about everything, Jack deserved the title of ‘multi–tasking master’. I loved to watch him. He taught in a whirlwind reminiscent of Pigpen. Unlike Pigpen, Jack accomplished big things. His desk was piled high with papers. Behind his teacher’s chair, heaps of worksheets towered like mismatched plates teetering on the edge of disaster. But Jack could find everything. And he entertained.

The kids, enraptured by Jack and the lesson, wrote numbers feverishly. My Special Education students loved him, too. They even understood today’s lesson, which made my day. Jack didn’t differentiate between my students and his, and I thanked God for him.

After class, I told him about Diane tutoring Joey at home.

"Like the two of you don’t have enough going on with that family. I tell you, Stitsill, you’re making me nervous."

"Come on. You know me. I won’t get into any trouble." I tried to sound blasé.

"That’s the problem. I do know you. You’re like a ditzy blonde," he teased. "You don’t know when to quit."

"Why, sir, I have no idea what you mean!"

"I’ll tell you what I mean. You don’t have the brains to see the hole you’re digging, Stitsill. You work with the kids nobody wants to admit exist, and you like it, for God’s sake! I swear, you’re a trouble magnet." Jack rolled his eyes. "You have guts, I’ll give you that."

I shrugged. "Keeps life interesting. Know what I mean?"

"Life
is
interesting. Watch some baseball. Play some tennis. Just watch your step. I don’t want to hear something wicked has happened to you."

"Nothing bad is going to happen."

"Easy for you to say. How’s Jon, by the way?"

"He’s in Korea."          

"Again? He might as well take up permanent residence there. Any calls from Botswana?"

"Not in a long time," I said.

"Well, at least there’s that."

A
S LUCK WOULD have it, I would only have three kids for the weekend. Jon’s kids were scheduled to visit with the Dragon, A.K.A. his ex–wife, and mine stayed home with me.

My brother Tom called late Thursday. "Want to meet me at the Frozen Margarita Saturday night? Mark’s band is playing."