The Word of a Child (25 page)

As they walked out to the cars, Simon asked easily,
"What'd you guys do the rest of this weekend?"

Zofie, of course, piped right up, "Mommy went somewhere
with…"

"A friend," Mariah finished, squeezing her
daughter's shoulder. "Zofie had a horrible time staying home with her
favorite baby-sitter, who let her stay up until ten-o'clock and eat
two
helpings
of ice cream and watch
The
Little Mermaid."

"And
Beauty,
too," Zofie said smugly.

"And then Saturday we went shopping. Zofie keeps
shooting up like a weed, and half the clothes we bought for school in August
don't fit anymore. She got two new pairs of shoes…"

"My soccer shoes are really tight," Zofie informed
her mother. "My toes are squished."

"But the soccer season, thank goodness, is almost over.
Two more games. We'll buy new ones next year."

"Coach says they're having spring soccer. We should all
play, if we want to be the best."

"If you want to," Mariah agreed.

"But I want to play volleyball, too. Can I do
both?"

Both parents gazed at their daughter's pleading dark eyes, looked
at each other and laughed, the earlier harmony restored.

Danger averted.

"We'll see," Mariah temporized.

They'd paused under the overhang of the building, since the
downpour had increased. Simon bent for a hug, said, "Great game, kiddo.
I'll see you Saturday," and ran for his car.

Mother and daughter watched him go, a tall, dark man, hair
soaked and clinging to his head, his last smile friendly.

Zofie said, "You didn't want Daddy to know about
Decktiv McLean, did you?"

Startled, Mariah looked down at the precocious six-year-old.
"What do you mean?"

Her daughter gazed gravely up at her. "I just thought
you didn't."

Giving herself time to think, Mariah said, "Let's get
in the car, out of the rain, okay?"

Zofie was so wet and muddy, Mariah had been embarrassed to
take her even into a fast-food restaurant. She'd left her mud-caked cleats in
the car, wearing a pair of rubber flip-flops over the soccer socks. Mariah had
left her rain slicker in the car, but she still wasn't as wet as her daughter
when she started the engine to get the heat going.

"About Connor," she said, trying not to sound as
uncomfortable as she felt. "I think when moms and dads are divorced, it
takes a long time before they quit feeling married. I never ask you if your dad
is dating, either, you know."

Zofie's forehead wrinkled. "I think he does
sometimes." Then her eyes widened. "Oh! You didn't want to
know."

"No, that's okay. I just don't want to hear the
details, that's all. I doubt your dad would be bothered to know that I've been
on a date, but he won't want to hear all about the guy." She took a
breath. "And I'd rather you don't tell him if he does ask."

"Why?"

"Because we aren't married anymore, and it isn't any of
his business. He
shouldn't
ask you. What if I go out to dinner with someone he knows,
and that bothers him? If he asks, just pretend you don't know or can't remember
Connor's name."

Her daughter nodded solemnly, her forehead puckered again.
"I'll try." She sounded doubtful. "But I like to talk. And
sometimes things come out I promised someone I wouldn't tell."

Mariah gave a choke of laughter. "If that happens, it's
okay. Don't worry. Six-year-olds aren't expected to be discreet."

She spent the drive home attempting to explain
"discreet" to her inquiring daughter.

Who, she was terribly afraid, wouldn't really understand the
meaning of the word no matter how carefully she explained.

But she'd vowed she would never ask Zofie to keep secrets,
just as she'd made her daughter promise she wouldn't keep any from Mom. If
Zofie spilled the beans, so be it.

The day the divorce was final, Mariah had felt enormous
relief along with paralyzing guilt and a sense of failure. She would no longer
have to fear Simon's wrath.

So what was she afraid of now?

On Monday, Tracy sat in the
chair
in front of Mrs. Patterson's desk and made her confession to the principal and
Mariah, who sat quietly to one side. "What if Detective McLean had
believed you right away?" the principal asked, voice even and
unsympathetic. "Would you have let Mr. Tanner be arrested? Would you have
lied in court?"

Tracy
mumbled from behind the curtain of hair that partially hid her face, "I
didn't know he'd be arrested. I just thought…"

"He'd be fired," the principal finished, her
expression hard. "I understand your anger at him, Tracy. I will certainly
be discussing with him his brand of teasing. But does losing his job in a way
that guarantees he'll never get a comparable one seem a fair punishment for
unkind teasing?"

Tracy
stole
a look up, her face soaked with tears. "I felt bad when I saw what was
happening. I didn't know…"

"I can tell you that I'm very glad you thought better
of going through with this." At last Noreen's voice softened. "You
know you have one more step to take. Nobody should get away with raping you,
Tracy. Whoever it was, whoever was involved, all of us—Detective McLean, Ms.
Stavig—" she gestured toward Mariah "—and myself are committed to
protecting you and making sure you're in a home and school environment where
nothing like this can ever happen again. Please think, Tracy. I'm not going to
ask you to tell me right now, or ever, but if you're more comfortable talking
to me, Ms. Stavig or a counselor than you are to a police officer, please come
to one of us."

Still silently crying, Tracy blew her nose and nodded.

"I feel that I have to give you some consequences for
having falsely accused Mr. Tanner. That's something I need to think
about."

The thirteen-year-old nodded again, meekly.

"In the meantime, you won't be going to Computers
second period. We'll worry next year about you completing the requirement. For
now, I'm going to have you work here in the office second period. Is that
okay?"

A damp, muffled, "Yes, Mrs. Patterson."

Sounding more kindly, the principal said, "You may go
use the rest room and wash your face, Tracy, then go back to class as soon as
you feel presentable."

Tracy
fled.

Once the door shut behind her, Noreen shoved a hand into her
curly hair. "That poor kid."

"I don't envy you, having to decide how to deal with
her," Mariah said frankly.

"I don't see how it can be more than a slap on the
wrist, given that she
was
raped. And that, if she's to be believed, Gerald treated her
with a real lack of sensitivity."

Mariah nodded. Tentatively she said, "I'm afraid he's not
alone. I've overheard kids talk about other teachers teasing in a way they
resent."

The principal gave a frustrated sigh. "It's an
unsolvable issue. We don't want to get to a point where teachers have to be so
careful all the time, they can't relate naturally to kids. Here we are saying,
Don't touch. Don't hug. Hide your anger. Phrase everything as an
'I'
statement. 'I felt hurt when you deliberately smashed my
favorite mug.' Oh, and don't laugh at them. Don't tease." She gave another
puff of air that stirred her now wild hair. "We'll end up with automatons
at the head of the classroom, droning on and not interacting on a personal
level with the kids at all."

Knowing she was just venting, Mariah only waited.

Noreen made a face. "Thanks for being here, Mariah. I'm
going to write a 'Dear Parent' letter explaining, in a terribly veiled way, why
their kids' computer teacher was suspended for a few weeks and is now back. I
don't want to leave any doubt that he's innocent, but I also don't want Tracy's identity or other problems compromised. Can I run it by you?"

Mariah smiled wryly. "Sure." Hey, she was an
expert, wasn't she?

Noreen had picked up a pencil and was fiddling with it.
"If Tracy talks to anybody, it may well be you."

"I hope she chooses to. My guess is, the last time she
talked to me had such horrible consequences, she won't try again."

Her suspicion was reinforced by the way Tracy acted in class
later, not volunteering and keeping her gaze downcast. Afterward, Mariah
stopped her on the way out. Tracy waited, her stare fixed on her sneakers and
her face sullen.

Mariah made sure the last student was out in the hall before
she said quietly, "I just wanted to say that I know how tough all this is,
but you'll get through it." She straightened from where she'd been half
sitting on the desk and violated her own rule by giving Tracy a quick hug.
"You're a good kid. You'll make the right choices."

Tracy
's face
crumpled, her eyes filled with tears, and she backed away. "I… Thank
you," she mumbled, and fled.

Mariah spent the rest of the day trying to put Tracy
Mitchell's problems out of her mind. It helped to be anticipating having Connor
over for dinner tonight. She made mental additions to her grocery list—she'd
stop at the store before she picked up Zofie. It was easier to do a big shop
then than on the weekend, when she had to drag the six-year-old along. This way
she could avoid the "Mom, why can't I have
this
kind of
cereal?" battles.

Stir-fry? she debated, the one with cashews that Zofie loved?
She gazed at the bent heads of her last period class, who were taking a quiz on
To Kill a Mockingbird.
Somehow a quick stir-fry didn't seem very substantial for a
big man; Simon had liked his meat and potatoes. Maybe she should stick with
something as simple as spaghetti? Only, what if she found out Connor was a
vegetarian, or hated tomatoes, or…

"Ms. Stavig." One of her students waved his hand
in the air. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

She glanced at the clock. "You only have five more
minutes to work on the quiz. Can't you wait?"

He looked disconsolately down at his paper. "I
guess."

Watching out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that he
didn't write another word. He hadn't seemed enthusiastic lately. She struggled
to remember his academic record coming into her class. Was he having problems?
She'd have to check her grade book…

The bell rang overhead. A flurry of quizzes rained onto her
desk, some floating over the edge to the floor, as the students stampeded out.

They couldn't be any gladder to be gone than she was to have
them depart. Briefly ashamed of her ignoble relief, Mariah wrinkled her nose
and decided to forgive herself. She loved to teach, but today had been
stressful. Scooping up papers from the floor, she thought, Thank goodness it
was over. "Mariah?"

She started and banged her elbow on the desk.
"Gerald!"

The lanky, raw-boned man took a tentative step into the
classroom. "Got a minute?"

What could she do but smile and say, "Of course?"

He closed her classroom door. "I just wanted to apologize
for lashing out at you that day." He sounded awkward. "You were
right—you had to report what Tracy told you."

"I could have warned you," she said, standing and
putting the quizzes in her hand onto the pile of others, more to give herself
something to do than because it mattered right that minute. "I just didn't
know how."

"It wouldn't have made any difference." He
grimaced. "It was just that … I felt blindsided."

She nodded. "I really didn't blame you for being
angry."

He hesitated. "I'm back to work tomorrow."

"I'm glad." Mariah meant it. "I know Tracy has retracted her story."

He shook his head, his face haggard. "I still can't
believe it happened. I can't believe how
easily
it happened, and how little I could do to prove my
innocence."