“Ambulance is on the way,” Ms. Marsha says. She motions to the Collaborative members, telling them to get all the food off the table. “It may be contaminated.”
It isn’t. Teddy knows that. But he also now has a reason to move, because he’s got to get rid of that coffee.
He walks toward Ingrid, where everyone is freaking out. No one pays attention when he picks up Ingrid’s cup, along with a few others, and maneuvers through the crowd toward the sink.
One of the mothers is already there, reaching out to take the cups from him. “I’ve got it,” she says.
Teddy has no choice but to hand them over. He keeps his eye on Ingrid’s cup as the other woman puts it on the counter.
Outside, a fire truck pulls up, along with a police car. It’s a small town that doesn’t have much crime, so he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole department shows up.
The firefighters, officers, and EMTs distract the mother who took Ingrid’s cup. She moves like a cat, almost leaping toward them, then forges a path through the crowd so they can reach Ingrid. Teddy takes the opportunity to get to the counter and dump out Ingrid’s cup.
Just in case.
“What happened?”
Zach, eyes bugging out of his head. He just walked in the door.
“Mrs. Ross collapsed,” Teddy says.
“Oh my God.” Zach rushes off, toward the center of the chaos.
Teddy takes a step and almost runs into Sonia, who looks as frozen as he was a few minutes ago.
“I don’t . . . understand,” she says.
“No one does.”
She shakes her head. He backs away.
“Teddy, move.”
It’s Ms. Marsha, trying to make a smooth path for them to get Ingrid out. She’s on a stretcher, an oxygen mask over her face, and they rush her past him and out the door, Ms. Marsha leading the way.
Teddy follows, but not to go to the hospital. He walks through the dining hall and heads upstairs, to the teachers’ lounge.
Maybe he didn’t have to empty Ingrid’s cup. Maybe the coffee came from someone’s house, not the lounge. Maybe he’s just being ridiculous.
That must be it. Conscience can be such a terrible thing. The chance that Ingrid drank the coffee meant for Sonia is . . .
One hundred percent.
There’s only one coffee maker in the lounge, which means the one downstairs came from here. So did the coffee pods.
Oops.
* * *
BY THE TIME Teddy returns to the Stafford Room, almost everyone is gone. Two policemen are still hanging around, talking to a few of the mothers.
He scans the room, looking for a garbage can.
The pod. He has to get the pod.
One garbage bin is near the table, which has now been cleared of all the food. Only the decorations remain. The miniature roses are in tatters, and at least one of the vases has tipped over.
The second garbage bin is over by the counter, close to the coffee maker. And the officers. He has no idea how he can manage this, but he’s got to try. As he takes a step forward, he feels a hand on his arm.
“Teddy.”
Ms. Marsha’s veiny hand holds him back.
“Oh, Ms. Marsha,” he says. “Any word on Mrs. Ross?”
“Nothing yet. But we’ve got to clear the room.” She leads him back through the door, away from the garbage bin. “The headmaster has decided it would be best to cancel classes for the rest of the day, given how traumatic this event might be for the students.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea.”
Ms. Marsha is preparing to close the door on him. The kids who were hanging around, trying to see what’s happening, scatter when they hear school is out for the day.
“Thank you,” she says. “The headmaster will send out a notice if we hear anything.”
She shuts the door, leaving Teddy standing by himself.
* * *
RUINED. TOTALLY RUINED.
Sonia stomps around her empty classroom, stress ball in hand, and it’s not working. She hurls it against the wall. It makes an unsatisfying sound when it hits. Not a bang. A whomp.
Not that she isn’t worried about Ingrid. Of course she is. Of course she feels horrible Ingrid was taken away in an ambulance, even if it was due to not eating enough. Probably. Because the woman is so damn thin.
Ruined.
Sonia does have her pin. It’s right on her red dress. She’d had to retrieve it from the floor after the headmaster dropped it in all the chaos. That’s what her ceremony had come down to. Scurrying around on the floor to get her ten-year pin.
Picking up the stress ball, she almost hurls it against the wall a second time.
But she stops. Takes a deep breath. Reminds herself it could’ve been worse. She could’ve collapsed at her own ceremony.
Actually, at least then everyone would still be paying attention to her.
She throws the stress ball again.
23
A MISTAKE. IT was all a horrible mistake.
Teddy is alone in his classroom, sitting at his desk, picking at his cuticles. It helps him think. He replays everything in his mind, step by step, leading right up to what had happened a few hours ago.
He also thinks about the possible outcomes.
A woman collapsed. That’s all. She didn’t have a seizure or go into convulsions. She just . . . fainted.
That may or may not be enough to warrant testing everything in the room. To be safe, he assumes it is. He assumes Ms. Marsha will demand it. After all, Ingrid Ross isn’t just a board member; she’s a parent who helps pay the bills. The headmaster will want to get to the bottom of this. The board will demand it.
Which means the police will test everything, including the pods in the garbage. But do they even have tests for the particular plant Teddy used? Would they be able to find the cardiogenic toxins found in Actaea pachypoda?
Again, to be safe, he assumes they can and they do. That the police discover a pod has been tampered with. Not that Ingrid had been poisoned, for God’s sake. Teddy wasn’t trying to poison anyone. He’d just . . . manipulated a pod. A little bit.
But would they know it’s him? Maybe. He could’ve left fingerprints on it.
Teddy picks at the cuticle of his thumb so hard, it begins to bleed.
Ridiculous. This is all ridiculous, because Ingrid will be fine. She’ll wake up, and everyone will think she fainted, and it will all be over. The police department isn’t going to waste all that time and money testing every edible thing at the party, and they certainly aren’t going to test every coffee pod in the garbage. It’s absurd.
And it wasn’t intentional. He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. Certainly not Ingrid Ross, whom he personally likes. She is on the board, after all.
He just wanted . . . He just wanted Sonia to stop being so smug. And to stop telling him what to do, especially about his own students. Perhaps he even meant to ruin her party. Just a little.
Ultimately, that was his goal. To bring her down a peg or two by having her faint at her own party. That’s all he’d wanted.
Totally harmless.
Then everything had exploded, into police and EMTs, and it became . . . unbelievable, just unbelievable.
Although, on the upside, it did work. He had never used that plant before, but it did what it was supposed to. Something to be said for that, especially since he’s not a scientist. He’s just Teacher of the Year.
And it’s not his fault the wrong person drank it. If those moms hadn’t brought the pods downstairs, it would’ve been perfect.
So in a way, he did succeed.
He looks out the window. The last police car is pulling away. That’s what he’s been waiting for. He leaves his class, briefcase in hand. If anyone sees him, it will just look like he’s le
aving for the day. Normal, totally normal.
The dining hall is empty. Even the workers there have left. The door to the Stafford Room is closed but not locked. He walks right in like he’s supposed to be there.
The room is not empty. Damn it.
Frank, the math teacher, is on the floor looking underneath a table. “Oh Jesus, you scared me.” He stands up, brushing off his khaki pants. “I didn’t know anyone was still here.”
“I didn’t, either.”
“Yeah, I lost my pen earlier. My good pen.” Frank looks around the room, arms spread wide. “Still can’t find it.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Who knows, maybe one of the kids took it,” he says. “What about you? What are you doing here?”
Teddy does his best not to look toward the counter, where the garbage is. Unfortunately, the room looks like it’s been cleaned. The decorations are all gone, there’s no sign of the food, and the coffee machine has been removed. “I was just checking to see if anyone was still around. For any news.”
Frank shrugs, his muscular arms twitching. “Nothing yet.” He moves toward the door to leave.
Teddy has no choice but to leave as well, having no reasonable excuse to stay. They walk through the empty dining hall, and Frank says, “Weird day.”
“To say the least.”
“They’ll probably have counselors available on Monday.”
“Yes, I expect they will.”
“Probably should have a clergy member here, too,” Frank says. “In case someone needs it.”
Teddy doesn’t answer that.
Outside, very few cars are left in the parking lot. No one wants to be at Belmont now, not after what happened. Teddy turns to Frank to say goodbye, and as he does, Frank’s phone dings. Frank pulls it off the phone clip on his belt.
Teddy’s phone vibrates. The message is from the headmaster.
Colleagues and friends,
It is with deep sorrow that I announce the untimely death of Mrs. Ingrid Ross. She passed away at the hospital this afternoon.
Our thoughts and prayers go out to her family.
24
FRANK MAXWELL CAN’T believe what he’s reading. Ingrid Ross is dead.
Dead.
“My God,” Teddy says.
“Unbelievable,” Frank says.
They stand there for a minute, staring at their phones, until Teddy slips his phone back into his pocket. “Well,” he says. “I suddenly feel an urge to go home and see my wife.”
“Me too,” Frank says.
Teddy walks off toward his ridiculous old Saab, and Frank goes to his Jeep. He walks normally, or what he thinks is normally, but he can’t tell, because his adrenaline is surging.
His hand goes to his chest, gripping the cross underneath his shirt.
Home. He should go home. His wife is there, along with his son.
They live in a modest but nice home, with a freshly mowed lawn and a fantastic old oak tree right in front. Frank doesn’t make a lot of money, but his wife was creative with the decorating. To him, it looks like something out of a magazine. But it’s comfortable. Home is a good, safe place to be.
He just doesn’t want to go there.
Instead, he starts driving around. He likes to drive around when he needs to think, a habit that started way back when he got his driver’s license—if eleven years can be considered way back. To him, it is. Feels like a million years ago when he first drove a car by himself. It was a crappy car, too, maybe older than Teddy’s, but that didn’t matter. Between the loud music and the ability to go wherever he wanted, Frank had gotten his first taste of freedom. He loved it.
So he drives. But it doesn’t feel the same now—maybe because he is anything but free. With a wife, a child, a mortgage, and a job, nothing about his current life is free. He doesn’t even buy groceries, because his wife is so particular.
And that’s on a normal day. Today is anything but.
Frank drives away from the school and down the interstate, away from his home, his family, his wife. The music is loud, the windows are down, and the Jeep bounces down the road like he’s got nowhere to be.
None of it helps. He feels worse than ever, trapped in a straitjacket with a chain pulling him back where he should be.
If he could, he’d go to the gym, but he’s still nursing a shoulder injury. He forces himself not to work out and turns back toward home.
Missy’s car is in the driveway, right where it should be. Before going inside, he takes a few deep breaths, says a quick prayer, and checks the mirror to make sure he has a normal expression on his face.
And here comes Missy. He has barely opened the door when she appears.
“I just heard what happened at the school,” she says. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine.”
“I swear I just picked up the phone to call you. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Frank wraps both arms around his wife, willing her to shut up. “I’m fine. I barely saw anything.” He feels her relax against him.
“Good. Oh, that poor woman. Ingrid something? Russ?” She pulls back and walks him toward the kitchen. He can smell chicken cooking. They eat chicken a lot.
“Something like that,” he says, sitting down on a stool. The smell of the food relaxes him. “Where’s Frankie?”
Missy points to the family room. “Watching cartoons.”
Frank takes a shower before dinner. By the time he gets out, his two-year-old son has moved to the kitchen. Frankie is hungry but doesn’t want to sit still, and Missy explains to him that they all have to sit at the table to eat. This conversation plays out almost every evening, and it always ends with Missy bribing their son to sit still.
Frank welcomes the familiarity. Everything at home feels normal—the dinner, the cleanup, giving Frankie a bath. When Frank goes into his son’s room and reads to him before bed, it feels like today was just a dream. A waking nightmare.
But it all comes back later, after Frankie and Missy are asleep. Frank opens up the Belmont website, and the news is right there, reminding him that it did happen. It wasn’t a nightmare.
The same message the headmaster sent earlier is posted on the home page. Beneath it, scores of parents, teachers, and students have expressed their condolences. Frank adds his own.
My deepest sympathies to the Ross family.
He deletes it. Types it again. Deletes it again. Maybe it’s best not to say anything. Maybe it would be worse not to.
Ingrid.
Goddamn Ingrid.
The guilt for that thought hits quickly.
His hand goes to his chest again, to his cross. He wears it every day, all day. Never takes it off.
For the rest of the night, he keeps his hand on it. And he wonders who is going to show up first: Ingrid’s husband or the police.
* * *
TEDDY DOESN’T GO home. He doesn’t even leave the Belmont parking lot. After watching Frank drive away, he gets out of his car and goes straight back to the Stafford Room. Because he has to be sure.
The trash is gone. Both bins have brand-new liners, not a single coffee pod to be found. Not on the counter or in the cabinets. He can’t tell if the police took the garbage or not. After Ms. Marsha threw him out of the room, he has no idea what happened.
With a sigh, he heads toward the back of the school. To the dumpsters.
25
TODAY WILL BE a good day.
Today will be a good day.
Today will be a good day.
Monday morning, Sonia sits in her car and repeats her mantra, bracing herself for what lies ahead. The weekend was terrible, with a slew of messages passed back and forth about the annual memorial. What should they say about Ingrid? Should the focus change?
And what if it was something Ingrid ate?
&nb
sp; Could something have been spoiled?
Where did those pastries come from?
What about the milk in the coffee? Does she use milk, does anyone even know?
Endless, absolutely endless. And not a single word about her ten-year anniversary, not even a congratulations.
Sonia has to remind herself that a woman is dead. That’s what she’s competing with here: a dead woman. Impossible. It’s not like she can run around saying What about me? and expect to get any sympathy. Or any congratulations, for that matter.
So she puts a concerned-yet-pleasant look on her face and gets out of the car. The kids need her. Someone died on campus, for God’s sake. They need her now more than ever.
Let the day begin.
* * *
FRANK PULLS UP to the school, still on edge. He’s been that way the whole weekend, jumping at every knock at the door, every ring of the phone. Like he’s standing at the top of a building, waiting for the push.
It’s a terrible thing knowing your life is about to implode.
But it hasn’t yet. Maybe it’s all the praying he’s been doing. He hopes it is.
He gets out of his car and heads into the school. No police, no angry husbands, no pitchforks. An auspicious start to the day.
As soon as he walks inside the building, Ingrid Ross stares him in the face.
A tribute has already been erected, no doubt by the Collaborative, and it features a large framed portrait of her. It’s perched on a table, with flowers around the bottom, which makes Frank feel bad he didn’t bring anything. Didn’t even think about it.
The picture of her is one he hasn’t seen before. Her hair is longer, and she isn’t wearing any makeup. She’s outside, with a big tree behind her, and she’s smiling like she’s truly happy. The Ingrid he knew wasn’t happy. Determined, yes. Focused, absolutely. But happy? No, he wouldn’t say that. Then again, neither was he. Not completely, anyway.
For Your Own Good Page 8