The Whistle Blower

by Robin Merrill

  Sandra scooped food onto four of the five plates, giving Sammy only some mushy carrots for now, and then sat next to the head of the table. The beef didn’t look very appetizing, but that wasn’t the end of the world. She wasn’t hungry. Neither, apparently, was Peter, judging from the way he was pushing his food around on the plate. She could hardly blame him. He’d had a rough day. She started to cut up some small beef bites for Sammy.

  “Is there any gravy?” Joanna whined.

  “No,” Sandra said with more sharpness than she’d meant to. Great. Add a splash of guilt to the whirlpool of emotions swirling around in her head. Her short fuse led to a long, sad silence that remained unbroken until they heard the sound of Nate’s engine pulling into the driveway. Sandra’s heart leapt at the sound of it. After all these years, she still got excited to see him, and on this night particularly, she really needed the calm, peaceful support his presence always brought.

  She could tell by the way he nearly fell through the doorway that he was exhausted, and forced herself to pause before verbally unloading on him. “Hi, honey. Dinner’s still hot. Sorry, we started without you.”

  Peter didn’t look up from his plate.

  Nate dropped his bag and coat onto the chair by the door and then loosened his tie. “No problem.” He traveled around the table, kissing each of them on the top of their heads before sliding into his own chair at the head of the table. “Sorry, I should’ve texted. I didn’t think I’d be that late. I’m glad you started without me.” He took a deep breath as he picked up a serving spoon. “Smells delicious. Thanks, Sandy.”

  “You’re welcome. Don’t get too excited. It’s a little dry.”

  His eyes traveled around the table. She knew he was looking for gravy, but he was smart enough not to ask for it out loud. “So, how was everyone’s day?” he asked, as he mashed his potato with his fork.

  Sandra passed him the butter as she sneaked a look at her oldest son. “You go first,” she said to Nate. “How was your day?”

  He shrugged. “About the same as always. Long. Difficult. But worth it.” Her husband really believed in education, believed he was changing the world for the better, one impossible decision at a time.

  Peter’s fork clanged against his plate, startling her. She looked at him, and he was staring at his father. “I got in trouble today for pushing Cameron Thompson. I hardly touched him, but he fell down, and they wanted to suspend me, but Mom talked them out of it.”

  Nate’s mouth fell open, his face registering horror.

  Sandra could read his mind. The way that Peter had phrased it, this was his worst nightmare. She put a hand on Nate’s arm. “Wait a second. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Peter was defending some second graders, who Cameron was being really mean to. Peter was trying to do a good thing.” She studied Nate’s face. She thought he was relaxing—a little. “Of course, he shouldn’t have gotten physical, but overall, I’m quite proud of him.”

  Nate pulled his eyes away from Peter’s face to look at her, his eyebrows arched. “Proud of him? He got in trouble for pushing a younger kid to the ground!”

  “Yes,” she said quickly. “And like I said, it’s not a perfect scenario, but his heart was in the right place.”

  “And what about you?” Nate asked, sounding a smidgen hostile. “How, exactly, did you talk them out of suspension?”

  She fought not to roll her eyes. A principal’s son getting suspended. Oh, the horror. “Not them. Just Mrs. Van DeVenter. And I didn’t talk her out of anything. I only stuck up for our son, and she easily saw that it wasn’t a situation that warranted suspension.”

  “And what does it warrant, exactly?”

  “May I be excused?” Joanna asked.

  Sandra looked at her plate. She’d eaten all the meat, and none of the potatoes or carrots.

  “No” and “yes,” Nate and Sandra said in unison.

  Joanna looked confused.

  “Fine,” Nate said. “Take one bite of carrot, and then you can go.”

  Joanna puckered up her face as she slid the world’s smallest chunk of root vegetable between her teeth and then ran off before she’d even chewed. Sandra wondered if she’d find that carrot bite in a plant pot later.

  Sandra lowered her voice and concentrated on sounding calm and respectful. “It warranted probation.”

  “Probation?”

  “Yes,” Sandra said. “He got a warning. Really, honey, it wasn’t a big deal.”

  Nate’s eyes slid from hers to Peter’s and back to hers. “I’m tired. How about we talk about this later, Peter?”

  Fine. Let them duke it out later. This hiccup was the least of her worries.

  Peter agreed. “May I be excused too?” He picked up a carrot and shoved it into his mouth. “I ate my carrot,” he said through his full mouth.

  Sandra knew it was the only thing he’d eaten, but Nate didn’t know that. Peter would be out of bed digging through the fridge at ten o’clock for another supper. She waited for Nate to answer him, and when he didn’t, she said, “Of course.”

  Peter slinked away toward the stairs, and her heart swelled with affection. She remembered how hard it was to grow up.

  She let Nate eat for a few minutes, concentrating on minimizing Sammy’s highchair mess, until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She put a hand over Nate’s. “There’s something else.”

  He let a long exhale out of the side of his mouth. “What?”

  “At church. Peter’s being bullied at church.” Her voice cracked on the words. “Ethan and Jack. They’re picking on him—”

  He guffawed. This was the last reaction she’d expected. “Ethan and Jack? That’s crazy! It’s probably just boys being boys—”

  “No.” It was her turn to interrupt. “This is not just boys being boys. As an educator, you should know how serious this—”

  “Don’t tell me how to be an educator, Sandra!”

  She leaned back in her chair, not knowing how to proceed. She didn’t want to fight with him and hadn’t even gotten to the bit about the widow and the angel yet.

  “What did he say happened?”

  Sandra focused on folding her napkin. “He didn’t give specifics.”

  “So how do you even know anything happened?”

  “Because he said so.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to push, because I didn’t want him to clam up. But I know my son, and if he says he’s being bullied, he’s being bullied.” She snapped her mouth shut, suddenly really sick of talking.

  Nate slid his chair back with a scraping sound that made Sammy jump and stare in his direction, a smashed carrot frozen halfway to his mouth. Sammy’s eyes followed Nate as he walked to the bottom of the stairs.

  “Peter!” he hollered up the stairs. “Please come back down here!”

  Chapter 13

  With dinner abandoned and Sammy scrubbed down and contained in his Pack ’n Play, Peter and his parents settled down on the sectional sofa in the living room. Nate’s eyes were puffy with exhaustion, and Sandra had a pang of guilt for making him deal with this right now. Maybe she should have waited for the weekend. Oh well, too late now.

  “What’s going on at church, son? Talk to us.”

  Maybe it was having both his parents flanking him, or maybe it was the dim lighting of the living room, but Peter looked more comfortable than he had all day. “Those guys are just trying to make my life miserable.”

  “How so?” Nate prodded.

  Peter tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “They call me names. Call me sissy. Tell everyone not to talk to me.” He shrugged, trying to play it cool. Sandra’s heart cracked.

  “What else?”

  “Isn’t that enough?” Peter cried. He no longer looked comfortable.

  “Peter, I need some specifics if I’m going to take this to their parents—”

  “No!” Peter cried, his eyes wide. “You can’t! You’ll make it so much worse.”

  Nate grimaced. “I have to. That’
s how we resolve these things, by talking about them. That’s what it means to be an adult. And give me some credit. I think I know a little about conflict resolution.”

  Peter’s face made it clear that he did not believe that. Sandra believed that Nate believed it.

  “So, specifics,” Nate said.

  “There aren’t any.” Peter was done talking.

  “So you want me to go to their parents and ask them to make their sons stop calling you a sissy? Don’t you think that might prove their point?”

  Sandra put her head in her hands. She wanted to support her husband, but he was really butchering this.

  “No!” Peter cried. “I don’t want you to do anything! Can’t we just forget it? I’m sorry I pushed Cameron!” Sandra could tell that he wanted to stomp away, but didn’t quite dare to.

  “Cameron? What does he have to do with this?”

  Peter’s eyes welled up with tears. He swallowed hard.

  Sandra tried to come to his rescue. “Peter was extra defensive of those second graders because he identified with them. He probably wouldn’t have had such a strong reaction to what was happening there if it wasn’t for the stuff he’s been going through at church. That’s all. And how about if we just have Ethan’s parents over for coffee? We could just have a discussion. We don’t have to give them any specifics. Just a discussion, not a cease and desist.”

  “Mom!” Peter cried. “You’re not helping! And it’s not just Ethan. It’s all of them.”

  “I don’t really have time to have coffee with these people,” Nate said. “I just wanted to say something to them on Sunday and hope they would discipline their own kids.” His tone made it clear he didn’t want to hear any more of her suggestions. She wasn’t even sure that he knew which parents matched with which kids at church, unless they were teenagers who went to his school. Then he knew them.

  They sat in silence for a minute, fat tears sliding down Peter’s cheeks. Sandra slid closer to him, put her arm around him and squeezed him as hard as she dared. She kissed him on the temple. “I know this is awful, honey, but it is only a season. We’re going to get through this.”

  He let her do all this, but was rigid beneath her touch. “Can I go back to my room now? I’m tired.”

  Sandra didn’t want to let him go.

  “Sure,” Nate said.

  Peter disappeared, leaving them in silence again. Under the circumstances, Sandra decided she’d be better off if she didn’t tell her husband about the angel and the widow at this time. Instead, she carried Sammy upstairs, changed him, and then put him in his crib. It was early for sleep yet, but maybe she’d get lucky. Then she went into her bedroom, changed into her pajamas, and spent some time praying for her son. As she silently pleaded his case, she felt a renewed peace settle over her. She also got the undeniable impression that winds of change were about to blow. She could almost feel them on her face already.

  Chapter 14

  When Sandra got home from dropping the kids off at school, she found Bob sitting on her porch swing. “This is getting to be a habit.”

  “Can we go inside? You know, the neighbors.”

  Sandra realized how much she’d missed her new angel friend. “Of course. Come on in.” She unlocked the door and then held it open so that he could go in first, spending only a second wondering how this might appear to onlookers. Oh well. There probably weren’t very many, if any, onlookers anyway.

  She freed Sammy from his car seat, and he squawked in appreciation, not taking his eyes off Bob. “I still can’t believe he can see you.”

  Bob didn’t answer. He was too busy making googly eyes at the baby.

  “How old are people when they lose that ability?”

  All expression fell from Bob’s face. “Some things I am not permitted to discuss.”

  She snorted. “Proprietary information?”

  “Huh?” The angel looked flummoxed.

  “Never mind. Would you like to sit?” Did angels sit down? They did while they were waiting on porch swings. Apparently, they also sat on couches. At least Bob did. He plopped down on the sofa as if he’d been waiting to do just that for a great stretch of eternity. Should she offer him a drink? Did angels drink? What did angels drink? Probably not Crystal Light. Certainly not Moxie. Lavender-infused coconut water with gold flecks floating on top? She opened her mouth to hazard a guess, but he didn’t give her a chance to offer him anything.

  “So, I heard what the ref said to you yesterday when you were talking to Peter’s coach.”

  “You did?” She’d entirely forgotten about that particular revelation. She’d been too busy worrying about Peter. She and Sammy sat down on the ottoman.

  “I did. What do you think it means?”

  How should she know? He was the one with supernatural powers. “I don’t know. But it did occur to me that that’s what Mr. Fenton was talking about. Maybe he didn’t mean the team white. Maybe he meant the man White. But it still doesn’t make perfect sense, because he did say, ‘You have to stop them. You have to stop white.’ I don’t know.” She really didn’t.

  “I think he meant White, the man.” Bob sounded gravely serious.

  “Why? What do you know that I don’t know?”

  “I don’t know anything, but the man was murdered. I don’t think his last words would have been about a middle school soccer team, no matter how rough they were playing. I think it makes sense that his last words would be about naming his killer.”

  “He didn’t say that White was his killer. He said I had to stop them. So who is them? And where were you? You were there eavesdropping? Is that really how it works?”

  He looked offended. “It’s not eavesdropping.”

  “Sorry,” she said and meant it. She hadn’t meant it as an affront. She was truly curious.

  “We need a plan.” If his feelings had been hurt, he’d recovered quickly.

  She laughed. “A plan? What kind of plan?” She couldn’t imagine a plan that she could be a part of.

  He pointed at her. “You need to go undercover.”

  “What?” This angel is insane. Undercover as what, a middle school soccer player?

  He nodded dramatically. “I mean it. I happen to know that this region is absolutely desperate for soccer officials.”

  She paused, speechless. “You’re kidding.”

  He shook his head, slowly, dramatically. “I am not.”

  “I hardly know the rules.”

  “That is true of several middle school soccer officials.”

  She wasn’t considering it. She was just having trouble coming up with excuses. “I am far too busy. I would miss Peter’s games.”

  “They could schedule your games around his. He doesn’t play every day. I’m telling you—you only have to do one game a week and you’ll be on the inside. You’ll get the scoop.”

  “Can’t you get the scoop? Can’t you eavesdrop on the refs when they’re talking to each other?”

  “I told you that I can’t always do that. I can’t just go everywhere I please, and I can’t be everywhere at once. It’s complicated. Plus, it’s not like I have a lot of spare time on my hands.”

  “And I do?” she cried. “Do you know anything about my life? I don’t have a single second of downtime!” Right on cue, Sammy began to bellow. She kissed him on his chubby cheek and then set him on the floor. She pushed a few toys in front of him and then returned to the angel. “Is this request coming from you or from God?”

  He looked sad. “Just from me. But I could really use your help. I’ll continue to investigate, but if you could join me, we’d be faster.”

  She smirked. “Investigate? Are you some sort of angel sleuth?”

  “No. Never been in this sort of predicament before. I just want to make up for my blunder, and then I’ll stop with the sleuthing. Believe me, I don’t enjoy it.”

  A knock sounded on her front door. She looked at Bob in a panic, as if she expected him to hide.

  “I’ll l
eave if you want me to, but whoever it is won’t be able to see me.”

  “Unless it’s an infant knocking on the door.”

  She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Sammy giggle at that.

  “Right. Unless it’s an infant. And I can even hide myself from them when I need to.”

  She headed for the door, wondering under what circumstances an angel would ever need to hide himself from an infant. She peeked through the peephole and gasped. She looked at Bob. “It’s the widow!” she whispered, too loudly.

  “Okay!” he whispered back. “Open the door!” He didn’t even pretend to be surprised. He’d known who it was before she’d told him, she was sure of it. That was annoying.

  She swung the door open and put on her best Sunday morning smile. “Hi, Isabelle! What a lovely surprise!”

  Chapter 15

  “You’re probably wondering how I know where you live,” Isabelle said, her voice deep and strained, as if it had taken a lot of gumption to push those words out.

  Nope. It hadn’t occurred to Sandra to wonder such a thing. Showed how ill-equipped she was to be a secret sleuth. But now that Isabelle had mentioned it, Sandra was curious. Yet before she could demand a confession, Isabelle offered one.

  “I followed you home yesterday.” She studied the toes of her own shoes.

  Under the circumstances, Sandra didn’t find such a thing all that strange. She stepped back. “Would you like to come in?” Sandra cast her eyes to the couch, thinking Bob had probably vanished, but he still sat there staring at the scene unfolding before him.

  Isabelle stepped inside. “Thank you. I’m sorry, but I thought it was weird that you stopped by yesterday. So I followed you to try to figure out who you were. But you just drove home and got out of a minivan, just an ordinary mom.” Isabelle’s eyes scanned the place behind her as if the sight of Sandra’s home confirmed her ordinariness.

  “Yep, just an ordinary mom.” Who happens to talk to angels. “Would you like to have a seat?”