by Joy Fielding
“Nothing,” Stephanie said, although her thin face said otherwise.
“Can I see it, please?”
Stephanie looked to the floor as she rose from her seat, extending the newspaper clipping in her hand toward Caroline.
Caroline knew even before she saw her daughter’s sweet face staring up at her what she was holding. She set the article on her desk. She’d been expecting something like this. “Okay. You’ve seen the news and you obviously have a lot of questions, so let’s get to them. What do you want to know?”
Silence. Clearly the class was as surprised by her direct question as she was for having asked it.
“Do you think you’ll ever find your daughter?” Vicki asked quietly.
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
I think my real name is Samantha.
Daphne’s hand shot into the air. “What do you think happened to her?”
“I think someone took her.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think she’s still alive?”
I think I’m your daughter.
“I don’t know. I hope so,” she repeated.
“What about that boy?” Joey asked from the back of the room. “The one who killed himself.”
“What about him?”
“Did he really kill himself because of you?”
A wave of low murmurs rippled through the class. “Shut up, Joey,” someone said.
Caroline struggled to stay calm, to keep her voice level. “No, it’s not true.”
“So what happened?”
Caroline took a deep breath, and then another. “He was one of my students. He was failing. Not just my class. All his classes.” I can’t do this, she thought, looking toward the clock on the wall, silently appealing to the bell to ring and rescue her. But it was only five minutes after ten. There were fifteen minutes left before the period ended. “He had a history of depression. I tried to help him, but…”
“How’d he do it?”
“He hanged himself.”
The muttering got louder, spilling from one mouth to the next like a series of collapsing dominoes.
“Gross,” Stephanie whispered.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Vicki said.
“You’re a great teacher,” Daphne added. “If you couldn’t help him, no one could.”
Caroline’s eyes filled with tears.
“It’s not fair they blamed you,” Joey Prescott said.
Caroline sank into the chair behind her desk, her body limp with gratitude, her heart full of love for these children who’d somehow managed to survive into their teens relatively unscathed. For all their bravado, they were still naïve enough to believe that life was supposed to be fair.
—
“Okay, so in one basket we have four heads of cauliflower and five heads of lettuce costing eight forty, and in the other we have six heads of cauliflower and two heads of lettuce costing eight twenty, and our problem is to determine the price of one head of cauliflower and one head of lettuce. What do we do first?”
“Buy hot dogs,” someone shouted out.
“Let x represent the cost of one head of cauliflower,” Caroline said, ignoring the interruption and scribbling the information on the chalkboard. If it’s a quarter to two in the afternoon and there are five more minutes till the end of class and two more classes till the end of the day…
“And let y represent the cost of one head of lettuce,” Jason Campbell volunteered.
“Very good. Thank you, Jason.”
The wall phone behind her desk rang, signaling a call from the office. Caroline excused herself to answer it.
“Did you hear—Joey Prescott asked her about that kid who killed himself?” someone whispered as she was turning her back.
“You’re shitting me. What did she say?”
Caroline ignored the voices and picked up the phone. “Yes?”
“Sorry to interrupt,” said the voice on the other end. “You have an emergency call.”
Caroline hung up the phone. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, leaving the room without explanation.
“Where’s she going?”
“Maybe someone else offed himself.”
She hurried down the long, stale-smelling corridor toward the main office, running through a list of potential emergencies, some far-fetched, others all too possible: Michelle had been arrested again, this time for driving drunk on the freeway; Caroline’s mother had suffered a stroke; her brother had been shot by one of his gambling buddies when he couldn’t make good on a bet; another of her students had indeed “offed” himself.
The secretary was waiting, an anxious look on her hawklike face when Caroline burst into the office. Caroline took the phone from the woman’s outstretched hand. “She wouldn’t give me her name,” she said as Caroline lifted the phone to her ear.
If Michelle is five feet nine inches tall, weighs one hundred and eight pounds, drinks five times the amount of what she eats, has four unpaid parking tickets and one arrest for driving under the influence, how many more chances does she get to screw up her life?
“Hello?”
“It’s Lili.”
The room lurched to one side. The soft buzz of the overhead recessed lighting grew loud and insistent, like a nest of angry bees. “How did you find me?”
“I looked up where you work on the Web.”
“It’s on the Web?” Caroline looked toward the secretary, who was pretending to be reading something on her computer. How much of her life was out there for others to casually peruse? Was there anything left that was hers and hers alone?
“Is it all right that I called there? I was afraid to phone your house again.”
“I’m sorry about what happened.”
“It’s okay. That was Michelle, right? I understand why she’d be upset.”
“Do you remember her?” Can you tell me something, anything, about her that nobody else in the world would know but you and me, something that isn’t on the Internet, something that would prove conclusively…?
“No. I wish I could say I did, but…”
“She thinks you’re a fraud,” Caroline said quietly.
“I’d probably think so, too, if I were in her shoes.”
“So, what happens now? Were you really serious about coming to San Diego?”
There was a brief pause, a sharp intake of breath. “What choice do I have?”
Was the girl for real or was Michelle right? Caroline felt a sinking sensation in her gut, remembering Michelle’s predictions. “And I suppose you want me to send you money…”
“No. I already told you, I don’t want your money.”
“Then how…?”
“I don’t know yet. I have to figure a few things out.”
“So, when…?”
“I’ll get back to you. Do you have a cell phone?”
“I have one. I just never have it on. Michelle is always after me about it. She says it’s ridiculous that—” She realized she was rambling and stopped abruptly, fishing inside her purse to retrieve her phone. She switched the power on and located her number. “Here. I have it.” Caroline quickly relayed the number to Lili.
“I’ll call you.” The line went dead.
“Hello? Hello, Lili?” Caroline stood motionless, replaying the conversation over and over in her mind. She must think I’m a moron, she thought. Who doesn’t know her cell phone number? Who never has the damn thing on? And then more thoughts: Did this girl really not want her money or was she just biding her time in an effort to maximize her potential payoff? She’d successfully baited the hook and Caroline had greedily snapped it up. All that was left was to reel her in. Was that what Lili was doing?
“Is everything okay?” the secretary asked.
Caroline handed back the school phone. “I’m an idiot.”
“Don’t say that. Just because you couldn’t remember your cell phone number…” The secretary’s face reddened. “
You have a lot on your mind these days. All that stuff in the news recently…”
Caroline nodded, wondering if the principal had informed them of her past long ago or whether they’d just found out.
“The police in Mexico still have no idea…?”
“Nothing.”
Every lead Detective Ramos had collected over the last decade and a half eventually led to the same dead end; every suspect he’d pursued managed to evade his grasp. If the police waste fifteen years on dead ends and Caroline endures fifteen years of false hope, how many more years will it take till she loses her mind altogether?
“Just so you know, Shannon and I don’t believe for a second that you harmed your daughter…”
“Not for a second,” Shannon confirmed.
For the first time since she’d entered the office, Caroline became aware of the other secretary sitting at her desk. “Thank you.” She gave both women her best attempt at a smile and began edging toward the hall. She had to get out of here before either of them said another word.
“…or that you had anything to do with that poor boy’s suicide.”
Too late. She hadn’t moved fast enough. Caroline felt the color drain from her face as the buzzing of angry bees returned.
“We were just saying it was so mean of that reporter to bring all that up again. As if you don’t have enough on your plate…”
The room began spinning. The next thing Caroline knew, she was sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, her feet splayed out in front of her, the room performing cartwheels around her.
“My God, what happened?” Shannon cried.
“She fainted. Call the nurse.”
“You’re going to be all right,” Shannon told her, kneeling beside her and patting her hand while they waited for the school nurse to arrive. “You’ll see. Everything is going to be just fine.”
“Okay, everybody, listen up,” Caroline said. “You only have two weeks left before your final exams…”
A collective groan emanated from the throats of the twenty-two eleventh-grade students in her final class of the day at Lewis Logan High.
“…and I’d like to use these last few minutes to give you some suggestions that I think could help you make the most of your study time.”
“How about just telling us what’s on the exam?” one of the boys asked, right on cue. There was always one boy in every class who asked the same thing.
“The first thing you need to do is to organize your work so that you begin with the most challenging material right off the bat. I know that might sound counterintuitive, but you can’t be afraid of it. Okay? Then you start dividing that material into small chunks that you can manage easily. You’ll find that things aren’t nearly as overwhelming when you start breaking them down.”
“I think I’m having a breakdown,” another boy said, and the class laughed.
Except for Errol Cruz, who sat in the last seat of the last row, chewing on the end of his pencil and staring out the side window, looking even more lost than usual. A skinny, somewhat delicate-looking boy with deep blue eyes and acne-scarred skin, he never laughed at the smart-alecky remarks of the other students or offered up any of his own. He never volunteered anything in class, although whenever Caroline called on him, he always had the correct answer ready. Occasionally he lingered after class to discuss the day’s lesson or a challenging math problem he’d come across online. Or maybe he just hung around to delay going home. His father was said to be gruff and unpleasant, and neither parent had bothered showing up for the last set of parent-teacher interviews. According to his other instructors, Errol rarely completed his assignments and had almost no chance of making his year, which was a shame, because despite his failing grades, he showed a real aptitude for math. Maybe with a little more encouragement…
“It helps to begin each study session with a quick review of what you studied the day before,” she continued, stealing a glance at the clock on the wall. Michelle had a dentist appointment at four o’clock and Caroline had arranged to pick her up from school at three-thirty. This meant she had to leave as soon as the bell sounded in order to drive to Michelle’s tony private school in Mission Hills and get her over to their dentist, whose office was located on Washington Street, just east of Old Town, a fifteen-minute trip at the best of times, and likely twice that during rush hour. She had little time to waste. The school had been given strict instructions never to leave Michelle alone or unsupervised, but you could never be sure. “When you’re reviewing, make sure to carefully read over each step in the procedure and use a Magic Marker to highlight the main concepts and formulas. If it helps, draw a diagram to make the concept clearer.”
The bell rang. The class immediately began packing up belongings and filing out. “Goodbye, Ms. Shipley,” someone said. “Have a nice night,” said another.
“Thank you. You, too. Errol…,” she called as the boy was shuffling out of the room.
He stopped, standing motionless in the doorway, head down, eyes directed at the floor.
“Do you have a minute?” She stole another glance at the clock. She had little time to spare. Michelle would be waiting. She couldn’t be late.
The boy turned slowly back toward her, staring at a point just past her right ear, refusing to make eye contact. “Is there a problem, Ms. Shipley?”
“I was just about to ask you the same thing.” She maneuvered her head into his line of vision. “I was watching you in class and I couldn’t help noticing…Is there something wrong, Errol? You seem a little…I don’t know…distracted.”
More distracted than usual, she added silently.
Blue eyes shifted to the floor. A long pause, a swaying from one foot to the other. “No. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Because you don’t seem fine,” Caroline insisted. “What is it, Errol? Please tell me. If there’s something you don’t understand…”
He said nothing, his hand brushing away some stray hairs that fell across his forehead. Caroline thought she saw the fading remnants of a bruise above his right eye, but when she tilted her head to get a better look, he quickly pushed his hair back into place.
“Is everything all right at home?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“You can talk to me, Errol,” she said, hearing the clock ticking off the seconds on the wall behind her head. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“About anything. Not just math.” She glanced toward the door. If she didn’t leave in the next minute, she had no chance of getting Michelle to her dentist appointment by four o’clock.
“You have to be somewhere,” he said.
“No. That’s all right. I have plenty of time.”
“Nah, it’s okay.”
“Really. I have time.”
“It’s nothing. I’m good.”
“Are you sure?”
The boy was already shuffling out of the room. “Yeah. No problem.”
“Okay. Well, then, see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Ms. Shipley.”
“Goodbye, Errol.”
She watched him disappear down the hallway, then locked the classroom door behind her, trying to shake off unwelcome stirrings of guilt. Clearly, something was bothering the boy. Just as clearly, he didn’t want to talk about it. What was she supposed to do? Sit on him? Force the truth out of him? Still, maybe with a little more prodding, a little more patience…She’d try again tomorrow, she decided, proceeding briskly to the parking lot.
Within minutes she was on the San Diego Freeway headed toward Mission Bay. At ten minutes to four, fully twenty minutes after she was supposed to arrive, she pulled up in front of Michelle’s school to find her daughter, in the company of an older student, sitting on the school’s outside steps, one knee sock up, the other curled around her ankle like a sleeping snake. Only ten years old and already she’d perfected her grandmother’s look of world-weary disappointment. Caroline reached across the front seat of her black
Camry and pushed open the passenger door.
Michelle waved goodbye to the other girl and sauntered down the steps. She climbed inside the car and pulled her seat belt into place without so much as a glance at her mother. “You’re late,” she said.
—
“You’re late,” the receptionist echoed as Caroline approached the counter. Caroline felt a roomful of disapproving eyes fall squarely on her back. The waiting room, a large, pleasant space shared by three dentists, was crowded, the red plastic seats lining its white walls almost all filled.
“Sorry. The traffic was really bad.”
“Dr. Saunders took another patient ahead of you. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”
Caroline nodded and retreated to a corner of the room where there was one empty chair. She sat down and Michelle promptly jumped into her lap. “Whoa, easy there,” Caroline said.
“What’s the matter?” Michelle asked.
“Nothing. You’re just getting pretty heavy.”
“Am I fat?”
“No, of course you’re not fat. Who said you were fat?” Although there was no denying Michelle’s propensity for junk food and sweets. It was a taste she’d developed in the aftermath of Samantha’s disappearance, one indulged by her grandmother, who was always plying her with high-calorie treats. Caroline had been reluctant to say anything to either of them, reasoning that Michelle was just a child and her mother was, well, her mother. She knew this was a convenient rationalization, but she lacked the stamina to take on either one of them. A loud chewing sound suddenly reached her ears. “Is that gum in your mouth?”
Michelle’s shoulders slumped as her eyes rolled toward the ceiling.
“Spit that out. You’re at the dentist, for heaven’s sake.”
Michelle released a huge wad of pink bubble gum into the palm of her hand. “What do I do with it?”
Caroline looked around the room for a wastepaper basket but found none. “There’s a bathroom down the hall.” She gently pushed Michelle from her lap and rose from her seat. “Come on.”
“I can go by myself.”