“I’m glad to hear that.” I wished no harm to the man who so vehemently opposed me. His outburst and resulting injury were due to his concern for the kids. Too bad we disagreed on what was best for them. Too bad we were on different sides.
“He suffered a type B aortic dissection…” Dr. Matt turned to face the students as if the space above my head didn’t offer the reprieve he sought “It’s a tear in the inner wall of the aorta that causes blood to flow between the layers of the aortic wall, forcing them apart.”
No response.
“It’s amazing he survived.”
Still no response.
Dr. Matt looked at me as if asking: What have you done to these kids? “I’m here to follow up on a situation Mr. Lacoste alerted me to before his illness.” He cleared his throat and shifted his focus to Shawn. “Some of the teachers have petitioned for an end to this class, and I’ve also received negative feedback from Angelina’s parents. I hesitated to take action because… Well, I’d hoped things would work out somehow. The lessons seemed to be going okay, but then veered off course.”
“You mean, took a different path,” Shawn said.
Dr. Matt’s frown morphed into a press-on smile. “A member of this class has been keeping Mr. Lacoste informed.”
I shot a look at Shawn, my heart feeling like an abused rubber toy.
“It wasn’t me.” He released my hand. “I’m no Judas.”
Then who? The room seemed to heave in exhaustion, all energy sucked from its core.
Dr Matt smiled as if he’d just mastered the universe, when more likely it was about to implode. “Tell them, Ethan.”
Ethan jerked to attention like a remote-controlled action figure with its power suddenly turned on. “You’re asking us to conform, Ms. Veil, and I don’t like it.” His eyes appeared robotic in their unfocused stare, his words automated. “Greatness doesn’t come from conformity.”
Jeez, Ethan. He wasn’t just turning on me but his classmates as well. Who had coached him? His mother? His father? Charles Lacoste? And why was Dr. Matt outing him in this way? Such exposure could have lasting effects on the poor, confused child. “That’s a huge misinterpretation—”
“Yeah, sure,” he said with a thin-lipped smile, the expressive lips of childhood stretched beyond recognition—along with his innocence. “You tell us not to be separate, but part of the whole. Isn’t that conformity? Tell me, what’s the right way?”
Talking to Ethan brought an emptiness beyond what I’d witnessed the previous day. All I’d hoped to accomplish by taking on this class was dying a slow death. From the beginning, Ethan had twisted my words and misinterpreted my messages. I longed to tell him not to worry, that everything would be okay, but didn’t. Unlike Ethan, I couldn’t see into the future. Why hadn’t he prevented this, stepped out of the way? Did he believe the future was preordained, that he had no choice but to follow the rushing current over the jagged cliff?
“I don’t know,” I said, my throat clogged with tears.
“You sure say that a lot.”
“Because it’s true.”
“You’re our teacher. You’re supposed to know things.”
It looked like he might cry, which made holding back my emotions even harder. “I’m here to open some doors, that’s all.” Had my talks about thought molding reality fallen on deaf ears? “Pep talks,” Jason had called them. Talk rather than action.
“No, you’re supposed to tell us what to do, like Mr. Lacoste. He tells us what to do.”
“He’s about to flip,” Shawn whispered, his hand cold as it touched mine.
“For God’s sake, Ethan.” Codi slapped her hand against the table, her skeleton ring hitting the surface with the hollow sound of a woodpecker hitting a knot in a tree. “Mr. Lacoste leads you by the nose. He’d make a good—”
“Drill sergeant,” Jason finished for her.
Ethan’s hands fisted on the table. “I like it when someone tells me what to do.”
“Because you’re scared,” Codi said, her tone soothing as if a ventriloquist were throwing a caricature voice in her direction, dodging her usual razor-sharp tongue. “It’s better to do what you think is right. In your heart, you know what’s best.”
“And that Mr. Lacoste is full of crap,” Jason added.
Dr. Matt took a step in Jason’s direction. “Now wait a minute. You’re talking about a man who’s fighting for his life.”
“Mr. Lacoste is full of himself,” Luke said, his hair looking even more tousled than usual as if he’d been running through it with frantic fingers.
Shawn shook his head and pulled in a long breath, his actions so adult, so forbearing they saddened me. I reminded myself that he could read minds and therefore knew far more than most about what was going on here. But still. What a burden. He had endorsed me for this job, and, unlike his uncle, had stood by me ever since. “It isn’t right the way Mr. Lacoste has been messing with Ethan. He’s one of us, and even if it doesn’t seem like it, he’s been trying his best.”
Ethan’s hands spread open on the table in front of him.
“It’s okay, Ethan.” Shawn smiled at his friend before turning back to his uncle. “I hoped you’d get the way things were on your own, instead of listening to Mr. Lacoste. That maybe after Spring Faire, you’d see that Ms. Veil was doing what you wanted her to.” Shawn stopped, took another deep breath. “You screwed up, big time.”
“Shawn,” Dr. Matt said, his voice subdued. “I know drugs are hidden in this classroom.”
Drugs? Dear God…
The students didn’t appear surprised. Instead, their gazes veered to Ethan’s owl locked behind the glass door.
“Noooo!” Ethan’s cry blended with the sound of exploding glass in a way I equated with horror films and hoped never to hear again. Shards of glass burst like shrapnel from the trophy case and skittered across the floor to within inches of our feet.
Why on earth would anyone want to destroy Ethan’s owl? Was this another case of uncontrolled energy?
Ethan leapt out of his chair and started forward, but Luke held him back. “No. You’ll cut yourself.”
“All forms return to the formless sooner or later,” Ethan said, his voice so sad you’d think he was performing the eulogy at a friend’s funeral. He looked at the remnants of his owl mixed in with the wreckage on the floor. “You did a good job while you lasted, little buddy.”
With the confidence of someone unaware he was walking through a minefield, Dr. Matt stepped over the debris. The fluorescent lights buzzed like bees in a jar as we watched him sort through the rubble with the tip of his shoe and bend to retrieve a cloth bag.
Ethan’s face drained of color, his expression that of a lifeless corpse. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. No thirteen-year-old should ever look like that, as if he had no reason to live.
“Mr. Lacoste and Dr. Matt are the ones who should be sorry,” I said.
Dr. Matt’s brows scrunched at me, but he said nothing.
“It’s Xanax for anxiety and sleeplessness,” Shawn said, “and Zoloft for depression.” He paused and glanced at Ethan before continuing. “Some kids at West Coast are handing out the stuff for free. He was going to give it to Ms. Veil’s sister, who knows a lot about drugs.”
“Who’s handing out the stuff for free?” Dr. Matt asked.
No response.
Why weren’t the students sharing what they knew? Did they believe Dr. Matt would mishandle the information?
The name Wyatt floated from out of nowhere as if someone had spoken it out loud. Wyatt? There had been a student by that name in the remedial class I’d substituted for on my first day. I’d given him a plus for being in his seat and quiet when the tardy bell rang. Should I inform Dr. Matt? Or would doing so lead to further mistrust and misunderstanding? Best keep my ears open and mouth shut.
Dr. Matt gave Ethan a measured look as if noticing his stricken expression for the first time
. “Who told Mr. Lacoste about the hidden drugs?”
“Not Ethan,” Shawn said. “Someone ratted him out.”
The space between us vibrated with tension, our nerve endings raw from over stimulation. The kids had known Ethan’s secret without telling me. I should have been angry, or at least disappointed, but wasn’t. They had used their powers to help rather than snitch on a friend. Plus, Ethan had planned to tell Veronica, which counted for something.
“And Mr. Lacoste messed up everything,” Shawn said.
Dr. Matt spun to face his nephew, but Shawn held firm. “Ethan trusted him. And I trusted you.”
The muscles of Dr. Matt’s face seemed to pulverize like the glass from the trophy case, leaving no foundation for the skin on top. It was like watching a movie fast forward where he aged ten years right before our eyes. Shawn took a deep breath, reminding me that wisdom comes at a price. “Be thankful that Ms. Veil taught us not to judge, Uncle Matt, but to forgive.”
Though pained at what I had just witnessed, I found relief knowing that no matter what, Shawn, for one, would be okay. By not passing judgment on his uncle, he had learned a valuable lesson about love and forgiveness.
Dr. Matt observed Shawn for what seemed a long time before addressing me. “I’ll hold off on my decision until Open House.” If he expected cheers of gratitude, he must have been disappointed. I ached for him as he stood facing an unappreciative audience. The clock clicked, a reminder that he had kept us after school. He checked his watch. “Want a ride home, Shawn?”
Shawn walked over to Ethan and put a hand on his shoulder. “We need to stay behind and give the owl a proper send off.”
Dr. Matt glanced at the bag of psychotherapeutic drugs still clutched in his hand, then at the remnants of the owl on the floor. He picked up a rounded section of wing before looking at me. I didn’t care that he’d caught me crying. “Can it be repaired?” he asked.
I shook my head no.
Ethan pulled in a deep breath, followed by Luke announcing, “But it can be resurrected.”
Sweet Luke, not now.
“I’ve seen Mom do it,” he said. “She crushes broken ceramic pieces and mixes them into glazes, then applies them to new projects with some amazing results.”
Like desert seeds that burst open and spring to life only when activated by intense heat, Luke’s slumbering powers had blossomed and sprung forth into action, resulting in new hope.
Chapter Forty
WHEN I GOT HOME, I emailed Morgan. Told him I wouldn’t be driving out to the farm that weekend. Asked him to hold off on the questions, that I was okay and would explain when I could. Then I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, legs wobbly as a toddler’s, and stripped off my blazer, slacks, and pumps for the unrestricted comfort of a robe and bare feet. Rather than give in to the lure of the weightless cloud of my bed’s down comforter, I sought the refuge of my backyard, reclined onto the chaise lounge under the covered patio, and closed my eyes.
Birdsong. Cool breeze. Skin breathing…
***
I woke to a cat rubbing its face on mine. Gabriel. “Hey, buddy. What’s up?” I would have liked to believe he was showing his love and affection by mingling his scent with mine, but no amount of wishful thinking would make that true. He’d claimed ownership of my backyard over a year and a half ago, awarding me with a don’t touch attitude, hissing and bolting if I got too close. He consumed my food with what appeared to be ingratitude, eating each meal as if it were his last, only to demonstrate his appreciation and loyalty when I’d needed it most.
His current face rub served as a reminder that napping at dusk was not part of my daily routine. It also signaled time for his evening meal. Satisfied he’d gained my attention, he leapt onto the hardwood deck and padded to the sliding door separating him from the nourishment he needed to energize his play.
I sat up with the subtle understanding that the world wasn’t what I had thought it should be. Neither, it seemed, was my life’s purpose. But I didn’t have the luxury of waiting for clarity about either. “Just show up,” Shawn had advised during our chance meeting in Bayfront Park, along with his offer for help. Then I’d done the opposite. Took control, stopped the flow.
I needed to stop pushing my own agenda like some charismatic cult leader and allow my students to set their own course—butt out unless they required my help.
After filling Gabriel’s water and food bowls, I checked my email. Morgan had replied to my gloomy message. Of course, he had. For him, love and trust came as naturally as the weather.
My Dear Marjorie. I’m here for you when you need me. Say the word and I’ll drop everything to be at your side. Joshua says “Hi” and that he loves you. He also sends what he calls an important message. That he saw a barn owl last night. I figure you’ll understand his meaning, as you have from the first day you met. I, on the other hand, continue to be baffled by his intuitiveness and insight. With all my love, Morgan.
Love you back, I typed. Then hesitated over “Send.” Give him more.
I don’t plan on hanging from the sagging bough of a towering fir for long, my colors concealed by closed wings. The wait is almost over. Thanks for not holding me too tightly.
SEND!
I opened a new tab in my browser and entered “barn owl symbolism” in the address bar. The first site in the search results read: Call on the barn owl when you’re going through confusing times. It’s a reminder to pay attention to what usually goes below your radar, but is now of specific importance. Big changes lay ahead. Hold on. You are more powerful than you think.
I turned off the computer. Thanks for the warning, Joshua.
Chapter Forty-one
LUKE, MR. DETAIL, THE most analytical minded and therefore mentally blocked among us, came to class on April 15 with a plan that concurred with my decision to step out of the way. “Remember when Jason said he felt like a test rat?” he asked after everyone had taken seats at their tables. “And you told him that in a way he was, that this class was an experiment and maybe we’d stumble onto something significant while fumbling around in the lab?”
I nodded, my mind fully attentive to his retrieval memory for a change. No more shaky breaths in response to his reflections and comments. No more “Good Luke. Hold that thought.” Charitable, kind-hearted, companionable, Nine of Diamonds deserved respect, not tolerance. His ability to process incredible amounts of information should be embraced not ignored. Something told me this quality was about to pay off.
“And remember how you said that like Einstein or Ben Franklin, we should consider ourselves lucky volunteers?”
Another nod from a teacher who’d failed him with her determination to revise and edit the details of his story.
Luke took off his glasses and propped them on his head, his attention turning inward, where the precision of vision no longer depends on where light focuses on the retina but on the soul’s inner essence, where perceptions come alive with razor sharpness. “Let’s see what we can do with the molds we’ve been poured into.”
Okay. So far, so good. A rerun of previous lessons—with a twist. I grabbed a chair and sat facing the students. Luke held center stage, and I meant to keep him there, beginning with a question: “Are you talking about experimenting on ourselves?”
“Sure, why not?” Luke rose from his seat and walked to my side at the top of the U. He glanced at me and some kind of understanding sparked between us. I nodded, and he took it from there. “We were all born with something special, or we wouldn’t be here, right? So, let’s quit making excuses for whatever makes us special and start putting it to use. No offense, but we’ve been acting like a bunch of half-conscious addicts. What we need to do is wake up and get to work.” He peered at me with the myopic squint of someone trying to read the smallest line on a Snellen eye chart. “That is, if you give it a go, Ms. Veil.”
Give it a go? Hell yes. The perfect opportunity to stop pushing my own agenda.
/> Before I could voice my reply, Jason broke in from the opposite end of the U. “Hey man, instead of a bunch of underachievers, we might be budding Einsteins.”
“We already are,” Luke said. “The biggest obstacle to this class’s success is thinking things impossible.”
Another dose of my own medicine but, evidently, easier for the students to swallow coming from Luke. No more fiddling with the contents of backpacks or staring at the animated vista outside the classroom window. No more peering into compacts or doodling on hands with black markers. The students appeared to be tuning in, and it took Mr. Trivia to point their receptors in the right direction.
I thought back to what Dr. Matt had said during my impromptu job interview. “I’m talking about kids who thought and spoke like adults at age nine, born with knowledge and wisdom independent of age or experience. They’re way beyond what we’re teaching them in school. Yet, they lack the keys to succeed. Which leads to confusion and restless impatience simmering just below the surface or, in a worst-case scenario, explosive anger and aggression.” Maybe experimenting on their own terms was exactly what these kids needed. Before it was too late.
“I’m sick to death of looking for answers in books,” Luke said. “So, before we experiment on ourselves, we’ll experiment with water.”
“What’re we gonna do?” Ethan asked from his seat backing the east wall of windows. “Change water into wine?” I was glad to see Ethan come alive again, after the heartbreaking destruction of his owl. Luke had taken the pieces home to see if his mother could “resurrect” it. Via her talented and compassionate hands, it would no doubt turn out even better than before. A reminder that life is a series of births and resurrections, challenging us to grow, learn, love, and connect.
Luke took the glasses from the top of his head and slid them into place, bringing his external vision back into focus. “Actually, you’re not that far off, Ethan. We’re going to change water, but not the way Jesus did. More like the way Masaru Emoto did.”
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