She knew not everyone was on board with the school reopening. She’d had more than enough parents complain and demand that the school stay closed, and while she attempted to understand their pain and knew they only spoke out of fear, she had to look past the emotional impact of the school shooting back in May and look to their future.
She was determined that today would be the first of many steps their town needed to take to move forward past the ugliness of what had happened.
Charlotte flipped through the paper, reading the letters to the editor and the small-town gossip, and almost missed the short article written about Julia Berry, the mother of the shooter. She set the paper down on her desk and leaned back in her chair. Her heart went out to Julia. If anything, what had happened was as much Charlotte’s fault as anyone else’s, including the mother of the sixteen-year-old shooter.
From day one, everyone knew Gabriel Berry had bad blood in him. He was that boy who was always in trouble. The moment he stepped foot into a store, all shop owners knew to keep their gaze on him. She’d lost track of the number of times she learned from the town sheriff’s weekly updates that Gabe Berry had been escorted home in the middle of the night after deputies found him hanging around the local cemetery. Who lurked around a graveyard in the middle of the night? It wasn’t natural, people said. No matter what anyone did, how they reached out to him, it never seemed to matter.
Since the shooting, Charlotte couldn’t shake the feeling that all of them shared responsibility for failing to help Gabriel. The blame couldn’t be directed at any one person, no matter how much the media tried to do just that.
She glanced down at the article again: “One Bullet, One Boy and One Mother.”
A shiver ran down her spine as she read the lie in that headline over and over and over.
CHAPTER THREE
JENNIFER
Jenn tugged the edges of her housecoat tighter as she sat outside on her back deck.
She felt guilty for not taking Charity to school. Not enough for her to change her decision, but enough that she knew she’d handled the situation wrong. Jenn couldn’t imagine she was the only parent not okay with the school being opened; no doubt there must be others. What were they doing this morning? Had they argued with their kids as well, or had it been a mutual decision?
It was the beginning of summer. Thanks to the spring rain, the grass was a vibrant green, flowers were blooming, and the trees were full of chirping from the birds nested there. Where had the time gone? Maybe she could talk Charity into helping her with some baking today. They could watch a movie together, eat ice cream, and then meet Robert after work for dinner at Fred’s Tavern. No doubt her daughter was up in her room, headphones over her ears as the music blared, anything to pretend her mother wasn’t around. She knew this because it’s how Charity had acted the past few weeks. She would either be at her best friend’s home or in her room. Anywhere and everywhere, except with her mom.
It hurt, but Jenn was trying to give Charity the space she needed. And, if she were to be completely honest, Jenn hadn’t minded the space herself. It meant her life was quiet without any expectations, other than when Robert needed her.
Hiding, withdrawing inside herself, that was how she was coping. If coping was the right word to use.
A lone sailboat sat out in the bay today. Alone, engulfed in silence. Jenn wished she could do that, jump on a boat and set sail, away from all the prying eyes, all the mundane words that meant nothing to her. Alone with her thoughts, with the ability to remain numb without the condemnation from her family and friends.
Life wasn’t fair. God was cruel. And yet, none of that mattered. She was still expected to place one foot in front of the other, to move forward with her life, even when all she wanted to do was bury herself in grief beside the son she’d lost.
Robert’s voice whispered in her head. You’re still a mother.
Jenn pushed herself up from her chair and headed back into the house. She refilled her coffee mug, adding an extra shot of Baileys, and noticed that the bottle she had bought only last week was almost empty. She stood there in her kitchen, unsure of which direction to go. Back to bed? Watch a movie? Have a bath?
Or talk to her daughter.
Her feet moved toward the steps as her decision was made.
Her counselor had told her to take it one moment at a time. And in this moment, she needed to be a mother to Charity.
As she slowly climbed the stairs she thought about what she’d say when she opened the door. How would Charity respond? Would she still be upset? She was a thirteen-year-old with mood swings; for all Jenn knew, she could be asleep already.
She knocked on Charity’s door and waited. She couldn’t hear anything from behind the closed door, so either she had her headphones on or she was asleep. Jenn knocked again, this time louder, but there was still no response. So she opened the door and peered inside.
The room was empty. Charity wasn’t in the bathroom either.
Jenn ran down the stairs and looked through the house, walking through the rooms, but she was alone. At the front door she realized Charity’s running shoes and schoolbag were gone.
Her fists clenched at her side as the sudden onslaught of anger filled her. How dare she!
Jenn grabbed her cell phone and purse, reached for her keys, and called Robert as she made her way to their garage.
“Do you know what she’s done?” Jenn said the moment Robert answered his phone.
He sighed on the other end.
“I had a feeling she would.”
“You had a feeling?” Jenn’s words were clipped as she held the phone up to her ear and backed out of her garage. “You had a feeling but didn’t bother to say anything to me about it?”
“Why should I? You’re the one who is home. I told her not to go to school today, that I’d come home early this afternoon and we could do something together.” Robert’s voice heated in anger. But she didn’t care.
Then his words hit her.
“I’m the one who’s home? What do you mean by that? I asked you to stay home this morning.” She paused as something down the street caught her attention. “Crap. I can’t handle this right now.”
“What’s wrong?” The Bluetooth function took over, and her husband’s voice filled the SUV. Jenn set the phone down and shook her head. She wasn’t ready for this. Not yet.
Stillwater Bay was a small town. Nine months of the year the population maxed out at just under three thousand, but in the summer months, from June to the Labor Day weekend, their numbers doubled and sometimes tripled in size, thanks to their proximity to the bay and premium real estate. The landscape on top of the cliffs held million-dollar summer cottages with billion-dollar views.
“The Andersons are here. I don’t have their basket made up or anything,” Jenn muttered as she drove past their house. There were only five houses on their street, with two facing the bay, one facing the island the town of Stillwater sat on, and two backing onto the golf course. Out of all those houses, Jenn and her family were the only ones who lived there year-round.
“Are they early?”
“Of course they’re early.” She turned left and headed down First Bridge Street. Two bridges led into their town. The double bridges not only added to the quaintness of their town but also made it special. Ahead of her, in the distance, was her daughter, walking on the sidewalk.
“Found her.” The tight band across her chest loosened, and she felt like she could breathe again. Her anger drained as she drove toward Charity.
“You’ll take the basket over later, right?”
Robert’s words didn’t click at first. Baskets. Andersons. Keeping face despite their mourning.
“Of course I’ll take over their precious basket. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I overheard your talk with Charity the other night regarding the baskets.” There
was doubt in his voice.
“Then you would have heard my answer.” She hoped the exasperation in her voice was loud and clear.
Every word she’d spoken that night to Charity about the baskets was for Robert’s benefit. She’d already had this discussion with him and even suggested having someone else do the baskets, someone like his secretary for instance, but he wouldn’t hear of it. It wouldn’t be the same, he’d argued. People would think we aren’t coping, he’d said.
“People expect the baskets. It’s a tradition. From our home to theirs. It’s a small way to let them know they are wanted in this community, that they matter—”
“It’s your way of saving face,” Jenn had mumbled. But Robert had heard.
He’d turned to her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and squeezed. “We can either let what happened destroy us or strengthen us.” He had then placed a kiss on her forehead and walked away.
The other night she’d been in her office going over her lists, making sure she had enough supplies on hand for these baskets. Charity had stood there, in the doorway, not wanting to come in and help.
“Why do you have to do the baskets? Why can’t someone else?” Charity muttered as Jenn counted the baskets in her cupboard.
“Like who?” Jenn had responded. “Everyone in this town has been affected by what happened. It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask someone else to take on something I love doing.” Or used to love. She wasn’t ready to be social, to put on her happy face.
She drove up close to Charity and, with a push of a button, rolled down the passenger window.
“Need a lift?” The anger she’d felt earlier when she realized Charity had disobeyed her paled thanks to Robert’s inquiry regarding the baskets. Which was probably a good thing since this really wasn’t a battle she needed to fight with her daughter.
“Are you mad?” Charity stepped toward the SUV but didn’t open the door. She hefted her schoolbag over her shoulder and looked around.
“More like disappointed. Come on, I’ll drop you off.”
“I’m sorry,” Charity apologized as she got in. She dropped her schoolbag down between her legs and buckled up.
“It’s not okay to take off without telling me,” Jenn sighed but didn’t drive forward. She wanted to have a talk with Charity about this, and the drive to the school would only take two minutes at the most.
Thankfully, her daughter had the decency to look contrite.
“I know. It’s just that Amanda and I had plans, and we promised Principal Stone that we would help out with the younger grades.”
“I see.” Jenn wasn’t too happy to hear that last bit. “When did you talk to Principal Stone about this?”
Charity fiddled with her fingers. “Well, I didn’t, but Amanda did. I think.” She shrugged. “We talked about the idea at least.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? When I asked?”
“Would it have mattered?”
Silence was Jenn’s only reply.
As they made their way over the bridge and passed through the downtown area, Jenn kept her attention focused on the road ahead of her and not on the small crowds of people who lined the sidewalks, waving at the vehicles as they passed with banners and signs.
“Why are they doing that?” Charity scrunched down in her seat as if to hide herself. Jenn understood the feeling. She noticed Samantha Hill, the lone reporter left from the outside world, in the crowd. For over a month, massive throngs of media had swarmed their town. Once the funerals were held and things quieted down, most of the media had left. All but the one reporter from UCN.
“Mom?”
“I think they just want to offer you guys support.”
“That’s kind of nice, right?”
Jenn nodded. Sure, it was nice.
“I didn’t expect so many people to be here.” She glanced over at the school parking lot, on the corner of First Bridge Street and Pelican Street, where the only school in town was located.
“There’s Amanda. Can you drop me off here?”
Jenn pulled over to the curb and turned her blinker on. She was thankful she didn’t have to drive closer.
“I’m going to hang with Mandy after school, okay?” Charity unhooked her seat belt and opened the passenger door.
“That’s fine. Love you,” Jenn called out. She wasn’t sure if Charity had heard her since she slammed the door, but she did give her a small wave. Jenn watched her daughter link arms with her best friend and walk toward the school together.
That day had started out like any other. She’d made the kids breakfast and they’d rushed to school, running a little late due to Charity having to change her outfit three or four times that morning.
On the drive down to school, the kids fought, with Bobby upset about being late and worried that he’d have to get a late slip and stay after school. Jenn had gone in with the kids and signed them in at school; said hello to Jordan, the school principal, as he walked with the kids down the hallway to their class; and waved at the kindergarten teacher, who hustled her kids from the cloakroom into their class. She remembered the sound of her cell phone ringing and the feel of her keys digging into her palm as she searched her purse for the phone. She’d pushed the school doors open with her hip as she answered her phone and bumped into him, Gabriel Berry, on her way out.
Those next few seconds were forever etched in her mind. If she’d been paying attention, if she hadn’t been on the phone, if she’d actually stopped to think about why that boy—especially that boy—was at the public school and not at his own school, maybe things would have been different.
She pictured Gabriel as they bumped into one another, the scowl on his face, the frantic, wide-eyed look. She should have known; she should have noticed. But instead, she’d been on the phone with her lawyer, who’d called to make sure she’d received the documents.
It wasn’t until she’d made her way to the parking lot, almost at her SUV, before she heard the first shot. And then the screams through the open windows.
Jenn covered her ears as the screams replayed in her mind, over and over and over. For days afterward she thought if she could just concentrate hard enough, she’d be able to pick out the different voices from those screams and maybe, just maybe, hear her son.
Lost in thought, she screamed herself as someone knocked on the passenger door window.
The door opened and her best friend, Charlotte Stone, the mayor and wife of Principal Jordan Stone, popped her head in.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” She held the door open wide and stood there, a look of concern on her face.
“You scared me.” Jenn waited for her heartbeat to return to normal while Charlotte opened the door farther and sat down in the passenger seat.
“Sorry.” She reached across and grabbed Jenn’s hand. “How are you doing?”
Jenn leaned her head back against the headrest and rubbed her forehead. She stared out the open sunroof at the dark-gray clouds as they rolled in and had the sudden desire to drive down to North Beach and view the bay as the turbulent wind rolled in.
“Char, I love you, but would you please stop asking me how I’m doing?” She kept her gaze upward, counting how long it took for the massive cloud to pass over her. “Isn’t there something else you could ask that doesn’t start with needing to know how my mental state is?”
“Jenn . . .”
“No. Seriously. Can we just agree not to ever ask each other how we’re doing? Ever? If I need to talk, trust me that I’ll talk, and I’ll do the same for you. Okay?” She turned her attention from the clouds to her friend and caught the wariness in her gaze.
“I’m okay. I promise.”
“Fake it till you make it,” isn’t that what they always say? She doubted she’d ever be okay from losing her little boy, but she wasn’t the only one in town who had suf
fered a loss that day. She needed to focus on that.
She could tell from her best friend’s gaze that she didn’t believe her.
“Do you have time for coffee later? There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
Jenn’s brow rose. All she wanted to do was head back home and bury herself under mounds of covers while the storm rolled in. And maybe make herself a drink.
“I’m not really dressed for coffee.” She wasn’t in the mood to socialize, even if it was with her best friend.
“Just meet me for coffee at Gina’s in about an hour. That should give you enough time to freshen up, right?”
The school bell rang, and Charlotte opened the door.
“Please?”
“What are you doing here at the school?”
“Supporting Jordan. He’s not as tough as he appears to be. This has shaken him more than I’d like to admit.”
“So why open the school even if for a few hours? Why allow our children to relive the horrors? Don’t you think they’ve gone through enough?”
“They need closure. All the psychologists I’ve spoken to say the same thing.” She reached for the door and closed it before sitting back in the seat with a dejected air. “There’s not much I can do, but this . . . this I can. Give closure, help others to heal.” She pointed toward the school yard. “Besides, you know we closed off all the main areas where . . . only the gym and the front of the school are open, and we have outdoor activities planned for the morning.”
Stillwater Rising Page 2