∞ ∞ ∞
Diane and Joey planned to meet on Tuesday’s right after school. It provided an added bonus for her. She’d get out of staff meetings, which she hated. While she didn’t know Joey well, he had a reputation as an absolute pleasure, and Di loved bright kids. Di assessed him as a student with no learning problems, and she couldn’t figure out why his mom thought he needed tutoring. He proved industrious, and Diane didn’t mind supervising, or the extra money she earned.
As time passed, Di gave me the scoop. Joey talked a lot about his home life. Close to his brother, Emilio, the two boys enjoyed skateboarding, video games, and reading. Both had numerous points in our Accelerated Reader Program, which rewarded kids who read for pleasure. Di said she wished she had a classroom of kids like Joey and his brother.
Di and Joey became fast friends. They fell into a comfortable routine, and the pressure his mom put on Joey eased. Week in and week out, they met for precisely one hour after school. Mom’s happiness with the arrangement continued through the end of the school year.
Life hummed along at both the Stitsill homes. Almost too good to be true.
Diane continued to tutor Joey each Tuesday after school. Rosita popped in occasionally, and she appeared happy with his progress.
Joey shared his daily travails with Diane. Other than normal sibling squabbles, she drew the conclusion that little out of the ordinary happened at home. We still suspected there was more to this story than met the eye, but we didn’t go looking for trouble either.
Soon after Christmas, I lingered in the office and overheard the secretary on the phone.
"Oh, Mrs. Stitsill, I’m so sorry. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do on our end to help you," Yolanda said.
"Is everything alright?" I tried to maintain a casual approach as I gathered my mail and poked around the reception area.
"I’m not sure," she said. "That was Joey Stitsill’s mom. She’s not been feeling well and has to go into the hospital for a few days. She just wanted to alert us since the boys will be staying with friends. As you know, she keeps close tabs on her boys."
"Well, let me know if you hear any more," I told her. "The poor woman. Nothing like being sick and having to worry about her children on top of it all."
"I know." She nodded as she finished the note to Joey’s teachers.
Later when I saw Diane, I mentioned what I had heard about Rosita.
Clearly surprised, she said, "Joey hasn’t mentioned anything."
"Maybe she doesn’t want to worry the boys," I said.
"I’ll see what I can find out. Give me a few days. I won’t see him again until next week."
"Don’t ask him anything directly. We don’t want to worry him if there’s no need."
"I’ll be careful," she agreed.
I knew better than to tell her not to push Joey. She and I shared the same low–key style with our students.
Before Di’s next encounter with Joey, I ran into Yolanda again in the office.
"Hey, Sam," she said. "Do you have a minute?"
"Sure."
"I heard from Mrs. Stitsill this morning. She has cancer."
"Oh my gosh, no. Is it serious? Did she say?" My insides churned.
"Cancer of the stomach. She’s scheduled for aggressive treatment, starting with surgery, then radiation and chemo."
"Did she say anything else? About her chances? I know you couldn’t ask her, but did she say?" Rosita was my link to the Stitsill mystery. I needed her to be okay. Selfish? Yes, but I couldn’t help myself.
"Not really. She sounded pretty mechanical. I can’t imagine…" Her voice trailed off.
"Me, either." I shook my head in disbelief. "Thanks for letting me know."
When I told Diane, she looked shocked. "Let me see what I can find out."
Di called me that evening. "I saw Joey after school today."
"Really?"
"I asked him how his mom’s doing, and he said fine. I’m not sure if he even knows what’s going on. He didn’t seem aware or curious when I asked about her."
"I don’t think the boys have any other family besides their mom. Have you ever heard them mention anyone?" I asked.
"Joey mentioned his grandma in Mexico one time, but not more than to say that she lived there. He hasn’t ever spoken about her visiting or about going there to see her."
"Let’s just pray that everything turns out well."
"Absolutely," Diane replied.
Chapter Seven
WHEN DI ASKED me to go out after work on a school night, and then spend the night at her place, uneasiness stirred. I never left the kids. Only Jon did.
What would they do without me? Would Jon be able to help them get homework done, bathe and tuck them all in at night? By himself? What about the next morning? Would he be able to get them breakfast, dressed, and to the bus stop on time?
Jon urged me to go and enjoy myself. It didn’t take a lot of arm twisting.
Di and I decided to make an evening of it. We drove to Marciano’s, a great little Italian spot near the river for dinner. Hypnotized by the midday sun’s reflection on the rippling pools, we ordered a bottle of Chianti. We devoured our pasta, enjoying thick slices of crusty white bread dipped in olive oil as we gossiped about our colleagues and Diane’s recently dumped love interest. Before too long our bottle of Chianti emptied, and the sun faded to dusk.
After dinner, we talked non–stop as we leisurely walked the path along the river. Our meandering led us into a little dive of a bar called Purr–fect Ending.
"Can you handle cats?" No pun intended, but cat décor littered the place.
"Beer is beer anywhere," Di joked.
We spotted a little Formica table in the back with a couple of vinyl seated chairs. It was only nine o’clock, and we didn’t have to be back to work until seven the next morning.
We lost track of time, exhausting all of our girl talk before the topic switched to the Stitsill boys.
"Joey’s great. I hope when I have kids, I have a boy just like him," Di mused.
"You’re such a softie."
"No." She shook her head. "It’s not just that. He’s really touched a very special place in my heart. Maybe it’s because he lost his dad when he was so young, and I know how he feels. He has such an innocent strength about him. It’s hard to describe."
"He’s compassionate," I commented. "He understands more about life than most adults, and he’s learned the value of inner strength. He doesn’t count on it coming from others. When kids go through tough times, their life experience makes them more self–reliant."
"I totally agree. It happened to me," Diane said.
We both got quiet. A long moment later, I asked, "Wanna drive past the Stitsill’s house and check it out?"
"Yeah, we can be super spies," Diane answered.
I snickered. "The next Thelma and Louise."
After I Googled their information into my cell phone, we made short work of locating the address. We laughed like giddy teenagers as we strolled back to the car, two simple school teachers solving some big mystery in the middle of the night. We decided to drive through a fast–food joint and grab a couple of coffees.
It didn’t take long to find the Stitsill’s neighborhood. Tract houses were the norm here and the addresses followed a predictable pattern. In no time, we spotted the house. We drove around the block and parked a few doors down so we could case the joint. The Stitsill’s small ranch style house sat on a cookie cutter lot similar to its neighbors. The stars and glowing street lamp gave us a great view.
"The house isn’t anything special." I paused and looked at her. "What did we expect to find?"
Diane laughed. "Maybe if we just sit here, we’ll get a feeling for what’s going on in this family. Something’s not right. When Mrs. Stitsill talks to me, I feel like she’s trying to con me, but I don’t know what about. I just don’t trust her."
I nodded. "I get the same feeling around her, and she did lie
to me. She could have fessed up straight off that she thought I’d married her husband. Instead, she sicks the cops on me," I whispered as I kept one eye on the house. "You know what else? I talked to Joey. He said his mom teaches Spanish, but she doesn’t always work during the day."
"Totally weird," Di agreed. "She told me she’s a teacher, too, but she must not be in the traditional sense. I think she wanted me to think of her as a colleague. When we get to work tomorrow, we should check out Joey’s emergency card. See where she works and what we can put together."
My eye caught a shadow in the darkness. "Hey, did you see that? Look." I pointed. "Someone’s there."
Di began to giggle. "Who do you think it is? A murderer?"
Between the wine and the Stitsill story, I couldn’t help myself. I clutched Di’s arm. "Shit. It’s a man. I’m freaked out." I heard the tremor in my voice.
"We’re just jumpy."
"You’re right. I’m overreacting." Still, I couldn’t shake the shivers.
We watched him. He was tall and thin, long legs and arms to match. He wore a jacket and trousers, the dark colors molding with the night.
He walked like a man on a mission, like a guy used to moving in the shadows.
"Where’s he going?" Di asked.
"I don’t know. Where’d he come from?"
Di gripped my hand. "When you pointed him out, I looked up, and he stopped in the darkness."
I sucked in a sharp breath. "I think he’s headed to the Stitsill house."
We glanced at each other and looked right back at him, watching him stride along the side of the house, open the side door of the garage, and disappear inside.
"This is too weird."
Di dug her fingernails into my arm. "Let’s get out of here."
"Relax," I said. "He doesn’t know we’re here or that we’re watching him. Let’s wait a few minutes and see what happens. Worse comes to worse, we can take off. Who knows, maybe he’s the boyfriend who shows up after the kids are asleep." I hoped my calming tone would soothe her.
"Yeah, but wouldn’t she have left a light on for him?" Di asked.
"Good point," I murmured.
We shut up, stared at the side entry door, and waited. About fifteen minutes later, I looked over at Di. We both started to titter, courtesy of the alcohol, the late hour, and our current predicament.
"Promise me something," I said, struggling for control.
"What?" Di gasped, still laughing.
"Don’t ever tell anyone what we did tonight. They wouldn’t understand. Hell, I don’t understand." I knew I’d feel even more embarrassed about this tomorrow.
I’m not sure who saw him first, Di or me, but we both froze as he retraced his steps to the sidewalk. We watched intently.
"What the hell? Do you recognize him?" I asked as he moved under the street lamp.
"Yes, I do," she whispered.
When I looked at her, I read the panic on her face.
"It’s Joey’s father." I stared in disbelief.
"He’s not dead."
"Doesn’t look dead."
"Shit, now what?" Di asked.
"Let’s get the hell out of here." I felt numb as I drove to her place.
We entered Di’s house silently, got ready for bed, and crossed paths in the living room.
"Di?" I said after climbing onto the pull–out couch.
"Yeah?"
"We’ll talk tomorrow, alright?"
She nodded and disappeared into her bedroom.
In the morning, after showering and dressing, we met in the kitchen for coffee. As I served myself and avoided conversation, I worried that we’d gone too far. Finally, I spoke up. "Well, what do you think?"
"The question is, what are we going to do?" Diane asked, clearly upset and confused.
I stared into my coffee mug, searching for answers. "Nothing for right now."
"Really?" She sounded appalled.
"Let’s sit on this for awhile. Mull it over," I suggested.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
Under normal circumstances, Diane trusted my judgment. At this moment, I could tell she didn’t. I didn’t either.
"No, but it’s the best idea for now. He didn’t see us, so we keep our own counsel. Eventually, we’ll know what to do." I paused, watching the panic ease from her eyes. "You okay?" I felt guilty for dragging her into this mess.
"No, but I will be."
"Let’s look at the Emergency Card today. We’ll find out where Rosita works and the contact names for the kids."
"Sounds like a plan," Diane agreed.
∞ ∞ ∞
Emergency cards don’t contain a ton of information, but they often include the child’s name, parents’ names, address, place of employment, work hours, important phone numbers, and persons to notify if the authorities can’t reach the parent. It wasn’t a big deal for a teacher to pull an emergency card. Teachers did it all the time for any variety of reasons. I wandered into the office and took a few minutes to peruse Joey’s card. It listed his mom, but nothing for his dad. Not even a notation that he was deceased. Just a blank space, which struck me as a little odd considering how concerned Joey’s mom seemed to be about him.
His address and mom’s name checked out. It confirmed her employment by a neighboring school district, listing her work hours as out of the ordinary. Not the typical teacher schedule at all. She’d listed her occupation as an ESL teacher, which meant she taught English as a second language. The district she worked in consisted of a large population of Spanish speaking families. She wouldn’t need a college degree, especially if she taught Community Education classes which met in the evenings.
It made sense to leave the poor woman alone. I had no business getting involved in her life. I felt sorry for her, but also curious that so many things about her didn’t quite add up. Things were still off. Very off. Especially considering what Diane and I had witnessed the night before.
Uneasy thanks to our snooping, my anxiety spiked. I drove straight home after work. I needed to see my kids and my husband and feel some normalcy. Maybe I’d even try a new recipe and open a bottle of wine. Not like I needed any more wine. I still had a dull headache from the night before, then again, a little brain numbing never hurt. Yep, that would do it. I’d get the kids a snack, start dinner, and have a glass of wine. Maybe two.
∞ ∞ ∞
The phone rang a little after five.
"Hi, Honey, it’s me," Jon said, the hesitation in his voice one I had long ago become accustomed to.
"What’s up?" I tried not to sound too peeved.
"I’m going to be late. I’ve got a conference call at 6:00 p.m., but I shouldn’t be any longer than an hour or two."
Amazing how quick my mood could change from longing to miffed. Thank God, I knew how to manage everyone’s life.
"Okay, sweetie," I said in an attempt to mask my frustration.
"Thanks for holding down the fort," Jon said.
"Umm, hmm."
"Hey, I love you."
"I love you, too," I answered, mustering my loving nature.
I changed into sweats and headed to the kitchen. I pulled out pots and pans, thinking about pasta even though I’d had it the night before.
I interrupted cooking dinner long enough to give the kids a snack. Then, I sautéed garlic and onions, along with some fresh mushrooms, even though the kids would eat around them.
I let the sauce simmer for a while, cut up a fresh baguette, slathered it with my famous garlic butter, and poured myself a glass of Cabernet. The flavors of oak, cherry, and blackberry reminded me why I loved wine so much. I wrapped the garlic bread in foil, then assembled the fixings for salad. The mundane chopping soothed me. Smells of Italian spices filled the kitchen, the TV droned in the background, the kids got along, and life was good. The ordinary night helped to erase the visions of the long armed man and quiet my fears.
Jon arrived home close to 9:00 p.m. The dishes were done, homework and baths o
ut of the way, and the kids tucked into bed. I had nearly finished the bottle of wine. Lucky for Jon, I’d saved a small glass for him, and he happily sucked it down with a plate of food. We sat at the kitchen table together while he ate.
"Did you and Di have a good time last night?"
On the inside, I coughed and choked. On the outside, I took a steadying breath. "We really did. Thanks for covering here for me."
"Heck, you do it all the time for me. Happy to do it."
"Did everything go alright?" I asked.
"Pretty much. Nick got into trouble at school yesterday, but what else is new? I signed his discipline slip. Of course, he said the incident wasn’t his fault. Some kid brought a Playboy magazine to school and asked him to keep it for him. Word got out that he’d hid it in his locker and the principal, that Schneider guy, came down and asked him to hand it over. Nick did and explained the sequence of events to him, but Schneider didn’t believe him," Jon added.
"Playboy, huh? Funny, he didn’t mention anything about it this evening." I took a deep breath, exhaustion suddenly worming its way over me. "I’ll deal with him tomorrow. Kids. They’ll be the death of us someday. Do you think we’ll survive? Will they ever grow up?"
"I hope so," Jon said, gulping down the last of his wine. "So, what did you and Diane do last night?"
I double–clutched.
"We just hung out. Dinner, plenty of wine, lots of gossip." Jon wouldn’t approve of what we’d done.
"By the way, do you still have the photos of the Stitsill’s I showed you?" I asked as casually as possible.
"Somewhere. Why?"
"Just curious. I want to check them out again. When you have a chance, could you look for them?"
"Sure, honey." Jon kissed me on the forehead before he headed to the sink with his plate.
We finished up the dishes, tidied the family room, and climbed the stairs to the bedroom. The wine had relaxed us. Despite how early the alarm would blare the next morning, we indulged in some heavy–duty lovemaking.
Chapter Eight
I WAKENED NICK with little patience, waiting until he dragged himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom before I went down to the kitchen.
Identity Issues (The Samantha Series) Page 5