“Lucky for me,” Sam said, “my date’s going to be an all-conference MVP center. You can be my blocker, and I’ll be yours.”
It was the best Sam could do. She was clueless at sports metaphors, having risen to the rank of cheerleading captain in high school without figuring out the first thing about any of the sports she’d screamed her voice raw supporting—except for which of the boys were the cutest.
Kristen laughed, a soft, choppy thing that slowly turned into a tinkling melody. “Do you even know how to dribble a basketball?” she asked. “Let alone how to pick-and-roll and drive the lane for a layup?”
“Nope.” Sam laughed, too, enjoying the freedom of making a new friend, and feeling as if there were something, no matter how minor, she could do to help. “But I’ve got your back. Seriously. You stuck by my side at the bake sale. I’m there for you tonight.”
“You don’t have to do this.” Kristen was suddenly serious. “I appreciate the gesture. And I know how strong you are when you have to be. I’ll never forget the way you shoved me to the ground that morning in the cafeteria, when Troy shot at us. But coming tonight would be hell for you. And for what? I can’t allow you to do this, just to stand next to me while my career finishes imploding.”
“Allow me?”
Sam walked to the fridge, pulled out another beer, opened it and handed it over. She was either going to become a part of this community or she wasn’t. And suddenly, she couldn’t stomach the thought of hiding away for another night from what her town was going through. As a Chandlerville citizen and a Chandler Elementary parent, Sam could either help keep this remarkable woman as their assistant principal, or she’d lose touch with every speck of the educator she herself had once been.
“Just try to stop me,” she said. “I’m your designated driver tonight, Ms. Hemmings. You said I’d inspired you to become a teacher. I can’t think of a nicer compliment. Now, go make me proud. I’m behind you all the way.”
Kristen drank as if Sam had challenged her to chug it. She slammed the empty bottle onto the countertop.
“Let’s do it then,” she said.
Sam grabbed her purse on the way to the front of the condo and fished out her keys.
“Wait,” Kristen said. “When you got here, you said you needed my help with something.”
God.
Sam had completely forgotten.
“A teaching job,” she said, “and it’s going to take someone on the inside to help me make it work this late in the school year.”
“A job? For someone you know?”
“For me.”
“For you.” Both of Kristen’s eyebrows rose again.
“It’s complicated.” It was probably a mistake, because what if Sam couldn’t follow through with it once she got started? Only it felt like the right solution for all of them—her family and the Turners. “We’ll talk about it on the drive over.”
Kristen could remember attending a three-ring circus as a child. She’d loved the circus. What wasn’t fun about the music and the mayhem and the clowns and the majestic animals showing off as their trainers put them through their paces?
The one thing about the experience she’d never taken to, though, was the tightrope act. And as she and Sam walked into the city hall auditorium where the school board meetings were held, she suddenly remembered why. Even though there might be a net stretched way below the performers to catch them in case they missed a step, the fall still looked deadly. It had to. That was part of the show. But even as a child, Kristen had known she’d hate the sensation of falling. And she had, her entire life since.
Even though she owned her condo outright, and she had money in savings, and she had her stellar reputation up to this point to fall back on if her contract at Chandler wasn’t renewed, the thought of not being able to remain an assistant principal in this special community was making her head swim as if she were free-falling. It had taken forever to move through the chaos outside—news trucks and reporters were everywhere, most of them recognizing her and asking for a sound bite that she’d refused to give them.
Sam, true to her word, had done her best to shield Kristen from the worst of it, putting herself between the cameras and Kristen like a seasoned blocker, and refusing to do on-camera interviews as well.
Still, Kristen’s legs were shaking by the time they’d pushed their way inside the building and then had navigated the lobby to reach the largest of the auditoriums. She couldn’t catch her breath. She’d broken out in a flop sweat, and it was quite possible she needed to switch the silk blouse she wore beneath her suit for something that wasn’t soaked and sticking to her skin in several places.
“Remind me to tell you later,” she whispered to Sam, “just how bad an idea that second beer was.”
“You’re doing fine,” her cheering section of one replied.
“The meeting hasn’t started yet, and it already feels like a disaster. I’m a disaster.”
“But you look great,” said the woman who was so wound up by the crowds, she looked like she might barf at any moment. “Calm. In charge. Ready to discuss things intelligently and rationally. Not the least bit concerned that tonight’s decision won’t be made in your favor.”
They found two seats together in the very front row, and made themselves comfortable a few feet away from the raised dais and tables where the board would sit. Well, Kristen made herself comfortable. Sam more melted into her chair, almost as if she’d feel better if she could simply puddle beneath it, where she wouldn’t have to deal with anyone else but Kristen.
“So this would be a bad time to mention that I have a minor problem with stage fright?” Kristen asked, trying to keep things light. She was grateful to the other woman for making such a huge effort on her behalf, but she was worried about Sam as well.
“I’m sure you’ll do great.” Sam gestured at the quickly filling room around them. “You’ll have them eating out of your hands. Everything’s great.”
“I’m sure you’re full of crap.”
She hadn’t been expected to speak at the other meetings. Roy Griffin, Chandler’s principal, had been up to bat then. Of course, he hadn’t wasted any time before labeling Kristen as the broken link in his chain of command—the reason he’d never been informed about any instances of bullying involving Bubba and Troy, or Bubba and any other child in the school. Kristen, he’d explained, the AP responsible for student discipline and staff training, should have had her finger on the problem and notified her boss of any impending issue that needed to be dealt with. The net had also been cast over the boy’s teachers. Roy officially held them all responsible for not being able to read the minds of their students, in order to isolate and prevent every potential problem before it occurred.
Nate’s parents were looking for a scapegoat, and thanks to Roy, tonight everyone was looking Kristen’s way. When she was called to respond to his testimony, Kristen knew only one thing for certain: she wasn’t going to do to her staff what Roy had done to her. She’d take the fall completely on her own, just like the acrobat walking solo on the circus tightrope, before she’d take anyone else down with her.
“You can handle the pressure,” Sam insisted. She pulled a box of Tic Tacs from her bag, shook out a colorful handful, and passed half of them over. Her hands were trembling. The tiny woman’s entire body was, despite her fierce expression. “You scored thirty points in the conference championship your freshman year at Duke. I know. My husband wouldn’t stop singing your praises, once he Googled your college stats. Don’t tell me a pipsqueak like Roy Griffin has you shaking in your designer shoes.”
Kristen looked down at her Prada loafers and smirked.
Leave it to Sam Perry—a woman who should be lining up, too, to blame Kristen for what happened to her and her child—to have noticed the upscale brand Kristen was wearing, but not to have mentioned it before now.
“I can’t wear heels to work. I’d scare the staff and students even more than I already do. So if I h
ave to wear flats, I’m going to treat myself to the nicest, most comfortable and stylish ones I can find.”
In a perfect world, maybe she and her new friend would have gone shoe shopping together one day. But Kristen was about to become prime-time news roadkill. And Sam was the local poster child for PTSD. Nothing about their world was perfect.
“That might be the most impressive rationalization for a fashion addiction that I’ve ever heard,” said her pint-size bodyguard.
“My turnaround jump shot from the top of the key is impressive,” Kristen said, relaxing and even enjoying herself a little. “Do you think that or my overpriced shoes will win over the board enough for them not to knock me around for failing to protect Chandler’s children?”
“Remind them that none of us are guaranteed complete protection in this world,” a familiar, deep voice said from behind them. Brian Perry finished walking down the aisle until he’d reached their row. “That’s something my wife and I learned the hard way in New York. We’d hoped to God never to find ourselves in another unthinkable situation like that. But here we are.”
“What…” Sam looked ready to launch herself into her husband’s arms, or hide from him. It was hard for Kristen to tell which. “What are you doing here? Where are the boys?”
“Mallory’s,” Brian said. “She’s watching them and Polly at her place. Pete wanted to come, and he’s been hounding me for weeks to make one of these things.”
“But, Cade…” Sam glanced around at the crowd. She lowered her voice. “He was so upset.”
“He’s fine. When I told him about tonight, he said he wanted me to be here. He’s worried about Ms. Hemmings. The kids have all heard what’s going down with the school board. I’m guessing he’s thinking this is his doing, too.”
“What?” If Kristen could have put her hands around Roy Griffin’s neck at that moment, she’d have gladly squeezed until the little man squeaked like the rat he was. “This is about workplace politics, and my boss covering his ass at the expense of the school and the community. I don’t understand what good either of you think you can do for me, not that I don’t appreciate the thought. You should be home with your son.”
“I understand.” Cade’s father knelt in front of them, close enough to his wife to lay a comforting hand on Sam’s knee. “I’m not sure what good I’ll be able to do, either. But I was talking with my wife and son earlier this afternoon, about listening and being there for people when they need you most, however they need you most, whether or not they think they want your help. Staying disconnected from what’s happening in our community all this time has been tantamount to siding with the Turners’ out-of-control anger. And I couldn’t let that slide for another one of these meetings.”
“That must have been one hell of a talk,” Kristen said.
After her conversation with Sam at her condo, and then the mind-bending proposition the other woman had made on the ride over, and now Brian’s sudden appearance at city hall, Kristen was dying to know what had gone down at the Perry house that afternoon.
“Most talks with my wife are,” Brian said. “Once I smarten up and start listening. Keep an eye on her. She can flip your world on its ear and show you things you’ve never seen before. I haven’t decided yet if that’s a bonus or a curse, and we’ve been married for fifteen years. But as long as she’s around, you’ll never be bored.”
He winked at his wife, the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth melting into a smile. Sam looked away, but not before Kristen caught the blush warming her cheeks. These two had been quietly separated since the shooting. But maybe, just maybe, the most remarkable parents Kristen had had the privilege of knowing were slowly finding their way back to each other.
Brian rose and shook Kristen’s hand. “It’s standing room only in here, but I’ll be cheering you on from the back. I assure you I won’t be the only one. Knock ’em dead.”
He bent and gave his wife’s mouth a soft kiss. Sam’s lips followed his as he drew away. His hand brushed the side of her face before he left, the sweet gesture making Kristen smile.
It was the little triumphs that got her through most days now. And the sight of Sam staring after her husband was maybe enough to get Kristen through the rest of the night.
The door at the front of the auditorium opened and the school board members filed in. They took their seats, and the audience settled, too. Ambient chatter softened to whispers and then silence, until there was nothing left to be heard except the swishing of bodies in uncomfortable seats. The district superintendent pounded his gavel.
“I’m calling this meeting to order,” Mike Johnson said. “For the record, let me say that holding this additional fact-finding session was voted on at last Monday’s ad hoc board meeting, to address matters that arose from Chandler Elementary principal Roy Griffin’s report on the shooting incident that occurred in January. It was decided at that time that no press would be allowed inside the auditorium during tonight’s proceedings, to protect the privacy of the families and witnesses we expected to be present, and to hopefully speed up the process. Everyone’s had their chance to speak their minds. But playing for the cameras and the press, going on and on about the same grievances, isn’t getting us anywhere. It’s time to settle some of the issues at hand, so our community and representatives can move on to implementing whatever plan is agreed upon. Now, before we begin with the agenda of interviews and discussion, I’m going to ask our secretary to read last week’s meeting minutes back for the room.”
Control of the microphone transferred to the secretary, and while the woman whom Kristen had never met droned on, she leaned over to whisper into Sam’s ear, “Let the circus begin…”
Chapter Thirteen
“They’re crucifying her,” Pete said from where he stood next to Brian, both of them leaning against the packed auditorium’s back wall.
“She’s holding her own,” Brian insisted, even though Kristen’s interrogation by every member of the board, with the exception of Julia Davis, who hadn’t yet chimed in, had dragged on for over half an hour.
“She’ll be lucky if she gets out of this with her job.”
“There wasn’t a damn thing she could have done to prevent what happened. My son is one of the kids who was almost killed. If I don’t blame the woman, what are most of the rest of these people doing here?”
Pete kept eying the restless crowd, the same as Brian, his expression growing grimmer and grimmer as people sat closer to the edges of their seats, mesmerized by the farce the school board was putting on. “Fact-finding session, my ass.”
“What the hell is Sam doing down there, right in the middle of all of this?”
Brian had been shocked to see her sitting beside Kristen, changed out of the baggy sweats she’d worn to school and into jeans and the soft pink sweater he’d picked out for her a few years back. He’d been shocked. And he’d been proud. He’d wanted to call for the room’s attention and tell them what a remarkable effort it had taken for Sam to make an appearance somewhere this loud and crowded and rife with conflict.
“She’s doing the same thing you are, I guess,” Pete answered. “What she thinks is right.”
“Yeah.”
Sam always did what she thought was right, no matter how hard it might be for her or everyone else. Supporting Kristen, talking Nate out of his dark place, walking with Brian down the block and then back to their house to confront their son after walking out on Brian at the school, saying they were never going to be the parents they should have been until he woke up and began to deal with their problems. All of it had exhausted Sam and rattled her even more, but she’d done the right thing, each and every time.
She was his hero.
He’d come tonight without telling her about it—not entirely certain whether he’d stay. But as soon as he’d seen Sam, he’d known this was exactly where he needed to be, for as long as she was there.
“You gonna just let her sit down there all by herself?” Pet
e nodded toward the seat the AP had vacated when she’d walked to the small podium that had been positioned in front of the board, complete with its own microphone so the rest of the auditorium could hear what guest speakers said. “The school board’s grilling Kristen like she’s tonight’s supper. Are you gonna let Sam sit there in the middle of it, with no one to lean on if she needs someone?”
“No.” Brian was already moving. “I’m not.”
There were so many people standing around the edges of the auditorium, the only easy way to reach Sam’s side was down the center aisle. Walking toward her, feeling every eye in the place shifting from Kristen to him, he forced himself to focus on whatever Mike Johnson was saying next.
“Ms. Hemmings,” the superintendent said. “I don’t see how you can stand there with a straight face and deny any knowledge that a volatile child like Troy Wilmington was an emotional time bomb, ticking away in your school, just waiting to explode.”
“Volatile?” Brian said, realizing too late that he’d spoken the word out loud.
He’d reached the front of the aisle, where he was now standing beside Chandler’s assistant principal instead of quietly joining his wife. The day’s frustrations and anger and fear rushed through him, the aggression he’d tamped down zeroing in on the latest ridiculous comment coming out of Mike’s ignorant mouth.
“Mr. Perry, you’re out of order.” The superintendent pointed his finger at Brian.
“And you’re out of your minds.” Brian scanned the honorable school board representatives for the town of Chandlerville.
Six of his neighbors were sitting solemnly at the long table at the front of the room. Each of them was mute now as Mike interrogated Chandler Elementary’s assistant principal. As if keeping quiet could distance them from their culpability in allowing this farce to continue.
Brian’s gaze finally landed on Julia Davis, who occupied the chair at the end of the table closest to Sam.
“All of you are out of your minds,” he said to her and the rest of them, “if you think anyone could have seen this coming. Troy Wilmington is a mixed-up kid who was being bullied by another mixed-up kid, the way mixed-up kids have been going at each other from the dawn of time. No, we don’t want that sort of thing going on in our school.” The audience began murmuring, countless conversations starting. “Yes, the administration should do everything they can to stop it, as I’ve been assured they already are. But no one, not even coaches like me and Walter Davis, had any idea what was going on inside Troy’s mind or his home or his relationships with other kids. He was the least volatile boy I know, which is more than I could have said for Bubba Dickerson. How could Ms. Hemmings or her staff have known that it was the shy, quiet student who’d become a threat?”
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