With the breakfast, it was more food than he was used to eating in a day. “Thanks.”
“What time does your bus get here?”
“Seven forty-five. Do you think Gram’s okay, that she had a good night?”
“I’m sure she’s fine. Quentin would’ve alerted us if there’d been a problem.” Sydney sat down across from him at the table. “I know it’s hard right now, but try to keep your mind from worrying too much about your grandmother every ten minutes. Go off to school knowing that she’s in good hands. We’ll take care of her while you focus on your schoolwork and any other extracurricular activities you’re involved in. Try not to change your schedule too much.”
“There’s nothing.”
She patted his hand. “Maybe you should change that and think about joining…a club…keep your mind on something you like to do. You know, like singing, meeting up to talk about history, or reading books. You could get together with other students who like to play games.”
“I don’t have any friends, okay? So, stop trying to push me into doing stuff. I like it just the way it is. I don’t bother anyone and keep to myself. It’s better that way. Besides, it’s too late in the school year to join any clubs.”
“Are you sure? It’s only November.”
“Yep. All that enrollment stuff was back in September. Now it’s too late.” In a hurry to get out of there, he picked up his backpack and grabbed the lunch she’d made off the counter.
When he saw her clipping the leash to the canine’s collar, he stopped. “What are you doing?”
“Jimmy Chew and I are walking you to the bus stop.” Sydney arched a brow in defiance. “Problem?”
“No. I guess not. I’m not used to it is all.”
She headed out the door behind him and heard him mutter something under his breath. “What did you say?”
Beckham didn’t try to dodge. “I’m not ten. I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve been doing this by myself for years now.”
“Good for you. But the dog needs to go out anyway,” Sydney said to downplay the gesture. “And I have to get to work. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on embarrassing you by running after the bus or anything like that.”
“I’d like to see you try to run.”
Sydney saw the humor on Beckham’s face. “I run. I hike. What do you do?”
Jimmy Chew pranced in between them like a referee, eager to follow the boy down the sidewalk.
At the corner a big yellow school bus pulled up and came to a stop. “Apparently, I’m destined to go waste my day away at school. See you later. Thanks for the pancakes. And the lunch,” he said as he held up his sack and disappeared up the steps.
Jimmy Chew whined after him and looked up at her with sad brown eyes.
“I know, I know,” she said aloud to the dog. “That boy tugs at my heartstrings.”
For some reason that made her want to burst into tears. The idea of sending Beckham out into the world to get bullied at will seemed…wrong.
As the bus pulled away from the curb the boy waved to her from the rear window. One thought popped into her head. What would become of him when Charlotte…?
She stopped herself from going there. What had she just told Beckham? She glanced down at the dog. “Positive vibes, Jimmy Chew. Positive vibes.”
At the clinic, Quentin made his patient as comfortable as he could. He’d checked on her throughout the night, keeping track of her vitals, changing out the IV, making sure Charlotte wasn’t in pain, and feeding her ice chips along the way.
“I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” Charlotte said.
“You aren’t at all. The chemo is causing the dry mouth. You’ll feel lousy for the next few days, but then you should be able to go back home.”
“Really?”
“I don’t see why not. Would you like to listen to some music in here? I don’t have a TV.”
“I love music. Is that allowed?”
“We aren’t that formal around here. What type music do you prefer?”
“I remember the music from the 1950s. It was glorious. Maybe I think of it that way because I came of age back then. I used to love to dance. There was always some new musician on the scene playing the latest tunes from Buddy Holly or Chuck Berry or Fats Domino. And then there was Elvis. Could that man sing or what?”
Quentin saw the woman’s eyes light up for the first time in two days. He took out his iPad, plugged it into an outlet near her bed and turned the volume to a soft hum. He found a golden oldies station she seemed to like. “You let me know if you get tired of listening to it.”
“I’ll never tire of hearing Bobby Darin or Sam Cooke.”
Quentin smiled and patted her hand. “No Tab Hunter or Pat Boone for you, huh?”
“They were okay. But my heart was really into the soul sound and slow dancing. That’s how I met my husband, Jolly. He played the piano at this little dive down in San Diego. You know that’s where I’m from originally.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“We used to hang out in the Gaslight District.”
Quentin listened as she talked about that time in her life until he heard the front door open. “I’ll be right back.”
Sydney walked into the office with the dog in tow. “How’d it go last night?”
“I fielded a few calls that came in, some of which were obvious in their curiosity about me. Some were testing my acumen. I thought I’d check out the names they gave me by looking them up to see if they were real or made up.”
“Easy enough to find out. Their records are in the database I created.”
“You’ll have to show me how that works. I didn’t know your password or how to access whatever it is you have stored online. That’s why for now, I used the hard copy files so I’d be ready for when they came in.”
“Doing your homework? I like it. Did Charlotte have a good night?”
“She did, although she threw up a little toward morning. Dry heaves. Will the dog be okay here?”
“He better be. Right, Jimmy Chew. You’re going to behave yourself today, right?”
“How was Beckham?” Quentin wanted to know.
“Terrific. He’s a good kid. It breaks my heart that a kid like that has zero friends. We need to talk about that.”
“Okay. Let me run home and grab a shower first, change my clothes before patients start showing up. How about you and me? After last night…are we okay?”
She ran a finger up his chest. “More than. Hurry back. We have a lot to talk about.”
The morning went fast with a steady stream of patients coming in, along with a number of well-wishers, people who just wanted to stop by and say hi.
When the lab reports came back on Eli Cody, Sydney went running into his office. “You were right all along. Everything came back normal. Should I call and let them know?”
“I’ll walk over there during lunch, tell them face to face. That way I can check on River and see for myself how she’s doing.”
“Good call. Belle sent over pork chops.”
Quentin shook his head. “I’ll need to start jogging three times a week with all the food around here. I’ll eat later after I talk to the Codys.”
“I told you the screenings would come back normal,” Quentin said, assuring River and Brent that Eli was as healthy as he’d claimed. “If you’re still concerned after two weeks you can bring him in and I’ll run the tests again.”
“You’d do that?” River asked, wiping away a few tears that had trickled down her face.
“To give you two peace of mind, absolutely.”
River grabbed Brent’s hand. “I don’t know what’s come over me. You both kept telling me he checked out fine and I wouldn’t listen. I was so worried and weepy.”
“How do you feel about things now? That’s what’s important.”
“I’m relieved. I’m ecstatic. I’m…embarrassed that I doubted you.”
“Don’t be. I just want to make sure that you’re o
kay. You need to let me know if this feeling comes over you again.”
“I still feel kind of emotional.”
“That’s normal. But if you sense that your feelings are becoming stronger or different or you’re concerned about anything at all that’s out of whack, contact the office.”
“Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it.”
Brent walked Quentin outside. “I’m so glad the tests said Eli was okay. River’s been driving me nuts for the past two days.”
“And do you think she’ll be able to put this needless worry aside now?”
“I hope so.”
Quentin slapped Brent on the back. “Let me know at the first signs she’s having problems again.”
Thirteen
After lunch, Beckham found solace in his favorite room in the building—the small janitor’s closet near the gym. The room had an old rusty sink in the corner and tons of cleaning supplies that made it smell like furniture polish and lemon wax. It also had a lock on the door that bolted from the inside. Beckham slid the metal into the barrel.
With his belly still full from all the food Sydney had packed, he settled back in the six by nine foot space and got out his science book.
He’d told Quentin he didn’t like school or reading very much. But that wasn’t true. He did enjoy certain classes, mainly science. He liked the part about inventing things and learning how stuff worked. He enjoyed taking things apart, tinkering with them, and putting them back together just to see if he could. He’d found a ton of discarded junk in the trash that people had thrown away, such as appliances, and managed to get them to work again, like the toaster at home and a music box he’d repaired for his grandmother. After getting it to work and opening the lid, Gram had declared that it played something called the Blue Danube Waltz.
This little room was where he came to do his homework most days or eat his lunch, depending on the atmosphere in the cafeteria. Here he could get away from the noise and concentrate. He opened his book to the assigned chapters and began to read.
Peace didn’t last for long though. Beckham heard someone banging on the door.
“Get out here, Dowling!” Kyle Hargraves shouted. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll open up this door.”
Knowing Kyle outweighed him by a good forty pounds, Beckham stayed put. He’d never won a single battle against Kyle, not in the entire time he’d been in middle school.
“I know you’ve gotta be the biggest chicken not to come out and face me. But you’re only prolonging the beating I’ll give you later,” Kyle shouted. “Now open the door!”
Beckham didn’t take the bait. If he could wait until the bell rang he knew Kyle would eventually have to leave to head to his fifth period class. It meant he might be tardy for his English class, but then Mrs. Fuller knew why he was often late and usually didn’t send him to Mr. Pierce’s office for a detention slip.
His plan from there would be to get into his sixth period math class without being noticed, and then afterward rush to the bus, take a seat directly behind the driver and hope for the best.
When the last bell rang, Beckham didn’t even stop to go to his locker. He made his mad dash to the bus, running out the side door as fast as he could. He darted around a corner, his backpack heavy on his shoulders. He had the school bus within his sights when he felt his legs go out from underneath him. He went sprawling, face first, onto the ground. He felt a weight come down on his back. Hard. His satchel was ripped from his body.
Kyle shoved Beckham’s face against the grass and dirt and whispered in his ear, “I told you I’d get you.”
Kyle’s close-knit group of friends formed a circle around Beckham so others couldn’t tell what was happening. While Beckham did his best to struggle, the other boys cheered Kyle on. Kyle’s fists pounded ribs and anything else he could reach.
Beckham felt like his neck was on fire as Kyle’s nails dug into flesh. His ear hurt as his head pounded the turf again and again. The blows kept coming until someone finally yelled, “Mr. Pierce is headed this way. Let’s go.”
And just like that, the bullies scattered. Beckham picked himself up and snatched up his backpack. His feet couldn’t move fast enough as he hurried to the safety of the bus.
It wasn’t until he found a seat that he noticed the blood trickling from his ear. His scratches burned like his skin was on fire. But his head felt the worst of anything. It throbbed from the repeated contact with the ground. He’d have to clean himself up before going to the clinic to see his gram. He didn’t want her seeing him this way.
But he hadn’t counted on Sydney meeting the school bus. He spotted her standing at the same corner where he’d left her that morning…waiting…with Jimmy Chew. Dread washed over him. He didn’t want her to see him like this. But there was no way out.
Sydney took one look at the boy and knew what had happened. Her eyes locked in on his forehead where one massive purple bruise had already formed. His shirt and jeans were torn. He had scratches all over his neck and face. Tufts of hair had been ripped out of his scalp and now clung to his filthy shirt. “Who did this to you?”
Beckham lifted a sore shoulder. “It’s always Kyle. There’s nothing you can do about it so....”
“Don’t bet on that. Let’s get you over to the clinic and let Quentin take a look at those red marks. Your ear’s bleeding.”
“I know. But it’s my head that hurts the worst.”
“Of course it does. Why wouldn’t it hurt after being beaten to a pulp.”
Sydney fumed all the way to the clinic. But getting angry wasn’t enough. She vowed to put a stop to this kind of terror.
When the two opened the door, Quentin was in the middle of escorting Marabelle Crawford in to get her flu shot. But he stopped as soon as he saw Beckham’s face. “What the hell happened? Did you fall?”
Sydney didn’t give Beckham a chance to answer. “No. That despicable Kyle person did this to him. If I have anything to do with it, this is gonna stop, here, now, today.” She turned back to the door.
“Sydney, don’t go off…” Quentin began.
She whirled back around. “Don’t you dare tell me to stay put, Quentin Blackwood! I’m pissed. Look at what that bully did to his face!”
“I see that, but let’s check him over first and see what the situation is before you go storming the bastille.” He took Beckham’s chin in his hand, studied his eyes. “You have a headache.” It wasn’t a question.
“It hurts so bad I think I might be sick.”
“Sydney, will you give Mrs. Crawford her flu shot?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Then you take care of that while I take Beckham in here and see what’s what.”
Beckham stepped up on the exam table a little dizzy and wobbling.
“Tell me what happened.”
Beckham repeated the incident while Quentin carried out his assessment. He shined a light in the boy’s pupils, checked his neck, moving it left and right. “Does that hurt?”
“Some.”
He looked in the teen’s ear and was startled to find the eardrum had been ruptured. “Do you remember if Kyle poked anything in your ear?”
“How would I know? I was too busy trying to get him off me. I guess that’s why my ear’s bleeding.”
“This Kyle perforated the covering over your eardrum.”
“I can still hear though.”
Quentin went out to the medicine cabinet and came back with ear drops. “We’ll try this. It should help the healing process. And in a few weeks we’ll get you a hearing test to see if you’re at a hundred per cent again.”
Sydney came into the room still furious. “Well? How is he?”
“That kid managed to rupture his eardrum and dished out a concussion, not to mention the horrific marks he left behind on his neck. Beckham will likely have trouble moving his head due to soreness for at least a couple days.”
She held up a hand. “I’ve heard enough. You’ll have to hold th
e fort down here while I go deal with this.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Are you both really going to the school?” Beckham piped up, surprised to see them rally behind him.
“No, Quentin’s staying here,” Sydney snapped. “Someone has to stay behind to keep an eye on Charlotte. That’s you, Dr. Blackwood. I’m going so there’s no point in trying to stop me.” She took out her camera phone and started snapping photos of Beckham’s face and head.
“I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you,” Quentin quipped. “You’ve built up a head of steam. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of all that…momentum.”
“Good. Because I’ve already taken the time to look up Mrs. Hargraves and find out where she lives. But I have a stop to make first. I don’t intend to go into the enemy camp without ammunition.”
Julianne McLachlan was more than willing to go along on Sydney’s crusade. “During all my years teaching, the one thing that bothered me more than anything else, is children having to deal with bullies on a regular basis. It breaks my heart to see some of these kids so distraught they don’t want to live. Any principal who stands by and lets this kind of thing happen on her turf is irresponsible.”
“Especially when it’s her own son doing the terrorizing.”
“That only makes the situation more compelling for me. I know Lisa Hargraves and I never thought she could do that. I want to see her face when we confront her.”
Sydney pulled up into the driveway of an English Tudor house and cut the engine. The women went up to the door and rang the bell.
A stylish brown-haired woman with a short fluffy hairstyle and glasses greeted them. “Julianne? What on earth are you doing here?”
“May we come in? It’s about Kyle.”
“Kyle’s at home.”
“Good,” Sydney snarled. “He probably shouldn’t be allowed to leave the house any time soon.”
“What’s this about?” Lisa insisted as she held the door wider for them to enter.
Sandcastles Under the Christmas Moon Page 16