by Lisa Wingate
Mr. Verhaden drew back defensively. “I help the ones I can. You see enough kids with enough problems, after a while you realize you have to focus your energies where you can do some good.”
“Oh, come on—what happened to ‘save the whales, save the rain forest, feed the starving kids in Africa’?” Did he even remember who he used to be, or had this place lobotomized him to the point that the spark was completely gone? “Come on, Verhaden, you were the biggest dreamer of all. What happened?”
Shaking his head, he looked away. “I realized that you can’t solve anything by getting yourself fired from your job. It may feel good, but it’s just a grandstand. It’s useless. In the end, you have to work within the existing parameters to make a difference.” His sincere conviction shifted the ground under my feet. Perhaps I was making the wrong choice. Maybe I was acting out of pride and stubbornness rather than logic. There was still time to reverse my position—ask to speak to the executive session, tell them this was all a mistake, I wanted to keep my job, and I’d seen the light. Except that there was no light. “You can’t make a difference working within these parameters—not the way things are now.” At the front of the room, the door opened and board members filed to their places at the table. Verhaden went back to his seat, and I turned around in mine. Nearby, Keiler was talking to Karen and James, who had moved into the row behind us. Karen gave me the high sign, a hopeful show of support. I wondered if she thought I should do whatever it took to keep my job, so I could be there for Dell.
Scanning past her and upward, I took in the faces in the room—teachers and parents, most of whom were probably unaware of the issue being discussed in executive session. To them, this was just another board meeting—a time to talk about field trips, budget issues, repaving sidewalks, and textbook adoptions for next year. In the corner, Mrs. Morris sat perched with the librarian, the two of them surveying the crowd like a couple of vultures ready to devour the weak and the wounded. Morris tapped the woman in front of her, an expensive-looking blonde with sunglasses on her head, and motioned that the board was ready to begin. I watched the blonde a moment longer, trying to decide if she could be Cameron’s mother. Hard to say. I’d never met Cameron’s parents one on one. I knew his father by sight only because he was on the school board. That seemed incredibly wrong, considering where we were now. I should have done something differently, handled things in a better way.
I watched as Cameron’s father took his seat behind the board table, calmly separating various papers into tidy stacks. Just before the board president called the meeting back to order, a group of faculty members slipped in the side door and took their seats in a reserved section near the board table. Mr. Stafford was among them, dressed in a freshly pressed suit, carrying an armload of files, and carefully ignoring my presence.
The meeting resumed with no indication of what had been discussed in executive session, and moved quickly through the consent agenda. The board members looked tense and uncomfortable as the routine business came to an end and the public forum loomed ahead. No doubt, they had seen my name on the agenda.
Stafford cast a hooded glance my way, probably hoping some catastrophic act of nature would make me disappear. My pulse accelerated as the board president concluded the consent items and took his time filling his water glass from a pitcher, then pointing out that the forum was, of course, open to anyone who wished to address the board and had signed up on the list, but we should be aware that each person’s time was limited to four minutes, and the board would not be expected to respond—merely to listen and take notes. Any items requiring action would be put on the board agenda in the future… .
Tuning out momentarily, I tried to recall my speech and came up blank. Bett and I had practiced it a dozen times in the car. Now I couldn’t think of a single word. I glanced over at Bett, who was rubbing her forehead with her thumb and forefinger.
“He’s giving me a headache,” she whispered, then secretly made a fist in her lap. The meaning—knock ’em dead.
“You don’t have to stay,” I said quietly.
Bett responded with an offended chin bobble. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this. If you need muscle, I’m here.”
I smiled into the eyes of my sweet, tough, steadfast little sister. “Thanks, Bett.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and I felt a rush of sympathy for her. She’d been on the run all day with wedding plans, and moving preparations, and solving unexpected problems at her former job. She looked dead on her feet, yet here she was when I needed her. “I’m sorry it’s taking so long.”
The meeting had already dragged on for over ninety minutes, and the Hatfield row was starting to look weary. Beside Bethany, Jason was covertly tapping something into his Palm Pilot, hidden behind his knee. My father, next to him, was staring blankly at the wall over the school board president’s head, and my mother was scanning the board table with narrowed eyes, daring any of them to say one unkind word about her daughter. Keiler had given his seat to an elderly woman who arrived late, and he was standing against the wall with his arms crossed. Unfolding one hand, he gave me the thumbs up as the board president reluctantly opened the public forum. With a last admonition that each of us would be timed and asked to step down at the end of four minutes, he read my name from his agenda, and glanced at his watch.
Bett squeezed my arm, her fingers trembling against my skin. It was hard to say which of us was more nervous. Standing up, I gazed down the row at my family, my supporters, my compass pointing true north. Their faces held not the slightest measure of doubt that I could, and would, do what needed to be done. I felt not like one person, but five—an emissary with a tiny but steadfast army behind me. If I’d ever been ungrateful for my family before, I was now fully attuned to how lucky I was to have them.
My heels clicked against the tile floor as I walked to the podium in what seemed like an impossible silence. I didn’t know if the rustle of bodies and the hum of voices had stopped, or if I had merely ceased to hear everything but my own thoughts and the rapid drumbeat of blood in my ears.
Gripping the podium, I stared down at the wood, gathering my thoughts. An eternity seemed to pass, and for a moment, I thought surely the board president would say my four minutes were up.
Somewhere behind me, a man cleared his throat, and I jerked at the sound.
What had I planned to say? How did the speech begin? What were the words?
Chair legs screeched against the floor, and my mind whirled into action. I looked at the board president, who was sitting with his hands folded in his lap, watching me with detachment.
“I’ll make this brief.” My voice was raspy, and I paused to cough into my hand, then began again. “Excuse me. I’ll make this brief, as I know the board has a full agenda tonight.” Nearby, Stafford was hunched over his notepad as if he’d rather be anywhere than here. “Because there is some doubt as to whether I will be returning to Harrington’s middle school as guidance counselor, I would like to begin by telling the parents here tonight that it has been a pleasure, even for this short time, to have returned to Harrington and worked with so many extraordinary and talented kids. They show the fruits of not only inborn talent, but also the many years of encouragement, chauffeur service, lessons, belief, and love their parents have provided. I’ve tried to be equally willing to invest in our students—not just the chosen few, but all of them.
“It is my concern for the kids that has prompted me to speak here tonight. These kids, these bright, talented kids, deserve a school that looks not only to their performance skills and their academics, but also to their physical and emotional health as they grow into adults. They deserve a school that communicates honestly with parents, that does not and will not sweep problems under the rug in order to keep things smooth on the surface. They deserve an educational environment that, in particular, is free of drugs and substance abuse, or as close to that goal as is humanly possible. I don’t believe they have that.” A murmur went around the room,
and the school board president sat back in his chair, eyes wide. Stafford’s face was flame red. He seemed ready to explode out of his seat.
“I know it is difficult to hear, more so because on the surface, our school appears to be a golden example of the magnet concept—exceptional kids given the opportunity to pursue their gifts.” I raised my voice as the murmur grew louder. “It is hard to imagine these bright, talented kids throwing away that opportunity, picking up a fix on the way to school so that they can get through the day, or partying in the parking lot before classes begin. It seems a picture far too ugly for a place like Harrington. But to understand it you have only to consider the kind of pressure these children are dealing with. Not only do they confront all the normal teenage issues, but they have the lure of stardom, the threat of failure, the expectations of parents, teachers. They’re looking for an escape from the load, a means of fitting in with their peers, a sense of identity, a way to blow off steam, a thrill—you name it. You can fill in the blank with the reasons, but the fact is that just blocks away, the taco stands sell drugs—most likely everything from marijuana, to controlled substance inhalants, to methamphetamine. The kids know it, the police know it, the Harrington administration knows it, and in my opinion, few effective measures are being taken to prevent it from overpowering our school. We’re turning our heads when we should be fighting back.”
In his seat behind the board table, Mr. Ansler glared at me, then checked his watch. Three chairs down, the school board president did the same, then continued monitoring the passing seconds. My time was nearly up, and it couldn’t be too soon for them.
“Please,” I said, scanning the board members like opponents in a bad game of poker, “something needs to be done. We’re on a collision course with reality. The only question is whether it happens now, or whether we wait until we’re attending the funeral of one of these exceptional kids. In my opinion, that’s where we’re headed. I won’t sit back and quietly watch it happen, and if that costs me my job, then it’s a price I’m willing to pay.” I didn’t wait for the school board president to tell me my four minutes were over. There was nothing left to say, except, “Thank you for listening. Please do what is best for our kids.”
When I turned around, Bett was walking toward the door, with Jason and my father holding her elbows. My mother was halfway out of her seat, gathering their things.I met Mom at the aisle as Bett left the room. “What’s going on?” I was vaguely aware of chaos escalating around us and the board president rapping his hammer, trying to bring the meeting back to order.
“Bett’s having a few cramps.” Mom’s expression was dark with concern. “It’s probably just the stuffiness in here. We’re going to go on and run by the doctor’s, and we’ll see you at home.” Laying a hand on my arm, she paused to smile into my eyes. “I’m so proud of you, honey. Don’t let them bully you.” Her hand fell away, and she started after my sister.
In the back row, a woman stood up and shouted something about having taken her son to drug rehab and the school acting like he was a leper when he came back.
I was aware of glances shooting my way as I hurried after my mother, catching her at the door. “The doctor? Mom, it’s after eight o’clock on a Monday night. Do you mean the emergency room? Are you taking Bett to the emergency room?”
The two of us slipped into the relative quiet of the corridor. Mom sucked air through clenched teeth, glancing toward the crack in the door, then down the hallway toward the women’s restroom. My father was pacing a circle under the sign. Jason must have gone in with Bett. “She didn’t want you to worry. She thinks she might be bleeding.”
“Bleeding?” The seconds stretched out, and I watched in slow motion as Jason rushed out of the restroom with Bett wrapped in his arms.
“Let’s go!” my father hollered.
Mom waved him on. “Go ahead with Jason and Bett. I’ll get the car and be right behind you.”
“I’ll drive you.” I spun around to go back into the board room for my purse, but Mom caught my arm.
“Bett didn’t want you to—”
“Wait for me,” I said, then yanked the door open and hurried into the meeting room, where things had quieted somewhat. A frightened-looking woman was making her way to the podium with a milk crate full of school banners and pom-poms. The board president raised his gavel at my hasty entrance, as if he thought I might knock the pom-pom lady down and take the podium again. The entire room fixated on me as I grabbed my things from my chair.
“My sister is having a medical emergency,” I told the board president.
Letting his gavel fall loosely, he opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, as if he didn’t know what the official procedural response should be.
I didn’t wait for an answer, just hurried back up the row, looking neither right nor left, suddenly aware of how little any of this mattered. Compared to the idea of Bethany rushing to the hospital, this meeting was nothing.
Keiler jogged up the side aisle and met me at the back door. “Is there anything I can do?” His expression was steadfast and calm, reassuring. “Can I give you a ride?”
“No, I’m driving my mother over.” My fingers shook as I grabbed a business card and pen from my purse and scrawled my cell phone number on the back. “Call me later and tell me what happens in the rest of the meeting, all right?”
Nodding, he shrugged toward the podium. “Good speech. I’ll be sure to report in.”
“Thanks.” I rushed out the door, then hurried to the car with Mom.
On the way to the hospital, my mother sat with her eyes closed, her head resting against the seat, and her arms wrapped around her stomach. Tears seeped from beneath her lashes.
“Mom, it’s going to be all right.” The words held a false confidence, but inside I was afraid that the stress of trying to support me, on top of everything else Bett was dealing with, had somehow caused this to happen.
My mother drew a shuddering breath, then exhaled a faint sob. “I hope so,” she whispered. “Oh, I hope so.” She looked for answers in the night sky outside the window. “Surely they’re at the hospital by now. I hope they went the shortest way.” She craned to see around a gasoline delivery truck that was blocking traffic in the intersection ahead.
“They did. You know they did.” I’d never seen such a look of pure horror on my mother’s face. Pounding her hands in her lap, she tried to peer around the tanker truck again, then wiped her eyes impatiently.
“Mom, it’ll be all right,” I promised again. “It will.”
“I hope so,” she repeated, kneading her hands in her lap, then fiddling with the door latch as if she were considering hopping out and running four miles to the hospital.
“Mom, you have to calm down. If you don’t, you’ll be checking in right alongside Bett.” Her cheeks were flushed and trembling.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being such a mess.” Digging in her purse, she found wadded Kleenex, then dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose. “This same thing happened when I was pregnant with you—two and a half months, just like Bethany is now. I was so terrified when I saw the blood.” Her hand slipped over mine on the gearshift, her fingers a clammy circle, just as Bett’s had been in the boardroom. “I was so terrified I’d lose you. I prayed every minute that God would leave you with me. The doctors said it was a miracle that you survived. If I hadn’t already been at the hospital for a prenatal appointment when it happened, there would have been no way. I think about that day, and I can’t imagine. I can’t imagine how I would have gone on if I’d lost you.”
I can’t imagine how I would have gone on … The words replayed in my head as we inched forward, then stopped at the intersection. Slowly, I looked sideways at my mother, now collapsed against the seat with her eyes closed again, her face pinched and drawn. In the red glow of the traffic light, in the pained lines around her mouth, the tears seeping down her cheeks, I found the reality of my life—the one I had been seeking as long as I could rem
ember.
Even before my birth, I was loved, and wanted, and desperately needed. I was not an accident.
“Mom, who was my father?” The words came so quietly, I wasn’t sure I’d said them. I’d always imagined that question entering the space between us in a roar of indignation, during an argument sometime, when the mother-daughter pressure built up so high that the cork finally exploded, uncapping all the secrets and unspoken truths.
Instead, it came in a whisper. Who was my father?
Turning her hands over in her lap, Mom stared at them like a palm reader. “I wondered when you would ask.” Her voice was soft and pensive, as if she’d rehearsed this scene in her mind many times, and the question had transported her into her own thoughts, away from the excitement over Bett’s condition.
“I’ve always been afraid to ask,” I admitted, thinking of all the times those words had been on the tip of my tongue, and I pulled them back, certain that I’d be lighting a powder keg and nothing would be the same afterward. “But I need to know. I’m sorry.”
Mother glanced sideways at me. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” She tucked my hair behind my shoulder like she would have when I was a child.
“I don’t want to hurt Dad.” The truth choked in my throat, filling me with the old fear that once he knew I’d asked, he would quit the masquerade of being my father, and let himself be replaced by this shadow man of biology, whoever he was.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Mom ran a finger along my cheek. “Your father thought we should sit you down years ago and talk about it. He didn’t want you to think it was some dark secret. But I didn’t want to force that reality on you if you didn’t want it.”
“I was afraid he wouldn’t love me anymore.” I felt like a little girl saying those words—as if they were coming from some arrested place inside me that had never grown beyond eight years old.