Promises to Keep

by Kathryn Shay

  Stop worrying and do some work. First, she called the custodian to come fix the lights, but no one answered. She went online and pulled up a folder on the school musical and was perusing it when she heard the outer office door open. She glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. Still too early for her secretaries, though sometimes Nancy came in before work to walk around the building as her daily exercise. The door squeaked, then closed. Had she relocked it? Suzanna couldn’t remember.

  She rose and circled the desk. Trying the lights again—no luck—she waited till her eyes adjusted. She didn’t see anybody. Carefully she listened. A locker slammed in the hall. Her heartbeat escalating, she made her way through the semidarkness. Had someone seen her light and come in? Or had someone entered because the office was dark, then seen her light and taken off? Swallowing hard as she eased open the door, she stepped into the corridor.

  And ran smack into Max Duchamp.

  “Oh.”

  Automatically, Max reached out to steady her. Kids often did that without thinking when they bumped into a teacher, but for some reason, the gesture calmed her.

  “Max?”

  “Sorry I bumped you.” His voice was gravelly. His eyes bloodshot. And he reeked of cigarette smoke.

  “Did you just come into my office?”

  His light complexion blushed. “No.” A belligerent chin jutted out, and he straightened. For the first time, Suzanna realized how much bigger he was than she. He was so tall, she had to look up at him. She remembered something from her reading...Kids who bring guns to school often go after the people who meted out the discipline.

  “Why’d you think I was in your office?” he asked.

  Smiling, she shrugged. “I thought I heard the door open.”

  He glanced over her head. “Looks like nobody’s home.”

  She thought about his and Webster’s website. It made her afraid, but she said, “Max, you know, if you ever did want to talk to me, about anything, I’m here.”

  Briefly—but it was there, she was sure—need flashed in his eyes. Then he snuffed it. Kids like him didn’t talk to teachers.

  Suzanna remembered Joe’s point about the young shooter in Alaska. When we asked him what he would have done if a principal or counselor had called him in and asked him about what kids had been hearing about him, he said he would have told them the truth.

  She leaned against the wall of lockers in a show of her willingness to prolong the discussion. Nervous, she jammed her hands in the pockets of her brown silk skirt. “I have a son. I know boys are private. But I thought maybe—” She smiled soothingly at him. “I know your mom is dead. I think sometimes a teenage boy might need to talk to a woman.”

  This time, his whole face revealed naked longing. “I got my dad.”

  “I know. And I know how important that is.” She indicated the office. “Would you like to come inside? Classes don’t start for another hour. We could chat.”

  His eyes were bleak. “Maybe—” he began, then looked past her. Suzanna tracked his gaze. A teacher was coming down the hall. Mike Wolfe.

  Max stepped back.

  “Hey, Duchamp,” Mike yelled. “Where were you during Phys Ed yesterday?”

  A sneer came to Max’s face. The aggressive stance returned.

  “I was sick.” He pivoted and, without a word to Suzanna, took off the other way.

  Mike came even with her. “Nice way to start your morning.”

  With a heavy heart, Suzanna watched an opportunity disappear down the hall like snowflakes in spring. She remembered one of her favorite quotes: Teachers change the world one kid at a time. She’d almost had Max convinced to talk to her.

  “We gotta do something about kids like him, Suzanna. Look what happened to Kelsey.”

  Suzanna sighed. Schools did have to do something for kids like Max, only not the way Mike meant.

  “Let me deal with the class-skipping issue,” she said simply.

  He held up a referral. I was just going to hand this in to Lester.”

  “Give it to me.”

  She took the paper and turned to go back to her office.

  o0o

  The high school cafeteria was a sea of faces, some angry, some bored, some laughing.

  And some dangerous. Big gatherings in schools like this set off Joe’s trouble radar; as he stood scanning the area for Josh, he pictured how this room could be divided. If they split it in half and walled it off in sections, lunch periods would be safer. But one side would end up without windows, and it would be like eating in a cave. Joe made a mental note to talk to the government’s architect consultant. He hadn’t told Suzanna this, but there was a special grant for schools to improve the safety of their buildings, and he’d applied for the money for Fairholm.

  Meanwhile, Joe had problems closer to home. “Afternoon, Dr. Stonehouse. Looking for your nephew?” The supervisor, Tom Gannon, a sober man who seemed to belong in a previous century, stood guard at the door. Many schools employed trained security to monitor these difficult areas. But the Fairholm student council had thought that too jail-like, and Suzanna had gone along with their decision. He’d argued over that with her.

  Now, things were different.

  Way too different.

  Last night, she’d fallen asleep nestled in his arm while they watched TV in the den. They’d been trying to do normal date-like things for show. Even today he remembered the feel of her weight against him, the smell of the shampoo she used. Deep inside, he’d longed for the right to pick her up and carry her off to bed. With her son in the house, it was impossible, of course.

  Shit, it was impossible for more reasons than that.

  “He’s over there with Mr. Duchamp.”

  Joe came out of the fantasy. “Pardon me?”

  “Your nephew. He’s over there with the Duchamp boy.” Tom’s tone was critical.

  Matching it, Joe nodded. “I see. Not really happy about him pairing up with that one.” His statement couldn’t be more false. Joe had strategized with Luke on how to get closer to Duchamp.

  Now, Max and Luke sat alone at a table’s end, looking up to something. Maybe Joe should add some fuel to the fire. He sauntered over. Luke stiffened, and Joe admired how he stayed in character. “Hi, Luke. This isn’t your lunch period, is it?”

  The proverbial teenage sigh escaped his lips. “Old Man Jenkins kicked me out of chem lab.”

  “Why?”

  “I dunno.” He exchanged an arch look with Duchamp. “I was just askin’ what would happen if I combined two of the elements we were using, and he got pissed off.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s the whole story.”

  “So ground me.”

  “Maybe I will. We’ll talk at home tonight.”

  From the corner of his eye, Joe saw Josh get up and leave the cafe. Joe said good-bye and followed the boy out. He caught up to him in the hall. “Josh, wait.”

  Josh halted. Dressed like many of the other preppy kids in blue jeans and a brand-name sweatshirt, he turned. His face reddened the way his mother’s did when she was embarrassed. “Hi.”

  “Didn’t you have an appointment this period with me?”

  “Yeah. I was...um...just headed down.”

  “Fine, I’ll walk with you.” Even if you are lying through your teeth, buddy. Joe would bet his Ph.D. the kid had no intention of coming down to see him. Josh had skipped yesterday’s Boys’ Concerns group, too.

  They were seated in his office with the door closed before Joe addressed the issue. He removed his navy sport coat and loosened his tie to make the meeting seem more casual. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? You weren’t coming to see me today.”

  Josh looked him in the eye. “No.”

  “Because of what your mother and I told you the other night.”

  After hesitating, Josh nodded.

  “Do you want to talk about that again?”

  “What’s to say? You like each other. You should see each other. I don’t fit in the equa
tion.”

  “You know,” Joe said steepling his hands, “your mom didn’t want to see me socially because she was afraid this would happen.”

  Hot emotion suffused Josh’s face. “No, Dr. Stonehouse, don’t let her do that. My mother needs company. She never complains, but I know she’s lonely as hell.” He shook his head. “She even reads those freakin’ romance novels at night before she goes to bed.”

  The image of Suzanna cuddled up on fluffy pillows reading some steamy sex brought a smile to his lips.

  But he needed to address what Josh was really saying. “It must be hard, being her son.”

  “Because of the principal stuff? Nah, that’s okay.”

  “No, I mean because your dad is dead. You’re more responsible to your mother than most kids with two parents.”

  Josh’s ears turned red. “Um, it’s okay.”

  Joe continued as if Josh hadn’t spoken. “Responsible in the sense that you probably feel you have to be home more, do more things with her because she’s alone. Not to mention living up to her standards and beliefs.”

  The kid’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Ordinarily Joe would have drawn this out, but he sensed he might not get another chance to work with Josh.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  A long and thoughtful pause. “I don’t want her to know I feel this way. She’d be hurt. It’s why I don’t want to tell you these things.”

  Joe faced the boy squarely. “I don’t know how to say this other than the way I explained it that night, and at our groups. Things haven’t changed because I’m seeing your mother. I swear by every degree on that wall I won’t reveal what you tell me in confidence.”

  Josh rolled his eyes. “It isn’t even that bad.”

  “I don’t expect that it is. I’d guess it’s pretty normal stuff teenage boys go through. I was one once, you know.”

  “Did you have a girlfriend in high school?”

  Joe dug back into a nightmarish past he preferred not to think about. “Yes. Sarah Summers.” He shook his head. “She was gorgeous.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She went to Yale to become a doctor.”

  “Why’d you break up?”

  Joe’s throat felt tight. “I had issues as a kid. My upbringing was unorthodox. My views weren’t like hers.” In truth, Sarah was a partier in the broadest sense of the word. She’d wanted to have sex and do drugs and Joe had shied away from both since his childhood. “High school was a tough few years for me.”

  “That why you took in your nephew?”

  “Yeah. Though I’m not helping him much. I don’t like seeing him with Duchamp.”

  “Duchamp might be okay if he’d stay away from that creep Webster.”

  “So, back to you, Josh. What can I do to convince you that I’ll keep everything from your mother except if I think you’re dangerously depressed or that you’re going to hurt yourself?”

  “Hurt myself physically or emotionally?”

  “Are you planning to hurt yourself emotionally?”

  Josh stood, crossed the room and stared at the degrees. When he turned around, he said in a very adult voice, “No, I’m planning to sleep with Heather in Italy when we go there for spring break.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Super Freak screams

  Sitting there alone.

  But no one hears

  No one knows.

  So sick of these people

  So tired of this place...

  Ben Franzi stopped singing when he heard the gentle tapping on his window. Glancing over at Luke, he smiled, despite where the song had taken him. He set his guitar on his pillow bed that occupied the center of the room, crossed to the window, and yanked it up. “Hey, if it isn’t Joey Potter.”

  Morgan, climbing through the window, smiled at the reference to the reruns of some old teen sitcoms they watched. Luke couldn’t get into those shows at all, but he tried to catch one occasionally to keep up with the teenagers he was trying to fit in with.

  “Can I come in, Dawson, honey?” she asked, but she was already clambering over the windowsill. When she pivoted, she said, “Oh, I didn’t know you had company.”

  “Hey, Morgan.” Luke gave her a warm smile from where he sat on the floor by the “altar.” The thing should have given him the creeps, but he found it interesting. Draped in an Asian print shawl, a low table held different shaped candles; stone, iron, and wax pentacles; a goblet; a cauldron; and some bumper stickers that read Blessed Be and Something Wiccan this way comes.

  Ben returned to the bed and picked up his guitar. Absently he strummed.

  “How’s it goin’?” Luke asked.

  Shaking back her shoulder-length blond hair, Morgan sat on the Chinese chest Ben said his father had bought for him before he died. “Good. I came to do a spread with Ben.”

  “A spread?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Ever had your tarot cards read, Rebel?”

  Luke smiled. The kids had nicknamed him Rebel or Reb when, in Government class, he’d staunchly defended draft dodgers and protesters back in the Vietnam days when they had a draft.

  “Can’t say I have. I’m game, though.”

  Fishing in her purse, she pulled out a joint instead of the cards. “Can I?” she asked Ben.

  Hmm. Must be they trusted him.

  “We said we weren’t gonna do that anymore.” Ben nodded to the shrine. From his reading, Luke knew the Wiccan religion didn’t approve of polluting the body.

  Crossing back to the window, Morgan opened it again. “I need it tonight.”

  “All right. Save me some. Burn incense, too. My mother’ll kill us if she smells pot.” He looked at Luke. “Want some?”

  “No, my uncle would kill me if he got a whiff of the stuff on me. He’s got the nose of a bloodhound.” Luke continued to strum on his Gibson. He’d been in situations like this before, where kids did drugs in front of him. It took all his willpower not to stop them.

  He wished he didn’t care so much about these two. It was harder to watch them make stupid decisions. Damn it to hell, he was really getting sucked in by these Fairholm people.

  Like Kelsey.

  Don’t think about her.

  He concentrated on Morgan and Ben. “You guys do anything else?” he asked, nodding to the weed. He wanted to know how deep they were into stuff.

  They said simultaneously, “No.”

  “Is Lucy home?” Morgan asked.

  “Nope, Mom’s out tonight, doing charity work for her church.”

  “You’re so lucky.” Morgan’s tone was wistful. “She’s a great mother.”

  Luke glanced over at the girl with her natural blond hair, stacked body—encased in tight jeans and a thermal shirt—and an intelligent face. Her childlike tone was at odds with her savvy looks. She caught Luke staring at her. “What’s your mom like?”

  Luke pretended annoyance. “A drag. Always on me about something.”

  Lukasz, it’s time you got married, gave me some grandchildren to carry on your father’s name. God, he missed her. He’d be able to talk to her about Kelsey, tell her his quandary, and she’d give him good advice.

  “What about your dad?”

  “He’s dead,” Ben said loudly. “Just like mine.”

  Morgan’s face fell. She stared worriedly at Ben.

  “What?” Luke said after a pause. “I knew Ben lost his dad.”

  Ben said, “The anniversary’s coming up over spring break.”

  Ah, dangerous times. “Sorry, man.”

  “One year.”

  Even more worrisome. No wonder Ben was looking more and more like the witches in Macbeth every day.

  Ben stood and crossed to the window. Silently, watching the stars, he finished the joint with Morgan. The sweet smell of pot and incense encompassed the room in its own special cocoon. Morgan laid her hand on Ben’s arm. It warmed Luke to know they had each other, even though he suspected pretty little Morgan had a crush on Luke himself.r />
  When they were done with the joint, she turned to Luke. “Wanna do your cards?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  They sat on the carpeted floor, cross-legged. Together, Ben and his soul mate chanted a few pagan prayers to bless the spread. Luke watched them, fascinated. Even though he’d researched Wicca online, he’d never seen it practiced firsthand. He found the soft monotone comforting, and their sincerity put him at ease.

  Morgan dealt ten cards, spaced over two rows. She stared hard at the first one. It showed five youths dressed in medieval tunics, holding long sticks that they batted up against each other. “They aren’t really fighting,” Morgan said. “Their card means imitation. Like, you’re pretending to be something you’re not.”

  Luke shrugged, but felt weird inside. “What you see is what you get.”

  As she went on to the next card, her brow furrowed.

  “What is it?” Luke asked.

  Scowling, Morgan stared up at him, deadly serious. “This is the Tower card. It means trouble’s brewing below the surface.”

  Ben pointed to the next one. “Look at that, Morgy.”

  It was a body with ten swords in it. Luke said, “Hell, you guys. I’m not gonna die, am I?”

  Morgan shook her head. “It’s the Ten of Swords. It means that if you don’t find out what you need to know, trouble will surface with dire consequences.”

  Holy shit, this was getting downright eerie.

  The fourth card told Luke he suspected the wrong people were creating trouble. The fifth revealed he needed to be looking for a dull, isolated man.

  He almost swallowed his tongue when the seventh card, the Queen of Pentacles, was interpreted by Ben as “a woman who’s been affected by your falsehood.”

  Morgan picked up on that theme. “The eighth card shows you’ve wronged her by not being honest. See how she’s blindfolded?”

  That’s enough, Luke wanted to yell, forcing himself not to make the sign of the cross.