by Kathryn Shay
Amanda’s anxiety escalated. But Heather was still talking.
She was honest about her displeasure at Nick’s absence this week, but defended him at all costs. “It’s not his fault. I know he’s just trying to finish law school and get a good job. But...” She bit her lip and didn’t continue.
Amanda encouraged her. “But what?”
“But I’d rather have him than more money or a better place to live.”
“Don’t sound like you’re doin’ okay to me,” Matt said with a frown.
Heather’s eyes brightened. “Oh, but I am.”
It seemed she’d met a girl at her bus stop and had been spending time with her. Nick had even let her invite her new friend, Tammy, to stay overnight tonight.
“I’m so happy. Aunt Beth brought over popcorn and soda and even bought me new pajamas.” She scowled and the expression mirrored Nick’s so much, it hurt Amanda to see it. “It’s just too bad she forgot her iPod. She was going to leave it for the night. But that’s okay, we’ll have fun, anyway.”
“Why didn’t you say something, girl?” Ron picked up the box from his lap, rose and walked a few steps to her. “Here, you can have it,” he said, handing her the portable player.
Heather blushed a deep red. Matt’s jaw dropped. Sandi swore under her breath. And Amanda’s heart plummeted.
Giving away prized possessions. A good mood for no reason. She stared at the slash marks on his wrists, the ugly two-inch scars that went horizontally across the arteries, and she knew for certain that Ron was in grave danger. Again.
When he just stood there, holding out the boom box to her, Heather finally shook her head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.” But she stared longingly at the machine.
“Why not? If you’re worried about your daddy not liking the noise, there’re two sets of ear phones for dual listening.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just...”
Amanda rescued her and tried not to offend Ron. “I think it’s a lovely offer. Ron didn’t mean for you to keep it, Heather. It’s just a loan, isn’t it, Ron?”
Ron’s whole body went taut. Staring somberly at Amanda, he took a deep breath and sighed. “Sure, a loan. Enjoy it.” Averting his gaze, he said, “Look, I gotta go. My old man said I had to come right home today.”
He took a quick glance around the room, his gaze resting on his own seat for a moment, then it gently touched Matt, Sandi and finally came back to Heather. “Y’all take care of yourselves, ya hear?” and before anyone could react, he was gone.
Amanda bolted from her seat and ran after him. She followed him as far as the hallway but he was fast and he popped out of sight. He is not all right. This time, I have to do something.
Calmly, Amanda wound down the group as soon as she could without alarming the youngsters. She was dialing the crisis hot line, after having tried to contact the school nurse and the vice principal, when Matt returned to her office ten minutes later. His shoulders were tense and his ever-present cocky grin was gone.
“Forget something?” Amanda asked, surprised to see him.
“No. I found this in my pocket, Ms. Carson.” In his almost-grown hand he held Ron’s most precious possession.
“I don’t understand. I offered him all that money a million times for this watch and he refused. Why would he just give it to me?”
o0o
Amanda stayed at school late trying to call Ron Marshall’s home. The hot line she’d contacted had encouraged her to get help in trying to locate the boy. She’d reviewed his file previously but she checked it again and found the same sketchy personal information on him. There was a blank next to who to call in case of emergency and no phone number for father’s place of employment. No information was listed about his mother. The background check indicated she’d left when Ron was eleven.
Amanda finally reached the school nurse, who said she would keep calling Ron’s home, as well. Amanda also connected with Tom Mannerly, her supervisor, at 6:00 p.m. and he agreed to go to Ron’s apartment immediately. An hour later, he called back to tell her no one was at home.
Later that evening, Amanda telephoned the Marshalls’ house several times with no luck. She knew of no friends to contact and no other family members.
That night, sleeping fitfully, she dreamed morbid scenarios involving the teenager and was even more anxious when she awoke Saturday morning.
o0o
The Marshalls’ apartment was in one of the worst sections of the city. It was surrounded by abandoned buildings whose glassless windows stared back like accusing eyes. The stench of debris in the street assaulted Amanda. She shivered as she climbed the steps and the wind played havoc with her hair. She felt a twinge of guilt for the full-length leather coat and kidskin gloves that probably would have paid two months’ rent here. It was amazing that Ron felt he could communicate with her at all.
The front door squeaked as she eased it open. Out of the biting wind, she was still cold. When the outside light reached the hallway, she felt, rather than saw, little brown things scurry into the woodwork. Her stomach lurched and she was thankful she’d been too worried to eat breakfast. Gingerly, she made her way to number four, grateful it was not up the rickety stairs. The walls were covered with grime and she was careful not to brush them.
When she reached the apartment, she knocked hard on the door, the sound echoing in the deserted hallway. No answer. Amanda banged again and she could feel her pulse quicken. Lord, she was afraid. For Ron. For herself right now. She needed to calm down. Let’s see, another one of her sister’s jokes...
”What do you get when you cross a lawyer with the Godfather? An offer you can’t understand.”
She barely smiled as she knocked once again.
She’d purposely waited until ten o’clock, not too early to wake them and not too late for Ron to have taken off again. Finally, she heard a grumbling inside. She crossed her arms and gripped her elbows with each hand.
The door creaked as it opened and suddenly there was a man looming before her. She had to quell the urge to step back. “This better be good, lady. What the hell do you want?”
Taking a deep breath, Amanda prayed her voice wouldn’t quake. Her chin tilted and she stared at him unblinkingly. “I’m Amanda Carson, Ron’s counselor. I was worried about him yesterday and I’ve come to see if he’s all right.”
The man was huge, bigger than Nick. Staring at her with bloodshot eyes, he reeked of alcohol. His face was rough with several days’ growth of beard and his thick black hair was matted from sleep. “You that lady he been seein’ at school?”
Amanda nodded.
“He in trouble?”
Yes, I’m afraid he’s going to kill himself. But Amanda knew intuitively she couldn’t tell this man that.
“Not like you mean, Mr. Marshall. He seemed really upset yesterday and I’m worried about him. I tried to call him all last night but he didn’t answer his cell. Is he here? Can I speak with him?”
The father stared at her for a long time. “Guess it won’t do no harm. Can’t quite figure out why a white woman would care, but I’ll wake him up.”
Mr. Marshall closed the door in her face and Amanda breathed a sigh of relief. At least she’d get to talk to Ron.
But the older man returned alone. “He ain’t in his room.”
“You mean he’s gone out already?”
Running a hand through his hair, Marshall’s shoulders slumped and the lines in his face deepened. “No, lady, he never came home. Bed ain’t been slept in.”
Amanda forcefully quelled the urge to reprimand him for negligence. The hall suddenly seemed darker and the man before her larger. She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to him. “Could you give this to Ron when he returns? It’s a note I wrote in case no one was home.”
The man looked down at her for a moment and Amanda felt like a bug under a microscope. He snapped up the missive, opened it and read it, then nodded to her. The door closed again in her face.
o0o
Her phone rang at six o’clock and Amanda lunged for it. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
It was the only other voice she wanted to hear besides Ron’s. Still, her shoulders sagged. “Nick?”
“Yeah.” There was silence. The last time they’d been together was strained and the tension was thick even across phone lines. “You sound disappointed.”
“No, no, of course I’m not.”
Again there was a too-long pause. Finally, Nick took the initiative. “Look, I know I behaved like a jerk the other night. Let me come over and talk about it.”
Amanda hesitated. She wanted nothing more than to say yes, to let Nick come here and fling herself into his arms for comfort. But old fears sneaked up on her, demons from her past.
You can’t do this by yourself, Amanda. Let Porter handle it.
Damn, she needed to do this herself. Could he understand that? Could any man?
Though he couldn’t see her, she shook her head. “No, Nick, not tonight. I’m busy.”
There was another long pause. “Tell me you don’t have a date,” he finally said. She couldn’t identify the emotion in his voice.
Amanda sighed again and sank into a chair. She laid her head back against the caning and closed her eyes. Dissembling wasn’t working. “I don’t have a date, Nick. I have a student I’m extremely worried about. I’ve been trying to track him down all day with no luck. I’m going to keep trying till I reach him.”
She heard his sigh of relief. Jealousy was a destructive thing, but she couldn’t help being pleased by Nick’s display. It meant he cared. All pleasure vanished, however, after she told him what she’d done the last two days.
“You went there all alone?” he asked, his tone brittle.
“Yes, I did.” The ice in her voice was unmistakable.
Amanda, darling, you’re incapable of doing this by yourself.
Silence again. “Listen, honey, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I know you can handle this. I’m just worried about your safety.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She willed them back. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Nick. It means more to me than you know.”
“Promise me something.”
“Maybe.”
“Just don’t go prowling around that area by yourself again. Call another teacher to go with you. Or call me. I won’t sleep tonight if I think you’re going to be out on the streets alone.” When she didn’t respond, his voice lowered to a husky plea. “Look, babe, you know how tired I’ve been. Do you want to be responsible for my tossing and turning all night?”
Unfair, DiMarco. You know I worry about your fatigue with the schedule you keep.
Her own answer was low and sexy. “I think I’d like very much to keep you tossing and turning all night.”
His chuckle warmed her.
“But not out of worry,” she added.
“Why, then?” His tone could have melted butter.
Oh, God, I’m out of my league. And out of my mind, Amanda thought.
He laughed fully at her silence. “Someday, sweetheart, I’m going to get you to say out loud all those sexy thoughts flying around in your head, all those sexy words to describe how you feel. But I’ll let you go now, while I still can,” he said, ending the banter. “Good luck with the kid. Keep me posted.”
o0o
Amanda called Ron’s house again Saturday night and got a drunken Mr. Marshall on the phone. Ron was right, he was nasty under the influence. Among other things, he told her he didn’t know where his fucking kid was.
By Sunday morning, she still hadn’t reached him, and when she called Tom Mannerly again, he trekked to the Marshalls’ a second time with no luck. The boy had been gone all weekend.
She was relieved to catch a glimpse of Ron in school on Monday. Snagging him right away, she questioned him as best she could. His responses were vague, but he did promise to come to the group that afternoon. She waited anxiously all day, but he skipped the session. On Tuesday, she hunted him down during his study hall and insisted he talk with her in the corridor. He looked exhausted and sad.
Amanda kept her voice calm, though she was truly worried. “You missed group yesterday.”
Staring at the floor, he made circles with his black boot on the linoleum.
“I tried to reach you all weekend,” she chided gently.
He looked up at her, but she couldn’t see anything behind the mirrored sunglasses he wore. “Yeah, my daddy told me. I was with a friend.”
“Ron, I’m worried about you.” Amanda reached out and touched the sleeve of his battered jacket.
“I know you are, lady, but it’s cool. I’m cool.”
“No, Ron, you’re not. I think you’re dangerously depressed and I want to help. I can help.”
When he refused to talk more, Amanda let him go back to study hall and went directly to the principal, whom she didn’t like. But she had no recourse. Jack Thornton was hardened by his years at Eastside and it showed in his stubbornness and inflexibility.
He sat imperiously behind his desk, his hands folded in front of him. When she recounted her story, he frowned. “Amanda, I think you’re overreacting. The kid’s here. He didn’t hurt himself in the last seventy-two hours. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”
Superimposed on his face she saw her father discount all the ideas, hunches and feelings she’d had over the years. Damn these men.
“Well, I do. And I’m the one who’s trained in this area. Maybe if we intervened right now, got a crisis mediator—”
“I said no!”
“You can’t just brush this off, Jack.”
His graying eyebrows arched in surprise and he leaned over his clasped hands. “I can do anything I think is right. Listen, Amanda, I wasn’t so keen on hiring you in the first place, but the do-gooders won out. I’m telling you to let it go. I’d like nothing better than to bring you up on insubordination. You’ve lost your objectivity. You’re too involved with these kids.”
Amanda stood and looked down at him. “And you’ve lost your humanity, Mr. Thornton.” With that, she exited as calmly and coolly as she could. She’d help no one if she lost her job trying to protect Ron.
And, since nothing happened on Tuesday or Wednesday, Amanda began to think there was some truth to Thornton’s words. Had she lost her impartiality?
o0o
Then, sometime between the hours of 3:00 p.m. and midnight on Thursday, Leronne Marshall slashed his wrists in the bathroom while his father sat drinking beer and watching television in the next room. This time, he did a better job than the last.
CHAPTER TEN
The counseling suite was eerily quiet when Amanda entered Friday morning. She was running a little late, so there should have been the usual blitz of word processors and the din of counselors chatting over coffee. When she spotted Tom Mannerly at her door, the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Shivering, she tried to calm the churning in her stomach. The other counselors were here and looked at her somberly. A secretary was wiping her eyes.
When Amanda reached the vice principal, she asked immediately, “What happened?” Mannerly put his arm out to touch her shoulder and she stiffened. “Tom, what is it? Tell me.”
“Leronne Marshall’s dead, Amanda. We just got word this morning.”
Amanda’s knees buckled and she grasped the edge of a desk. Tears welled in her eyes but she forced them back. Though she knew the answer, by God she knew it only too well, she asked, “How did he do it?”
“Amanda, look, come inside and sit down. You don’t—”
“How, Tom?”
The vice principal rubbed his jaw with his hand. “Same as last time. Razor blades.”
An image of Ron’s scarred wrists floated before her eyes. God, we just didn’t give him enough.
Numbly she allowed Tom to lead her into her office. They turned when a secretary brought in some water. “Oh, Amanda, we’re all so sorry. Is ther
e anything any of us can do?” the woman asked.
Shaking her head, Amanda leaned against the desk. “No, there’s nothing anyone can do. It’s too late.” Just like Lisa.
“I won’t let you blame yourself, Amanda.” The vice principal’s tone was firm but gentle. “You did everything in your power to reach him. For the last six months and this past week.”
But it wasn’t enough.
Amanda took a deep breath and forced herself to abandon the self-pity. It would drag her down like an undertow and she had to stay afloat for the long day ahead of her. The other kids needed her.
She straightened and removed her coat. “There’s a lot to do.” Addressing the secretary who had remained, she gave directions. “Have Heather DiMarco, Matt Barone and Sandi Berrios met at homeroom and brought directly here.” She turned to the vice principal. “Tom, there needs to be an announcement, nothing that would glamorize the suicide, but some kind of acknowledgment of Ron’s death.” She heard her voice crack, but continued. “Let the other counselors know we should all assemble in the conference room as soon as possible. We’ll have support groups running all day for kids who need to talk.”
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked.
The glimmer of admiration in Mannerly’s eyes bolstered her courage. “I have to be. It’s our procedure when a student dies, right?”
The vice principal gently squeezed her shoulder. “You’re quite a woman.”
The commotion in the outer office distracted them both. Amanda heard her name and went to investigate.
Inside the suite stood Ron Marshall’s father. Shoulders hunched, he looked smaller than he had in the dim doorway of his apartment. His eyes were red-rimmed again but not from drinking. In his shaking hands, he held a white slip of paper. When he spotted Amanda across the room, he held it out to her. “It’s...for you. I...didn’t read it. I’m...” He couldn’t finish. Silent, savage tears leaked from his eyes.
Amanda crossed to him. Taking his arm, she led him into her office. Handing Marshall some water, she spoke soft phrases to him. “No one’s fault...he was a troubled boy...he’s at peace now.”