by Megan Hart
Tommy’s grin faded. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked on his heels. “Sure, yeah. I figured she might be. I guess I didn’t really pay attention to the time.”
“It’s not even eight in the morning,” she said flatly. “On a Monday. Where did you think she’d be?”
Dean coughed into his fist. Tommy looked from Marian to Dean, then at the bird. It muttered something in Briella’s voice. Then it spoke louder.
“Goodbye. Goodbye.”
Maybe the raven wasn’t so bad after all. Marian laughed silently, pressing her lips together, at Tommy’s expression. She caught Dean’s gaze over her ex’s shoulder, and they shared a look. Her irritation didn’t disappear, but it faded. That’s what Dean did for her. He made her calm.
Her phone buzzed from her jeans pocket, and she pulled it out. She rarely got calls on it. Her brother always texted first, and Dad didn’t even own a mobile phone, although she’d been after him to get one for safety reasons. When she saw the name and number, she groaned, but swiped to take the call.
It was the school.
Chapter Nine
“First of all, let me say how nice it is to see a coparenting relationship working out.” The school guidance counselor, Mrs. Cuddy, wore her reading glasses pushed on top of her curly, graying hair, the chain dangling down on either side of her head. She had lipstick curdled in the corners of her lips, but her smile was broad and kind.
Marian remembered her from her own days at Southside Elementary. Mrs. Cuddy had been one of only two black teachers in the school. She and Marian had never talked about it, what it was like to be one of a few dark faces in the sea of white, but there’d been a silent understanding between them anytime they had to interact. By the time Briella came to this school, the diversity of the population had expanded, but Mrs. Cuddy was still a familiar and welcome face.
“It’s about what’s best for the kid.” Tommy sounded sincere.
The hell?
Marian shifted in her chair, ignoring him. She cleared her throat, trying but failing to keep her voice from shaking. “So, if you could please tell us what’s going on…?”
Mrs. Cuddy folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “I think it might be best if I just…show you. But I don’t want you to be alarmed, all right? Briella’s not in any kind of trouble.”
“Is she hurt?” Marian blurted. “Did something else happen on the playground?”
“I think you’d better just tell us right now what’s going on.” Dean took Marian’s hand. Squeezed her fingers tight.
She squeezed back.
Marian did not look at Tommy, on her other side. She’d taken the middle seat to keep a distance between her ex and Dean, but now she felt like a bridge she didn’t want to be. Tommy shouldn’t have been there, acting like a father, like he somehow had anything to do with Briella beyond providing the sperm and then coincidentally being there when Marian got the school’s call. She wanted to spit. Dean had been the one to acquiesce, to say that it was fine for Tommy to come along. He was the one who never felt threatened by Tommy’s periodic appearances.
“Briella’s always been a bright girl. She’s been part of our gifted program since kindergarten.” Mrs. Cuddy stopped, clearly struggling to be diplomatic. “We’ve never had any problems with her, academically. But…there have been some behavioral problems.”
Tommy sat up straighter. “Huh? What kind of behavioral problems?”
“She’s had some difficulties getting along with some of the other students.”
“Only recently. She used to get along with everyone.” Marian lifted her chin, meeting Mrs. Cuddy’s gaze without flinching, as though she could somehow make this true. It wasn’t, not quite.
Mrs. Cuddy’s smile wasn’t as soothing as she probably meant it to be. “Now’s about the time when we start seeing a lot of…changes…in the kids. They’re about to head into middle school. Some of them are entering puberty, while their peers haven’t yet caught up. It’s a tough time, even for kids without Briella’s special gifts. But I really should just show you. Please come with me.”
She stood. So did Marian and the others. Mrs. Cuddy nodded as she passed them, gesturing in the doorway for them to follow. Tommy pushed his way first. Typical. Once again, Marian found herself sandwiched between the men as Dean hung behind, his hand on her lower back as they walked. Today that comforting touch irritated her, and she shrugged it off.
Mrs. Cuddy took them down a long hall, away from Briella’s classroom, past the library and then around a corner. The rooms here were spaced farther apart, but unlike the rest of the doors they’d passed, these were all closed. The door Mrs. Cuddy put them in front of had a large glass pane, threaded with wire inside the glass.
“We won’t go in just yet. I wanted you to see, first.”
Marian knuckled Tommy aside, her breath held. She didn’t know what to expect, but whatever it was had to be bad, right? They didn’t just call you down to the school this way for anything good. She looked into the window, hesitantly at first, not wanting Briella to see her watching. She didn’t have to worry. The kid was at the chalkboard, scrawling away at a bunch of numbers and equations, too intent to see if she were being observed. Her mouth was going a mile a minute, too, as she looked over her shoulder at someone else in the room. Marian peered to see who it was.
“That’s not Mrs. Jackson.” She looked at Mrs. Cuddy.
“Bill Spector is the district’s special-needs coordinator, and he’s also a psychiatrist.”
“A shrink? F— no.” Tommy blurted the words, taking a step toward the door like he meant to fight it. At least he’d managed to keep his cursing under control.
Marian let out a huff of surprise and stepped back so Tommy could muscle his way in front of the window. “Special needs? Psychiatrist? I don’t understand.”
“My kid’s not a retard,” Tommy said.
Well, that explained everything about where Briella had heard it, and of course Tommy had learned at his dear old bitch of a mother’s knee. Marian’s teeth snapped shut on the tip of her tongue, but she refused to bite it. She pushed at him to get him away from the window so she could look in again.
“You’re a pig, Tommy.”
Tommy gave her a wide-eyed look of surprise. “What? Why?”
“We prefer not to marginalize our students with special needs by using derogatory terms,” Mrs. Cuddy said, then added with a look at Marian, “or calling each other derogatory names.”
Marian frowned, feeling scolded. “You don’t call people that, Tommy.”
“Sorry for not being ‘PC,’” he said, using obnoxious air quotes and not sounding sorry at all.
Dean stepped in, tugging Marian gently away from the window and turning her to stand at his side, facing the guidance counselor. “We know Briella’s really smart and gifted. And we know about the issues with her attitude, too. We’ve been trying to work with her on it.”
“As I said,” Mrs. Cuddy paused to look at Tommy with disdain, “our special-needs students receive guidance not only from myself and the other counselors at their individual buildings, but also district-wide. I asked Dr. Spector to come in today because over the past couple weeks, Briella’s been having some difficulties at school that have become untenable for her teachers.”
“What’s that mean? Kids not talking to her, not paying attention to her, not wanting to be her friends is now important? We were told last year that she wasn’t being bullied, so what’s going on now, and why haven’t I heard about it before?” Marian demanded, her arms crossed. Her breath snagged in her throat, hurting. She swallowed hard, but everything was so dry, scratching like sand.
Mrs. Cuddy gave her a calm smile. “At the time we spoke last year, there was no evidence of bullying. That’s true. This year, as I said, it’s the time when many of our kids here are undergoing changes.
Sometimes they spark out in behavioral issues. Even well-behaved kids can start to get into trouble. Friendships that have been in place since preschool can break, while others form. It’s a very tumultuous time in children’s lives right now.”
“It’s Pamela Morgan, isn’t it? She’s the one giving Briella such a hard time,” Marian said.
“We are not having any issues with Pamela, no.”
“Is Briella in trouble?” Tommy asked.
Marian shot him a glare. He sounded almost proud, but of course he would be. Tommy’d been a bad student and a troublemaker, even if he’d always been charming enough to get out of it. He’d been voted most likely to serve time, but the school hadn’t allowed that in the yearbook, so he’d ended up as class clown.
Mrs. Cuddy shook her head. “No. Not exactly. But I called you to come in today because…well. Let me have you speak with Dr. Spector. All right? Shall we go in?”
Marian almost said no. Whatever was going to happen inside that room was going to change everything. She knew that somehow. At the squeeze of Dean’s fingers in her own, she gave him a grateful smile. Whatever was going to happen, she thought with relief, they’d be in it together.
Plus Tommy. Marian frowned again. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be involved as the way he pretended he was always involved, like he had the slightest clue about what happened on a normal basis. Like he ought to get a trophy and a parade for showing up once in a while, when every time he did, all he managed to do was disrupt everything.
At least he had the decency to hang back and let Marian and Dean go ahead of him. At first, Briella didn’t turn from the board. The chalk in her hand snapped as she finished an equation, and she grabbed another from the tray. She scribbled what looked like gibberish to Marian, then turned with a triumphant grin. Her eyes were alight, her tawny cheeks flushed. Strands of tangled dark hair clung to her sweaty forehead.
“That’s it,” she said in a calm voice at odds with her frenzied appearance. “That’s how it’s going to work.”
“Interesting, Briella. I want to hear more about how you figure you’ll implement it, but first, let’s say hi to your parents, okay?” Dr. Spector turned a smile toward the adults and stood to hold out his hand, first to Marian. “Mrs. Blake. I’m Bill Spector.”
“Marian. This is my husband, Dean.” She took the man’s hand but dropped it immediately to gather Briella into her arms as the girl hugged her. Marian stroked the hair off Briella’s face and cupped the girl’s cheeks in her hands. Briella’s skin was feverish. The tiny wound on her head had almost, not quite, healed. “Hey, Bean. What’s going on?”
“I’m talking to Dr. Bill about my ideas. He doesn’t think I’m crazy,” Briella said.
Marian looked apologetically at the doctor. “Nobody ever said you were.”
“Kids in class did.” Briella pulled away from her mother and squealed. “Daddy!”
Tommy hugged her, then rubbed at the top of her head with his knuckles. “Hey, kiddo.”
“Mrs. Cuddy, did you call my real daddy to come in?”
Mrs. Cuddy looked surprised and shot a glance at Dean, who, as usual, didn’t look offended by Briella’s blatant dismissal of his role in her life. “No, honey, your dad happened to be around when I talked to your mom and stepdad.”
Briella looked at Dean without expression. Then she turned back to Tommy with a broad grin. “Look at my stuff that I’m doing, Daddy.”
“Looks like a bunch of numbers to me, kid.” Tommy let her take him by the hand to appraise the chalkboard.
Briella explained animatedly what she’d been doing, while Dr. Spector turned to Marian and Dean. “Mr. and Mrs. Blake, I’m sure you’re both well aware that Briella’s a very special little girl.”
“Yes,” Marian said faintly, watching her daughter’s sweeping gestures at the work she’d scribbled on the board. “That’s what everyone keeps saying. But what is she doing?”
Dr. Spector’s lips pressed together. “Well…I’m not quite sure. But I can tell you this. There’s a lot going on inside her head, and she’s having a hard time not only getting it out in a language she can understand and explain, but in a format that she can utilize. She’s very frustrated. Has she been acting out at home?”
“Yes,” Dean said before Marian could answer, “sometimes.”
Marian sighed and rubbed the spot between her eyes. It felt shameful to admit that to this guy. That she couldn’t keep her kid under control. “She’s been a little mouthy. Yeah. But she’s a good kid, most of the time. Has she been causing trouble here at school? I mean, I’m going to say it again: if she’s been mouthing off to teachers or getting in fights, why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”
Dr. Spector and Mrs. Cuddy shared a look Marian couldn’t interpret.
“What?” she demanded. There was way more going on here than either of these two were saying. She felt it low in her belly. Maternal instinct.
“We feel that Southside Elementary has done all we can for Briella,” Dr. Spector said.
Marian gaped, then snapped her jaw shut. She turned to Mrs. Cuddy. “What the he— heck is that supposed to mean? You’ve done all you can for her? Are you kicking her out? She’s ten years old!”
She’d almost shrieked those last few words. Too loud. Briella stopped her chattering and turned, her hand in Tommy’s. He turned, too, and Marian was so upset she couldn’t even take satisfaction in his confused expression.
“I think we should let Briella tell you what she’s been working on,” Mrs. Cuddy said. “It might make all of this more clear.”
Dean stepped up, because Marian found herself unable to do more than shake her head. “Yeah, that sounds great. Briella, why don’t you show me and your mom and your dad what you’re writing on the board? Can you explain it to us?”
“Probably not,” Briella said. “None of you are smart enough to understand it.”
Marian began to scold, but Dean waved her to silence. “We know that, honey. Could you try to give us some idea?”
Briella sighed and put her tiny hands on her hips. The piece of chalk still clutched in her fist smudged at her dark blue shirt. “Well, basically, I’m trying to work out the technology to capture memories.”
“Isn’t that what a video camera does?” Tommy joked.
Briella, who normally ate up every single word Tommy said like it was ice cream, instead gave him a look of such pure disdain that he stepped back like she’d pushed him. Briella gestured at the chalkboard. “I’m not talking about pictures, Daddy. I mean like, memories, your real memories and your real self. The stuff that’s inside your brain. Not just what you see, but what you feel.
“Bean, nobody can do that,” Marian said.
Briella didn’t look a bit bothered. “I can. If I can figure this out, I can do it.”
Mrs. Cuddy reached for Briella with a small gesture. “Hey, Briella. It’s lunchtime, and it’s pizza day. I know you don’t want to miss that. How about you and I head for the café and let Dr. Bill talk to your parents?”
“Pizza day!” Briella clapped and grinned and gave a little fist bump to the guidance counselor.
Briella followed Mrs. Cuddy out of the room without a second glance, but the older woman paused in the doorway to give Marian a nod. It looked as though it was meant as reassurance, but it did little to make Marian feel better. Mrs. Cuddy closed the door behind her.
Marian turned to the doctor and drew in a slow breath, trying to keep her voice from quivering. She didn’t quite make it. “Is there something wrong with her? With her brain, I mean? Mentally? She just had a head injury…”
“She mentioned the bump on her head. Yes. And it’s true, there have been cases in which traumatic brain damage can cause abrupt changes in personality or mental acuity. There have even been cases of people experiencing enormous leaps in skills they previ
ously had not had. Playing the piano, speaking another language…” The doctor trailed off, probably at the look on Marian’s face. “Sorry. Briella’s bump, I’m sure, has nothing to do with what she was doing today, certainly nothing negative.”
“Is this the first time she’s gone off like that?” Dean gestured at the chalkboard.
“She keeps a notebook,” Marian said hoarsely. “I stopped looking in it, but she writes things down all the time.”
Dr. Spector looked at the board. “Yes. Today she came into class and was excused to attend her gifted tutorial. She started with this immediately, and her teacher called me in to take a look. I thought it was extraordinary.”
“So…there’s nothing wrong with her?” Marian asked.
“With Briella? No, I don’t think so.” The doctor laughed, shaking his head. “If anything, there’s so much right about her. Your daughter is one of the brightest kids I’ve had the pleasure of working with for a long, long time.”
“She’s scary smart,” Tommy agreed, pride evident in his voice.
Marian glared at him. “Like you know anything about it.”
“She can’t be serious, can she? About the memories thing? You can’t record memories. Can you?” Dean scratched at his head. He’d taken off his ball cap out of respect at being inside the school, and he looked surprised that it was missing.
“There’ve been studies that monitor brain waves as memories are being made. They’ve been able to determine the sections of the brain that make different kinds of memories. As far as I know, there’s no way to actually record the memories themselves, or to play them back,” Dr. Spector said. “I’ll be the first to tell you that. But Briella has tested off the charts for math and cognitive abilities, and her scores are also at gifted level in language comprehension and a whole long list of other things. The bottom line is, whether or not the technology she’s trying to create works, for a girl of her age to even be able to articulate what she wants to do, much less make any efforts at all…well. It’s an extraordinary brilliance, to be frank.”