“I have a student named Claire,” Leah said. “I’ve told you about her, right?”
“Yes.”
“She’s this very kind, awkward, uncertain sixteen-year-old who has a dad with an anger management problem. He yells and screams and breaks things, but so far he’s stopped short of harming his children. Or so Claire says.”
He shot her a grave look.
“I gave her my number in case she ever needed to reach me, andshe just texted me. She says things are bad right now and asked if I could give her a ride to a friend’s house.” Leah consulted the directions her phone had generated. “Stay straight until we get to Lemon Lane, then take a left.”
“Doesn’t this fall under the purview of child protective services?”
“CPS will get involved if they have reason to believe that a child is suffering emotional neglect. However, that’s a difficult accusation to prove in a way that’s legally binding.”
“Okay. What about referring her to a school counselor?”
“I did, but she hasn’t gotten to know our counselor well yet. I had Claire in class last year and again this year. I think she’s more comfortable with me.”
“Are teachers allowed to pick up students at their homes?”
“In this district, the answer is yes.” She twisted to face him. “I realize this is unorthodox and inconvenient. But I’m glad that Claire has asked someone—in this case, me—for help.”
“I don’t care that this is unorthodox or inconvenient. I do care, a lot, about your safety. I don’t like the sound of the dad with the anger management problem.”
She didn’t like the sound of him, either. She could understand why Sebastian might think it unwise for her to involve herself in Claire’s family life. Yet he hadn’t looked into Claire’s face and experienced a powerful tug of empathy and concern. He didn’t have a seventeen-year-old brother, so he couldn’t have the same soft spot for teenagers that she had.
Leah texted Claire.
We’ll be there in five minutes.
No response.
They pulled into a development of 1980s tract homes aspirationally named Tranquility River. Slivers of space separated structures with tiny fenced backyards. On Serene Court, dehydrated shrubs clung to the planting beds outside Claire’s two-story home.
“There’s a gun cabinet in the front room,” Sebastian said.
She could see it, too. The lights illuminating the downstairs front room provided a clear view of the interior.
Claire did not emerge.
Leah sent Claire another text, alerting her to their arrival.
Still nothing.
“Why isn’t she answering my texts?” she wondered out loud. “I’m worried.”
“I’m worried, too.”
“Should I go knock on the door?”
“No. If someone needs to, I’ll go. But I don’t think it’ll help. I can’t imagine a parent sending their daughter off with a man they’ve never met.”
“I think I’ll try to call—”
“Is this her?”
Leah’s vision swung up. Claire hurried down the front walkway.
Sebastian walked around the car to open the back door for her.
