“It’s not as a reporter, it’s as a person.”
“So, off the record.”
I gave him a raised eyebrow. “Everything here is off the record, as you say. Very off the record.”
If Felicity didn’t do it, who did?
“My mother and I talked about this several times, bunch of times,” he said. “She thought maybe it was Felicity’s mother, because she was this born-again Christian and maybe she lost her marbles and did this to free Felicity from sin.”
“Ruth? My chemistry teacher? If you ever met Ruth, you could not be more wrong,” I said. “She is such a gentle person.”
I could think of only one time that I’d ever seen Ruth lose her shit. I’d forgotten it because it was so subtle but it ended with Ruth required to make a formal written apology to Felicity’s and my second-grade teacher.
One morning before school, Ruth was called in. Felicity, it seemed, had changed her answer on a math test. Felicity had, indeed, changed her answer, she told her mom, because kids on either side of her had copied her paper. Ruth explained this quietly. The teacher, Sandy Albertson, was the principal’s wife.Gently, she told Ruth, “Sometimes a child as bright as Felicity becomes a bit of a perfectionist. She just can’t bear to have one thing be wrong. We think that’s what happened here.”
Ruth said, “Felicity told you why she changed her answer. If she said that is what happened, then that is what happened. Felicity doesn’t lie. Did you talk to the two kids who copied the wrong answer from her paper?”
“Felicity was seen changing her answer. Ruth, you know that’s cheating,” said Sandy Albertson. “And all kids lie sometimes.”
By then, the first bell had gone off and kids were beginning to file into the room. Mrs. Albertson explained to Ruth that they could talk more later, but we overheard her say that Felicity would receive an F so that it would be impressed on her young mind just how serious a matter cheating was and how accepting just one wrong answer would have been so much better. Ruth, seven or eight months pregnant at the time, with one of Felicity’s younger brothers, repeated the reason that Felicity had changed her answer. Sandy Albertson gently shook her head.
“I can’t stop you, can I?” Ruth asked. “What you are teaching her is to lie.”
The second-grade teacher said, “Ruth, let’s talk about this another time.”
Ruth picked up her large, handsewn patchwork purse and turned to leave the room. Then she turned back and took Felicity’s hand.
Clearly, but not angrily, she said, “Felicity doesn’t lie. If you think that she’s a liar, then you can’t have her anymore. Ask the other two kids which answers they got wrong on their tests.”
Everything might have ended peacefully then, but Mrs. Albertson gave a gusty sigh and said, “Ruth, you’re making way too much of this.” She had turned her back on Ruth and it must have been eerie for her to feel Ruth’s breath on the back of her neck.
“Sandy, I don’t wish to be unkind,” she said softly, and Sandy Albertson jumped, whirling around to face Ruth, who was so close to the teacher that she could have rubbed noses with her. It was a graphic illustration of whatin your facemeant. “I love teaching. I’m a good teacher. The only thing I hate about teaching is that I’m lumped in with terrible teachers like you.”
“I need to call the principal’s office.”
“Oh yes, by all means, call your husband,” Ruth said. “Call the big boss. Call security. Call the police. Restore order! No one will have the courage to tell you that you are the epitome of everything that’s wrong with education in this country. But I will tell you. You are lazy. You are bored. And you are always right.” Ruth’s voice was rising, as if she was trying to be heard over the approach of a plane. “If you could listen, you might not be such a silly bitch, Sandy.”
The last of the children were entering the room now. They were paying attention, their eyes wide. Felicity started to cry, as did I. We weren’t delicate little violets—well, relatively speaking, we actually were delicate little violets, compared to what I’ve since learned about the way some kids grow up, even on the mean streets of Sheboygan, Wisconsin. But we weren’t used to adults talking like that around kids. As Ruth turned to leave, for some reason, I grabbed her other hand and followed her out the door and into the parking lot. She didn’t object; she seemed to expect that. She took us home and gave us some worn-out men’s dress shirts to put on over our clothes and set out containers of brown sugar and oatmeal so we could make oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Even I was aware Ruth seemed to be listening very attentively to something far away. It was over an hour before she called my parents and only then when I suggested it. “Oh, of course, Reenie, you’re right! But I’m sure she knows that you’re just fine with me.”
The following Monday, both Felicity and I were in the mixed second-and-third-grade room. My parents, wisely, let thewhole thing pass without much commentary, my dad murmuring only that even parents sometimes got overexcited.
So maybe Felicity was as protective of Ruth as Ruth had been of her. Maybe Felicity, like Ruth, was an apparently tranquil bay with a strong, hidden undertow.
I said as much.
“The theory was that Ruth took off because she thought the police would be after her. But yeah, we gave up on that. It didn’t seem like that was in her nature. And it was a little too neat. We thought maybe Cary killed Emil and then killed himself.” Sam reached for my hand. “But none of those felt right. Those insurance policies were around for nearly a year. Felicity quit at the strip club long before any of this. And one thing is for sure, those guys knew that she wasn’t in an exclusive relationship with any of them.”
“They still might have been jealous.”
“I’m sure maybe they were. But why would it all come to a head right then? Right after Christmas and New Year’s, in the middle of the break? It’s just too improbable.”
“Then who?”
“I think Felicity must have crossed somebody scary without realizing it. Either somebody scary or somebody crazy. There are nutters out there who have whole fantasy relationships with women who don’t even know they exist—or who they talked to once at a grocery store, or at a strip club. Maybe it was another client who stalked her and watched other men come and go and then went off the rails.”
“If that were true, she would just say that to you. She’s private but she’s forthright.”
“So like you said, the other possibility is a bad guy. She didn’t know he was a bad guy until he crossed the line, whatever the line was, and then threatened to kill her too if she ever told. Or maybe after Ruth resigned, this guy abducted Ruthand killed her. I don’t know for sure who she is afraid of, but she’s so afraid she’d rather go to prison than risk talking about it. And that means giving up seven, eight, ten years of her life, before she can even apply for parole.”
