We reached the school parking lot at exactly 7:45 AM, fifteen minutes before the bell. Everything looked normal—the same minivans and pickup trucks, parents walking children to the entrance, the ancient oak tree dropping leaves across the playground—but I couldn’t shake the chill tap-dancing down my spine.
Then I saw Beth Morris standing at the classroom door, and my stomach dropped.
Beth—perpetually disheveled, chronically late Beth—stood perfectly still, back straight, hands clasped neatly in front of her. Her usually wild auburn curls were smoothed into a neat French twist. She wore a crisp blue sweater tucked into pressed khaki pants—the same outfit as the women at the post office. No paint splatters. No mismatched socks. No half-falling-out ponytail or smudge of marker on her cheek.
“Mommy?” Sophia tugged at my hand. “Why are you squeezing so tight?”
I loosened my grip. “Sorry, sweet pea.”
We approached the classroom, and with each step, the wrongness intensified. Beth’s smile—usually broad and genuine and slightly chaotic—was perfectly symmetrical, her lips curved at precise angles that never reached her eyes. Those eyes... usually warm and distracted, now focused with unnerving intensity on each child who entered.
“Good morning! Beautiful day, isn’t it?” she said to the boy ahead of us.
The boy nodded and entered the classroom. His mother seemed not to notice anything strange, chatting on her phone as she waved goodbye.
Am I losing my mind? Is this paranoia finally tipping over into delusion?
But no. I knew Beth Morris. The woman who had sobbed openly at the kindergarten Thanksgiving play. Who wore clothes straight from the laundry basket, often inside-out. Who carried a tote bag exploding with half-finished projects, student artwork, and emergency snacks for “her kids.”
“Good morning!” Beth’s smile turned to us. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Sophia tilted her head, studying her teacher. “Your hair is different, Ms. Beth.”
“Thank you for noticing.” Beth touched the bun. “Thought I’d try something new.”
“We’re doing the nature walk today!” Sophia bounced on her toes.
“We are. Should be a great learning experience.” Beth’s hand settled on Sophia’s shoulder, and I suddenly wanted to snatch my girl away from her, which was ridiculous. “I see you’re wearing a butterfly pin. Butterflies undergo complete metamorphosis. They change entirely.”
The words themselves weren’t alarming—Beth often went off on educational tangents—but something about the delivery felt rehearsed.
Sophia glanced back at me, uncertain. “I know, Ms. Beth. We talked about it yesterday. Remember?”
If I wasn’t mistaken, something like panic crossed Beth’s face before it flattened out again, and she smiled.
“She’s doing really well this year,” she said, ignoring Sophia’s question and turning her attention to me. That wasn’t normal,either. The Beth I knew never ignored a question from one of her kids, no matter how inane. “You should be proud.”
“I am. Thank you.” I knelt and wrapped my arms around my daughter. “Have a good day at school, sweet pea.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, “Remember what I taught you?”
She nodded solemnly. Our code. If anything ever felt wrong, if she ever felt unsafe: hide, then run to Dutch’s store or home, nowhere else.
“I love you.” The words caught in my throat, and I could tell Sophia was worried. I suddenly didn’t want to leave her, and it took every ounce of control I possessed to stand up and let her go. “I’ll be here at three-fifteen, right after school.”
“Okay, Mommy.” Sophia gave me one more look, her eyes too serious for a five-year-old, then walked into the classroom.
I needed to stop overreacting to every little thing. My paranoia was starting to frighten my daughter.
I walked back toward Main Street, my thoughts spinning. Beth had cleaned up her act. So what? People changed. Maybe she’d finally gotten tired of being the messy teacher. Maybe she’d met someone. Maybe she’d just decided to try harder.
And those women at the post office? Maybe they were part of a Bible study group. Maybe it was a town joke I wasn’t privy to—after all, I was still considered an outsider by a lot of the lifelong Garnett residents.
It was nothing. I was seeing threats where none existed. Just like I’d been doing for months.
Dutch was restocking canned beans when I finally made it to the store, thirty minutes late for my shift. When the bell above the door announced my arrival, he didn’t bother turning around.
“If you’re not early?—“
“I know, I know. I’m late,” I finished for him, hanging my jacket on its usual peg. I’d walked around town after leaving theschool, looking for anything else that felt off. I didn’t see anyone else wearing the blue-and-khaki combo, and now that I was here, I had to laugh at myself.
