I bite the inside of my cheek. What party? We all went to that game, the season opener. Erika had gone home with Cicely, her friend since third grade.
She continues. “I met Danny. We hung out. He was older. He was talking to a bunch of the seniors.” Suddenly, she whips around in her seat and faces me. “I know what you’re thinking. It was nothing. At first, I just thought he was interesting.”
I gingerly lay my hand on her arm and, against my better judgment, nod for her to continue.
She faces forward again. “He wasn’t a nice guy. He bullied some of the less confident underclassmen and... Never mind.”
“This is one of your substitute teachers?” Clint barks.
“I don’t know anything about this. This was his first day here and evidently his last.” Dr. Singh shuffles some papers on his desk, unwilling to make the easy eye contact he’s made through most of our meeting.
“I saw him this morning in the hall. He walked by me and whispered I was beautiful. The way he said it creeped me out.”
“What do you mean? Is he the reason you took that picture?” My confusion is starting to lift. He must have played on her insecurities.
“No!” she shouts.
“What picture?” Dr. Singh straightens and stares at Erika. This narrative—where she’s in the wrong—he seems much more comfortable addressing.
“There is no picture. Just the video. My mother’s confused,” Erika says sharply, leaning toward her dad before continuing. “I did what I did to stop Danny. I was upset, and then he used that same bullying tone with Ethan. I just snapped. Ethan’s brilliant, but he struggles getting his ideas out. Danny was riding him and making him stutter. I had to make him stop... I don’t know. Let’s just get this over with. What’s my punishment?” Erika purses her lips as if she is clamping down on words she dares not say.
Clint stands. “We’re leaving.” His navy-blue T-shirt ripples overhis shoulders. “Dr. Singh here needs to clean house. And we need to take our daughter home. I’ll be in touch.”
Dr. Singh is the only other person who stands. “I think we should continue—”
“I said we’re leaving.” Clint’s voice is soft but has the power to lift both Erika and me from our chairs.
19
CLINT AND I FLANK OUR DAUGHTERas we walk back to the car. My body feels like I overdid it at the gym and then got beat up as I left the locker room.
Erika’s gaze doesn’t stray from the concrete in front of her shoes.
“Anyone up for a Blizzard?” Clint asks. The first words spoken since we left the principal’s office.
“Ice cream?” The incredulous words fly out of my mouth before I can consider. My throat clenches. This is the tone that constantly gets me in trouble. What is wrong with me?
“I could eat junk food.” Erika’s voice is light, almost like it once knew how to laugh.
“Meredith, want to live on the wild side?” Clint cranes his neck to glance at me.
His levity makes me trip.
We drive to Dairy Queen. At just after 1p.m., the parking lot isnot empty. Clint drives to the back of the squat building and finds a place.
As we walk into the fast-food restaurant, the stench of grease and freshly mopped floors assails me. I spy the restrooms to the rear. “Maybe get me just a plain dish.”
I use my shoulder to push open the door and walk up to the mirror. My makeup is gone. I don’t even see streaks of leftover mascara. I’m certain I put some on this morning. My brown eyes with golden streaks radiating out from the pupils stare unblinkingly back at me.
This is all my fault.
How could I not know about this guy? This man? There has to be more to this story. The picture has to be related.
Honestly, is it really a surprise? I’ve been so distracted. So focused on myself. Not to mention my job. A job I could be losing as we eat mass-produced ice cream. There’s a meeting right now that will decide my fate, and this is the first time I’m even giving it a thought. Maybe I don’t care what they decide. I can’t do it all. I can’t be present here and know the right things to say to my kids and husband at just the right time and also be on top of all the firm alliances while coming up with their next big thing. It’s just too much. Even without the ridiculousness with Betsey.
Oh, Betsey.
The small white envelope smolders in the bottom of my bag. After sprinting to catch my train and find a seat, I almost tore into it, but then Clint’s texts started, and of course the emails from the rest of my sales team, who’ve lost their leader. I haven’t had a spare moment to give yet another person power over me.
