Both gave me a tiny nod. Another honk came from behind me. I was holding up the line once again. I took a breath, then pulled the car out of the parking lot, drove it down the street, and parked under a big sycamore just off the school grounds. No other cars around, no audience.
I turned to face them again, twisting in the front seat again, trying to keep my tone friendly and non-confrontational again. I wasn’t the best at dealing with people, which is why I worked back of house at the shop. I didn’t handle customers or any client or vendor relations unless there was a problem, like a bill needed to be paid or someone wasn’t doing their job, that’s when they sent me in. I was jarring, abrasive, rude even. How was I going to make these little angels, who were clearly terrified to speak, open up to me?
“Listen. I don’t care what it is, you can say it. It doesn’t matter, I promise you will not get in trouble. Not with me.”
Silence. Then, after a long moment, Joey glanced at Andi, and I saw a silent exchange pass between them before Joey spoke.
“She had to pee in class, but Mrs. McDonald wouldn’t let her go because she said we just came in from morning break. So, she had to wait until the lunch bell, but then…” Joey looked at me, the weight of the world in her five-year-old eyes. “She couldn’t hold it, and she had an accident. She wanted to stay in her chair at lunch, but Mrs. McDonald made her line up anyway. I fixed it so kids didn’t know because I told her to wrap her fleece around her waist, plus her pants were black so it didn’t really show anyway. Then we went to the bathroom, and I had her change into my clothes from the sleepover that were still in my backpack because I forgot to put them in the wash.”
It was only then that I noticed Andi was not wearing the clothes she’d gone to school in.
Andi’s chin wobbled, but she didn’t cry. She just looked so small, so defeated, that I wanted to wrap her in a blanket and magic away every bad memory she’d ever have.
“Did you tell your teacher that you had an accident?”
“Yes, I did.” Joey raised her hand. “I went back after Andi changed to make sure her chair was cleaned and told Mrs. McDonald, and she said Andi should be more responsible, but I told her Andi did ask to go twice.”
Andi’s chin wobbled again.
“It’s okay,” I said, reaching back and squeezing Andi’s hand. “That’s happened to everyone. Bailey wet her pants in second grade because she was laughing so hard during P.E.”
“She did?” Andi’s voice quivered.
“Yep.” I nodded. Bliss women were cursed with a small bladder and peed ourselves when we laughed too hard.
“And when I was nine or ten, your dad made me laugh so hard I wet myself.”
Both their eyes widened. “He did.”
“Yes.” I brushed strands of hair that were stuck to Andi’s tear-stained cheek behind her ear and realized she felt warm. Very warm. I pressed the back of my hand to her forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
“No!” Joey exclaimed. “She told Mrs. McDonald she didn’t feel good and wanted to go home, and Mrs. McDonald said she wasfine at lunch, so she didn’t let her go to the nurse.”
I closed my eyes for a second. I could feel the anger creeping up my neck, turning my ears hot. I used that fury to fuel my mission mode. I pulled my phone from the pocket and texted Adam to let him know what was going on before calling the pediatrician. There was a same-day slot in two hours. I booked it then turned back to the girls.
“Okay, we’re gonna go home, you can take a lukewarm bath, and change clothes before we go to the doctor,” I said, shifting into mission mode. “And then, if you want, we’ll get ice cream. But first?—”
I pulled a U-turn, technically illegal, but the street was empty and I was operating on mama bear rage and headed straight back to the school. Mrs. McDonald and I were going to have a little chat, maybe with the principal, maybe the whole damn school board. I didn’t say anything, just drove, but the girls were whispering in the back seat.
“Billie?” Joey said, finally. “What are you going to do?”
I checked the rearview and saw her worried expression.
“I’m just going to have a conversation with your teacher,” I said.
Joey’s eyes got big. “Mrs. McDonald doesn’t like when parents come after school.”
“Well, then Mrs. McDonald should do her job,” I said sweetly.
We pulled up to the school, both girls got out of the car with me. Andi was still silent, but she stuck close to my side, and Joey marched ahead of both of us like a tiny attorney ready for trial.
As we walked in, I clocked the secretary at the front desk, Mrs. Felder, out of the corner of my eye. “You need to sign in, Miss Bliss!” she called after us, but I was already halfway down the hall, Andi’s hand in mine, Joey now trotting at my heels.
I didn’t respond. I made a beeline for Mrs. McDonald’s classroom. The halls smelled like Elmer’s glue and chicken nuggets left too long in the warming bins.
When I got there, I could see Mrs. McDonald through the narrow window, stacking construction paper into neat piles. The door to Room 110 was closed. I didn’t knock. I opened it with the force of someone with nothing left to lose and everything left to say.
Mrs. McDonald looked up from her desk, eyebrows arched, mouth forming the first syllable of my name. The air in her classroom smelled of paste, tempera paint, and, weirdly, canned peaches.
