my son, but my stomach still clenched as I waited for his news. What could he say that would possibly be worse than that? “And that is?” I asked him.
“I’m sure you know about the school board meeting.” I nodded, and he went on. “Well, there are two or three random students trying to get something added to the agenda, and they’re hitting a snag.”
“You mean Kyle,” I said, knowing he was the only student at Foster High who would be pushing for the administration to do more. Kyle was a magnificent boy who was the only one who’d seemed to know how bad Kelly’s situation was, and we practically threw him out of the house more than once. I hadn’t seen him since William chased him away from the funeral service, but I had been meaning to contact him and to thank him for being Kelly’s friend at the end.
God knows I hadn’t been.
Stephen nodded and gave me a half smile that told me his thoughts about the boy were as lofty as mine. “That’s him. He wants to start some kind of gay and straight club at the school and thinks this is the only chance he will have of getting it pushed through.”
It made sense. I would have been a fool not to understand that Kelly’s death was the only reason Kelly’s Laws were going to be enacted. Normally there wasn’t a chance in hell that Jeff Raymond would let something like that fly at Foster High. “He isn’t wrong,” I admitted.
“No, he isn’t, but it isn’t going to happen,” he said with a bit of regret in his voice. “I told him about the deal with Charlotte and put him on the trail. But he isn’t going to find who lodged the complaint in time. It’s too well hidden.”
It seemed that even if I ignored Gayle’s mention of the past, the ghost of Past Mistakes was bound and determined to come back and haunt me.
“No, he won’t,” I admitted, putting my own glass down now. “Not after all the trouble we went through making sure everything was buried.”
We sat there in silence for a couple of minutes, neither one wanting to say anything.
“And there is nobody else who will take responsibility for the club?” Even as I asked it, I knew the answer was no. We had sent a message last time that no teacher would dare ignore.
He gave me a sympathetic look. “What do you think?”
I sighed and looked out the back patio. “I think I need to go talk to Dolores Mathison.”
T O HELP you to understand who Dolores Mathison is means going into a small history lesson of the Foster wealthy. There are well-off people, there are wealthy people, and there are rich people.
And then there is the Mathison family.
They lived outside of Foster, but their presence in the town was overwhelming. They are old money, and their importance should never be underestimated.
Their family was the first to really strike oil in this part of the state, and when I say “strike oil,” I’m saying it in a way that tells you they have more money than God. At the turn of the twentieth century, they were responsible for employing a little over 40 percent of the population of Foster in one way or another. Their money paved most of the early roads in the town, because they were the only ones to own multiple motorcars. Their money designed and installed the fountain on the corner of First Street, the first and last piece of a citywide renovation project that went nowhere. Their names are synonymous with money and power in this town, even though people didn’t speak about them that much. Old money works behind the scenes, diplomatically, out of the public eye.
I knew them because Dolores Mathison had approached me about Charlotte Axeworthy when I had been on the school board.
The grounds surrounding the Mathison estate were immaculate. Anywhere else their house would be called a mansion, but here in Texas we try not to use such showy words. We had enormous houses to do that for us. I wasn’t too surprised that she agreed to meet with me Thursday; after all, I was the
“I’m sure you know about the school board meeting.” I nodded, and he went on. “Well, there are two or three random students trying to get something added to the agenda, and they’re hitting a snag.”
“You mean Kyle,” I said, knowing he was the only student at Foster High who would be pushing for the administration to do more. Kyle was a magnificent boy who was the only one who’d seemed to know how bad Kelly’s situation was, and we practically threw him out of the house more than once. I hadn’t seen him since William chased him away from the funeral service, but I had been meaning to contact him and to thank him for being Kelly’s friend at the end.
God knows I hadn’t been.
Stephen nodded and gave me a half smile that told me his thoughts about the boy were as lofty as mine. “That’s him. He wants to start some kind of gay and straight club at the school and thinks this is the only chance he will have of getting it pushed through.”
It made sense. I would have been a fool not to understand that Kelly’s death was the only reason Kelly’s Laws were going to be enacted. Normally there wasn’t a chance in hell that Jeff Raymond would let something like that fly at Foster High. “He isn’t wrong,” I admitted.
“No, he isn’t, but it isn’t going to happen,” he said with a bit of regret in his voice. “I told him about the deal with Charlotte and put him on the trail. But he isn’t going to find who lodged the complaint in time. It’s too well hidden.”
It seemed that even if I ignored Gayle’s mention of the past, the ghost of Past Mistakes was bound and determined to come back and haunt me.
“No, he won’t,” I admitted, putting my own glass down now. “Not after all the trouble we went through making sure everything was buried.”
We sat there in silence for a couple of minutes, neither one wanting to say anything.
“And there is nobody else who will take responsibility for the club?” Even as I asked it, I knew the answer was no. We had sent a message last time that no teacher would dare ignore.
He gave me a sympathetic look. “What do you think?”
I sighed and looked out the back patio. “I think I need to go talk to Dolores Mathison.”
T O HELP you to understand who Dolores Mathison is means going into a small history lesson of the Foster wealthy. There are well-off people, there are wealthy people, and there are rich people.
And then there is the Mathison family.
They lived outside of Foster, but their presence in the town was overwhelming. They are old money, and their importance should never be underestimated.
Their family was the first to really strike oil in this part of the state, and when I say “strike oil,” I’m saying it in a way that tells you they have more money than God. At the turn of the twentieth century, they were responsible for employing a little over 40 percent of the population of Foster in one way or another. Their money paved most of the early roads in the town, because they were the only ones to own multiple motorcars. Their money designed and installed the fountain on the corner of First Street, the first and last piece of a citywide renovation project that went nowhere. Their names are synonymous with money and power in this town, even though people didn’t speak about them that much. Old money works behind the scenes, diplomatically, out of the public eye.
I knew them because Dolores Mathison had approached me about Charlotte Axeworthy when I had been on the school board.
The grounds surrounding the Mathison estate were immaculate. Anywhere else their house would be called a mansion, but here in Texas we try not to use such showy words. We had enormous houses to do that for us. I wasn’t too surprised that she agreed to meet with me Thursday; after all, I was the
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