Monday's Child by Patricia Wallace Page A

school in tears after he’d barricaded himself in his office. She had later called to request the meeting, and had hinted that her attorney might be present.
    Well, she’d had all night to sleep on it, and he could only hope that she’d come to her senses by now.
    Otherwise it was going to be a long day.
    He scanned the remainder of the page, grunting as he noted that Lucy had sent flowers to the boy in the hospital in the school’s and his name—a nice gesture although flowers alone wouldn’t necessarily keep the Brownes from suing—and that she’d reported the injury to the school’s insurance carrier.
    So . . . all he had to do was defuse the ticking bomb Miss Appleton was sure to throw at him.
    He folded the letter and returned it to the envelope, which he then tucked in his inside jacket pocket.
    Forewarned is forearmed, he thought, and went to start his rounds.
    As luck would have it, he ran into Cheryl Appleton as he was crossing the parking lot.
    “Mr. Barry,” she said, hurrying to catch up to him. “May I talk to you?”
    He smiled and cocked his head, he hoped disarmingly. “I really haven’t the time now.”
    “It’s important.” She fell in step beside him as though he hadn’t spoken. “I know you think I was just upset yesterday—”
    “As anyone would be.”
    “But it’s more than that.”
    Not wanting to encourage her, he said nothing.
    “I would have to be blind not to see what’s been going on here.”
    “Oh?”
    “And you must have seen it as well.”
    He felt a flash of annoyance. He didn’t care to be told what he must see by a superior, much less a teacher. “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
    She grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks and making him face her.
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “Miss Appleton,” he said, “may I advise you that you’re dangerously close to insubordination?”
    She surprised him by laughing and he noticed that her eyes were glittering. What fires were raging in her mind? he wondered.
    “I think you’d better go to your classroom.” He removed her hand from his person. “The buses are starting to arrive and I’m sure you have things to do before the school day starts.”
    “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?”
    “Not when you’re so clearly having emotional distress.” He saw that her mouth had begun to tremble and felt that he had gained control. “To be honest, it hasn’t escaped my attention that you’ve been having a lot of trouble handling your class. Now that I think of it, it might be best for everyone if you took a sick day.”
    “But I’m not sick,” she protested.
    There was a hesitancy in her voice that hadn’t been there before and he pressed his advantage. “I insist. As your principal, I would be remiss in my duties to both you and the children if I allowed you to go into that room in your . . . condition.”
    Her eyes closed and she lowered her head. “Please let me stay.”
    “I’m sorry, no.” Oddly, now that he had beaten her, he was sorry. “We’ve a week’s vacation from school, and I’m sure the time off will make a new woman of you.”
    Without another word, he walked away.
    He had nearly reached the trees when he heard the screech of tires.
    In the split second it took him to turn, he imagined the worst—a bus plowing into a crowd of kids—and so he felt a measure of relief when there was but a single person in the vehicle’s path.
    Miss Appleton.
    What was she doing standing there?
    The bus struck her a glancing blow, but it was enough to send her flying through the air. She landed on the steps of the school, knocking down a red-haired little girl who immediately began to cry.
    Several yards away, Jill Baker collapsed to the ground in a faint.
    When his joints unfroze, Mr. Barry began to run towards the school.
     

Thirteen
     
    The Winslow Library was bereft of patrons and Georgia busied herself going through the returned books and erasing the margin notes that