it.”
Another shrug.
“I hear you’re flirting with a suspension.”
“That bitch started it,” Jane said.
“You’re a good writer,” I said. “That other story you did, I submitted it to the library’s short story contest, the one they have for students.”
Jane’s eyes did a little dance.
“Some of your stuff, it reminds me a bit of Oates,” I said. “You ever read Joyce Carol Oates?”
Jane shook her head.
“Try
Foxfire: Confessions of a Girl Gang
,” I said. “Our library probably doesn’t have it. Bad words. But you could find it at the Milford Library.”
“We done?” she asked.
I nodded, and she headed out the door.
I found Rolly in his office, sitting at his computer, staring at something on the monitor. He pointed at the screen. “They want more testing. Pretty soon, we won’t have any time to teach them anything. We’ll just test them from the moment they get here to the moment they go home.”
“What’s that kid’s story?” I asked. He needed to be reminded who I was talking about.
“Jane Scavullo, yeah, shame about her,” he said. “I don’t even think we have a current address for her. The last one we have for her mother has to be a couple of years old, I think. Moved in with some new guy, brought her daughter along, too.”
“The fight aside,” I said, “I think she’s actually been a bit better the last few months. Not quite as much trouble, a little less surly. Maybe this new guy, maybe he’s actually been an improvement.”
Rolly shrugged. He opened up a Girl Scout cookie box on his desk. “Want one?” he asked, holding the box out to me.
I took a vanilla.
“It’s all wearing me down,” Rolly said. “It’s not like it was when I started. You know what I found out behind the school the other day? Not just beer bottles—if only—but crack pipes and, you won’t believe this, a gun. Under the bushes, like it had fallen out of someone’s pocket, or maybe he was hiding it there.”
I shrugged. This wasn’t exactly new.
“How you doin’ anyway?” Rolly asked. “You look, I don’t know, off today. You okay?”
“Maybe a bit,” I said. “Home stuff. Cyn’s having a hard time giving Grace any kind of taste of freedom.”
“She still looking for asteroids?” he said. Rolly had been over to the house with his wife, Millicent, a few times and loved talking with Grace. She’d shown him her telescope. “Smart kid. Must get that from her mother.”
“I know why she does it. I mean, if I’d had the kind of life Cyn’s had, maybe I’d hold on to things a bit tight, too, but shit, I don’t know. She says there’s a car.”
“A car?”
“A brown car. It’s been by a couple of times when she’s been walking Grace to school.”
“Has anything happened?”
“No. A couple months ago, it was a green SUV. Last year, there was a week or so there, Cyn said there was some guy with a beard on the corner, three days in one week, looked at them funny.”
Rolly took another bite of cookie. “Maybe, lately, it’s the TV show.”
“I think that’s part of it. Plus this is twenty-five years since her family vanished. It’s taking a bit of a toll on her.”
“I should talk to her,” Rolly said. “Time to hit the beach.” In the years after her family’s disappearance, Rolly would occasionally take Cynthia off Tess’s hands for a while. They’d get an ice cream at the Carvel at Bridgeport Avenue and Clark Street, then stroll the shore of Long Island Sound, sometimes talking, sometimes not.
“That might be a good idea,” I said. “And we’re seeing this psychiatrist, this woman, you know, once in a while, to talk about things. Dr. Kinzler. Naomi Kinzler.”
“How’s that going?”
I shrugged, then said, “What do you think happened, Rolly?”
“How many times you asked me this, Terry?”
“I just wish this could end for Cyn, that she could get some sort of answers. I think that’s what she thought the TV show would
Another shrug.
“I hear you’re flirting with a suspension.”
“That bitch started it,” Jane said.
“You’re a good writer,” I said. “That other story you did, I submitted it to the library’s short story contest, the one they have for students.”
Jane’s eyes did a little dance.
“Some of your stuff, it reminds me a bit of Oates,” I said. “You ever read Joyce Carol Oates?”
Jane shook her head.
“Try
Foxfire: Confessions of a Girl Gang
,” I said. “Our library probably doesn’t have it. Bad words. But you could find it at the Milford Library.”
“We done?” she asked.
I nodded, and she headed out the door.
I found Rolly in his office, sitting at his computer, staring at something on the monitor. He pointed at the screen. “They want more testing. Pretty soon, we won’t have any time to teach them anything. We’ll just test them from the moment they get here to the moment they go home.”
“What’s that kid’s story?” I asked. He needed to be reminded who I was talking about.
“Jane Scavullo, yeah, shame about her,” he said. “I don’t even think we have a current address for her. The last one we have for her mother has to be a couple of years old, I think. Moved in with some new guy, brought her daughter along, too.”
“The fight aside,” I said, “I think she’s actually been a bit better the last few months. Not quite as much trouble, a little less surly. Maybe this new guy, maybe he’s actually been an improvement.”
Rolly shrugged. He opened up a Girl Scout cookie box on his desk. “Want one?” he asked, holding the box out to me.
I took a vanilla.
“It’s all wearing me down,” Rolly said. “It’s not like it was when I started. You know what I found out behind the school the other day? Not just beer bottles—if only—but crack pipes and, you won’t believe this, a gun. Under the bushes, like it had fallen out of someone’s pocket, or maybe he was hiding it there.”
I shrugged. This wasn’t exactly new.
“How you doin’ anyway?” Rolly asked. “You look, I don’t know, off today. You okay?”
“Maybe a bit,” I said. “Home stuff. Cyn’s having a hard time giving Grace any kind of taste of freedom.”
“She still looking for asteroids?” he said. Rolly had been over to the house with his wife, Millicent, a few times and loved talking with Grace. She’d shown him her telescope. “Smart kid. Must get that from her mother.”
“I know why she does it. I mean, if I’d had the kind of life Cyn’s had, maybe I’d hold on to things a bit tight, too, but shit, I don’t know. She says there’s a car.”
“A car?”
“A brown car. It’s been by a couple of times when she’s been walking Grace to school.”
“Has anything happened?”
“No. A couple months ago, it was a green SUV. Last year, there was a week or so there, Cyn said there was some guy with a beard on the corner, three days in one week, looked at them funny.”
Rolly took another bite of cookie. “Maybe, lately, it’s the TV show.”
“I think that’s part of it. Plus this is twenty-five years since her family vanished. It’s taking a bit of a toll on her.”
“I should talk to her,” Rolly said. “Time to hit the beach.” In the years after her family’s disappearance, Rolly would occasionally take Cynthia off Tess’s hands for a while. They’d get an ice cream at the Carvel at Bridgeport Avenue and Clark Street, then stroll the shore of Long Island Sound, sometimes talking, sometimes not.
“That might be a good idea,” I said. “And we’re seeing this psychiatrist, this woman, you know, once in a while, to talk about things. Dr. Kinzler. Naomi Kinzler.”
“How’s that going?”
I shrugged, then said, “What do you think happened, Rolly?”
“How many times you asked me this, Terry?”
“I just wish this could end for Cyn, that she could get some sort of answers. I think that’s what she thought the TV show would
Similar Books
