of the morning, riding the carousel of state bureaucracy while trying to teach his classes, and he still had not found his children. The last word he got was from the CPD, and they were emphatically refusing to tell him of the children’s whereabouts. Pastor Howard still wasn’t back, everyone else was at work, and nothing was happening fast enough.
Lord, I just wish these people would go away. I wish this day would end.
Tom looked back inside. Two kids, one third-grade, one fourth, were getting curious.
“Hey . . . TV!” said the little girl.
Tom was being recorded on camera this very moment. At least addressing the child would give him a chance to turn his back.
“Sammie, go sit down—this is none of your concern. Clay, are you finished? Well, put it on my desk and start the next page. I’ll check it right after lunch, all right?”
“Mr. Harris?” said Claire, coming up the wooden steps.
“Yes?”
“My name is Claire Johanson. I’m a legal assistant for Ames, Jefferson, and Morris. I’m here representing Mrs. Lucy Brandon, whom you know. May we speak with you briefly?”
“This has been a very difficult day for me, Mrs. Johanson . . .”
“ Ms. Johanson.”
“I have nothing to say to any more reporters. I’ve had quite enough.”
“This is a legal matter, Mr. Harris.”
Oh terrific. What more could go wrong?
Tom knew better than to embark on any conversation in the presence of big-eared reporters and a television camera. “Why don’t you come inside?” Then he made it clear. “You and Mrs. Brandon. These others can wait out here.”
He stepped aside and let the two women come in, then closed the door against the reporters.
They were standing in a common lunchroom/coat room/library between two classrooms. Tom poked his head into the classroom on the right. A first- and second-grade class of about ten children was puttering away at some low worktables, coloring, pasting, and keeping the level of noise just below their teacher’s established limit.
“Mrs. Fields?”
A plump, middle-aged woman stepped out of the classroom. Her cheeks were rosy and her hair tightly permed. Her eyes immediately showed alarm at the sight of Lucy Brandon and this officious-looking woman beside her.
“We have some important visitors,” Tom explained quietly. “Could you please oversee my class for a few minutes?”
“Certainly,” said Mrs. Fields, unable to take her eyes off the two women.
“They’re doing their reading assignments right now, and should be finished by 10. Clay’s on a special project I gave him; just make sure he puts it on my desk.”
She nodded and crossed over to look in on the third- through sixth-graders.
“Let’s step into the office,” said Tom, and led the way to a small cubicle in the back of the building containing one desk, a computer, a copy machine, and two file cabinets. There was hardly room for three people to sit down. Tom offered the ladies the only two chairs and chose to stand, leaning against the file cabinets.
Claire wasted no time. “Mr. Harris, we’re here to remove Amber from the school. We’d like to have all her academic records.”
Tom kept cool and businesslike. “I’ll check with our secretary and have those prepared for you. You understand that all tuition payments must be current before the records can be released.”
Claire looked at Lucy as she said, “All the payments will be takencare of. We’d like to process this as soon as possible.”
“Certainly.” Tom looked at Lucy. “I’m sorry that we weren’t able to discuss this . . .”
Claire interjected, “There is nothing to discuss.” With that, she rose, and Lucy did the same. “Now if you’ll let Amber know we’re here . . .”
The two women went out into the common room, and Tom followed.
Tom just wasn’t satisfied. “Uh, this is a bit of a surprise. I take it we weren’t able to resolve things to your satisfaction?”
Claire began to answer, “No, Mr.
Lord, I just wish these people would go away. I wish this day would end.
Tom looked back inside. Two kids, one third-grade, one fourth, were getting curious.
“Hey . . . TV!” said the little girl.
Tom was being recorded on camera this very moment. At least addressing the child would give him a chance to turn his back.
“Sammie, go sit down—this is none of your concern. Clay, are you finished? Well, put it on my desk and start the next page. I’ll check it right after lunch, all right?”
“Mr. Harris?” said Claire, coming up the wooden steps.
“Yes?”
“My name is Claire Johanson. I’m a legal assistant for Ames, Jefferson, and Morris. I’m here representing Mrs. Lucy Brandon, whom you know. May we speak with you briefly?”
“This has been a very difficult day for me, Mrs. Johanson . . .”
“ Ms. Johanson.”
“I have nothing to say to any more reporters. I’ve had quite enough.”
“This is a legal matter, Mr. Harris.”
Oh terrific. What more could go wrong?
Tom knew better than to embark on any conversation in the presence of big-eared reporters and a television camera. “Why don’t you come inside?” Then he made it clear. “You and Mrs. Brandon. These others can wait out here.”
He stepped aside and let the two women come in, then closed the door against the reporters.
They were standing in a common lunchroom/coat room/library between two classrooms. Tom poked his head into the classroom on the right. A first- and second-grade class of about ten children was puttering away at some low worktables, coloring, pasting, and keeping the level of noise just below their teacher’s established limit.
“Mrs. Fields?”
A plump, middle-aged woman stepped out of the classroom. Her cheeks were rosy and her hair tightly permed. Her eyes immediately showed alarm at the sight of Lucy Brandon and this officious-looking woman beside her.
“We have some important visitors,” Tom explained quietly. “Could you please oversee my class for a few minutes?”
“Certainly,” said Mrs. Fields, unable to take her eyes off the two women.
“They’re doing their reading assignments right now, and should be finished by 10. Clay’s on a special project I gave him; just make sure he puts it on my desk.”
She nodded and crossed over to look in on the third- through sixth-graders.
“Let’s step into the office,” said Tom, and led the way to a small cubicle in the back of the building containing one desk, a computer, a copy machine, and two file cabinets. There was hardly room for three people to sit down. Tom offered the ladies the only two chairs and chose to stand, leaning against the file cabinets.
Claire wasted no time. “Mr. Harris, we’re here to remove Amber from the school. We’d like to have all her academic records.”
Tom kept cool and businesslike. “I’ll check with our secretary and have those prepared for you. You understand that all tuition payments must be current before the records can be released.”
Claire looked at Lucy as she said, “All the payments will be takencare of. We’d like to process this as soon as possible.”
“Certainly.” Tom looked at Lucy. “I’m sorry that we weren’t able to discuss this . . .”
Claire interjected, “There is nothing to discuss.” With that, she rose, and Lucy did the same. “Now if you’ll let Amber know we’re here . . .”
The two women went out into the common room, and Tom followed.
Tom just wasn’t satisfied. “Uh, this is a bit of a surprise. I take it we weren’t able to resolve things to your satisfaction?”
Claire began to answer, “No, Mr.
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