Page 17 of Savage Row
Glimpsing my reflection in the hall mirror, I tear up. Rocky’s leash hangs from the corner. I couldn’t care less what I look like; I’m sure the girls are worried. This has never happened before. They know they can count on me to be there. It’s never been a question in their minds, and I wonder if today will change that, if it will undo everything I have worked so hard to build.
I’m all too familiar with waiting at the curb, unsure who—if anyone—was going to pick me up after school. I can still see the looks of pity written on the faces of teachers’ and the office staff, even though they tried to keep a cheery facade. Their true feelings seeped through, making it obvious they wanted to go home to their own families. Instead, they were stuck at school with the child who wasn’t important enough to be remembered. I swore I’d never put my children through that the way my mother had. I would blame my father but by that time, he was long gone. If not physically, definitely mentally.
Though I suppose I can’t blame him. It wasn’t easy playing second fiddle to my mother’s flavor of the month. Believe me, I know.
It makes me think of Greg. The one steady thing in my life. I’ve let him down too. He works so hard. The least I can do is keep up my end of the deal. He’d been so wonderful after the Meyers’ barbecue, running me a bath. He brought me a glass of wine and told me he’d handle the girls’ bedtime. One glass of wine that inevitably turned into two, and before I knew it, three-fourths of the bottle. I’ve never been much of a drinker, but I suppose that matters little now. A mistake is a mistake, and I’ve made plenty in the past twenty-four hours alone.
One glance in the rearview mirror reveals glassy eyes with bags under them and a grayish complexion. I look about like I feel. Hungover and feverish.
At the school, I throw the car in park and rush for the office, only to find the girls seated out front, with Blair’s teacher in between them.
When our eyes meet, Ms. Leon waves me over. Blair rushes at me while Naomi hangs back. The teacher waits with an expression conveying her deep disappointment.
She wants to speak with me. A nod and a wave and a quick apology will not do it.
“This has never happened before,” I say breathlessly and more defensively than I mean to. Her demeanor conveys pity as she gives me the once-over, taking in my wardrobe. “I’m not feeling well.”
I don’t know what I expect her to say, but the closed smile she offers tells me enough. Being sick doesn’t excuse my neglect. I’m not getting any sympathy from her. She’s been with eighteen kindergartners all day.
“Actually,” she says. “I’m glad we’ve gotten the chance to speak face to face.”
Blair clings to my leg. Naomi looks on, refusing to meet my gaze. “I wanted to remind you,” the teacher says, hesitating. “I know it was a nice thing to do and all—sometimes grandparents forget—but we have strict policies about snacks.”
“I’m sorry.” I remove Blair’s grip from my pants leg. “I don’t understand.”
“I double-checked because I thought I was right… but I wanted to make sure… it’s so easy to be forgetful these days.” She offers a tight-lipped smile, as though I missed her subtle dig. She talks in circles, but this must be how it is when you work with six-year-olds all day. “Blair’s birthday is in March. We’re only allowed treats on birthdays.”
“Treats?”
“Blair’s grandfather…he was so kind. I hated to tell him no. Which is why—”
“Blair doesn’t have a grandfather.”
Her eyes blink rapidly, and she cocks her head like maybe she should have believed me when I said I wasn’t well.
I shift my footing. “I mean, she has a grandfather. But he lives far away.”
Her face changes. She looks at me with concern. To explain my parents, or rather everything would only add to that concern.
“Perhaps the office got mixed up. The treats weren’t for Blair.”
“No.” The teacher shakes her head. “He delivered them while we were on the playground. I saw him myself. He waved at Blair, and she waved back.”
It feels like I’ve been sucker-punched. “What did he look like?”
“Um. Tall, blond. Friendly smile. And…quite fit for an older man, actually.”
“Fuck.”
“Mrs.—” She glances around and then repositions herself in between herself
and the girls, as though she is shielding the children from the F-word with her mind, body, and soul.
“The treats,” I hiss. “Where are they?” My cheeks burn and my knees are going to buckle at any moment. I can think of only one person who would show up here pretending to be someone he’s not.
Ms. Leon looks remorseful. “I’m sorry, but I had to turn them into the office. It’s policy.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. But only a small one. “That’s perfect.”