Rula Sinara - After the Silence

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you come home.” He could hear the door click shut behind him.

I’ll be here when you come home.

How many times had Zoe said those words over the years?

He double paced to the Expedition hogging the small driveway. After Zoe’s death, he’d bought a year-old model because of cost, but he wanted the equivalent of a tank to haul his kids around in.

At least maybe he could keep the rest of his family safe.

* * *

BEN SCANNED THE report card preview before him. It looked like a Fortune 500 company stock sheet. Numbers, letters, categories and subcategories. What happened to just giving students As, Bs and Cs? Or Fs... He quickly searched the columns, relieved when no Fs jumped at him.

Ms. Serval crossed her legs again and kept fiddling with her necklace. Did teachers really dress up that much for a school day? He wore his worst jeans just to get through a day with three kids. She had eighteen. Ben pretended not to notice when she flicked her hair back over her shoulder and leaned forward to pass him another sheet of paper, and tried not to pass out from her tear-gas perfume. Maybe that was what had triggered Maddie’s headache. What he really wanted was for the woman to turn off the background music in the classroom. It was driving him insane, but he didn’t dare give her a reason to get up and walk in front of him. Not in his precariously low position on the child-size chair he was in.

“What’s an N?” he asked.

“That stands for Needs Improvement,” said Ms. Serval.

“In class participation? Seriously? After our meeting at the start of the year with the school counselor, knowing what’s going on, did you really find it necessary to give her an N on her report card? I’m sure there are ways to show participation that don’t involve raising your hand and speaking.”

Ms. Serval pulled back and gave her skirt a tug.

“Well, she’s doing great academically, really, Mr. Corallis. I wanted you to have a chance to see her interim grades, since you missed the scheduled conference.”

“The office gave you my message about my youngest getting sick, right?”

“Yes, of course. I completely understand and sent you an email about rescheduling.”

She had? Crap. He had a vague recollection of one that he’d planned to get back to. And forgot.

“Please understand, the whole report card is computer based now,” she said, redirecting the conversation. “We have to input a grade or letter, and there are criteria we have to follow to be fair. I couldn’t put anything else, given the situation. I do understand the reason and I understand that she’s getting therapy for her selective mutism and to help her heal from her—your—loss. But it’s more than that. Lately, she acts as though she doesn’t care. As though she’s not paying attention. Zoning out in the afternoons. And once this week, when I tried to correct something on her paper, she simply crossed her arms and sat at her desk staring at her paper for almost an hour. She refused to respond to anything I said. By working, of course. I don’t mean verbally.”

“An hour?” he asked, adjusting his balance on the chair. Why had she let Maddie sit there that long without calling Mrs. Eggers, the school counselor, or him, for that matter? Ms. Serval gathered the report-card papers, then clasped her hands.

“Not quite an hour,” she said, tipping her chin, “but I was doing what I could. Mrs. Eggers wasn’t here that day. She covers other schools certain days of the week. I had to keep seventeen other students on task, Mr. Corallis. I tried to get her attention as I kept teaching, and hoped she’d come around on her own. It was so close to the end of the day that I didn’t want to encourage the behavior by letting her go home early.”

“I don’t think she was trying to be difficult or manipulative.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that at all.”

Then, maybe he needed a hearing aid. Ms. Serval scratched her cheek.

“It’s just that we’re almost through the first quarter and I’m worried that if she withdraws more, as opposed to showing improvement, it’ll take its toll on the rest of her school year. I realize you’ve been taking her to a therapist and thought you could share these observations. I’ll be honest. I spoke to Mrs. Eggers, and she mentioned the option of putting her in Special Ed if things got worse.”

“No.” Ben couldn’t help it, but the mention of taking Maddie out of a regular classroom so early in the school year felt like a threat. “I’m sure that would be appropriate and helpful for a lot of kids, but Maddie isn’t learning disabled. Nor is she autistic. This is different. She belongs in a regular class with her peers,” he said, standing up. Ms. Serval quickly followed suit.

“I agree...if she doesn’t regress. Which is why I thought that maybe more interaction with kids casually, outside school, might help. This is just a suggestion. Actually an idea her art teacher gave me. A lot of children respond to art, and I teach an art club at the community center on weekends. I’d be more than happy to work outside school hours with her. If you think she won’t be comfortable with a group, I wouldn’t mind coming over and spending time with her. Her brothers could even join us if they wanted.”

Wow. Ben’s neck itched. Zoe had been an avid artist and photographer and used to tell him how much she enjoyed volunteering her skills at the school. No doubt Ms. Serval knew that. What he didn’t feel like sharing at this moment was that they were between therapists. He’d stopped taking Maddie to the one she’d been seeing and was still in the process of finding someone who’d do a better job of connecting with her. Even with medical coverage, nothing was free, and he’d expected her to show improvement at the couple hundred an hour the therapist charged.

He hadn’t bothered with family counseling, in spite of everyone bringing it up. He figured the boys were still young, and he... Well, he’d survived loss before. He’d pulled through that year in college, when his mother, who’d single-handedly raised him down in Virginia on nothing but waitressing jobs, had passed away from an undiagnosed tumor. That was when Zoe, a photography student, had come up to him in the library and asked if she could take candid shots for a project. She’d said that he had a distant look she wanted to capture. Everything had changed after that moment. It was then that he decided to join the marines. He’d needed to prove himself. Make something of that latchkey child his mom had sacrificed for. And for Zoe.

He’d survived.

But he hadn’t been a kid at the time, and with the changes Maddie’s teacher had noted over the past few weeks, he had to wonder if the sessions had indeed been doing any good at all. Or had the changes for worse occurred because he’d been devoting more time to his computer lately?

“Thanks, but I’ve already arranged for help outside school.” Not exactly the kind she was talking about, but not exactly a lie, either. He didn’t have details beyond the fact that Hope was a medical intern, so for all he knew she could be specializing in pediatric psychiatry. “Let’s see how she does over the next month or so. After the holidays.”

“Of course. Oh...” Ms. Serval picked up a blue folder and textbook from the corner of her desk and handed them to him. “I put together the work she missed today and some of the worksheets we’ll be doing tomorrow, just in case it turns out she’s coming down with something. Thanks so much for coming in here today. Maddie really is a sweetheart. I’m so sorry for all you’re going through.” She reached out, so he shook her hand. It felt limp.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Ben said. Then he escaped for the peace and quiet of his SUV.