Tara Quinn - A Child's Wish

“Why?” Meredith asked, attempting to quell the nerves in her stomach. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking her head, the older woman gave Meredith’s hand a brief squeeze. “I don’t know, honey, but judging by the look on his face when he came from his office it’s probably best not to keep him waiting.”

“I used to think he was such a happy guy,” Meredith said softly, a bad attempt to make light of the situation. Better that than let her nerves have their way. That was never good.

With a quick clap of her hands, Meredith called her class to their seats, told them that Macy was in charge and moved after-lunch reading to first thing in the morning.

She’d never been called to Mark’s office twice in one month. Never two school days in a row.

She’d phoned both of the Barnetts as she’d promised to. And she hadn’t spoken to a single parent—or student, for that matter—since she’d gone home on Friday.

Hurrying down the hallway she tried her best not to fret, not to make a big deal out of something that would probably be nothing.

But she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what would require an early Monday morning summons. As a rule, a teacher never left her classroom if there were students in it, unless there was an emergency. The kids always took precedence over administrative business.

Had she talked to any other parents recently? Said anything that could have backfired and caused friction? She didn’t think so. Couldn’t remember if she had.

So who was missing that morning? She turned the corner, mentally checking her roster, praying there’d been no accidents or emergency surgeries over the weekend—nothing that she’d have to prepare her students to face.

Other than Tommy Barnett, she was pretty sure everyone had arrived before she’d left the room. And Tommy was always five to ten minutes late.

Mark was standing behind his desk, staring out the big metal-framed window that took up most of one wall. The lush green trees that Bartlesville was known for were in full spring bloom, but Meredith was pretty sure, judging by the tense way Mark was holding his shoulders and neck, that he wasn’t finding any joy in their beauty.

“Did you see the editorial section in the Republic this morning?” He spoke with his back to her.

“No.” Her heart started beating heavily, blood pounding so hard she could almost feel its passage. Had there been an accident?

Mark’s silence was excruciating. “I don’t get the newspaper…. I don’t watch the news, either,” she said inanely, in case he thought maybe she’d heard about whatever it was they had to discuss. “Too depressing.”

Mark shook his head, sighed loudly and turned. She couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes, but she knew he wasn’t pleased.

And if she wasn’t mistaken, he was more angry than sad and the unkind sentiment was directed at her.

At least, unlike Larry Barnett, he wasn’t lashing out.

Yet.

He reached for the Bartlesville morning paper and tossed it in her direction.

“Read it.”

REPUBLIC EDITORIAL

FAMILIES AT RISK

Local Teacher Sticks Her Nose Where It Doesn’t Belong

Washington County district attorney Larry Barnett got the shock of his life Thursday evening when his ex-wife called to say she had to speak with him on a matter of urgent business regarding their eight-year-old son, Thomas. This “urgent business” was a message from Tommy’s teacher saying that recently elected, highly respected Barnett was abusing his son—and all on the basis of some kind of hunch!! In a society that is becoming obsessed with its own shadows, why would we put in our classrooms, in charge of our impressionable young children, women who send out alarms without a trace of proof? And to make matters worse, according to Barnett, the teacher in question had made the damaging statement after referring the boy to his school counselor, who sent him back with a clean report. Lincoln Elementary School principal Mark Shepherd assured Barnett that he had the situation in hand, after which an apology was forthcoming. An apology? For scaring a single mother half to death? For falsely accusing a father of hurting his own son? I say fire the woman immediately!

HOPING THE TREMBLING in her lower lip wasn’t visible, Meredith glanced up. “He didn’t waste any time, did he?”

It was only an editorial.

“That’s all you have to say?” His words were soft, far too controlled. She’d never seen Mark so angry.

“Bo Reynolds is always trying to scare up trouble about something.” Even Meredith, who rarely saw the paper, had heard of him. “Everyone knows you have to take him with a grain of salt.”

“I’ve had more than forty calls already this morning,” Mark said, still by the window and facing her now, arms behind his back.

She had a feeling they were being forcibly held there for her protection. He’d sooner have his hands around her throat. She stood up.

“From whom?” she asked, pretending a calm she couldn’t even remember how to feel.

“Parents who wanted to make sure their third-grader was not in the same class as Tommy Barnett.”

Sweat oozed out her pores. “How many of them were?”

“One.”

Out of four third-grade classes, roughly 120 students, with forty calls, only one had been from her group?

“My parents know me and trust me.” Other than the obvious exception.

Mark dropped his arms, sighed. “I suspect you’re right,” he said with some hesitation. He leaned on his desk with his palms down, bringing his face closer to hers, his eyes deadly serious.

“It has to stop, Meredith.”

She said nothing.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“Not one more time,” he warned. “Please.”

Meredith withstood his scrutiny even when that hard glint returned to his eyes. He stood up and said, “I don’t want to have to fire you.”

“I know.” But he would if he had to. Still, the threat wasn’t going to stop her feelings, wasn’t going to stop the knowing. And she wasn’t going to stand by and silently watch children suffer, if she thought she could help them.

Of course, if she wasn’t around, she’d be useless to them.

She was just going to have to get a whole lot better at figuring out how to act on those situations that “occurred” to her without her being told about them.

“Can I go back to my class now?” she asked. “Mrs. Brewer is here for music this morning and we’re second on her list.”

“Yes.” Mark waved a hand at her. “Go.”

She didn’t wait for any niceties, didn’t intend to say another word. But at the door she turned.

“Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“Who was the one?”

She wasn’t surprised when all she received in reply was a frustrated stare.

TOMMY BARNETT DIDN’T show up late for school on Monday. He didn’t show up at all. But his mother did, late in the afternoon, avoiding Mark’s gaze as she withdrew her son from Lincoln Elementary School.

“I’m sorry,” she told Mark, sitting in his office, filling out papers on a clipboard she rested on her lap. The obviously expensive gray pantsuit she was wearing, the jewelry, makeup and well-tended hair didn’t seem to give her any confidence at all.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mark told her. “I completely understand.” He sat behind his desk, an authority figure who lacked the power to change a situation that had arisen under his care. Or even to explain it. “We’re the ones who are sorry,” he continued. “We let Tommy down—and we let you and his father down, as well.”

Ruth Barnett glanced up then, her eyes wide and luminous. “You didn’t let Tommy down,” she said softly. “He loved it here and he particularly loved Ms. Foster. His second-grade teacher told us she suspected he was dyslexic. This year, after just six months with Ms. Foster, he’s reading up to his grade level and beyond. Something had been holding him back, but it wasn’t dyslexia. I hope you know what a gem you have in her.”