“But . . .” I knew something was coming, but I wasn’t sure what it was.
“There’s a new district protocol. I’ve been looking the other way for most of the year—given that Samantha is obviously bright and has excellent test scores—but our school has to submit a report by the end of the month of all the kids who have missed over fifty days this calendar year.”
“Fifty days?” This shocked me.
He nodded. “She missed forty days last spring, then there was the summer break, and now she’s missed almost every day of the current school year.”
I did some calculations in my head, and it didn’t come close to adding up. I had allowed her to stay home a few times, but . . . Had there even been fifty days of school to miss? Another quick set of calculations. “You’re saying that my daughter has missed about half.”
“Actually more than half.” He looked down at the printed spreadsheet in front of him. “I’d say your daughter has missed about eighty percent this calendar year, starting January 1.” He handed me the list of absences.
“Eighty percent.”
I looked down at the dates. One stood out. It was the day Tanisha Walker hired me to find her brother. The day I came to pick Sammy up from school and thought I had missed her. She’d lied. Sammy had told me that she’d ridden the bus.
I put the spreadsheet back on the desk. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?” My voice had raised.
Gieser shrunk a little from the challenge. Busied himself with flipping through more sheets of paper. “I don’t want to get into an argument here, Mr. Glass.” Keeping his eyes averted, he passed another piece of paper to me from his file. “But it looks like we did call. We called often, but you never called us back.”
He handed me a call log, a list of the dates and times as well as the name of the school secretary who had called my house. I tried to find a call listed that I could dispute, but the school wasn’t making it up. I had to admit to myself that there had been a lot of calls, and I hadn’t returned a single one.
I had been in my own head, struggling with the darkness. It took so much energy just to get up in the morning and be somewhat present during the day that returning phone calls wasn’t a priority.
I handed the list back, defeated. “What do you want from me?”
“Right now I can keep your daughter’s name off the list if you enter into a performance contract.”
“A performance contract?”
He shrugged as if nothing was in his control, which was probably true. “That’s the superintendent’s new protocol. We sign a contract, which essentially states that you will ensure that your daughter attends school, every day and every class. If you sign the contract, you’re off the list.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “And if I refuse?”
“If you refuse, your daughter goes on the list and we send it to the city attorney. Then he files a truancy petition with the court, alleging that your child is in need of protection.”
“What if I tell you that she’s getting bullied?”
“That’s for the city attorney to figure out.” The young administrator held out his hands again, powerless. “This is what I’m told to do. I don’t control what they do.”
“What if I sign the contract, and my daughter misses more days of school?”
“As I’ve said, then we send you to the city attorney and they file a petition.” He sighed. “The performance contract gives you a second chance.” He leaned forward, stressing the importance of what he was about to say. “It’s an opportunity to keep this private.”
I nodded, understanding what he meant and the ramifications. Regardless of whether I ran for Congress or not, I was from a political family, and political families keep these things private.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was dusk by the time I got back to the house. My cell phone rang as I pulled into the back drive. It was Emma. She gave an update on what happened after I left, and told me I had a full day of work tomorrow. She had set up Lost Boys interviews one after another from nine until five. She didn’t want me to be late.
“Sounds painful,” I said.
She didn’t care. “It’s money. We need the money.” Then she hung up.
I got out of the car, wondering how a woman I had met and hired just that morning had somehow become my new boss.
I walked through the backyard up to the main house. The door was unlocked, and I went inside. “Mom?” There was no answer, so I walked through the mud room and the empty kitchen. “Anybody around?” Then I heard giggling coming from the library.
The door was open a crack. I looked inside through the narrow slit but didn’t open the door. I didn’t want to interrupt.
Sammy was sidled up to the Judge. One of his arms circled around her. They were both smiling and talking about a picture in one of the old man’s books. She looked so happy in this moment, and yet I knew it was just a moment. I knew that things weren’t right.
She was hurting, and I’d been so self-absorbed that I hadn’t noticed. I knew she missed her mother, like I did, but I didn’t know school had gotten so bad that she’d lie to me. I wondered where she spent her days. What did she do for six or eight hours a day by herself?
My weight shifted and the floor creaked.
Both of them stopped talking and looked toward the sound, and I was forced to open the door and reveal myself. Both looked disappointed. “Sorry,” I said, stepping inside. “It’s getting late. Time to go.”
She stuck out her lip, but she knew that I was right.
“Run along now.” The Judge kissed her cheek and then patted her back as she got off the couch.
“See you tomorrow, Judge.” Sammy waved good-bye.
“Of course.” The Judge smiled back, and then Sammy and I walked out of the library.
“Grandma left a plate of dinner for you in the fridge.”
“That was nice of her.” At the mention of food, I realized how hungry I was. “I’ll grab it and take it back to our place.” We walked from the hallway into the kitchen.
I found a plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans in the refrigerator, secured beneath plastic wrap.
“Do your homework tonight?” I asked as we continued to the back door.
“Yes.” Sammy answered a little too quickly.
“Great.” I opened the door and we went outside. “You can show it to me, tell me what you’ve been working on.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see it.” I got the carriage house key out of my pocket. “I want to see how you’re doing.”
“Since when?” She sounded defensive, but I didn’t blame her. I hadn’t ever asked to see her homework, but now things were different.
“Things change,” I told her. “Conversations with Vice Principal Gieser will do that.” I opened the door to the carriage house, and Sammy walked inside, her head bowed. She’d been caught.