The crowd hummed. A smattering of hands went up.
“Are there other girls involved? Has Mr. Winters had relationships with other girls?” Mrs. Minnow asked, her voice tired.
“There is no reason to believe that and no one has insinuated that. No,” Bachman said.
“Will Mr. Winters be allowed back at school?” Jennifer asked.
“We can’t comment on his employment at this time.”
And on it went. For twenty minutes, parents fired questions, most of which Bachman was unable or unwilling to respond to, and the crowd grew weary. Bridget watched the whole thing with growing anger, a pulsing in her core that inched up into her throat.
She promised she’d just watch, not speak. But she couldn’t help it.
“Does anyone here believe that Mr. Winters, one of our beloved teachers and our baseball coach, is innocent?” Bridget finally asked. She looked around. Jennifer picked at her fingernails. Kelsey Minnow’s mother and father whispered to each other. Ashlee Williams’s mother untied and retied her shoe. Josh Tempest’s father stood up, his hands on his hips, and glared at Bridget but said nothing. In the distance, a dog barked.
In the back, the Evanses stood, holding on to each other, their arms entwined. They nodded, but said nothing. Andrew Evans. Nate’s star baseball player, his favorite student. He’d written letters of recommendation for Andrew, on the verge of acceptance into University of Texas’s baseball program, one of the most competitive programs in the country, and only as a junior. Half the major league teams recruited from the Longhorns, and in two years, Andrew would be there, in no small part because of Nate. Yet his parents stood, nodding at her, silent and pinched.
“We know you’re friends,” Jennifer said finally, clearing her throat on the word friends. “Maybe it’s not appropriate for you to be here?” Her voice tilted up, sweet and syrupy.
Bridget stood, dusted off her long skirt, took her time. “This isn’t easy for anyone,” she said, and made her way through the picnic tables, her back straight. As she passed Bachman, she gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Tad.”
She sat in her car, in the far corner of the lot, watching from a distance, while the parents asked questions. Some stood, their arms waving around as they gave their impassioned pleas. Finally, Bachman stood, gave a final statement, and headed toward the lot. She lowered the window and he stopped a few feet from her car.
“Do you believe Nate?” Bridget asked, and Bachman shook his head.
“Bridget, I can’t tell you any more than I tell them. I’m stuck in a shit spot, okay?” He looked back at the throng of parents, still talking, an hour and a half into the meeting, a father pacing in the back. They both watched in silence, unable to hear any words. “The Nate I know wouldn’t do this. I can tell you that.” The sun was starting to set, a sailor’s delight, as Bridget’s mother would say. “Do you believe him?” Bachman finally asked.
“I do,” Bridget said with less hesitation than she felt.
Tad touched his fingertips to the top of her car and gave her a nod. Then he left. She wondered how much of what she’d said to Tad was true. How much she believed.
Two days ago, when it all came out, Nate had come to her room, his eyes wild.
“Someone is telling lies about me. They’re going to ruin my life. My life, Bridget. This is my whole life. Alecia, Gabe, baseball, teaching. This is my entire life.”
She’d read the paper, of course. She’d tried to text him and call him all day.
“Nate.” She’d closed the door behind him, wondering how it would look if they were discovered. Everything was suspect now. Nothing could be innocent, trusted. “Why now? All this with Lucia happened weeks ago.”
“I don’t know why now.” He leaned forward. “You’re the only one who believes me. I think even Alecia thinks I’m guilty.”
“I called her. She won’t take my calls.”
“She won’t talk to anyone. Not even me.” He raked a hand through his hair, then his palm scraped against the rough of his cheek. His eyes, bloodshot and red rimmed, looked around the room searching. “Lucia called last week, Thursday. I couldn’t take the call, I was on the field. But she emailed me. It said, meet me at our hotel. I need you.”
“Christ on a cracker, Nate. You went?” Bridget flattened her palms against her desk. I mean, how stupid.
He nodded his head. “The last time I went there, the girl was beat up, purple bruises. I think Lenny hit her. She had no money, sleeping in the paper mill with a kerosene heater. To me, I need you meant I need help. I thought she needed me to pay for another night. That something happened at the shelter or that she went home to her brother. I had no idea.”
“I need you didn’t sound sexual to you? Suspicious?”
“No. It didn’t. It sounded like she needed help, just like the last time,” Nate said.
“God, you’re stupid,” Bridget said, shaking her head.
“In retrospect, maybe, but think about it. I had no reason to think any differently. I wasn’t actually having an affair with her. I’ve done nothing but help her.”
“So you went.”
“I did. I met her. She came out of her motel room and hugged me. She was crying. Thanking me. Said it was the last time, she just needed to hide out. Get some space and figure out where to go. I didn’t know what she meant and I didn’t ask. I calmed her down. Paid for her room and left. I was home before dinner.”
“What’d you do with the email?” Bridget had asked.
“I deleted it. This was before the news story, but I knew Alecia’d have a bird. That’s two hundred dollars I spent on this girl. Gabe needs that money. We need that money. She’d be furious.” Nate stomped his foot, like he was trying to shake feeling back into his toes. “It’s the same reason I didn’t tell her the first time.”
“So does Alecia know about this last time? At the hotel?”
“No.” Nate shook his head, adamant.
“You are a dumb twit, do you know that? She’s going to find out. The whole town is crazy. You have to come clean.”
“Bridget, you don’t understand.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed through his mouth. “Pretty sure my marriage is over either way.”
The thing she should have said to Nate, but didn’t, was yeah, but you kissed her. She did say it, right after it happened, but that was before it became the thing they didn’t talk about. They’d had one conversation, one confrontation, and that was it.
Right after the kiss, Bridget had waited for Nate, on the other side of his door, so when it swung open it nearly hit her in the face. Would have broken her nose, too. Then Lucia ran out and Nate called after her, but Lucia didn’t even slow down, her hair flying behind her like a cape. She thought maybe Lucia was crying, but it was possible she imagined it.
Nate was slow to come to the door and he looked left before he looked right.