“Did campus police participate in the investigation?”
He nodded. “Teenagers drinking. It’s always a recipe for disaster.” He paused, then reached behind him and picked up a pamphlet, slid it across the desk toward me. “If you want to know more about our procedures, they’re all set out in the university charter, which is a matter of public record. Not sure you want to comb through all that. This booklet here is what we give to students; it’ll probably tell you everything you need. But the two-minute version is that there is an involved procedure—an investigation, a hearing before a panel, a verdict—we call it a finding. Finding has to be by majority.”
“Who’s on the panel?”
“Five people appointed by the dean of students. Two professors, one administrator—which would be me at the moment—and two students. We’ve all gone through extensive screening and sensitivity training. The students change every year. The professors do five-year stints. Right now that’s Miles Cooper, who’s an English professor, and Maggie Capitol, biology. They’re both at the end of their five-year tenure. The dean of students presides.”
“And who investigates complaints?”
“Campus Safety officers.”
“Like Deckler?”
“Yes.” LaForde’s face tightened at the mention of Deckler. “Among others. There are ten officers on staff, plus supervisors. It’s all in the pamphlet.”
“Did a student named Rose Gowan ever make a complaint of any kind?”
“Does this have something to do with the baby?”
Lie. This time there was no question in my mind. “No,” I said firmly. “It doesn’t.”
“Oh.” He frowned and looked confused, but also concerned. “Regardless, Ms. Sanderson, I can’t comment on a specific student’s complaints. I’d like to be helpful, but my hands are tied. Confidentiality, I’m sure you understand. The only thing I’d be able to respond to would be a subpoena. And you’d know better than me, but I’m not sure they’re in the business of giving those out to reporters.”
When I came out of LaForde’s office, I caught a glimpse of Deckler, some distance down the hall. He was just standing there, staring in my direction, like he was waiting to see me again. I waved when he kept on staring, then darted for the door, hoping I could avoid him. I didn’t slow down until I was walking through the front gates of the university.
On the sidewalk, I pulled out my phone to check how much time I had before I needed to pick up Ella. A small scrap of paper fluttered to the ground—Justin’s note. I’d forgotten to read it after feeling it in my coat pocket when I was in Steve’s office. I knelt to pick it up, and sure enough, there was Justin’s jagged script.
In order that two imperfect souls might touch perfection. E. M. Forster
I smoothed my fingers over the words, feeling the grooves Justin’s pen had left in the paper. He must have slipped it into my pocket that morning before I left the house, or maybe the night before. Did he wonder why I hadn’t mentioned it at the Black Cat? Did he think I’d read it and not cared? I wouldn’t have said that I needed one of Justin’s notes right then, but it suddenly felt like the only reason I was breathing.
I was going to send Justin a text, thanking him for the note, when I checked the time: past two thirty, barely enough time to pick up Ella. I also had an unread text from Stella, sent a half hour earlier. You were right, it read. Police are holding Rose for questioning! Call me ASAP!
Tuesdays were always a light day at school pickup because many of the students went on to an after-school swimming program. Barbara and Stella weren’t there, only a dozen or so parents whom I knew by sight but not by name. Waiting in the hallway for Rhea to finish the afternoon meeting, I glimpsed Ella through the little window in the door. She was sitting in the circle with her hand raised, still dressed in her bright green outfit, eyes eager and wide. Whatever Ella said when she was finally called on made Rhea clap her hands and laugh loudly, which sent Ella into a fit of giggles.
She was a happy little girl. Justin was right. However much I had failed her in my darkest moments, I must have done something right.
“Mommy!” Ella shouted when Rhea opened the classroom door.
I crouched down as she ran at me full speed, jumping hard into my open arms. I buried my face in her mass of loopy curls and squeezed. She smelled like blueberry shampoo.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said. “How was the show?”
“It was great, Mommy!” I waited a beat for the but—but you weren’t here, but I missed you, but I was sad. Instead she just squeezed me back, so hard it was difficult to breathe. “I’m so glad to see you!”
“Me, too, Peanut.” I took a deep breath. Already I felt so much better, the thoughts that had been weighing on me—the baby, Rose, Stella, my other baby—already floating up and away as if someone had pushed open a vent. “How about you and I go to Scoops and get some ice cream?”
It was past four by the time Ella and I arrived at Ridgedale’s picture-perfect ice cream shop, which sat on a sunny, tree-lined stretch facing Franklin Street and the university. Scoops had homemade flavors like Cocoa Conniption and Strawberry Slalom, and kids could churn their own ice cream on Saturdays using the shop’s famed bicycle ice cream maker. It was the kind of magical place I couldn’t have imagined as a child.
“What do you want, Ella?” I would have bought her everything in that store if she’d promised to keep on smiling.
“Vanilla!” Ella shouted like she’d never heard of a more thrilling flavor in her entire life. “In a cone!”
“Just vanilla?” I laughed. “Are you sure? No sprinkles, nothing?”