“I don’t think so. I don’t know his résumé by heart,” Price said, “but I’d be likely to remember those years. They match my tenure here exactly.”
Boom, boom, went my heart in my ears. “Oh yeah?” I made myself smile. “You left Ridgedale University and came back?”
“Yes, I came as an American studies professor in 2006—to take over for Christine Carroll for a year while she underwent chemotherapy. It ended up being two years; the treatment was more complicated than anticipated. But when she returned for the fall of 2008, I departed for Wesleyan. I didn’t come back to Ridgedale University until a few years later, and then it was as a dean.” He looked confused.
But I wasn’t. Not anymore. Not only did Price’s tenure match the files; he’d taught the first three girls in the only class that connected them.
“I’m sorry, I believe I may have lost the thread on our discussion here. What does this have to do with Deckler?”
JENNA
MAY 30, 1994
Tex cornered me today on my way to Spanish. Totally sketched me out. Kind of pissed me off, too. It’s been nice having him be like this secret big brother to me—especially after that liar Todd Nolan started telling everybody that we had sex in the boys’ locker room. (He felt me up. And that was ALL.)
But I think Tex has gotten the wrong idea. First of all, he HAS a girlfriend, so I don’t know why he’s bothering me. Especially because I HAVE a boyfriend. Maybe not officially yet. But that’s what the Captain and I are: TOGETHER. And I’ve told Tex a million times that he ISN’T my type—or maybe I didn’t tell him that flat out. I didn’t want to be a bitch or whatever. Besides, what I said should have been enough.
But then today Tex got me all up against the wall and was like “Be careful.” And I was like “About what?” And he was like “You know.” And I was like “Hey, no, I don’t.” After like ten minutes of that shit, he was like “The Captain, be careful of the Captain.”
And so I’ll admit it, I got totally mad and I said something to Tex I shouldn’t have. Something so mean I’m not even going to write it here.
I felt kind of bad after because I don’t think Tex is trying to be a jerk or whatever. But he’s wrong about the Captain. And he’s confused about us. But that’s not even his fault. It’s probably because his tight-ass girlfriend won’t put out.
Barbara
Barbara was sitting on the living room couch. Waiting. With each passing minute, she was getting more aggravated that Steve wasn’t home yet. She wasn’t afraid to admit it: She couldn’t handle the situation with Cole on her own. But when she checked the clock on the cable box, she saw it was only 9:34 p.m. The community meeting surely had gone past nine, with Steve held up by questions afterward. He would come home as soon as he could after that. Assuming that his phone wasn’t dead or he wasn’t so distracted that he hadn’t noticed how many times she’d called. In any case, how many more messages could she leave?
A second later, her phone rang. Barbara leaped for it, telling herself not to snap at Steve. No one wanted to do the right thing and then have his head bitten off for being late. But it was a blocked number. Dr. Kellerman, Barbara presumed—psychiatrists knew better than to call you from a number you could call them back on. So nice of him to finally get back to her after Barbara’s fourth page.
“Hello?”
“This is Dr. Kellerman.” He sounded annoyed.
“Thank you so much for calling me back.” Finally, she wanted to add, but didn’t.
“Yes, Mrs. Carlson, what seems to be the problem?”
The hell of their afternoon poured out of Barbara in an unstoppable rush. By the time she’d gotten home from Ridgedale Elementary—and a stupid “quick stop” at the grocery store, which had stretched out because she’d been so hopelessly distracted by her miserable exchange with Rhea—Cole had completely fallen apart. Hannah had been in the kitchen, frantically trying to convince him that the red light on the smoke detector meant only that it was on, not that there was a fire.
But Cole wasn’t buying it. “I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head back and forth and back and forth. He didn’t even seem to notice that Barbara had come home.
“Mom, he’s not okay,” Hannah whispered, looking terrified.
“Why don’t you go upstairs, Hannah,” Barbara said. Because Hannah either needed to hold it together or get out of Barbara’s way. “Do your homework, listen to some music. Do something to distract yourself. Because Cole is fine, honey. He is just fine.”
“Mommy, please put it off,” Cole whispered once Hannah had headed reluctantly for the stairs. He was pointing at the red light on the smoke detector.
Oh, and did Barbara rise to the occasion. She was a virtual model of motherly calm, smoothly taking the battery out of the smoke detector and handing Cole its lifeless shell. He was better after that, for all of about ten minutes. Until Barbara turned on the stove to make dinner. One look at that blue flame flickering under the pot and Cole had jumped right out of his skin again. At least Hannah had stayed up in her room—she didn’t even come down for dinner. It was true, Barbara didn’t go up to get her, either; Hannah knew what time dinner was served. Instead, she decided to be grateful for small mercies.
After dinner was finished, Barbara spent at least a half hour trying to convince Cole that a Wild Thing couldn’t possibly fit behind his bookcase. And while he was brushing his teeth, Cole asked her at least a dozen times whether a “cat burglar,” which he seemed to think was an actual cat, was going to crawl in the window as he slept.
No, was Barbara’s answer each time. No, Cole. Of course not. All the while she prayed she’d keep it together. And she did, but barely. It wasn’t easy to sit by and watch your child lose his mind.