I close my eyes then, rest my head against the back of the seat, try to breathe. I think of Connor pouring over the book of Hitchcock’s films, think of him looking at the picture of Robert Donat and Madeleine Carroll handcuffed together on the moor, think of how close our hands were then, how I nearly reached out and encircled his hand with my own, how we both gazed at the photo and how he said that he wanted to see that movie.
Dear Ms. Straw,
I am very sorry I called you that word. It was very rude of me. I am sorry I hurt your feelings. I hope we can be friends again. Like we were before.
Another motel room, the last motel room. He says, “I love you, Mona,” he makes love to me, it’s the way it was, but afterward he turns away as if he’s ashamed of himself, or of me, or of us together. He withdraws into silence again.
After a while he suddenly asks, in a remote, indifferent voice, “Mona, how long do child molesters go to jail for?”
He spends his days with Kylie. He doesn’t speak to me.
Dominoes falling. Looking through my box in the faculty room at school I find another mailing from Youth Leadership for America, a reminder about their annual conference happening in just a few weeks and telling me that there’s still time to register up to two students for this “wonderful opportunity,” a day-long conference tailored to fifth- through eighth-graders about “leadership, community, and caring.” The young co-star of a current teen sitcom will make an appearance, a Maryland state senator will speak, students will brainstorm ideas about building community, create a group art project on the theme, have fun, think, learn. Lots of food, competitions, door prizes. Hundreds are expected to attend.
The price is low, and the school is willing to foot the bill if I want to take my Saturday to drive a couple of students up to Harrisburg for the event. I’ve done it with kids once or twice before. Parents must be talked to, of course, permission forms have to be signed. It will wipe out my Saturday, from early morning to night. Bill will have to take care of Gracie. And yet dominoes are falling in my mind, I can feel them. Gears meshing, slipping into place.
I don’t ask them separately, I ask them together at the end of a Friday after-school session. I request that Connor and Kylie stay behind for a moment and they do. I show them the brochure, talk up the event, tell them what an exciting opportunity it is.
“I can register up to two students,” I say. “I thought you two might enjoy it.”
Connor and I exchange a look. “Why us?”
“Because I think you’re a natural leader,” I say to him. “And Kylie, you’re coming out of your shell so much now. I think this would be really good for you.” Her smile is big, as it always is when she receives the kind of positive attention from me or anyone that she’s not yet used to. “It would be fun, anyway. Something different to do. Just the three of us, together for the day.”
“I want to go!” Kylie says. Her excitement is obvious. Kylie is not a girl accustomed to being picked for anything.
Connor is more reserved about it, but he’s intrigued. He obviously understands that this is an overture on my part, a peace offering, my way of telling him that it’s all right, he and I can be friends, friends and nothing more, I can support him as a teacher should and in no other way.
“I can talk to your dad about it, Connor, if you want me to,” I say.
He shrugs, hands the brochure back to me. “Sure. I mean, it’s okay. I’ll go. If Kylie wants to.”
“Fantastic!” I say, grinning at them both. “We’ll have a great day, I promise. I’ll talk to your dad, Connor, and Kylie, I’ll call your mom about it. Here’s the permission forms, okay? Get them signed and bring them back as soon as you can.”
The phone conversations with the parents are brief and simple. Connor’s dad just says fine, he’ll sign it. Kylie’s mom is more curious, unaccustomed to having her daughter singled out for something like this. I tell her about the conference, talk up how well Kylie has been doing, emphasize that I’ll be chaperoning them every minute. Finally she says yes and thanks me. The permission forms come back from both kids the next day, signed.
20
The Saturday arrives with dark gray clouds approaching in the sky and a forecast for rain. Bill kisses me at the door and wishes me a good conference. Gracie hugs me. That’s the hardest moment, Gracie’s little arms around my leg. I pick her up for a moment, press her face against my neck, tell her how much I love her, that I’ll never stop loving her. “You be a good girl for Daddy, okay?”
“I will.”
I smile, put her down again, wipe my eyes.
“Hey,” Bill says, “what’s up? Why the tears?”
“Just allergies,” I say. I kiss him on the cheek. “Take care of Gracie, Bill.”
“I will. We’re going to the movies later.” He picks her up.
“That’s great. That’s great.” I try to keep my voice steady. “I trust you, Bill. I know you’ll always be a good dad to her.”
“Hm?”
“Take care of her, okay?”
“You bet,” he says, smiling but with a slightly puzzled expression on his face.
I toss my bag into the car, start the motor, sit there for a moment looking at my husband with our daughter in his arms, these two people who love me and whom I’ll never see again. I back out of the driveway quickly, not wanting to burst completely into tears that can’t be explained away by unreal allergies. My nerves are jumping under my skin. I’m sweating although it’s cool in the car. As I stop to shift the vehicle into drive I check my purse and make sure it’s securely closed. The handcuffs are in the purse, and Bill’s gun.
There’s time to change my mind, of course. There’s time to turn back, to tell Bill I’ve suddenly taken sick, to provide evidence by sticking my finger down my throat in the bathroom and retching my breakfast, to have him call Connor and Kylie’s parents and explain that his wife is very ill, she’s terribly sorry but she’s not going to be able to take the kids to the conference after all. It would all end then. After I convinced Bill that it just seems to be indigestion or food poisoning and that the worst of it appears to have passed, that what I need now is sleep, he would go ahead and take Gracie to the movies and I would bury the handcuffs in a box or bag or something and stuff it down deep into our garbage can outside and then replace Bill’s gun in the drawer and there would be nothing, absolutely nothing that had happened except a couple of mildly disappointed kids who would no doubt get together at Kylie’s house that day anyway for snacks and TV. On Monday I’d apologize profusely to them, say we’ll be sure to go next year, even if I knew we wouldn’t. I could get another teacher to take them, maybe. Anyway it wouldn’t matter. It would be over, the crisis passed, life would return to normal.