Jason couldn’t finish the thought. His chest had grown too tight. Fear or rage? It was too hard to tell. Maybe, for a man like him, those emotions were one and the same.
“No one will harm my child,” he heard himself say. “I will keep my daughter safe.”
D.D. just looked at him. “Yeah? And how many times did you think the same thing about your wife?”
Jason Jones stalked off. D.D. didn’t follow. She returned to the principal’s office, where she and Miller had another go at Ethan, with pretty much the same results. Ethan Hastings was convinced that Jason Jones was pure evil, yet could not offer a single compelling reason why Sandra Jones might claim her husband was dangerous. The boy had found his heroine, and in Jason Jones, the dragon guarding the keep.
His parents were distraught, the father going so far as to pull D.D. aside to mention his wife’s brother, Ethan’s uncle, worked for the state police…
D.D. didn’t have the heart to tell the man that a family connection with the state police hardly bought you brownie points with the BPD.
She and Miller jotted down Ethan’s statement, seized his cell phone to search for incriminating messages between him and his twenty-three-year-old teacher, then hunted down Elizabeth Reyes, aka Mrs. Lizbet, who had a more even-handed assessment of things.
By the time they finished up at the school, it was five o’clock and D.D. was in the mood for lasagna.
“You’re awfully perky,” Miller informed her.
“Good day,” she agreed.
“We still haven’t found Sandra Jones, and now we have a third suspect to consider-a thirteen-year-old Romeo.”
“I don’t think Sandra Jones was sleeping with Ethan Hastings. Though it’ll be fun to search his cell phone.”
Miller slanted her a look. “How can you be so sure? You been watching the same national news I have? Seems like all the pretty teachers have eighth grade boyfriends these days.”
“True.” D.D. wrinkled her nose. “And no, it doesn’t make any sense to me. I mean, hell, it’s not like a woman who looks like Sandra Jones would have a problem attracting male interest.”
“It’s a dominance thing,” Miller assured her. “These women don’t want an equal relationship. They want a relationship with a male who will do whatever they say. And since those of us with testosterone aren’t known for our cooperation, they skew to the younger crowd.”
“So the testosterone is to blame?” D.D. arched a brow. “Huh, maybe I should spend more time at the local middle school.” She blew out a puff of air. “I still don’t think Sandy was sleeping with Ethan Hastings. How could she? By all accounts, she always had her child with her.”
Miller considered the matter. “Maybe it was one of those, what do they call it, ’emotional affairs.’ Sandy basically seduced Ethan via cell phone, e-mail, etc. Then her husband stumbled across some of the messages, and killed her in a fit of jealous rage.”
“Or she mentioned it to the local pervert, Aidan Brewster, and he killed her in a fit of jealous rage. You’re right, we do have too many suspects. But look on the bright side.”
“The bright side?”
“Sandra Jones’s alleged relationship with a student gives us probable cause to seize her computer.”
Miller perked up. “Good day,” he agreed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
People go through their lives gearing up for the big moments. We plan blowout celebrations for key benchmarks-the twenty-first-birthday bash, the engagement party, the wedding celebration, the baby shower We celebrate and hoot and holler and try to honor the big stuff, because, well, it’s the big stuff
Likewise, we steel ourselves for the major blows. The community that rallies behind the survivors of a deadly house fire. The family that comes together for the funeral of the cancer-stricken young father The best friend who sticks around for your first weekend as a newly divorced mom. We see the big things coming and we prepare ourselves for the lead roles in our own personal dramas. It makes us feel better about things. Stronger Look at me, I made it.
Of course, we’re totally missing all the moments in between. The day-to-day life that is what it is. Nothing to celebrate. Nothing to mourn. Just tasks to perform.
I’m convinced these are the moments that ultimately make us or break us. Like a wave lapping against the same boulder day after day, eroding the stone, shaping the line of the shore, the ordinary minutia of our lives holds the real power, and thus all the hidden danger The daily things we do, or don’t do, without ever understanding the long-term ramification of such minor acts.
For example, I ended the world as I knew it on Saturday, August 30, the day I bought Jason an iPod for his birthday.
Ree and I were shopping together She needed school clothes, I wanted some supplies to finish setting up my first classroom. We walked into Target, saw the iPods, and I thought immediately of Jason. He loved listening to music, and lately he’d taken up running. With an iPod he could combine two of his favorite activities.
We smuggled the credit card-sized musical masterpiece home by hiding it in my school supplies. Later, when he and Ree were wrestling together in the family room, I stashed the iPod in a kitchen drawer, beneath the stack of oven mitts, where it would be closer to the computer.
Ree and I had already plotted the whole thing out in the car How we’d secretly set up the iPod for him, downloading tons of rock-n-roll, in lieu of Jason’s beloved classical music Thanks to the movie Flushed Away, Ree was familiar with the works of Billy Idol and Fatboy Slim. On Sunday mornings, when Jason’s insomnia sometimes caught up with him and he slept past nine, Ree’s new favorite way of waking her father was to blast Dancing with Myself throughout the entire house. Because nothing gets a George Winston lover out of bed faster than a British rock star.
We were very pleased with ourselves.
Saturday night was family night, so we held tight. Sunday, around five, Jason announced he needed to head for the office. He had to review some sources, get a first draft of a feature piece of Southie’s Irish pub scene together, etc., etc. Ree and I practically ushered him out the door. His birthday was on Tuesday. We wanted to be prepared.
I started by booting up the family computer. Mr. Smith leapt up to supervise, taking a position next to the warm monitor, where he could watch me smugly through the golden slits of his eyes.
Like most things electronic, the iPod required special software that had to be installed. I hardly have Jason’s skills with a computer, but most uploads are pretty idiot-proof even for me. Sure enough, the installation wizard appeared and I was off and running, clicking I Agree, Yes, and Next in every dialogue box that appeared.
“See, I’m smarter than you think,” I informed Mr. Smith. He yawned at me.
Ree was already sorting through her CD collection. The more she thought about it, the more she was certain Jason needed some Disney music to accompany Billy Idol. Perhaps he’d run faster listening to Elton John from The Lion King. Or, let’s not forget Phil Collins’s industrious work on Tarzan
The computer announced that the iTunes software was up and running. Ree scurried over with a fistful of CDs. I read a few instructions, then showed her how we could insert her CDs into the computer’s drive, and all the music would be copied onto Daddy’s iPod. She found this magical beyond words. Then of course we had to visit the online music store, and download some classics from Led Zepplin and the Rolling Stones. “Sympathy for the Devil” has always been a personal favorite of mine.