And why wouldn’t he think you’d do something like that? You’re the guy who ditched your Army unit. You’re the guy who leaves everyone behind every single year.
Why wouldn’t Sam question his ability to finish what he started?
They walked in silence for a few moments before Sam spoke again. “There’s no fruit farm in Mexico, is there?”
Lucas’s steps slowed to a complete halt. How could Sam know that? He’s a cop. He gets feelings. He couldn’t make himself meet his friend’s eyes.
“Tell me the truth or don’t. Whatever.” Sam raked his fingers through his hair. “But think about Jen. You’re inserting yourself so fully into her life that it’s only going to be harder for her when you leave.”
“I’m trying to help her.” Why couldn’t Sam see that?
Sam stared at him for a long moment. “You’re going to hurt her, Danby.”
It sounded less like an accusation and more like a regret. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He walked away.
One way or another, Jenessa had to find a way to focus on this meeting. To mentally set aside Mayor Milt and his posse and that irrational promise they’d wrangled out of her long enough to get through this meeting with Principal Willard.
Jeremiah Willard had been a fixture at Maple Valley Junior High since Jenessa’s days as a teenager. His once-black hair had grayed entirely in the couple of decades since, but he still wore that ever-patient expression she remembered.
And if ever there was a time he needed it, it was now. Colie couldn’t have appeared more bored from her spot in the vinyl chair next to Jen’s. And if she popped one more bubble with her gum—
“So remind me, Colie, were you involved in any extra-curriculars last year?” It was the third time Principal Willard had tried to engage her. The poor man was probably regretting asking Jenessa to bring her along.
And she was regretting scheduling this meeting for today. Production day at the paper rarely sapped her energy, but she’d been running on empty from the start. Whatever meager vigor she’d started with had been utterly depleted by Mayor Milt’s visit.
If only he hadn’t kept bringing up Mom and Dad. The Belville legacy. All the galas of yore. Tugging on her guilt.
If only she hadn’t been pricked with some groundless sense of responsibility to her family name. To the memory of her parents, who’d been so unhappy in the end. Mom would’ve liked the thought of another grand party. Dad would’ve appreciated a renewed standing in town.
Another pop of Colie’s gum pulled her to attention. Had she even answered Principal Willard’s question?
“. . . sure it’s not too late to talk with Coach Bertelli about joining the team again this year,” the principal was saying.
Apparently, Colie had answered. She played a sport?
“You probably know the varsity volleyball team took second in our division at State last year and our JV team made a darn good showing as well. Coach Bertelli does a great job getting our younger players ready for the high school teams.”
Volleyball? Finally, something she might actually be able to use to connect with Colie. “Hey, I played volleyball, too.”
Remembrance lit the principal’s eyes as he slipped off his glasses and laid them on his desk. “That’s right. You were a star spiker.”
Jenessa grinned, tugging a wavy chunk of hair behind her ear. “A good, healthy way to get out my teenage emotion.” Which she’d always seemed to have too much of.
“I’m a setter,” Colie said now, punctuating the statement with another bubble.
Jen swallowed her sigh, hoping Principal Willard could catch the apology in her eyes. He folded his hands over the manila folder on his desk, the one he’d been studying when they’d first entered his office. Probably Colie’s transcript.
“Colie, I wonder if you’d mind if I chat with Miss Belville for a few minutes alone.” He pointed out the glass wall that separated his office from the school secretary’s domain. “Would you mind taking a seat out there for a bit?”
Colie answered with a shrug and stood, not even looking to Jen.
Jen watched the girl trundle from the room. She wore a too-small denim jacket, its sleeves pulling up at her wrists when she slumped into a chair near the secretary’s desk. Discouragement pinched at the edges of her fatigue as she turned back to the principal, her fingers gripping the strap of the purse in her lap.
“I’m sorry she’s not a little more . . . friendly.”
Understanding hovered in the principal’s expression. “You said you found her in a shed behind your house?
“A cottage, actually. I’m acting as a temporary guardian. It’s been a whirlwind, to say the least.” Thankfully, Mara had offered to watch Violet and Cade during this meeting.
“Wow.” He replaced his glasses and opened the manila folder, spreading out Colie’s files in front of him. “We do need to talk about Colie’s grade placement.”
“What do you mean? She’s in seventh grade.”
His brow furrowed as he fingered through the papers. “She missed quite a few days last year. And she’s already missed several weeks this year.”
“I wish I knew why her grandmother didn’t get her enrolled. Her health, perhaps.”
He tapped the top page. “It’s not only her attendance. Her grades are far from exceptional and her Iowa Test of Basic Skills scores were low last year. Plus, at her age, she’s one of the youngest in our seventh-grade class.”
“What are you saying?”
“Given her past attendance, her standardized test scores, and all the change she’s already enduring now, I believe we’d be better off placing her in the sixth grade.”
The leather of Jen’s purse squeaked against her twisting palms. “You want to hold her back?”
“I really think it’d be the best thing for her.”
She fought to keep her voice steady. “Embarrassing her would be the best thing for her?” She moved her purse to the chair Colie had vacated, just to keep herself from fidgeting. “Principal Willard, please. I haven’t been able to connect with Colie at all, and now you want me to go out there and tell her she’s being sent back a grade?”
“Would you rather wait until she’s struggling in her classes? Do you really want to risk starting her off at a level she’s not ready for only to have to tell her two or three or four months in that she’s going to have to move back?”
“How can you be that sure she’s not ready?”
“Because I know kids.” He took off his glasses once more, as if willing her to see the truth in his eyes. “We’re a small enough school, not to mention a small enough town, that it’s relatively easy to spot at-risk children. I believe Colie took on more responsibility at home for years than a child should have to.”
Jenessa had pieced that together as well from comments here and there. Violet had talked about Colie making supper each night, doing laundry and other things. It was good for kids to have chores, of course, but Jenessa got the feeling Colie’s responsibilities went beyond that.
Had Tessa Hollis worked evenings? Surely the cancer had made keeping up with things at home a hardship near the end.