I hadn’t thought about what I might say, beyond asking for Sam. When I mentioned his name, the woman’s expression shifted. I couldn’t quite read all it contained, but the edge of hostility was unmistakable.
“Are you one of the parents?” she asked.
I felt suddenly reluctant to introduce myself, so instead I repeated, “One of the parents?”
Cranky Blonde didn’t clarify but motioned toward the envelope I held. “Is that for Mr. Diggs?”
I moved the envelope from underneath my arm and clasped it to my chest. Some of the glitter had transferred from my hands to the paper. She waited for me to speak, but I pressed my lips shut. Cranky Blonde seemed the type who liked to fill silences.
True to my opinion of her, only a few seconds ticked by before she said, “If you’re one of the parents, you really should talk to Mr. Diggs. He’s handling the situation.”
She wrinkled her nose as she spit out the last word.
Before I could ask what she meant by “situation,” a man with a long neck and an Adam’s apple the size of a golf ball emerged from one of the offices. He was in the middle of shrugging into his coat when he stopped in front of me.
He smiled, his eyes dropping to the ring finger of my left hand before landing on my face. “Did I hear you needed to speak with me?” he asked, extending his hand. His palm was slick, but I suspected my own was too. “I’m Charles Diggs, the principal here, but you can call me Chuck.”
“Cassie Larkin.”
His smile slipped, for no longer than a heartbeat, before he replaced it. The office attendant’s reaction was less subtle. Behind me, she snorted.
“My husband is a teacher here, though I suspect you’ve already made that connection.” I gestured toward the blonde behind the counter. “Your office attendant mentioned there’s a situation involving Sam?”
“Hmm.” Chuck Diggs nibbled on his fingernail and screwed up his eyebrows, as if trying to remember something I knew he already had. He shot a less-than-friendly look at the office attendant. “I can’t discuss personnel matters, but it was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Larkin.”
He moved to leave, but I blocked his path. “Have you seen Sam today?”
“No, I’m sorry. But we have so many on staff, I can’t keep track of all of their schedules. Have a great weekend, Mrs. Larkin.”
He bid a quick goodbye to the woman—apparently, her name was Pam and not Cranky Blonde—before he stepped around me and out the door.
“So you’re his wife and you don’t know.”
I turned toward the office attendant, the taint of hostility I had noticed earlier still there, but now mingled with something else. Pity? What did it mean that I kept getting that reaction?
“Know what?”
“I can tell you Sam didn’t come in today. I just can’t tell you why.”
“He’s been sick, I know that.”
She snorted again. “He hasn’t been to work in weeks.”
My mind stumbled on that. Weeks? So it wasn’t the flu that had kept Sam from his classroom the past couple of days. My first thought, Why hadn’t Sam told me? My second, Why hadn’t Leo?
I flashed to what she had said a few minutes earlier. “Is this the thing with the students?”
My question was vague, but the woman behind the desk grasped at the excuse to tell me more, and to destroy illusions she believed I held.
“Wives don’t always know,” she said.
I guessed then that a relationship had ended badly for this woman, and rather than find kinship with me over shared grief, she hated me for what she perceived as my ignorance.
But I couldn’t argue with her preconception. I didn’t know. If she hated me for blindly standing by Sam, I would play to that. “The students are lying.”
I expected outrage but got confusion. “You’ve talked to his students? I wasn’t aware any of them had officially come forward.”
I swore to myself before changing stories. “Of course I haven’t spoken directly with any students. I only meant the rumors aren’t true.”
“It’s more than rumor, Mrs. Larkin.” She stood and hooked the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “People sometimes do stupid stuff, even teachers as respected as your husband.” The word respected sounded like an insult.
“You’ve wanted to tell me something ever since you heard my name. So tell me.”
Spots of red blossomed on her cheeks. “I don’t want to get involved,” she said, though she remained rooted to her spot behind her desk.
“Yes, you do.”
She wielded her next words as if she hoped they would do damage. “Sam has . . . a reputation.”
“Define reputation.”
“He’s a bit of a flirt.”
Sam had always been friendly, and on occasion, the dimpled smile had been misconstrued as something more. In my experience, this had always been a mistake in perception, not intent. But maybe this woman was right, and I had misread earlier warnings.
“You’re claiming he’s friendlier than he should be with colleagues.”
The blonde’s mouth settled into a grim line. “Not with staff. With his students.”
When it came to Sam, my faith had been shaken lately, but cold certainty filled me now. “You’re lying.”
She hadn’t expected that. The twin stains of red on her cheeks darkened. “In the past, I wouldn’t have thought such a thing was possible either, but a couple of weeks ago in the parking lot, I heard two parents talking. They said he has favorites, and they’re usually pretty girls.” Pam puffed up her chest, her voice raising to emphasize her point. “They said one girl who’s got a one-point-something GPA got an A in his class.”
“That’s damning evidence. I trust you contacted the licensing board?”
She scowled at the sarcasm. “I checked, Mrs. Larkin, and it’s true what they said, that some of his female students are getting A’s in his class while failing others.”
As her voice rose, mine quieted. “I assume you checked to see if the same is true of his male students?”
She quirked an eyebrow, her lips thinning even more. “Why would I do that?”
“Being a champion of the truth, I would expect you’d check that out.”
“No.” She was indignant, though not yet certain why.
“Well, did you check to see if the reverse is true—girls failing in his class but excelling in, say, history or math?”
“That’s really not the issue here.”
“I disagree. You’re making the argument that all great artists should be equally talented in other academic areas, so I think considering all the data is exactly the issue.”
Pam crossed her arms, her lips puckering at my challenge. “Regardless, when I learned about Sam’s . . . issue . . . I felt compelled to call it to Mr. Diggs’s attention.”
“I’m sure that was a difficult decision for you.”
She stood taller, trying to intimidate with the three extra inches of height she had on me. “Awfully judgmental for someone who doesn’t know what her own husband is up to.”
Pam was nearly shouting now, my own voice little more than a whisper, but I could tell by her puckered lips that she heard each word when I said, “I’d advise you to stop spreading rumors about my husband.”