The Envelope

  Very slowly.

  * * *

  Hank had wanted to take Sheila in his arms in a full embrace and hold her until the tears stopped. Not that she had shed any in his presence, but her contorted features revealed her inward struggle to keep them at bay. He was sure that she had broken down as soon as he left, which had made his drive home all the more miserable.

  Should he have insisted on staying with her? If he had said the right words, would she have confided in him about why she had gotten so upset? Yes, the instant he saw the little boy step in back of the van as its brake lights came on, a streak of panic surged through him, and if the father hadn’t noticed, Hank was ready to jump on the kid and knock him out of the way.

  But he hadn’t had to do that, and everything was okay. Near accidents are a part of ever day life, and most people took them in stride. Didn’t they? At least, Hank had never seen anyone react as strongly to something that never happened as Sheila had. He didn’t peg her as the emotionally irrational type, but then again, he’d only known her four months.

  When he got home that night, he toyed with the idea of calling her. He glanced at the clock on his dining room wall. No, too late. She’d probably want to go to bed as soon as she got home.

  If she were able to sleep, that is.

  Maybe tomorrow. Saturdays all he did was run errands and do what he lectured his students not to do— “veg out” in front of the television. Besides, a good night’s sleep might help him see Sheila’s perspective better, and help her feel more comfortable about sharing what she had gone through.

  But when he called the next day, he got a busy signal. He went grocery shopping, came home, and called her again. Still busy. He flipped through the latest issue of Newsweek while watching a rerun of Quantum Leap on the Sci-Fi channel, then called again.

  Busy.

  Lord, she took her phone off the hook, didn’t she? She must have known that he was going to try to call her. Over the last month or so, he’d developed a habit of calling her when they’d both had busy schedules for a couple of days and hadn’t seen each other at school. She always sounded happy that he took the time to check up on her, so it didn’t make sense that she would shut him out over this incident.

  Unless—

  He clicked off the T. V. and flopped into his armchair, perplexed. What if she wasn’t so much upset about what had almost happened in the parking lot, but about something it reminded her of? That made sense. He knew a Vietnam vet in his church who used to fall to the ground screaming whenever he’d hear a helicopter overhead. Did Sheila have some sort of flashback last night?

  “Man, you are getting too deep. You need to get out of here.” Hank leaped out of his chair and grabbed his car keys. His first instinct was to run over to Sheila’s place. But he knew that would be unwise. If she just needed some space for a while, his appearance at her door would only serve to further alienate her from him. He hesitated in front of his own door, unsure of where he wanted to go, but sure he was beginning to suffer some kind of cabin fever. Sheila was the last person he’d suspect to be hiding something in her past, and even if she was, so what? It was none of his business, nothing he could do anything about.

  Guitar strings. That’s it. I need guitar strings. Shrugging on his coat, he left all confusion behind as he headed for the music store on Oakwood Drive.

  * * *

  Sheila had to unplug her phone on the weekends. Even though she never answered her phone until the answering machine revealed who was calling, she knew that if she heard her mother’s or Gary’s voice her resolve would weaken and she would pick up and talk to them.

  And they would call. Every day since Christmas one or the other had called. Sheila listened to the message of the first one, as her mother begged her to forgive her sister, saying she didn’t mean it, blah, blah, blah, but it only served to stir up the guilt and resentment she thought God had taken away three years ago. So whenever Sheila came home from school and her machine was beeping, she punched “play,” and if it was her mother or Gary she would erase the message without listening to it.

  She wished she dared unplug her phone on weeknights as well, but then Hank might try to call her. He called usually about twice a week, “just to see what’s going on.” At first Sheila felt a little bit strange about it. They saw each other most every day, if only in passing, and not even Margaret called her that often. In fact, the few people at her church that Sheila considered her closest friends rarely called her.

  Now, however, Sheila was coming to appreciate having someone to talk to in the evening other than herself, if only for a few minutes. The only bad part about it was that after hanging up, a vague feeling of loneliness would creep up on her, and several times she’d come close to calling Hank back.

  Saturday morning, she wondered if she should call him. He had seemed worried, and rightfully so, the night before, and she wanted to assure him that she was okay. She had only fitfully dozed the entire night, and had awakened several times from a nightmare, but other than that, she was peachy keen.

  She pulled her brush through her hair a little too hard as her baggy-eyed face stared back at her with a sour expression. No, I’d better not. He’d end up asking more questions, and she’d end up telling more lies. She would just pray that the Lord would speak to Hank that she was okay.

  But you’re not.

  Well, she wasn’t on the verge of a nervous breakdown or anything. And she managed to muddle through the day, and get to church on Sunday with a smile plastered on her face. When Margaret asked her how the concert was, Sheila just said, “Fine. We had fun,” and left it at that.

  She thought about mentioning her bizarre playground conversation with Diana, but decided to wait and see if it was anything other than the fruits of an overactive, childish imagination.

  She found out Monday morning that it wasn’t.

  No sooner had she led her children into the classroom, than, “Mr. Medina wants to talk to you,” a teacher assistant said, popping her head in the door. “He went to the book room for a minute, but he said for you to just wait in his office.”

  Sheila frowned. This was the first time Mr. Medina called her in to his office, and he wasn’t known for having idle chats. She had no idea why he wanted to see her, but had a sinking feeling that it wasn’t to give her any sort of commendation. When she walked into his office, the sky had clouded, and the outside bleakness seemed a perfect match to Mr. Medina’s stark office. The few papers on his desk were stacked neatly, leaving plenty of room for the only decorative thing in the room, a small framed photo of his wife. The last principal, Ms. Gonzalez, had clothed the shelves with numerous books, silk flowers, and a collection of Mexican dolls. Sheila couldn’t remember ever seeing the desktop in the two years Ms. Gonzalez was at Roosevelt Elementary. Under her hand, piles of papers seem to flourish and grow all over it. Sheila could never survive in such a chaotic system, but it apparently didn’t phase Ms. Gonzalez.

  Does a person’s organizational style always match their personality? Sheila wondered. Ms. Gonzalez definitely had been more outgoing and creative than Mr. Medina, whose tone and manner were always so flat and business-like. He got things done efficiently, but if the talk in the teacher’s lounge over the past few months was any clue, he wasn’t winning any awards in the friendly department. Which is why she was feeling a little nervous, waiting for him to return.

  When Mr. Medina entered, he closed the door behind him with an ominous thud. Without one word of greeting to her, he lowered himself into his chair, laced his fingers together, and glared at Sheila. A stereotypically short, slightly overweight Mexican, he made up for his lack of physical stature with dark eyes that exuded authority.

  “Miss Carson,” he said, boring holes into her with his eyes, “we have a problem. A serious problem.”

  What had she done? She was following the curriculum, her classroom management was impeccable, she had not said or done anything that could be construed as harmful to any o
f her students or to other staff—

  Then she knew. Yes, she had. And she knew there would be no point in trying to avoid the inevitable. She cleared her throat. “Is this about Diana Manriquez?”

  Mr. Medina’s expression remained the same. “Very good. I appreciate you not trying to hide your indiscretions.”

  “My. . .indiscretions.” He made it sound like she was seducing the sixth grade boys.

  “Miss Carson,” he continued, his tone more severe, “I, too, have a strong belief in God, but I am not here to expound my faith to other people. I am here to run a school. And you are here to teach the curriculum. Understood?”

  “I do, but I don’t think you understand—”

  Mr. Medina raised a hand to stop her. “I understand Diana’s father is very upset with you. I understand that you took his daughter to church without his knowledge or consent.”

  “But—”

  “I understand that she was in her aunt’s custody at the time and that she talked you into keeping Diana a couple weekends ago, but I don’t know if you fully understand the ramifications of your agreeing to do it.”

  He was condescending to her, and that rattled her more than anything. “I have a life outside the classroom,” she said, struggling not to raise her voice, “and what I do on my personal time is my business.”

  Mr. Medina shook his head. “You’re a public figure, Miss Carson, just like everyone who works in this building, whether you like it or not. So what you do on your personal time, if it touches the life of a student at Roosevelt, is everyone’s business.”

  Sheila sat back, praying for strength. She felt as if she was on a guillotine and the blade was about to drop. “What are you saying?” Her voice was just above a whisper.

  “I’m saying that Diana’s father has made serious allegations against you, and I’m going to have to put you on administrative leave until the investigation is complete and your name has been cleared.”

  Administrative leave. For teachers, the two worst words next to “you’re fired.” Paralyzed with shock, Sheila couldn’t even lift her hand to wipe the annoying tear that trickled down her cheek.

  Mr. Medina’s face softened. “Look, Miss Carson, for what it’s worth, I don’t believe them. But I must ask you to go to your room and gather your personal items and go home.”

  Sheila knew better than to ask what the allegations were. She didn’t want to know, anyway, and didn’t care. She only wanted to know why Diana’s father had done such a thing. After talking to Hank, Miguel had seemed okay with everything. But now…

  Somehow she found the strength to push herself out of the chair, and stepped toward the office door with rubbery knees.

  Mr. Medina spoke one more time. “Miss Carson,” he said, “From now on, please refrain from becoming personally involved in the lives of your students.”

  Sheila stared at him for a moment. Too late. Then she left.

  CHAPTER 14

  Hank wasn’t in the habit of showing up at people’s houses unannounced, but when Sheila’s line gave him a busy signal yet again, he slammed the phone down and headed out the door. She was hurting. She wanted to cut everybody off and wallow in her misery alone, but Hank wasn’t going to let her do that. If he’d found out what had transpired in the principal’s office that morning earlier in the day, he would have asked for a substitute to cover his class for the afternoon. But the rumor didn’t get to his ears until almost two, and he had left the school as soon as he’d dismissed his kids.

  So he pounded on the door when she didn’t respond to the doorbell. “Sheila, please let me in. I know you’re home.”

  One of her neighbors passed by and eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.

  He banged again. “Sheila, please—”

  He heard the security chain being unlatched, and put his hand down. Thank You, Jesus! The door opened a crack, then swung wide. Before he could step over the threshold, Sheila had wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his chest, crying like a baby.

  He returned the embrace, pulling her closer to him, wishing he could do or say something, anything, to reverse what had happened. After a minute her sobs subsided and she pulled away.

  “We’re letting all the cold air in.” She turned and walked into her apartment, giving Hank room to enter and close the door.

  For a moment, they stared at each other, and Hank shifted awkwardly. Had she felt what he had? His embrace was only intended to give her comfort, but when he had pulled her to him, something electric passed between them, and he had wanted to hold her forever.

  Sheila looked down at the floor. “I—I’m sorry.” She sniffled. “I’ve been crying all day. You’d think I’d be over it. I mean, it’s not like the world’s going to end, right? God, I hate this,” she said, grabbing a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “I’m not normally an emotional person, you know?” She collapsed onto the loveseat and closed her eyes.

  Knowing it would be dangerous to sit beside her, he eased into the wicker side chair across from the loveseat. “If I were you, I’d probably feel like the world was ending, too.” The words sounded hollow to his own ears, and he fervently wished for some deep words of wisdom to pop into his mind.

  They didn’t, so he just watched her, fighting back the sudden urge to reach out and take her hand. Man, why do crying women have to affect me this way?

  Several long moments later, Sheila opened her eyes. “I know why he did it.”

  Hank frowned. “Who’s he? You mean you know the person who got you into trouble?”

  Sheila narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Medina didn’t give a hint as to why I had to leave?”

  “Not the slightest clue.”

  Sheila let out a long sigh. “Somebody was unhappy that I took his daughter to church. And then somebody’s daughter told me that somebody likes me. To paraphrase, I told somebody’s daughter to tell somebody that I wasn’t interested.” She paused and raised her eyebrows at Hank, silently asking if he understood.

  He thought he did, but was hoping he was wrong. “Miguel?” When she nodded, he sat back, confounded. “But after I talked to him. . .and he seemed to be. . .and he certainly didn’t act as if—are you sure?”

  ““Mr. Medina told me, and I quote, ‘Diana’s father has made serious allegations against you.’”

  Hank had to sit for a minute to let everything register. “So Miguel’s got a crush on you, told Diana, and when you indirectly spurned his affection through her he took revenge.” He remembered Pastor Bill’s reference to God starring in a soap opera. The plot thickens. The thought amused him. Immensely.

  Sheila glared at him. “I’m glad you think me losing my job is funny.”

  Hank made a futile attempt to wipe the grin off of his face. “I’m sorry. But you’re not losing your job.”

  “My reputation, then.” She made a move to get up. “I’m thirsty. You want anything?”

  “Whoa.” Hank held out his hand to stop her. “What do you mean, your reputation?” He knew she wouldn’t care if the whole world knew that she, a public school teacher, had taken a student to church with her.

  Sheila relaxed her body. “He made some kind of ‘serious allegations’ against me. Like I’d abused her or something.”

  Hank nearly knocked the chair over as he jumped out of it.

  “Wait a minute.” Sheila grabbed his arm as he headed toward the door. “Where are you going?”

  Despite the anger pulsing through his veins, Sheila’s touch calmed him. “To make a home visit.” He made a half-hearted attempt to free himself from her grasp, which would be like water off a duck’s back, but he was torn between leaving her in her distress and tearing Miguel Manriquez from limb to limb.

  Okay, so Hank Johnson didn’t even like swatting mosquitoes. But he would at least give Diana’s father an earful.

  “Sit down.” Sheila’s tone was the same she had used on his unruly student that had run down one of hers just before Thanksgiving. Hank sat
down, and she removed her hand from his arm. “You want to be put on administrative leave, too?”

  Hank shrugged. “Gee, paid time off for an indefinite period? While everybody else is working? Just kidding,” he finished lamely, noticing Sheila’s disapproving look. “But if I just talk to him, man to man, I think I can convince him to reneg.”

  Sheila raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And if he’s drunk? Or stoned?”

  “The Lord’ll help me.”

  “Like He helped me? Sorry.” She shook her head and turned away. “I just feel like God shouldn’t have let this happen. I’m sure taking Diana to church was part of His plan, and now. . .this.” She turned back to Hank, her eyes moist again. “Do you ever get totally frustrated with God?”

  “Oh, yeah.” But he wasn’t about to elaborate.

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath and sat back down. “So, what do you plan to tell Miguel’s father?”

  The question caught him off guard. He hadn’t thought about it, had never faced off with a man who was getting a woman into trouble because he was jealous of her. What could he possibly say that would get Miguel to back down?

  The truth.

  “Hank, hello, did you hear me?” Sheila waved a hand in front of his face.

  He blinked, then wondered if she really wanted to hear his answer. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ll tell him that I liked you first.”

  * * *

  Sheila had no idea what Hank actually told Diana’s father. All she knew was that two days later, Medina had her in his office again, this time apologizing in his cold, business-like manner for any inconvenience or hurt she had experienced. Her accuser, he told her, had come in the day before and confessed that he had lied because he was angry with something Sheila had said to Diana. To Medina’s credit, he didn’t ask her what that something might have been.

  The next day, she was back in her classroom. And looking forward to an official date with Hank the next evening.

  She had been taken aback, although not shocked, when he declared his “like” for her, admitting that his feelings for her went beyond friendship, and would she be interested in spending a little more time together outside of school. She’d almost said “no,” had the word formed on her tongue, when out of nowhere she remembered the near-accident the day after Christmas, remembered her decision to stop taking life for granted. Would it kill her to take a risk in developing a deeper friendship with a man she enjoyed being around?