Matt & Zoe

  I wince. “I don’t know about all that…”

  “I do. If you let him get away with this, Matt, then someone else will be next.”

  I sag in my seat. There’s no doubt in my mind that she is correct about that. “I’ve been taking care of some personal business for the last several days. Maybe I’ve been avoiding it… What can we do about it?”

  “How long is your suspension supposed to be?”

  I shrug automatically, even though she can’t see me. “I don’t know.”

  She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like a string of curses. “I’ll fix him. Meet me at the superintendent’s office tomorrow. 11 o’clock.”

  I think about it for a few second. We’re not due to practice tomorrow until two in the afternoon—I could get to South Hadley in the morning, meet with her, then it’s twenty or so minutes back to Springfield. “Hold on a second,” I say. I set the phone down and say to Mamma, “I’m going to need to go home tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you guys for practice in the afternoon.”

  She nods. “Do what you have to do Matty.”

  I put the phone back to my ear. “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  How do you heal from that? (Zoe)

  In my dream, the phone rings off the hook. It must be Matt calling, or Chase. Nicole is across the alley from me, crouched close to the ground with her rifle against her chest. Her helmet is slightly askew, the night vision goggles raised up so that I can see her eyes. The exposed skin at her neck and face is dirty, and there a bloodstain on the sleeve of her uniform.

  “Turn it off,” she whispers, the words coming out like bullets. “They’ll hear.”

  I try to turn it off, but I can’t. It rings again. I wince and so does she. Inside the house next us someone is shouting—the squad is in there clearing the house. They don’t want us in there – not because we’re women, but because we’re police. I hear a thump followed by a scream. I can hear scrabbling in the sand down the alley, but I can’t see anything. Someone is coming.

  The phone rings again.

  Terror rocks through me as I hear an explosion of movement at the end of the alley, followed by the distinct sound of a Kalashnikov firing. Nicole and I drop to our stomachs and return the fire, but then she’s gone and I’m alone in the alley with my rifle and the insurgents. Tracers fly back and forth, then a window that wasn’t there a moment ago opens up on the side of the house. My father leans out, a disapproving frown on his face, and he says, “If you’d gone to college like I wanted, then you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  His face accuses me.

  That’s when I hear Jasmine scream. Where is she? I search the darkness but she’s nowhere to be found. The screaming seems to come from outside the alley beyond the insurgents. I pick up my rifle and charge toward them firing blindly. One falls, then another, and the others back away, then somehow I’m through them without getting hurt and I’m on College Street near the Village Commons. Matt is there, sitting at the table in front of the Yarde House, and he’s whispering in the ear of the Japanese girl Chase was with. I stop in place, staring at him in shock, not understanding how she can be here. Then Jasmine screams again and I can’t stay here. I turned away from that and run toward the sound of her voice.

  My eyes pop open and I am wide awake. My phone is plugged in on my nightstand, screen lit up and alarm sounds coming from it. I roll over and press snooze. Then I lay on my back.

  Oh, that was a nightmare. I lay there struggling to breathe.

  The nightmare is still clear in my mind. Running through the sand. I shake my head to shut out the dream. I have too much to do to allow myself to indulge in such things.

  I sit up, planting my feet on the floor before I start to fall back asleep. I dress in a pair of tough jeans and a flannel shirt, then head downstairs and start the coffee pot. Once that’s going, I slip outside and walk in the cold darkness towards the barn.

  As soon as I slide the door open, the horses begin to snort. Mono whinnies and paws at the floor, then snorts again.

  “All right, all right, relax.”

  The horse responds with another loud snort, then kicks the side of the stall with a loud bang.

  “Hey!” I shout. “Knock it off!”

  Mono snorts again, but stops kicking. I load three bales of hay on the back of the tractor, then ride it out onto the pasture, breaking the hay up into small bunches that I spread across the fields. The horses will still graze on the grass, but now that the first frost has come and gone, there’s little nutritional value left and their diet has to be supplemented. As I’m finishing spreading the hay, I glanced toward the house and I can see that Jasmine’s light is on. In the last few weeks we’ve fallen into a routine. She’ll come downstairs and join me in the barn in a moment, leading the horses into the pasture while I muck out the stalls.

  Once that’s finished and the horses are out in the field, both of us head inside and shower. Jasmine barely speaks a word this morning. She’s barely spoken the entire last week, and when she has she’s stumbled and stammered over her words. Losing Matt was a giant step backward in her recovery.

  At least I’m hoping to divert her tonight—Nicole bought tickets to the circus. Thank God she’s not bringing Tyler. Just us three girls. Thank God for good friends.

  As I shower, my mind runs back over the dream. My father leaning out the window and chiding me that I should have gone to college instead of joining the Army. Some days, I don’t think much about how my dad felt about my choices. Others, I try not to care—I made the decisions I felt I needed to. On the worst days, I think about my father and his disappointment in me and it breaks my heart that I can’t do anything to change it. I remember how awkward and non-communicative he had been at my basic training graduation. He’d barely looked at me.

  Someday soon I need to just clear out the garage. Not even look at his things because God knows what I’ll find in there. After all, my dad was a prolific diarist. I don’t think I could stand to read his thoughts about me not going to college. And what’s so damned frustrating about that is that now that I am going to college—and I’m starting to think I might do okay—he’s not around to see it.

  I need to stop dwelling on this, I have too much to do. Instead, I head downstairs and scramble some eggs. When I was in school I never paid much attention to breakfast, mostly cereal and toast in the mornings. The Army taught me that breakfast makes a bigger difference in my day than anything else. So I’ve made a habit of making a good one for me and Jasmine. When she gets downstairs two plates are at the table with strips of bacon, eggs, toast and jelly. I savor the taste of my coffee for a moment before I begin to eat.

  Jasmine doesn’t say a word through the meal. I try to engage her—asking her about school yesterday and what they have planned for today. She shrugs. “I don’t know. We—we have a substitute every day now.” We continue to eat in an uncomfortable silence until it’s time for her to go outside for the bus. As she throws her backpack on, she says “You—you—you…” She screws up her face in frustration, then bursts out “You don’t have to wait with me. I’m old enough to catch the bus by myself.”

  I glanced out the window. The sky is pink, the sun barely up. “I know. I like to.” She opens the door and walks out front, slamming it behind her.

  I sigh, then open the door myself and step out onto the porch. She’s already halfway to the end of the driveway. I stand in the porch and watch her. I don’t know how much damage the break with Matt has done, but I do know that Jasmine was already too hurt to begin with.

  As the bus arrives, I shout, “Have a great day Jasmine. I love you!” I wave.

  She doesn’t reply or look at me as she climbs up the steps of the bus. I stay there on the porch for another minute or two, then head inside to get my keys and books and head to school. Before I go, I gulp down the last few swallows of coffee and put the cup in the sink.

  Before I get in the car
I double check that the gates to the pasture are securely closed. Paul has agreed to check in on my horses through the day while I’m in class. In return, I’m letting him use our lower pasture for his horses. He’s been needing the space because of his expansion, and I need the help because I can’t go to school and take care of the horses at the same time.

  A few minutes later I’m headed out of South Hadley and over the notch, a two-lane road through the woods and over a mountain headed to Amherst. School has been going better, except for calculus. Even that was better until this week, but I’m certain I blew the test on Wednesday. It’s been a week since I saw Matt leave his apartment with that woman, six days since I broke up with him over the phone and blocked any communications from him.

  I haven’t cried.

  Well, except when I was drunk. To be clear, I suppose I could cry. I allowed myself to let down all of my defenses. I allowed myself to trust him. And like always: when I trust, I get kicked in the teeth. So, I refuse to cry.

  He doesn’t deserve my tears.

  That said, I was a mess this week. I couldn’t concentrate, I did a half-assed job of studying and when it was time to prepare for my calculus exam I just stared at the book, the numbers and letters swimming around in front of me.

  Maybe Nicole is right. I should just join the force, drop out of college, and start earning a living.

  For that matter, I bet they’d make me go to college if I was a campus cop anyway—former MPs might get a leg up—but they expect officers to have degrees. And I don’t want to spend my career chasing drunks and writing parking tickets. Nicole tells a lot of great stories, but the common thread of them is that she is a babysitter for 30,000 over-privileged kids.

  It’s with that in mind that I decide to buckle down and focus. When I get to the campus, I adjust my frame of mind and head to class.

  ***

  The little room in the student union is more crowded than last time. Terrell is there, along with two other guys I don’t know. One introduces himself as Mark Perez, a former Air Force enlisted man who was detailed temporarily to the Army for two tours in Iraq. The other man is older, in his late 30s.

  “Nick Conti,” he says. “Retired Sergeant Major.” We shake hands. I ask Craig if Luke is coming. He frowns, and gives a minute shake of his head. “I don’t think he’s going to be here. He’s not been to class in a week.”

  Nicole and I meet each other’s eyes. A mix of thoughts run through my head all at once. I’ve got enough problems without taking on someone else’s issues. More than enough problems. On the other hand, I had instinctively warmed to Luke, and his haunted stare left me deeply concerned. I mean—I have nightmares about the war. I freak out sometimes, and find myself feeling weird and disconnected and randomly angry. What I experienced in Iraq wasn’t anything like the trauma he carries around every day. I can’t imagine what goes on inside his head.

  “Why don’t we get started,” Craig says. “I think this is going to be everybody.”

  Like last time, we go around the room and introduce ourselves. Craig begins the session by prompting us with questions about our experiences in college since returning from the military. I find myself drifting off periodically. Thinking about Jasmine, and how she has begun stammering again; her listless behavior since last Saturday morning.

  I think about Matt. I don’t understand how he could live that way. I knew he was secretive about his past, and assumed there was something there that he was ashamed of. But I never expected that he was cheating, when our relationship had barely even begun. I never expected that he was lying to me when he said he had urgent family business. I never expected he was going to break my heart or Jasmine’s.

  I find myself thinking about Luke Osmond. 109 reasons, he had said.

  How do you heal from that? I couldn’t even imagine the struggle and pain he must go through. It made my problems with Matt feel trivial. I remember Nicole saying that she had seen Luke panhandling in front of the Starbucks in Amherst. I have a little bit of time after class before I have to head back home. I decide to go see if he’s there.

  Are you going to explain? (Matt)

  I get back to South Hadley at 10:35 in the morning, driving Messalina’s car. Too much time to stand around waiting at the superintendent’s office, but not enough time to go check on Zoe or take care of anything else. So I park the car near the town hall, and walk up the street to The Egg and I, a small diner just a couple of blocks away. I grab a used newspaper off a small stack near the door, sit down and order a cup of coffee. While I wait I scan the headlines.

  It’s the local weekly, and there’s not a whole lot of excitement in there. Coverage of the high school games, meetings of the South Hadley Falls Association which is trying to rejuvenate the area, other similar stories. On the editorial page, however, it’s a different story. A half page editorial covers the recently ended strike. I scan through it and I’m shocked by the hostility of it. I look back to the byline—Lauren Blakely. I should have realized. Now I read the editorial more carefully. She points out, truthfully, that the strike itself was illegal. Most of the rest of the first half is drivel, but when I get to the next-to-last paragraph, my mouth sets in anger. I’m mentioned there, described as a union organizer who was recently suspended for incompetence.

  Anger is not the word to describe my response.

  I’m still steaming over the editorial when I walk into the town hall at 11 am . Peggy Young is standing in the lobby and gives me a warm smile when I step inside.

  “Hello, Matt.” Her smile fades almost instantly. “What’s wrong? Oh, wait. You’ve been out of town, haven’t you? You must have just seen the pleasant editorial.”

  “I’m going to sue Lauren Blakely.”

  She shakes her head. “There’s no need for that. We’re going to walk out today with everything we want.”

  “I don’t see how you can say that with such confidence.”

  She gives me a mysterious smile. “That’s because you aren’t from South Hadley. I’m guessing you’ve never lived any length of time in a small town.”

  I shrug. “I’ve never lived for a long time anyplace.”

  “What you need to understand, Matt, is that we all know each other’s secrets. Some of us… even know yours.” She taps her fingers on her forehead as she says the words, then she starts up the stairs.

  She can’t possibly mean what it sounds like she means.

  I stand staring after her dumbly, until she calls down from the first landing. “Coming, Matt? You’re not going to let an old lady beat you up the stairs, are you?”

  Shaken out of my daze, I start up the stairs after her.

  Barrington’s office is the same as it was a week ago. It’s quiet, and the receptionist in front of the office politely bars the way. “Mrs. Young… Mr. Paladino… I’m afraid the superintendent isn’t seeing anyone right now. Can you make an appointment?”

  “Well, aren’t you sweet? Rest assured, young lady, he’ll see us now. Go tell him who’s here.”

  The receptionist is startled by the response. She stands up and does as Peggy says.

  Six seconds later, we are ushered into Barrington’s office. Peggy merely smiles, as if she expected nothing less. I’m certain if it was just me they’d keep me cooling my heels for the next week.

  “Please have a seat, Mrs. Young. Paladino.”

  Peggy gives him a contemptuous look. “That won’t be necessary, we won’t be here long enough.”

  I don’t say anything.

  Barrington is startled by her statement. He raises his eyebrows, and says, “Well then. Let’s get to it. What can I do for you?”

  Peggy says in a calm voice, “You can reinstate Matt Paladino effective immediately.”

  Barrington’s eyes widened.

  “Why ever would I do that?”

  Peggy grimaces. “I had hoped not to dredge your past into it, Michael. You’ve been a little power mad since you took this job. But don’t think I don’t
remember you as a 10th grade bully in my class. I remember well. So here’s what I’m going to insist on. You are going to reinstate Matt. You are going to stop retaliating against teachers in this school system. You are going to put it in writing that you will not involve yourself in disciplinary matters anymore.”

  Barrington frowns. “You’ve finally gone off your rocker.. Why would I do any of those things?”

  Peggy smiles. She reaches into her purse and removes an 8.5 x 11 envelope. She passes it to the superintendent.

  He frowns, tears open the envelope, and begins to look through the papers it contains. He reads the first few words, then blanches. Instantly he stuffs the papers back into the envelope. Face pale, he looks up at Peggy.

  “Where did you get this?” The question comes out in a hiss.

  Peggy shrugs. “The question isn’t where I got it, Michael. I’ve had those papers for many years. The question is, what am I going to do with the original?”

  “I ought to have you arrested for blackmail, you witch.”

  “I’m sure that would make for entertaining headlines. Superintendent presses charges against teacher who reveals sexual assault. Yes, I do think that has a nice ring to it.”

  His face flushes red. Sexual assault? What? I stare back and forth between the two of them, feeling like a spectator in someone else’s drama.

  “I was seventeen,” he says.

  She shrugs. “All the same, I suspect parents in this district would want to know that the superintendent of schools once assaulted a girl at a drunken party.”

  “First, that’s not what happened. Second, the charges were dropped, and you know that. You know that.” His voice is taking on a desperate tone.

  Peggy leans forward, hands touching the edge of his desk. In a low tone, she says, “I know that your family pressured the police to drop the charges, and with their money, they were able to do it. I know that Lynn was threatened with having her name dragged through the mud because she’d gotten drunk and found herself in a dangerous position. I know that even if you were never formally charged, you were as guilty of rape as if you’d knocked her down in an alley.”