The Ferryman (12 page)

When he found one, he had to roll the window down, rain spattering his face, in order to make certain he didn't hit another car while he pulled in. With a sigh, he killed the engine. The radio cut off abruptly, and only then did he realize how loud he'd turned it up in an effort to drown out the rain.

He ran for the back door with his briefcase on top of his head, and held the collar of his raincoat tight around his throat against the bitter cold. April showers. He knew how the song went. They brought the flowers that bloomed in May.

At the moment, David Bairstow could do without the damn flowers. In May, or ever.

At the foot of the granite steps was a wide puddle. He slowed only a little, then jumped for the first step: an easy distance if he had not been playing rain-dance contortionist with his briefcase and coat. His left foot landed in the puddle; the water came just over the top of his shoe, soaking instantly through the leather and his sock.

“Goddamn it!” Fuming, he lifted his foot as though he had stepped in dog shit and glared down at it.Then he shook his head and reached for the door.

Inside, several students glanced quickly away, their amusement poorly masked. With a self-deprecating grin and a sigh of relief, David entered the school and let his briefcase hang once again at his side.

“Good morning, Mr. Bairstow,” cooed a sophomore girl he barely recognized. Not one of his students, but maybe the younger sibling of one of them.

“If you say so,” he replied. “But then, you look dry.”

The girl smiled at his sarcasm. “I brought an umbrella.”

David smacked his forehead. “Umbrella! That was the secret all along.” He started up the stairs, but glanced back at the student one last time. “Actually, I'm starting to think we may need an ark pretty soon.”

On the second floor, he began to unbutton his raincoat onehandedly as he weaved amongst the students on their way to their homerooms. He did not have a first-period class, but had wanted to get out of the rain and dry off, then do some preparation for class.The students were due to begin presenting their final papers today, and he wanted to go over who was up at bat and what their topics were, so he could at least be ready to comment intelligently.

Down the hall, he saw Lydia exit the teachers' lounge with a load of books in her arms.

“Mr. Bairstow?”

David had the distinct impression that it was not the first time his name had been called. He had been distracted. Now he turned to find Brad Flecca watching him expectantly.

“Brad. Sorry.” He shook his head. “What's up?”

“You got a minute?”

The kid was fair-haired and had gentle features but he was built like a tank. Brad was a star on the football team, the kind that came along maybe once every ten years. For the most part, he was also a decent student. Unlike the stereotypical jock, Brad was not stupid; he just never seemed willing to exert himself academically.

David slipped a hand into his pocket and pretended he had no idea what Brad wanted to talk about. “What can I do you for?”

The football star glanced away, fidgeted a little, then finally sighed and met his gaze again. “Listen, maybe you heard I got a scholarship to B.C. for football?”

“It was in all the papers,” David observed.

Brad puffed up a little. “Yeah. Yeah, cool, huh? Anyway, look, I know I haven't been, y'know, applying myself all that much this term. But, the thing is, my scholarship is conditional, right? I've gotta keep an eighty average or better. If I get below a C in your class, I'm scr ... uhh, I mean, I'm in trouble.”

He smiled wanly.

David nodded, tried to put on an understanding face.“That would be bad, huh?”

“Yeah. Real bad.”

They stared at each other for a few moments. Kids pushed by them in the hall, not paying any attention to them, all absorbed in their own dramas. David tightened his grip on his briefcase.

“You need a solid B on your final paper to clear a C in my class, Brad. Maybe even an A minus,” he said.

Brad winced.

“I guess it's safe to assume you're not going to be ready to present for the class on ... what is it, Friday you're supposed to go?”

“Friday, yeah.”

The boy's voice was shaken. David's heart went out to him. Brad had been slacking off since Christmas, no question about that. But he was a bright kid, and though it was football that had gotten him into B.C., David thought a school of that quality could really make a difference for Brad.

“Tell you what,” he said.

Brad glanced up hopefully.

“You can go last. That's two weeks from today. I'm not going to do you any favors on the grading, though.You'd better work your butt off, knock us out, if you want that scholarship.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Bairstow. I swear.” Brad nodded enthusiastically. “I'm totally into it. It's gonna be great.”

David found himself nodding in return. “Which topic did you pick, again?”

“Atavism in the works of Jack London.”

He cast a dubious glance at the boy. “Brad, do you even know what atavism is?”

The student, who had an inch and forty pounds on his teacher, slapped David good-naturedly on the arm. “Not yet, Mr. B., but I will. I will.”

They both laughed.

Down the hall, a girl cried out in panic. “Tim, no!” she wailed. “Leave him alone!”

“Son of a bitch!” a male voice snapped.

There came the sound of something slamming against metal, a body against a locker, David thought. He spotted a couple of guys shoving each other near the stairwell, back the way he'd come. Students started to circle around them like wild dogs, the pack observing a battle for primacy.

“Atavism,” David said. “Come have a look.” Then he started off toward the stairs without another word to Brad.

As he sprinted down the hall, David got a better look at the students involved with the brawl. Tim Ferris was a junior, an average student but a good kid. Vinnie Abate was a senior, and trouble on two legs. Thing was, the way things looked, this was all Tim's doing.Vinnie was bigger, but Tim had clearly gotten the jump on the senior boy. He choked Vinnie with his left hand and hit him once, twice, a third time.

Tim's girlfriend, Liz Rossiter, grabbed his wrist. “Tim, stop it! He didn't do anything!”

With a snarl of rage,Tim shook her loose. “Let go of me, you slut!” he shouted. He turned, raised his hand to her.

David grabbed his wrist before the blow could fall. “Don't you dare!” he shouted.

The crowd began to disperse immediately. None of them wanted to be asked to talk about what they had seen, who had started it. Liz started to walk away and David nailed her with a hard look.

“Not another step, Liz.”

He pushed Tim up against a locker and held him there. For a second he glared at the kid; then he turned to Vinnie, who touched his swollen lip and held the fingers away from his face, checking for blood.

The bell for homeroom rang.

“Mr. Bairstow,” Liz began.

He studied her closely, then let go of Tim and stepped back from the locker. “Why don't you tell me what's going on, Liz?”

Her gaze hardened and her expression soured. Petulant and childish, she looked away. David stared first at Vinnie, then at Tim, and finally shook his head sadly.

“Tell you what. I'll make it easy for you. I'll give you a hypothetical, and you tell me what I get wrong.” None of them would look at him now; all three had retreated behind shields of sullenness.

“All right. Hypothetically, I'm guessing you, Liz, did some things with Vinnie that maybe you weren't supposed to do, considering Tim here is your boyfriend.”

“He's not my boyfriend,” Liz muttered.

Tim glared at her. “Slut.”

David nodded. “I guess that means I'm warm, huh?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, and then reached out to tap Vinnie on the shoulder.

“Stunned as I am to admit it,Vinnie, you didn't start this.You can go.”

“What?” Tim snapped. “Look, Mr. Bairstow, he—”

“Spare me the details, Tim. I don't need to know. Whatever he and Liz did or didn't do? That's their business. Much as you may want to resort to violence, you have no right to.That's what the law says, that's what school policy says, and that's what common sense says. I used to think you had some. Common sense, that is.”

The boy glared at him with malign intention.

“Liz, you can go, too.” He brushed at the air dismissively. “Maybe in the future you want to break up with one boyfriend before finding another. Just a piece of friendly advice.”

The girl went, quickly and without comment. Vinnie caught up with her and they walked away together. David felt bad for Tim, understood what he must be feeling. But his feelings did not excuse him.

“What about me?”Tim demanded, still surly.

“It isn't up to me, but it's possible you'll be suspended,” David told him. “Meet me in Sister Mary's office at the end of the day.”

“The hell I will,”Tim said with a sneer.

David blinked, astounded by the kid's audacity. All the sympathy he had felt evaporated.

“Tim, maybe you don't realize how much trouble you're already in, but if I were you—”

“You're not me, Mr. Bairstow. You don't have a clue. Just leave me the fuck alone!” Tim threw up a hand, turned, and started to walk away as if nothing at all had happened.

Before David could react, a voice boomed from the stairwell beside them.

“Mr. Ferris!”

Tim froze, then turned slowly. The expression on his face had changed completely. The kid nodded his head nervously, but he would not lift his gaze. He shifted uncomfortably as Father Charles stepped between them. The priest barely glanced at David before he went to the student and stared down at him.

Perhaps four inches separated them.

“I only caught the tail end of that conversation, Mr. Ferris, so perhaps I misunderstood your response to Mr. Bairstow. Did I misunderstand?”

The kid's lips pursed as though he'd just poured dry lemonade mix into his mouth.

Father Charles leaned in a bit further. “Did I misunderstand you, Mr. Ferris?”

“Yes, Father,” the boy replied, barely above a whisper.

“I hoped so,” Father Charles said curtly. Then he dropped his own voice to a whisper. “I don't care who your father is, or how much money he gives to the archdiocese, Mr. Ferris. Nobody speaks to a teacher that way in this school. You will meet Mr. Bairstow at Sister Mary's office at the last bell, at which time you will hand him a formal, written letter of apology for your behavior. At that time you may throw yourself on Sister Mary's mercy, but know this ...”

The priest stood up to his full height again, and Tim looked up at him.

“I'm going to be there as well,” Father Charles said. “And no one's ever accused me of being merciful.”

Tim visibly stiffened. He looked scared, and David was glad.

“Go,” the priest said.

Tim went, as fast as he could move without actually running. They watched him hurry away, and when he was gone, David stared in amazement at Father Charles.

The priest grinned. “It's the uniform,” he said.

David laughed, and they fell into step together. Briefcase dangling from his left hand, David accompanied him as far as his office. They chatted briefly about the weather, but after three solid days of rain, there was little that remained to be said about it.

At the door, they paused.

“Quite a start to the day, isn't it?” Father Charles said.

“It can only improve.”

“Wouldn't it be wonderful if that were true?”

David gave him an odd look, and the priest offered his trademark enigmatic smile in return. One of the unsettling things about Father Charles was his bare-bones approach to life, his unwillingness to allow platitudes to survive.

“You know what you should do?” the priest said abruptly.

“What's that?”

“Call Janine Hartschorn and ask her to join you for dinner this weekend. What are you waiting for?”

For a moment, David's mouth hung open in surprise. Then a little voice told him how stupid he must look, and his mind began to work, cogs turning.

“You've been talking to Annette.”

Father Charles smiled mischievously. “Miss Muscari may not be the president of my fan club, but we are forced to collide in the halls and cafeteria from time to time. When we do, the only thing we can safely talk about without an argument is you.”

David rolled his eyes. “You're just a big yenta in a white collar.”

“You'll call her?”

“Today,” David agreed.

“You're welcome to use the phone in my office,” the priest suggested. “I happen to know that she doesn't start back to work at Medford High until next Monday, so she's probably home.”

He gestured toward his office door. David chuckled softly and went in to use the phone.

 
They tried their best to pretend it wasn't a date.

Janine sat across from David at a small, unsteady table in the Border Café and ate popcorn shrimp with a swiftness that was almost greedy. The restaurant had been a favorite of theirs in the old days because it was in the middle of flashy, edgy Harvard Square in Cambridge, where it was always fun to people-watch, and because it combined the best of Cajun and Mexican cuisine.

The popcorn shrimp was Janine's favorite.The Border was decorated to look as if it sat right on the edge of the bayou, as though the things tacked to the walls had been dredged up from the water or found on the side of the road. Cajun trash chic. From tables to menus, everything had a kind of sticky glaze on it, the air redolent with enough spices to make her eyes water almost perpetually. They had always thought of it as a kind of paradise, and it hadn't changed.