The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs (5 page)

“Sure, but I might be able to get Mrs. Arnold out of here in a couple minutes. Before I go.”

Tiffany smiled. “You shot some B-roll?”

Caroline nodded. “Mrs. Arnold, can you and Alysha just follow me into the studio?”

“Don't you need to go?” Mrs. Arnold asked. “It's okay. I understand.”

“I do. But this will only take a minute.”

“What's B-roll?” Henry asked. “Do I get B-roll?”

Caroline ignored the question and led Mrs. Arnold, who was pushing Alysha's wheelchair, into the studio.

“This will sound strange,” Caroline said once the door was closed. “But I was hiding in the bushes when you arrived. That's why I walked in after you.”

“Hiding in the bushes?”

“Yes. So I could shoot you and your daughter. Sometimes it's hard for people to appear natural in a photo session. Especially kids like Alysha. Sometimes the best shots are taken when no one knows you're watching. I know it sounds weird, but I think I got a few that you might like. Can I show you?”

Mrs. Arnold nodded, but she looked unconvinced.

Caroline connected her camera to a computer. Photos that she had taken from behind the bushes appeared on a large screen above the keyboard. She scrolled through several wide angle shots before she came to the ones of just Mrs. Arnold and Alysha's faces. “Like this one, maybe?”

It was a picture of Alysha, looking up toward the sky at a slight angle. It was impossible to discern her position because only her face appeared in the frame, but Caroline had shot it while Alysha was in her mother's arms, being lowered into the wheelchair. The girl was beaming. Looking up at her mother with love and trust and maybe even a little joy. A mother and daughter in a private moment that likely occurred several times a day. Caroline had chosen her spot well. The angle of the sun had ignited a sparkle in Alysha's eyes and had alighted her cheeks in a yellow glow.

“Or this one?” Caroline said, scrolling to a nearly identical shot. She had been shooting fast, capturing several images a second, so there were many to choose from. “Or this? I have some of them with you, too,” she said. “And I took some—”

Mrs. Arnold sniffled. Tears welled in her eyes. Alysha was looking at the screen, too. Staring at it. Her smile even larger now than it had been in the parking lot.

“Do you like them?” Caroline asked.

“No,” Mrs. Arnold said. “I love them. They're beautiful.”

“Your daughter's beautiful.”

“Sometimes I think I'm the only one who sees it. But you see it, too. I can tell. I can see it in these pictures.” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I want these,” she said, pointing at the screen. “All of them.”

Caroline sat down at the computer and began working. In a minute, she had transferred all the images from her camera to a flash drive. She passed it over to Mrs. Arnold. “They're yours. Free of charge. If you want prints, we can do that, too. I'll have to charge you for them, but the images are yours. On the house.”

“No,” Mrs. Arnold said.

“Yes. It was an honor to shoot the two of you.”

Mrs. Arnold reached out and hugged Caroline tightly. “Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea what this means to me. And to Alysha.” She turned to her daughter. “Alysha, do you like the pictures?” she asked, pointing to the one still on the screen.

Alysha smiled and said, “Yay.”

“I'm so glad,” Caroline said, smiling back at the girl. “Now I really need to go. I'm going to leave out the back, so I don't have to see Mr. Parker again. Okay?”

“Of course. He's a silly little man.”

“I guess we're all a little silly at times. But I like Henry. Most days, at least.”

“Good luck with your daughter.”

“Thanks,” Caroline said. She had a feeling she'd need all the luck she could get.

six

Benjamin Banneker High School reminded Caroline of her own high school. Long corridors with endless rows of narrow, dented lockers. Faded linoleum floors. Bulletin boards crowded with notices about basketball tryouts and marching band fund-raisers. Antibullying posters. The aroma of cheap carpeting, cheaper cologne, and the constant struggle against the onslaught of hormonal perspiration.

Students clustered in the hallways in small, distinct groups, rarely intermingling, aggressively unaware of those around them. Instead of the stacks of books that Caroline had carried when she was their age, these students held phones in their hands, their eyes rapidly shifting from faces to phone and back again. There were other things that Caroline didn't recall from her high school days. The intercom, camera, and buzzer at the front door. Security guards patrolling the hallways. Headphones and earbuds jammed into ears and dangling around necks. Water bottles. Tattoos and facial piercings. It was as if nothing had changed and everything had changed.

As she approached the office, Caroline couldn't help but feel as if she were in at least as much trouble as her daughter.

Polly was sitting on a wooden bench opposite the high counter that separated students and parents from the inner sanctum of the high school office. She turned as Caroline entered, her eyes wide and pleading, making her look younger than had in a long time. She stared at her mother for several seconds—a lifetime in this world of cell phones, headphones, and teen angst—before slowly returning her gaze to her laceless, lime-green sneakers.

She looks so small, Caroline thought. Though Polly was short and slim, her personality had always made her seem larger. Louder. But at this moment, she looked almost tiny on that bench. Hunched and muted. Wounded, even.

Caroline did not like it.

“Can I help you?” one of the secretaries asked without rising from her swivel chair.

“Yes, I'm Caroline Jacobs. Polly's mother. Dr. Powers asked me to come in.”

“Of course. Just one moment, Ms. Jacobs.”

Ms. Jacobs.
The secretaries had undoubtedly been trained to avoid all assumptions lest they offend anyone. Caroline felt she should correct the woman. Let her know that she was a
Mrs.
and kind of liked being one. But she let it go.

A moment later a door opened and a short, balding man stepped out. “Ms. Jacobs?” he asked, removing his glasses and nodding in her direction. “I'm Dr. Powers. Come in, please.”

Caroline turned and looked back at Polly, still sitting quietly on the bench. Her gaze remained fixed on her sneakers.

“Polly can wait here a moment while we talk if that's all right,” Dr. Powers said. He was smiling, encouraging her to step forward, and yet she knew that it was not a real smile. It was an administrative smile. One designed to produce action.

“Okay,” Caroline said and followed him into his office.

The room had no windows. It was small, with barely enough space for a desk and a cluster of wooden chairs. It was poorly lit. The walls were bare. Dingy. Like a closet. Not what she had expected from a principal's office.

“Have a seat, Ms. Jacobs,” Dr. Powers said, assuming a position on the opposite side of the desk. “Mrs. Thompson will be joining us as well. To take notes.”

As if on cue, the woman from behind the counter entered the office, taking a position in the far corner of the room. She had a legal pad in her hand. Once seated, she looked over Dr. Powers's shoulder at Caroline. Her expression was flat. Emotionless.

“Let's get started,” Dr. Powers said. “Thank you for coming in so quickly.”

“Did you call my husband?” Caroline asked.

“One of my secretaries left a message. Have we heard back?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“No,” Mrs. Thompson said, lifting her eyes from the legal pad and staring blankly at Caroline once again.

“Did you call your husband?” Dr. Powers asked.

“I did. I left a message, too.”

Caroline tried to remember where Tom was supposed to be right now. A sales call for the replacement windows? Something for the church? She wasn't sure. “He's probably meeting with a client,” she said. “Or maybe someone from the congregation.”

“Congregation?”

“Yes. Tom's the deacon of the First Congregational Church. Over on Willowbrook.”

“Oh,” Dr. Powers said. “Then I expect that he'll find this especially upsetting.”

Mrs. Thompson nodded with great solemnity.

“Especially upsetting?” Caroline repeated. “What happened?”

“Your daughter attacked another student in the biology lab this morning.”

“She attacked someone?”

“Yes,” Dr. Powers said. “A classmate. Mr. Shultz said that the girls were arguing about something in the back of the classroom and then Polly began shouting. Using profanity, from what I'm told. Before Mr. Shultz could reach them to intervene, Polly had punched Miss Dinali in the face. In the nose, to be exact.”

“Miss
Dinali
?” Caroline asked.

“Yes. Grace Dinali,” Dr. Powers said. “Polly doesn't deny punching Grace, but she won't tell me what caused the fight or talk about it in any way. She refuses to discuss it.”

“What does the other girl say?” Caroline asked.

“I haven't been able to speak to her. Grace's mother brought her to the hospital before we had a chance to talk.”

“She had to go to the hospital?”

“Our nurse thinks it's just a bruise, but Mrs. Dinali was worried that Grace's nose might be broken. She wanted to be safe.” Dr. Powers cleared his throat. “Obviously this is a serious situation, but Polly has never been in any real trouble before, so that will be taken into account. And I heard about the unfortunate incident at the PTO meeting last night. Is there something going on outside of school that might explain this sudden change in behavior?”

Not this sudden change
in Polly's behavior
, Caroline noted. She had been called into the principal's office just as much as her daughter had. A first for both of them. “No,” she said. “No changes.”

“I'd like to keep the police out of this situation if at all possible, but that may not be up to me. Mrs. Dinali may feel the need to involve them. If it's determined that Polly has been bullying Grace, I'll be forced to investigate the incident more thoroughly. State law comes into play. But I can't do anything if she won't talk to me.”

Caroline stopped listening. The dingy office, the ancient furniture, the blank-eyed stare of Mrs. Thompson, the scribbling of her pen, and Dr. Powers's administrative smile had all faded into nonspecific white noise. That spark in her belly had reignited.

“Are you sure there's nothing I need to know about, Ms. Jacobs?” Dr. Powers asked, sounding even more concerned. “Something going on between you and the Dinali family? Something going on at home?”

Caroline didn't answer. She was thinking of the fifteen-year-old version of herself. Thinking about a girl named Emily Kaplan and a Saturday morning ride to Strawberries.

It was twenty-five years ago.

It was yesterday.

“Ms. Jacobs?” Dr. Powers said. “Is there anything at all that I should know about?”

Caroline's eyes met his. She finally had something to say. That spark was now a fire in her belly again. It was warm and bright. “It's
Mrs.
Jacobs,” she said with more force than she intended. “I'm married. You called my husband. Remember?”

“Of course. I'm sorry. Mrs. Jacobs.”

“Is there a place where I can speak to my daughter alone?”

Dr. Powers blinked.

Mrs. Thompson stopped scribbling.

“I think it's better if I speak to her first,” Caroline said. “Privately.”

Dr. Powers drummed his fingers silently on the desk and stared. This was not a part of his plan. Caroline had gone off-script, and he was deciding how to improvise. Finally he said, “You can use Mr. Hugh's office across the hall. It's the guidance office, but he's out meeting with college recruiters today. It should be empty.”

Caroline rose from her chair.

“I want to help, Ms—er,
Mrs
. Jacobs. There's no need for this to become any bigger than it already is.”

“Then let me see my daughter.”

 

 

Caroline told herself to remain calm. Find out what happened before deciding what to do next. Work with Polly as a team. Figure a way out of this mess together. No need to yell. No need to escalate things.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Polly shouted as soon as the door to the guidance office clicked shut. “You make jokes about the noble gases at breakfast but don't bother to mention that you told Grace Dinali's mother to fuck off?”

Polly had assumed an upright posture that Caroline had rarely seen, despite her constant urgings to straighten up. Her fists were clenched. She was breathing through her mouth. She looked ready to punch someone. Again.

“Hey, I'm not the one who just punched someone in the face,” Caroline said. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I couldn't let Grace Dinali insult my mother without doing something about it. When I told her to shut up, she told me that I needed to shut my bitch mother up. So I punched her.”

“Stop swearing,” Caroline said.

“Why should I? You weren't worried about swearing last night.”

“Just calm down. Okay?”

“Calm down?” Polly said, throwing her hands in the air. “Do you have any idea what you did? Grace Dinali didn't even know I existed yesterday. And that was
a good thing
. Now I'm her biggest enemy. She hates my guts. Do you have any idea what that means for me? Why didn't you tell me what you said last night?”

“I had no idea Mary Kate Dinali would run home and tell her daughter.”

“Mom, everyone ran home and told their kids.
Everyone
knew about it this morning. Everyone except for me. You sent me into a freakin' ambush.”