The Wednesday Group (22 page)

Every day that Greg has been sober gives them something to build on. It reminds Lizzy of growing crystals. The seed crystal is the most delicate. It needs perfect conditions. Once the seed has formed, a few bumps won't stop the progress. The environment doesn't need to be so closely monitored. Greg is past the seeding stage and on his way.

School is winding down for the year. It's nearly lunch period on Tuesday. She hands out study guides for the final, two and a half weeks early. Preparation and practice: she's tried to drill those lessons home.

Her cell phone vibrates at exactly the same time that the classroom phone rings. She assumes Greg is sending her a message, and that gives her a burst of happiness. She'll look at it during lunch. She picks up the classroom phone.

“Lizzy?” It's the secretary, Geraldine, from the front office.

“How can I help?” Lizzy asks.

“Joe would like to talk to you,” Geraldine says quietly.

“Sure,” Lizzy says. Joe has been the principal for ten years, and he's never been anything but complimentary and supportive.

“Can you come during your lunch break?” There's an urgency in her voice.

“Sure,” Lizzy says, this time tempering any buoyancy in her voice. “Do you know what this is about?”

“No. He just told me to call you.”

“There hasn't been some sort of accident?” That's always a fear—a car crash, the death of a student.

“No.”

“Good.” Lizzy breathes an audible sigh and hangs up the phone. Students are packing up.

“There are still three minutes left,” she says.

“Two minutes and twenty-five seconds,” Bryan calls out.

“Okay, two minutes. You could have done a problem in two minutes.” But she's smiling, and they all know that class is essentially over.

She touches her pocket, feeling her cell phone, and has an urge to take it out now to read Greg's message. But she'll save it.

The bell rings, and the students are gone in under twenty seconds.

Lizzy sits at the table in Joe's office as he closes the door. Why would they need a closed-door meeting? In all her years of teaching, she's never been reprimanded for anything.

Joe sits with her. She feels a snag. He usually stays behind his desk and multitasks, checking e-mails as he talks. He glances at her, but because he has a wandering eye, she's never quite sure where he's actually looking.

“How are you?” His thick eyebrows form a single black line.

“Fine.” She tilts her head, expecting to hear what's really going on. Lunch period is only twenty-two minutes, and she needs to get ready for her next class.

He stands, walks to his desk and picks up a pencil. “This is difficult,” he says, and joins her at the table again.

She feels herself sink. Something terrible has happened to a student. Geraldine just didn't know of it yet, even if she is the hub of gossip.

“What is it?”

He taps the eraser of the pencil on the table, then seems to note his own nervousness and puts the pencil aside. “It actually started last week.”

Her face gets hot. She nods for him to continue.

“I received an e-mail from a parent.”

Someone complained about her? Maybe Brianna's parents. Their daughter is flunking, but it's hardly Lizzy's fault. She nods for Joe to continue.

“They were concerned about their daughter, Kristie. She's in—”

“My AP class,” Lizzy tells him. “She's getting a solid A.”

“I don't think anyone is questioning your teaching or her grade.”

Well, that's a relief. She looks at Joe. “What is it?” she asks again.

“It's probably nothing. A misunderstanding. But I did receive a few more e-mails from concerned parents this week.”

Now her face must be as red as a lobster. “About what?” She doesn't hide her dismay.

“Your husband, he works…” He taps the pencil again. “… worked for a small business in town.”

“Yes. For TKL, the computer software company. What does he have to do with…?”

“Well, from what I understand, and this might be entirely incorrect, he was let go at the beginning of last week.”

She shakes her head. “No.”

Joe looks in her direction, although his eyes seem to be focusing to the side of her. “That's good to hear.”

“Sorry, Joe, but I'm confused. What does this have to do with Kristie or any of my other students?”

“It seems that they believe your husband was let go because of something to do with…” He lays his thick hands flat on the table.

For a few seconds she feels as if she's not breathing. She meant to ask Greg if he ever watched porn at work, but she was never able to get the question out. He wouldn't do something that stupid. It would be analogous to her keeping a bottle of vodka in her file cabinet. There are things you just don't do. Addict or not.

“He's been going to work every day,” she tells Joe.

He reaches to pat her shoulder. “Look, you're a fabulous teacher, one of the best I've ever seen in my career. And I'm sure this will all get cleared up. But…”

“I don't see what there is to clear up. He hasn't lost his job. I would certainly know about that.” She pauses. “What did Kristie's parents say?”

“They believe your husband was let go because of some sort of sexual misconduct. I think they're worried that, well, guilt by association.”

She takes her cell phone out of her pocket. Toys with it. Guilt by association? That kind of thing happens in North Korea, not a nice, liberal suburb of Boston. “What do they think, I'm some kind of pervert?”

“Not you. Of course. You know how parents are these days. Hovering. Overprotective.”

“What exactly are they saying?” Her voice is louder.

“That he might have been inappropriate. That their children might not be safe.”

She can't be hearing this correctly. “Greg has never been inappropriate with children.” As soon as she says that, she has a moment of doubt. It's not as if he can really be trusted.

“I'm sure that's the case. But as I said, you know how parents can be.” He makes a face, as if he's fed up with them, as if they're all absurd, yet that's what he has to deal with.

“Yes. But…”

“They're concerned. I think all this recent stuff with Sandusky hasn't helped. You know how people blame his wife.”

“This is crazy. My husband's hardly a Sandusky. Besides, it's not as if the students are ever even in contact with him.”

“But you did have the AP students at your house for a barbecue after their exam.”

“Yes.”

“And your husband was there?”

“God, I feel like I'm on the witness stand. Yes, he was there. But we were outside the whole time. I mean, what are you proposing, that he took one of them into the bathroom or something?” She feels removed from herself, as if this is happening to someone else.

“No. I'm sure nothing happened, and as I said, I think the whole ordeal with Penn State has made parents even more paranoid.”

Her head feels like thick mud. The bell rings. “I have a class.” She stands.

“I have someone covering. Don't worry. We'll take care of it.”

She sits down.

“I've put a lot of thought into this,” Joe says. “I want you to know that. I want to do what's best for you. To protect you.”

“But I don't need protection.”

“I'm afraid—” The pencil breaks. He gets up to throw it away. “I'm afraid you might. You can use the school's lawyer.”

“Lawyer? What am I being accused of?”

“Nothing.” He holds up a hand. “Nothing, of course. But as I said, guilt by association.”

“What's my husband being accused of?”

“I shouldn't have brought up lawyers. I'm sure you won't need one. I just wanted you to know, should it come to that, we will be happy to provide legal support.”

“I don't understand. Why would I need legal support?”

“I've seen these sorts of things before. They can get out of control. I would hate to have parents e-mail you and suggest things about your husband.”

She finally decides to look at the message on her phone. It's not from Greg, it's from the dentist, reminding her she has an appointment tomorrow.

“Lizzy?” Joe says.

She can't imagine sitting in the dentist's chair.

“Yes. Sorry,” she tells Joe. “I don't know why I looked at this now.”

“Everything all right?”

“Yes. Fine.” She clicks off the message. “Fine,” she says again. If she keeps telling herself that, perhaps it will be.

“Your husband?” Joe asks.

“No.” She puts her phone back in her pocket. “No, he's fine.”

“I was thinking, since we're so close to the end of the year, it might just be best…” He pauses. “It might be best if you took the time off. We'll get it all settled and start fresh next year.”

She stares at him as if he's speaking a language she doesn't understand. But then the words nudge into her brain. They swim toward her slowly, underwater.

She can't give up her classes. This time of year is key. It's when she ties all the material together, makes her students see the big picture. It's the pinnacle, the big bang, the finale in the fireworks show.

“I can't. I have to review for finals. And you won't be able to just find a chemistry teacher to fill in.”

“No, we can't find anyone with your expertise, but we'll manage. The students will be okay.”

She shakes her head. “No, you don't understand. We haven't finished the unit on acids and bases yet, and that chapter always confuses them.”

“Lizzy, it's all right. They'll be fine.”

Of course they'll be fine. But she won't be. She can't sit at home and do … what? Stare out the kitchen window when everyone else is getting ready for finals? “I can't,” she says firmly. “I'm sorry.”

“The thing is”—he stands and walks to his desk—“I'm really doing this because I want to protect you. It's just a couple of weeks. I already have someone to cover your classes.”

“But…” she says.

“I know, it's hard.” He opens his laptop and glances at it. “It's not fair. And I'll be available to talk to you whenever you want.”

The computer beeps as he turns it on. He looks at the screen, and she thinks of an e-mail she received from a man named Valerian, about helping to build a school in the Peruvian jungle. For twenty minutes she contemplated going, and then she looked into airfares, which were too expensive. She replied, thanked Valerian, and said perhaps the following year, if they still needed help on the project. It's a fantasy, of course, taking off to the jungle.

“Lizzy,” Joe says. “Joan is available to talk to you now if that will help.”

She certainly doesn't need the twenty-eight-year-old school psychologist, who looks as if she spends four hours a day sculpting her muscles.

“No, I wouldn't like that. Thank you.” She stays sitting as Joe settles behind his desk, looking as if he wants to get back to work. “I'll finish out the week at least.”

“Why don't you go home? Rest. Let me worry about this.”

“I'll leave at the end of the day.”

He shakes his head solemnly.

“Now? I should just get up and leave now?”

“We think that's best.”

“We?”

“The superintendent and myself. I'll be sending home an e-mail, explaining that you will be taking the remainder of the year off.”

“What would you say my reason is?”

“We can talk about that. If you'd prefer, I can say it's for medical reasons.”

“I'd prefer that you tell them I haven't done anything wrong, and neither has my husband.” Her voice splinters. She puts a hand to her throat.

“I know how hard this must be.”

She walks out without saying another word. Joan jumps up from chatting with Geraldine. Lizzy passes them as if they aren't even there. In her classroom, she smiles at the students and tells them she has to help a friend. Then she grabs her pocketbook, her keys, and the plant on her desk. She puts the plant down. It would look silly to walk out with a plant. She'll be back tomorrow. This mess will get cleared up. They can't do this. She'll get the union involved. This is like a witch hunt, cruel and archaic. It must be against the law. And Greg hasn't even been fired, let alone for what they're saying. This is America. They can't ask her to leave based on some unfounded rumors.

She takes out her phone, intending to reply to the dentist, but she calls Greg instead. She doesn't get into details, just that she's upset, very upset, and asks if he can meet her at home. He tells her he'll be there in fifteen minutes.

*   *   *

She waits twenty minutes, then thirty. She calls him again. No answer. She texts. No reply. She thinks of calling Hannah, but then remembers what she said, that Greg couldn't be trusted.

She vacuums, needing something to do, but the noise feels as if it's mimicking her nerves. In the kitchen, she chops vegetables for soup and throws them in the slow cooker. Ten more minutes, then she'll call the local hospitals and see if he was in an accident.

It just can't be true what Joe told her. Obviously, if Greg had been fired, even if he didn't tell her, she would have known. She's not that obtuse. There would have been clues that he wasn't going to work.

She sets up her laptop on the kitchen table. Maybe Joe e-mailed her to tell her he made a mistake, that he found out it was just a malicious rumor after all. There are four new e-mails, all junk. She scrolls down, finds the e-mail from Valerian, and reads it again. She remembers the phrase
relocation cure
. She can't recall where she heard it, but whoever used it also said it never works, that it's just a form of escape. But if she decided to go to the jungle for the summer, she wouldn't be running, she would be doing something productive.