Читать книгу Day By Day - Delia Parr - Страница 8

T he nurse’s office at Park Elementary School smelled of alcohol and disinfectant and sported freshly painted medicine cabinets with shiny locks. There was a child in one of the four yellow plastic chairs that served as a waiting area for students sent or brought to the school nurse, who was sitting behind a metal gray desk.

Judy shoved her visitor’s pass into her pocket and rushed straight to Brian. Ignoring the nurse, she crouched down in front of her grandson and ran the edge of her finger along one of his tearstained cheeks. “Feeling sick?” she asked, too concerned to waste time worrying about how she was going to salvage the rest of her workday.

He shrugged and kept his gaze downcast.

She heard the nurse approaching as she felt his forehead with the back of her hand. “I don’t think you have a fever.”

“His temperature is quite normal,” the nurse quipped.

Judy stood and turned slightly to face the other woman, who had stretched out her hand. “I’m Marsha Chambers, the school nurse. We spoke on the phone.”

Judy shook the younger woman’s hand and wondered how this woman-child could possibly be old enough to be a nurse. She did not look a day over seventeen, but then, everyone Judy dealt with these days seemed impossibly young. “I came as quickly as I could. I had to walk. I don’t have a car,” she explained, wishing Hannah Miller, who had been the school nurse here at Park Elementary for as long as Judy could remember, had not retired last year. Or was it the year before?

“I understand. You’re Brian’s grandmother?”

“Yes. I’m raising Brian. Temporarily. What’s wrong? He doesn’t appear to have a fever.”

The nurse glanced at Brian and hardened her gaze. “No. Physically, he’s fine.”

“Then why on earth didn’t you tell me that when you called?” Judy argued.

The nurse arched her back, and flipped her long, blond hair over her shoulder. “I would have told you, if you hadn’t hung up on me,” she countered, with just a slight tone of impatience. “Actually, Miriam called me from the front office to let me know you’d arrived. I’ve arranged for Brian to spend a few moments with one of the secretaries so we can talk. Privately,” she added with a nod toward Brian.

Judy swallowed hard and tried to stem the flow of miserable memories that threatened to sweep over her, despite the relief she felt that Brian was not seriously ill. When Candy had been in high school, Judy had been called to the school too many times to count, let alone remember, but that had been high school, not elementary school. When the secretary arrived, Brian left without an argument or a glance at either his grandmother or the nurse, and Judy sat down in the chair positioned at the side of the nurse’s desk.

After the nurse took her own seat, she looked at Judy with a gaze softened by pity. “I know it can’t be easy to be raising a young child at your age.”

Pity? Judy’s backbone stiffened. “I was busy raising his mother before you were even born,” she snapped. “How many children are you raising?”

The nurse huffed, and her cheeks reddened. “I’m not married so I don’t have any children of my own, but I had four years experience at Grace Academy before coming here last year. If you’d rather speak to the principal—”

“No,” Judy murmured before their encounter became any more adversarial. “I’m sorry. Your call scared me half to death. I should have given you an opportunity to explain what was wrong. Brian seemed perfectly fine this morning when I walked him to school, so if he had taken sick this quickly, I was afraid it might be something serious.”

The nurse nervously twisted her hands, which were resting on top of a manila folder on her desk. “I’m sorry, too. I probably should have been a little more direct when I called you. I certainly didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s just that…well, I’ve never encountered anything like this before. Our guidance counselor is also assigned to another elementary school, and she was already involved in another incident and couldn’t come, so Mrs. Worth, the principal, asked me to speak with you.”

Judy swallowed hard again. Mrs. Worth. Another person at Park Elementary who was new to Judy, but at least she had met Brian’s first grade teacher at the Open House in August. “What exactly is the problem?”

The nurse opened the manila folder, picked up a crayon drawing, and slid it across the desk so Judy could see it. “Yesterday afternoon, the children were asked to draw pictures of their parents. This is Brian’s picture, which his teacher only looked at last night at home. Given the climate in today’s society, I’m sure you’ll be able to see why Brian’s teacher had to bring this to our attention today. Before anyone contacted the Division of Youth and Family Services, the principal thought it best we speak with you.”

Judy’s pulse raced. Before she even took a peek at the picture he had drawn, she thought she had a good idea of what she might see, but she was not prepared at all. Despite some very juvenile stick figures and awkwardly drawn objects, the image of what his life had been like before coming to Welleswood to live with his grandmother was devastatingly graphic and pathetic.

Trembling, she examined the picture closely. The largest stick figure had been drawn in heavy black crayon. An assortment of oddly shaped spots on one ear looked far more benign than the dark rainbow of colors streaking down each arm. Judy could not have drawn a more accurate picture of Duke, with his tattoos and earrings, if she tried.

She was shaken, but not overly concerned because she knew the picture was, unfortunately, very accurate in detail. She studied the small stick figure sitting at the man’s feet playing with what appeared to be a collection of weapons of some sort. She could not tell if they were supposed to be knives or guns, but there was no doubt the little figure had one aimed upward, pointing directly at the larger stick figure.

Her heart lurched against her chest, however, when she gazed at yet another stick figure lying in a prone position on the floor behind the tiny figure. Yellow crayon scribbled across the head obviously represented blond hair, just like Candy’s had been the last time Judy had seen her. But it was the assortment of crudely drawn bottles, multicolored dots looking very much like pills, and pointed objects that looked like syringes that left Judy clutching her chest as she tried to endure looking at the painful scene which had poured out of Brian’s memories onto this paper.

Blinking back tears, she pointed a shaky finger at each of the stick figures and identified them. “This is Duke, Brian’s father. The prone figure is his mother, my daughter, Candy.” Her voice cracked. “This little one would be Brian.”

Without responding, the school nurse left for a moment and returned with a glass of water for Judy. She took a sip, almost too distraught to swallow the water without choking.

The picture Brian had drawn depicting the life Candy had led in California with her husband and child was far worse than Judy could have imagined. Heartfelt disappointment in her daughter, coupled with concern for Brian, quickly merged into anger. “How could you? How could you?” she whispered, as if Candy might be able to justify allowing her child to be raised in such a dangerous and godless environment. She did not expect Candy to answer. Judy knew that it was not Candy at all, it was the drugs, those hideous drugs, that had robbed Candy of all sense of decency and put Brian in danger.

Any and all resentment Judy had harbored these past few months about being thrust into the role of mother instead of grandmother evaporated at that very moment, and all the inconveniences in her life now that Brian was with her seemed inconsequential, if not petty. Brian was safe now. He was here, with her, where he belonged and needed to be.

She took several sips of water before quietly explaining the meaning behind the picture, as she understood it, as well as the circumstances behind her temporary custody of her grandson. To her relief, the nurse remained sympathetic and nonjudgmental, patting Judy’s arm. “I’m so sorry. Brian’s very fortunate to be with you.”

Judy sniffled and reached into her purse for a tissue. “What do we do now? About the picture?”

The nurse put the picture back into the manila folder while Judy put her glasses back on. “Even though Brian is no longer in that environment, with your permission, we’d like Brian to see the school district’s psychologist, of course, but the counselor wanted me to arrange for a time she could speak with you about arranging for private counseling for your grandson.” She took a card from the folder and passed it to Judy. “Her name is Janet Booth. If you call her tomorrow morning after nine, she’ll set up a time convenient for both of you to meet.”

Judy sighed with relief. Finally a name she knew. “Mrs. Booth was Candy’s sixth grade teacher. I didn’t realize she’d become a counselor. Of course, I’ll call her tomorrow morning.” She paused to moisten her lips. “What about the Division of Youth and Family Services?” she whispered, frightened that Brian might be taken from her and placed into foster care.

The nurse shook her head. “I’ll speak to the principal, but I don’t believe that will be necessary now. Not under the circumstances.”

Judy looked toward the door and back again. “What about Brian? Should I take him home? I had to close the salon to come here, but—”

“You can speak with him if you like. I know he’s still a bit confused about why his picture wasn’t hanging up with all the other children’s. I’m afraid he got a bit forceful with one of the other students, which is why his teacher, Miss Addison, sent him here. Just to cool down a bit.”

Judy shook her head and tried to reconcile the nurse’s description of Brian with what she had observed. Over the course of the summer, she and Brian had actually gotten to know one another for the first time. Now that he had filled out, his stocky frame was in perpetual motion, and he had the greatest dimple in each of his pudgy cheeks. At first, he had been wary of her, even untrusting. He seemed more comfortable with her and with his new surroundings now, although she noticed he did not gravitate toward men, especially large men. “He’s normally very agreeable. He can get withdrawn once in a while,” she admitted, “but he’s never highly agitated or pushy, even with the children in the neighborhood.”

“All the more reason for you to speak with the counselor. I’m sure she’ll have some ideas for you that could help. In the meantime, you can take Brian home if you want, although maybe it would be better if he rejoined his class. The teacher has already taken down all the other pictures,” she added.

“I’ll ask Brian, but he’ll probably want to stay,” Judy suggested. While the nurse called the front office to have Brian returned to the nurse’s office, Judy worried the strap on her purse. How she might be able to afford counseling for Brian when she scarcely made enough for the two of them now was a problem she would need to lift straight to the top of her prayer list, but she was certain about one thing. Brian would get all the help he needed, even if that meant taking a second or third job to pay for it.

By skipping lunch with Madge, after a brief, but evasive explanation and a promise to meet her at Barbara’s shop, Judy was back on schedule by one o’clock. She had a good forty-five minutes before she was due at Mrs. Schimpf’s apartment in the Towers to give her a haircut, and she turned down the cobblestone walkway onto Antiques Row toward Grandmother’s Kitchen with more than a slight hesitation to her steps.

It seemed like only yesterday when the lumberyard had been on this plot of land. Frank had come here to order the wood to build the fence that still protected the backyard of their home and the swing set he had made for Candy as a surprise for her fifth birthday. Judy made her way past the shops, scarcely four years old now, but designed to complement the vintage storefronts along the avenue.

Grandmother’s Kitchen was halfway down the row, and the foot traffic, even on a day as hot as this one, was light. Judy was so preoccupied with happier memories she nearly walked past the shop. Once inside, she paused for a moment to cool down in the air-conditioning and looked around. The shop was smaller than it appeared from the outside, perhaps no larger than fifteen by twenty feet, and the shine on the wooden floor was almost dazzling. Floor-to-ceiling shelves boasted dozens and dozens of rare china canister sets that were breathtaking, both in beauty and price. Protective velvet chains, like the ones used in movie theaters and museums, kept patrons at a safe distance. No problem there for Judy. If she saved her wages for a month of Sundays, she would never be able to afford a single item in this shop, and she held tight to the box from McAllister’s and her purse for fear of knocking something over.

Several small antique glass-and-oak display cabinets placed about the center of the room protected more canister sets for potential buyers to inspect at close range. Candles on top of the cabinets added the scent of summer roses to the air. There were no customers currently in the shop but Judy could hear voices coming from a back room, presumably Barbara’s office.

Uncertain how to proceed and anxious about the time, she was grateful for a sign that directed her to buzz for assistance. Within moments, Barbara emerged from the back room, and Judy saw for herself how deeply the woman had been affected by her son’s tragic murder.

Although still stylish, dressed in a pale pink linen suit and heels, Barbara had obviously been too grief-stricken by her son’s murder or too busy trying to raise her twin granddaughters to pay much attention to her hair, badly in need of a good trim and a touch-up. Sorrow had etched new lines across her forehead and down her cheeks, but it was the haunting look in her gaze as she drew close that nearly moved Judy to tears.

Poor Barbara. To lose a child so suddenly and so violently must be a heavy cross to bear. At least Judy could still pray for Candy’s recovery, but Barbara had no hope of ever seeing her beloved son again. Maybe she and Barbara could become friends, helping one another deal with their private pain as they each struggled to revert from their roles as grandmothers to become mothers again, despite the obvious differences in their backgrounds and circumstances. Perhaps grief, for a son lost forever and for a daughter lost to drugs, would be the bond that was strong enough to help them both.

When Judy stepped forward, eager to make a new friend, she tripped on the hem of her slacks. With her purse in one hand and the box of bakery goods in the other, she bumped into one of the glass display cases. Fortunately, the case was heavy enough to hold fast and keep her from falling, but her nudge had toppled the contents.

With her heart pounding over the sound of the china rattling in the display case, she closed her eyes, grateful to have kept her balance. Thoroughly embarrassed by her awkward entrance, she prayed nothing more than her pride had been cracked or broken.