security measures, she supposed, that were now being implemented in even the safest schools. A sign printed on red construction paper was taped to the glass part of the chosen door: PTA meeting, Thursday, 7:30 P.M., Cafeteria.
Kate felt a constriction in her chest. Since Ben had started kindergarten, she had made it a point to be at every single PTA meeting, no matter what. Having a mother who attended PTA meetings was part and parcel of the life she wanted him to have. A normal life. A life so different from her own hardcore childhood that they might have been lived on different planets.
She was still finding it almost impossible to believe that the world she was so carefully constructing for the two of them was in danger of being shattered.
Unless she did what Mario wanted.
Kate felt herself beginning to shake inside, and gritted her teeth. Not now. Don't think about it now. "Ms. White?"
The secretary—they were new to the school, and she was rattled, and thus Kate couldn't quite remember the woman's name—greeted her in a low, pleasant voice as soon as she stepped inside the wide front hall, which was painted creamy white with a gray linoleum floor and garlanded with streamers of colorful autumn leaves cut out of construction paper. In her early sixties, a grandmotherly type with short white hair and bifocals and a fluffy blue cardigan with a ring of white benchies embroidered around the neckline, she sat at her desk behind the counter that separated the office area from the main hall that ran the length of the school. She was positioned so that she could see all the comings and goings through the front door: another security measure, Kate had no doubt. When Kate had been looking at the school in conjunction with looking for a place to live after she had been hired as an assistant DA, the parent volunteer who had shown her around had assured her that at Greathouse they were, among other things, very security-conscious.
"Yes. Hi. I'm sorry it took me so long." Kate dodged a giggling quartet of ponytailed girls as they carried a piece of plywood supporting what was obviously some kind of class project down the hall. She crossed to the counter and glanced over it and into the office area. Like the hall, which was brightly lit and cheerful despite the rain darkening its windows, the office area appeared kid-friendly and welcoming, with a cherry-red back wall adorned with magnetic strips crowded with children's pictures. "I came as quickly as I could."
"Oh, listen, I understand. With everything that's been going on downtown—well, I'm just glad you called back when you did. Ben was really getting worried. The TV was on back there, but I had to turn it off. They started showing live pictures of what was happening on every channel, and he was just sure you were in the thick of it." She stood up as she spoke, and Kate saw that she was comfortably full-bodied in her beige polyester slacks and white blouse, and was also able to read the name tag pinned to the sweater: Mrs. Sherry Jackson. Right. Got it. The secretary's voice grew hushed. "They're saying that ten people were killed, including a judge."
She looked at Kate as if for confirmation.
Kate felt her stomach tighten. Don't think about it. She shook her head. "I don't know."
"Well." Mrs. Jackson smiled at her. "Ben's lying down in the back. If you'll just sign him out"—she indicated a clipboard on the counter— "I'll go and get him."
While Kate signed Ben out, Mrs. Jackson disappeared through a door at the rear of the office. Loud voices and the sound of running feet coming toward her made Kate start and glance around. The noise was coming from a group of six or so boys who looked to be about Ben's age. They were wearing sneakers and bright blue gym uniforms— Kate recognized them because she had shelled out fifty bucks for two sets for Ben just a little more than a month before—and one was clutching a basketball. Kate didn't know them—she was still too
Kate felt a constriction in her chest. Since Ben had started kindergarten, she had made it a point to be at every single PTA meeting, no matter what. Having a mother who attended PTA meetings was part and parcel of the life she wanted him to have. A normal life. A life so different from her own hardcore childhood that they might have been lived on different planets.
She was still finding it almost impossible to believe that the world she was so carefully constructing for the two of them was in danger of being shattered.
Unless she did what Mario wanted.
Kate felt herself beginning to shake inside, and gritted her teeth. Not now. Don't think about it now. "Ms. White?"
The secretary—they were new to the school, and she was rattled, and thus Kate couldn't quite remember the woman's name—greeted her in a low, pleasant voice as soon as she stepped inside the wide front hall, which was painted creamy white with a gray linoleum floor and garlanded with streamers of colorful autumn leaves cut out of construction paper. In her early sixties, a grandmotherly type with short white hair and bifocals and a fluffy blue cardigan with a ring of white benchies embroidered around the neckline, she sat at her desk behind the counter that separated the office area from the main hall that ran the length of the school. She was positioned so that she could see all the comings and goings through the front door: another security measure, Kate had no doubt. When Kate had been looking at the school in conjunction with looking for a place to live after she had been hired as an assistant DA, the parent volunteer who had shown her around had assured her that at Greathouse they were, among other things, very security-conscious.
"Yes. Hi. I'm sorry it took me so long." Kate dodged a giggling quartet of ponytailed girls as they carried a piece of plywood supporting what was obviously some kind of class project down the hall. She crossed to the counter and glanced over it and into the office area. Like the hall, which was brightly lit and cheerful despite the rain darkening its windows, the office area appeared kid-friendly and welcoming, with a cherry-red back wall adorned with magnetic strips crowded with children's pictures. "I came as quickly as I could."
"Oh, listen, I understand. With everything that's been going on downtown—well, I'm just glad you called back when you did. Ben was really getting worried. The TV was on back there, but I had to turn it off. They started showing live pictures of what was happening on every channel, and he was just sure you were in the thick of it." She stood up as she spoke, and Kate saw that she was comfortably full-bodied in her beige polyester slacks and white blouse, and was also able to read the name tag pinned to the sweater: Mrs. Sherry Jackson. Right. Got it. The secretary's voice grew hushed. "They're saying that ten people were killed, including a judge."
She looked at Kate as if for confirmation.
Kate felt her stomach tighten. Don't think about it. She shook her head. "I don't know."
"Well." Mrs. Jackson smiled at her. "Ben's lying down in the back. If you'll just sign him out"—she indicated a clipboard on the counter— "I'll go and get him."
While Kate signed Ben out, Mrs. Jackson disappeared through a door at the rear of the office. Loud voices and the sound of running feet coming toward her made Kate start and glance around. The noise was coming from a group of six or so boys who looked to be about Ben's age. They were wearing sneakers and bright blue gym uniforms— Kate recognized them because she had shelled out fifty bucks for two sets for Ben just a little more than a month before—and one was clutching a basketball. Kate didn't know them—she was still too
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