she had no regrets. In this case…
In this case, it was going to be another long, lonely and sleepless night. Plenty of hours to revisit every word she’d said to Jace last night.
And this time, at least, plenty of regrets.
Nine
F riday morning, after a third nearly sleepless night, Lindsey set her tote bag down on the office floor and picked up the ballpoint chained to the sign-in sheet. She scrawled her signature, glancing up at the clock behind the desk of the school secretary before writing 7:02 beside her name.
“Did you hear?” Melanie leaned across the front counter to whisper the words.
Obviously, whatever this was about, Lindsey hadn’t heard. Given the secretary’s air of secrecy and the events of the last few days, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Only a couple of faculty members had asked her about the incident with the snake. Both had heard it from one of her neighbors, who’d stuck to his theory that the rattler had gotten into her house and her laundry hamper in some gardening clothes.
Lindsey had downplayed the whole thing, mostly because she didn’t want to answer endless questions about what had happened. School, with its demands on her intellect, had become the one place she didn’t have to think about the damned snake.
“Heard what?”
“About Andrea Moore.”
Although she had no idea yet what this was about, a knot of dread formed in the pit of Lindsey’s stomach. “What about her?”
“Suicide,” Melanie whispered, lifting her brows. “Last night. The police are with Dave right now.”
“Oh, my God.”
Nausea so powerful she literally had to put her hand over her mouth surged into Lindsey’s throat. All she could think about was Andrea standing hesitantly in the doorway of her classroom yesterday, assuring her she’d only come to ask about the coming test.
What she was feeling must not have been apparent to Melanie. Her voice still lowered, the secretary continued to add details. “Nobody else knows. Not yet. The county’s gonna send out grief counselors today. I just thought staff should be aware, so they can be prepared when the kids do find out.”
“Excuse me, ladies.”
Lindsey automatically stepped to the side, at the same time turning to see Walt Harrison, who taught honors history, set his brown-bag lunch on the counter as he picked up the pen.
“Have you heard, Walt?” Melanie asked him.
“Heard what?”
“About Andrea Moore.”
“Andrea? What about her?” Walt asked as he wrote his name.
“She killed herself. Cut her wrists.”
“Who the hell told you something like that?”
The anger in Walt’s voice made the registrar pull back. After a second, she recovered. “The sheriff’s department. That’s who. They’re in there with Dave right now.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“She was a junior. You must have taught her last year.”
It was obvious Walt was shaken. Lindsey realized belatedly that he had a son in that same class. Suicide always brought home the terrible vulnerability of this age group.
“I had her this year and last. Son of a bitch,” Walt said again, his voice softer.
“Bad family situation?” the secretary prodded.
“I don’t know. Tim might, but…She was just…I don’t know. One of those kids you like. Never said much. Worked hard. Listened. Cared.”
Tim was also in Lindsey’s Honors English. His father’s words about the dead girl might have as easily described him.
“You taught her, too, didn’t you, Linds?” Walt asked. “She was in your program.”
Lindsey nodded. “She came by my room yesterday afternoon. She wanted to talk about a test. At least that’s what she said. I had no reason…” Regret choked off the faltering words. When she’d regained control, she went on, trying to make them both understand. “I had Scholars’ Bowl practice. I told her she could walk down to the auditorium with me, but…”
“Don’t,” Walt ordered into her sudden silence. “This has nothing to do with
In this case, it was going to be another long, lonely and sleepless night. Plenty of hours to revisit every word she’d said to Jace last night.
And this time, at least, plenty of regrets.
Nine
F riday morning, after a third nearly sleepless night, Lindsey set her tote bag down on the office floor and picked up the ballpoint chained to the sign-in sheet. She scrawled her signature, glancing up at the clock behind the desk of the school secretary before writing 7:02 beside her name.
“Did you hear?” Melanie leaned across the front counter to whisper the words.
Obviously, whatever this was about, Lindsey hadn’t heard. Given the secretary’s air of secrecy and the events of the last few days, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Only a couple of faculty members had asked her about the incident with the snake. Both had heard it from one of her neighbors, who’d stuck to his theory that the rattler had gotten into her house and her laundry hamper in some gardening clothes.
Lindsey had downplayed the whole thing, mostly because she didn’t want to answer endless questions about what had happened. School, with its demands on her intellect, had become the one place she didn’t have to think about the damned snake.
“Heard what?”
“About Andrea Moore.”
Although she had no idea yet what this was about, a knot of dread formed in the pit of Lindsey’s stomach. “What about her?”
“Suicide,” Melanie whispered, lifting her brows. “Last night. The police are with Dave right now.”
“Oh, my God.”
Nausea so powerful she literally had to put her hand over her mouth surged into Lindsey’s throat. All she could think about was Andrea standing hesitantly in the doorway of her classroom yesterday, assuring her she’d only come to ask about the coming test.
What she was feeling must not have been apparent to Melanie. Her voice still lowered, the secretary continued to add details. “Nobody else knows. Not yet. The county’s gonna send out grief counselors today. I just thought staff should be aware, so they can be prepared when the kids do find out.”
“Excuse me, ladies.”
Lindsey automatically stepped to the side, at the same time turning to see Walt Harrison, who taught honors history, set his brown-bag lunch on the counter as he picked up the pen.
“Have you heard, Walt?” Melanie asked him.
“Heard what?”
“About Andrea Moore.”
“Andrea? What about her?” Walt asked as he wrote his name.
“She killed herself. Cut her wrists.”
“Who the hell told you something like that?”
The anger in Walt’s voice made the registrar pull back. After a second, she recovered. “The sheriff’s department. That’s who. They’re in there with Dave right now.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“She was a junior. You must have taught her last year.”
It was obvious Walt was shaken. Lindsey realized belatedly that he had a son in that same class. Suicide always brought home the terrible vulnerability of this age group.
“I had her this year and last. Son of a bitch,” Walt said again, his voice softer.
“Bad family situation?” the secretary prodded.
“I don’t know. Tim might, but…She was just…I don’t know. One of those kids you like. Never said much. Worked hard. Listened. Cared.”
Tim was also in Lindsey’s Honors English. His father’s words about the dead girl might have as easily described him.
“You taught her, too, didn’t you, Linds?” Walt asked. “She was in your program.”
Lindsey nodded. “She came by my room yesterday afternoon. She wanted to talk about a test. At least that’s what she said. I had no reason…” Regret choked off the faltering words. When she’d regained control, she went on, trying to make them both understand. “I had Scholars’ Bowl practice. I told her she could walk down to the auditorium with me, but…”
“Don’t,” Walt ordered into her sudden silence. “This has nothing to do with
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