“Or rather, she’s lost it.”
He looked at her, at the funny smile she had on her face, her eyes properly focused on the road. She laughed again and said, “Depressing, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I like my version better.”
She rolled her window partially down. The sound of the wind crashed through the car, drowning out the music. She rested her elbow against the ledge and held her fingers up to the outside air, moving them as if to better feel the wind. “Maybe it’s both,” she said. “Would you blame her?”
On Monday afternoon Dan lingered in my classroom when he came to pick up Aidan. As the other children left, one by one, with their parents and caregivers, I regarded him with a combination of curiosity and dread.
“How was the choir trip?” he asked.
“Very nice. The kids took second place.”
“Didn’t destroy any hotel rooms, did they?”
I acknowledged this with a quick laugh. “Of course not. Model citizens, every one of them.”
“I expect you had a better weekend than I did, then.” He glanced toward the hallway, then at his son, placidly playing with toy animals on the carpet. “The auditor from the Department of Health called me on Friday. She wants us to voluntarily close the school for a week until the measles infections subside. I told her no.”
“Tell her yes,” I said immediately. “Whatever it takes to appease them.”
“We can’t do that, Judy.” His tone disparaged my solution, making him sound, for the moment, much like Russ. “I’ll have fifty parents in here asking for prorated refunds of their tuition dollars. The kids who’ve had their shots aren’t at risk, and the others have probably been exposed already. A closure won’t make any difference at all.”
I shrugged. “I think it’s a ridiculous situation, any way you look at it. The school has no control over whether parents vaccinate their children. All we can do is get our paperwork in order, and beyond that, no one can hold us accountable for the decisions of the parents.”
“That doesn’t mean we won’t turn into the pinata for it anyway. And if our enrollment numbers are down next fall, we’re pretty screwed.”
“We’re always pretty screwed. We get by.”
The skin around his eyes creased with irritation. “Maybe your definition of screwed is different from mine. I mean the kind where we
I laughed. “How are those class ring sales going, by the way?”
“Don’t take a dig at me. I’m doing all I can. But I need your help. We have two events coming up.”
“The Martinmas lantern walk and the bazaar.”
“Yes. I understand Bobbie Garrison was usually the one to handle the lantern walk, and that you sometimes assisted—”
“
“Yes, well, obviously we need extra hands to take care of it this year, since she’s not around to do it.”
“She’s not, indeed,” I said coolly. “She’s unavailable.”
He held my gaze with an expression of superhuman patience. “And I know the faculty feels her loss very deeply. If you can take over the planning, that would be a huge help. Make it a tribute to her. I think everybody would appreciate that.”
“I’d like that.”
“And this year it’s very important that we put the event out to the community. Call the local newspapers and see if they’ll send photographers. Advertise the bazaar everyplace that makes sense. And for the lantern walk, we need to try to get as many kids to show up as humanly possible. I’m worried that the school is starting to look undesirable. That will be death for us next year unless we turn it around.”
I nodded. “I’ll do everything I can.”
His words were slow, carefully chosen. “I recognize…that your kindergarten is what compels most of our parents to enroll their kids in Sylvania Waldorf. It comes recommended, then exceeds their expectations. I don’t always agree with you about the direction of the school—”
“You don’t
He laughed uneasily. “True. But I do recognize that the strength of a Waldorf kindergarten will make or break the school. And so I…
“Thank you.” Behind him, the door opened and Zach sauntered in, wearing a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt printed with an image of Icarus arching toward the sky. He hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets and approached me, smiling.
“Howdy, Teach,” he greeted me.
“Mr. Patterson,” replied Dan with enthusiasm. “How goes school?”
“Fine. Good.”
“Are you getting a lot done on the bazaar?”
Zach nodded. His hair slipped into his eyes. “It’s going better than usual this year,” I interjected. “We have quite a few donations from the community. Massage certificates, doll-making, things like that. And the crafts are starting to come in. The third grade made some beautiful beeswax candles.”