“Ben? I’ve got to go out. You’ll have to take over for a while. Finish stuffing the manicotti, then check the minestrone—it was too bland yesterday. Pound some more chicken breasts for the scaloppine—let’s try to get ahead of the game for once, all right? Oh, and order some more oregano, will you? We’re nearly out.
“Angela? Did you finish setting the tables? Don’t think so; I don’t see any water glasses. And update the specials board. We’ve got manicotti and salad for $11.99 today. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. So try not to burn the place down while I’m gone, will you?”
She unbuttoned her white chef coat and hung it up on a hook. “Sorry, Nan. I’ve got to run.”
“What’s happened? Who called?”
“The school. They’re going to expel Alex.”
“You’re kidding! For what?”
Monica snatched her car keys from the counter and grabbed her purse.
“Selling drugs.”
Monica left. I took the long way home, worrying about her, worrying about Alex, driving slowly beneath a dozen different overpasses and bridges, scanning the ravaged faces of this city’s lost and discarded, searching for the one who was familiar to me, the face I would never stop loving.
Chapter 11
Monica
“Right in there, Mrs. Romano.” The woman standing at the front desk of the administrative office waved toward a conference room. “They’re waiting for you.”
This wasn’t the first time I’d been summoned to the principal’s office on account of Alex, but in the past, the principal, Gerri Lott, and I always met in her private office. When I opened the door to the conference room, I understood why we needed extra space.
Besides Principal Lott and Alex, who was sitting slumped with his head down and his arms wrapped across his body, Bob Smith, Alex’s computer teacher and cross-country coach, was seated at the table. So was a Portland police officer.
The sight of that blue uniform and badge made me gasp; I couldn’t help myself. Alex looked up. His expression was defiant, and fearful.
Was he under arrest? Would he be? Should I insist on having a lawyer present? But maybe that would make Alex look guilty . . . or guiltier. Or uncooperative. And I didn’t know any lawyers. Well, none besides the one who’d handled the probate when Vince died. I didn’t think he took criminal cases.
Criminal cases! Oh, dear God.
Alex looked away as I walked into the room. Bob gave me an encouraging smile as I pulled out a chair and took a seat. I was glad he was there. Though I’d only talked to him once at a recent parent/teacher conference, he seemed to like Alex.
“I’m sorry to keep you all waiting. I came as quickly as I could.”
“We’ve only just started,” Mrs. Lott said. “I was in budget meetings, Mr. Smith had a class, and Officer Langley just arrived.”
I looked at the policeman and smiled, hoping to win him over. He nodded but kept his expression neutral.
“To get everyone up to speed,” the principal continued, “earlier today, Mr. Smith observed Alex and another student standing in the courtyard when they should have been on their way to class. When he approached, Mr. Smith saw Alex take some money from the other student and then hand him a plastic bag of marijuana. As required by procedure, Mr. Smith immediately escorted both students to the office. My assistant then notified me of the situation before calling you, Mrs. Romano, and then the police department.
“The other student will be suspended for ten days. But as I’m sure you’re aware, this is an extremely serious offense. Selling drugs on school property is—”
“I didn’t sell drugs,” Alex said. “I didn’t,” he protested when I glared at him.
What was he doing? Lying would only make things worse. He needed to be contrite, throw himself on the mercy of the court.
The court? Oh, crap. Maybe I should hire a lawyer.
I felt a little fluttering skip in my chest. As soon as that passed, my head started to pound. I pinched the bridge of my nose. It didn’t help.
“Alex, Mr. Smith saw you take the money and hand over the bag,” I said, not quite hissing but close. Alex glared at me defiantly.
My stepson is a lot of things, but he’s not stupid. So why wasn’t he taking the hint? Officer Langley looked bored. I doubted he’d signed up to be a cop because he wanted to spend his days collaring idiotic teenagers for selling dime bags of weed. Maybe, if Alex admitted what he’d done, pled stupidity, and apologized, Officer Langley would give him a stern talking-to and let him go? Not likely. The policeman didn’t look like the kind who handed out slaps on the wrist. But it was worth a try. Besides, I didn’t have any other ideas.
“You’re not suggesting that Mr. Smith is lying, are you?” I said, making my words sound like an inquiry instead of an accusation.
“No,” Alex said, using his duh-do-I-look-stupid-to-you voice. “Mr. Smith saw Mike take the money and me give him the bag. But I didn’t sell him drugs.”
I frowned. Alex sounded so definite about it that I almost believed him.
“I don’t understand. If you didn’t sell him drugs, what did you sell him?”
He dropped his head and mumbled unintelligibly. I leaned closer.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“OREGANO!” Alex shouted. “Okay? Can you hear me now? It wasn’t marijuana! It was OREGANO!”
I gasped. “You stole my oregano from the restaurant? You ungrateful little—” I smacked the table to keep from swearing. “I can’t believe you would do something so rotten. And dumb! What were you thinking?”
“I DON’T KNOW!”
Alex dropped his head onto the table with a thunk and covered his head with his arms. I looked at Mr. Smith, then at Principal Lott. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she found her words.
“Oregano?” She looked at Bob. “I don’t—”
Officer Langley coughed. “Mrs. Lott, can I look at the . . . uh . . . evidence?”
She pushed the bag across
