Page 102 of Gifts

This doesn’t mean he hasn’t looked at me. He has. He looks at me when we get ready in the mornings. When we’re cleaning up from dinner. When we’re with the kids, and even working in the yard.

I thought I could escape him when I decided to get back to my damn house projects. Last night I went upstairs to the third floor to work on the last bedroom—which is still a mess in progress—and started to cut out the trim. Twenty minutes after I started, he waltzed into the room, picked up the roller and started painting.

I had to stop and stare, but this didn’t slow him down a bit. He ignored me like a champ and kept on rolling. I had two choices—leave him to paint by himself or keep on. And since I had no idea if he was good at trimming, I kept on. We worked like speedy mutes and when we were done, I was covered in paint like always and he hardly had a drop on him. He even had the nerve to smirk at me with a raised brow before setting the roller down and leaving me to clean up the mess.

It's been like this all week. I thought by now he’d give up and leave me to be crazy all on my own.

I’m about to push my door open when Marcia comes rushing into the counseling center in a tizzy. “Did you hear?”

I toss my bags on a chair. “Hear what?”

“Beth Thorton OD’ed last night.”

“Oh, shit.” All I can think about is sweet, fifteen-year-old Emma. She and Beth used to be best friends.

“Yeah. She’s not my student, but they live down the street from me. I’m going to move some meetings around and get to the hospital. I don’t know for sure, but I heard it was heroin. Her parents have to be out of their minds. She’s in critical condition.”

“Let me know if they need anything and keep me up to date on her status. Does Brett know?” I ask.

“He should by now. Shirley called and told me on the way in, and you know how she talks.”

Marcia is right. Shirley works the front desk and is the biggest gossip in the building—including the students. Shirley knows everything.

Marcia is leaving my office when Emma rushes in. I brought her to school today. One of the men who shot at us during the drive-by is in custody with no bail for attempted murder and the other one is dead. It happened the night Asa ended up in stitches. The guns used in the drive-by were found in their possession. If it can be believed, Emma looks lighter after revealing her secrets. The stress in her eyes is fading after carrying around all that baggage the last few months.

But not now. She has tears welling and she’s hugging her middle as if to hold herself up.

I put my hands to her shoulders and look into her troubled eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you hear?” Her voice is shaking. “Beth Thorton—I heard she almost died. She was shooting something. It’s all over the school. Is it true?”

I pull her into my arms and she comes like a crying baby. “I did hear, and yes, it’s true. But I don’t know anything more. All I know is she’s in the hospital.”

“I thought they were just smoking pot. I had no idea they were shooting up.”

“How would you know what they were doing?” I ask. “She was your friend, so of course you’re upset. But you knew they were getting themselves into trouble and removed yourself. That’s something to be proud of.”

“I can’t believe she was so stupid. What if she dies?” Emma wipes her face and shakes her head. “And I heard Maggie was with her. She was the one who called the ambulance. Is that true?”

“I think it’s safe to say you know more than me.” How in the world do kids find out everything so fast? It’s usually pretty accurate, too. “Are you going to be able to go to class?”

“I guess. It’s just such a surprise and everyone is talking about it.”

I try to give her a reassuring smile. “If I hear anything about Beth, I’ll text or come get you. Okay?”

Emma nods and I hand her a tissue to clean her face. When I walk her out of my office, Tom Logan comes storming through and I call for him, “Hey, do you know about Be—”

Frowning, he growls, “I know very little, but I know. I’m trying to find out what happened.”

He gets his door open and slams it shut just as fast.

“I’m sooo glad he’s not my counselor,” Emma whispers from beside me. When I look over, she’s shaking her head. “You’re so much nicer.”

I lean in and give her a squeeze. “Try to have a good day. You know where I am if you need me.”

“Thanks, Keel—I mean, Ms. Lockhart.”

When I get back to my office, I shut my door and contemplate my options. I don’t want to, but under the circumstances, I need to.

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