Page 14 of Second Story

“Sorry, sorry.” I scrub my face. “Second time I’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion today.” The first was that Lenny should be in school. “I don’t usually make a habit of it, but kids do tend to hide what’s going wrong at home until it’s too late. Or until someone pays attention.” All of Lenny’s stories about his Mum’s new boyfriend showering them both with gifts and attention could have been a love-bombing prediction. If he’d had support earlier, he might have mentioned all the strangers who knocked on their front door the minute she left for work. Cuckooing, they call it. His mum mistook romance for a drug dealer invading what should have been Lenny’s safe nest until the cops handcuffed her.

The padre is grave. “And after you paid attention?”

I jump when a bell rings and echoes. The sound of doors opening and closing also carries, as do children’s voices. They’re excited for their playtime, so I speak quickly before they reach this playground. “And then we used to act. All of us together. Welfare teams, teachers, support staff, food banks and health visitors, doctors and social services.”

I skip the police. Where I got into trouble, no one trusts them.

“I miss that teamwork aspect.” I draw in a deep breath as kids flood past, and I get back to business. “That’s part of whyI do these court reports face-to-face instead of via email. People share more when they see what can happen where I’m from. Where Noah Emerson is from.”

And Isaac and Lenny.

“Noah Emerson?” The padre frowns.

“Luxton, now. Don’t blame him for the name change.”

A shout rings out, a teen yelling, “I’m free!” and if that isn’t what I want for more kids, I don’t know what is. I turn in the direction of a game of football kicking off in the playground. “I’m free,” that kid yells again until a football gets passed in his direction.

This student’s auburn hair is flame-bright, on fire, like I’ve seen once today already, and I guess who it belongs to in advance of the padre asking, “Want me to introduce you to him when his game is over?”

“No. He knows I’ve been appointed by the court for him, but I’ve agreed with his guardian to wait until Noah asks to meet. It’s his decision. I’d prefer this visit to be incognito, if possible. Less stressful for him, yeah?” I mention what Marc Luxton told me. “Especially if he’s already stressed by a recent diagnosis?”

“Potential diagnosis. It’s early days. Time will tell. We’re in no hurry.”

Even if I hadn’t already come to that tread-carefully agreement with his brother, it seems like I wouldn’t get to talk to Noah anyway. He’s too far away for me to see if his face is as freckled as his brother’s. He’s definitely as defensive—he takes one look in my direction and takes off running.

Not towards me.

He bolts for a pathway between trees and is gone.

“It isn’t like Noah to abandon a match. It’s one of his special interests.” The padre eyes me, and this is the most reserved he’s been since my arrival. “I thought you said you hadn’t met yet?”

“I haven’t.”

Noah reappears across the playground from us, an envelope in his hand that the padre explains. “Ah. Seeing me must have reminded him.”

“Of?”

“Of a celebration we’re having. It started as a one-off event with alumni.” His gaze rises to the fluttering bunting. “We uncovered an old time capsule full of hopes and dreams from past students. Filling one of our own has become a bit of a whole-school event. So many people wanted to involve friends and families that we’ve extended our celebration.”He cups his hands to his mouth. “No rush, Noah. Take your time to think about what you want to bury.”

He lowers his hands and then stares into my soul one more time.

“How about you join in with us?” He pulls an envelope like Noah’s from his pocket. “Let go of something for Glynn Harber to take care of for you.”

I take what he offers and pocket it even though I won’t be staying beyond this lunchtime, and the padre makes another suggestion. “At least meet our headmaster once we’ve finished filling the gaps in your court report. I know he’d appreciate hearing about your dual roles. Especially your workshops.” His gaze drops to my sleeves. “And I’d appreciate hearing more about what brought you full circle, if you felt like sharing? I’ll take all the insight I can get.” He makes what most people shy away from seem valuable, and I’m winded by three little words that land like punches. “You’d be welcome.”

“I…”

I should say that I can’t stay. That I need to head home to return my shared car, and maybe to keep my pregnant sister-in-law from climbing ladders, or to explain shades of grey to my brother if Josh invites me over.

The padre must see my hesitation. “No rush to decide. Think about it while we work through Noah’s report.” He heads off, and I follow him into the school, crossing mosaic floor tile spelling out the wordWelcome.

And this black sheep?

He could get used to that feeling.

4

ISAAC

---