Page 68 of The Silence Between

“It is,” she agreed with surprising adult certainty. “He's always loved books more than anything. Well, except us.” She gathered her backpack, then hesitated. “Actually, we're working on this family project, digitizing old photos from before our parents... you know. Leo has all these pictures from when we were little that Mari thinks we should preserve. Maybe you could help? You know about that digital stuff, right?”

Ah. Here it was. Sophie innocently suggesting I get more involved with family activities while Leo had been maintaining clear boundaries between his personal and professional life. The kid had no idea she was wandering into complicated territory.

“That sounds like a great project,” I said carefully. “But I should probably check with Leo first. He might have specific ideas about how he wants to approach it.”

Something like understanding flickered across Sophie's face. The kid was perceptive, clearly picking up that there was more to my hesitation than just being polite.

“Right. Yeah, of course.” She adjusted her backpack strap. “Thanks for the book recommendation, Mr. Webb.”

As she left, I sat at my desk, momentarily lost in thought about the family Leo had created through sheer force of will. Sophie's literary intelligence, her confidence, her casual references to family discussions about books. All evidence of a home environment that prioritized education despite having every reason not to. Most kids with absent parents and financial struggles weren't discussing Gabriel García Márquez at the dinner table.

The more I learned about what Leo had built, the more I understood why he kept me at arm's length. His family wasn't just responsibility; it was his masterpiece. Anything that might destabilize that careful balance wasn't just an inconvenience but an existential threat.

I gathered my notes as the bell rang, watching Sophie join the river of students in the hallway. Her quick wave goodbye was so uncomplicated. To her, I was just her English teacher, not the guy who'd broken her brother's heart ten years ago. Or maybe had his heart broken. That part was still fuzzy even to me.

During my free period, I wandered toward the staff room, still thinking about Leo's unexpected literary household. The picture was getting clearer with each small revelation: a home where books mattered, where education was valued despite having approximately zero dollars for extras, where Leo had somehow created stability and intellectual growth for three kids when most adults would have crumpled under half that responsibility.

The teachers' lounge smelled like someone had reheated fish in the microwave and forgotten to clean the coffee pot for a week. I unwrapped my sandwich at the round table where several English and History faculty had gathered, joining the familiar midday tradition of complaining about students, parents, administrators, and the vending machine that kept eating quarters without dispensing snacks.

“Budget meeting was a nightmare,” sighed Donna Harrison, the veteran History teacher who'd been at Riverton High longer than some of the building's cracks. “Townsend's pushing to redirect funds from arts programs to 'career readiness initiatives.' Whatever that means.”

“Standardized test prep,” Marcus supplied grimly. “His vision of education is entirely metrics-based. Test scores, graduation rates, college acceptance statistics. Anything that looks good on paper for his political aspirations.”

I'd been at Riverton High long enough now to recognize the major players but was still learning the local political landscape. School politics made Game of Thrones look straightforward.

“Townsend is ambitious beyond the school board?”

“County commissioner next,” Donna confirmed. “Then state office if he can manage it. The school board is just his launching pad.”

“And we're his campaign talking points,” added Marcus. “Every policy decision is calculated for maximum political benefit, not student welfare.”

The conversation shifted to specific curriculum restrictions Townsend had championed. Limitations on “controversial” literary texts emphasis on “traditional values” in social studies curriculum, restrictive guidelines for student counseling services.

“His latest crusade is about 'family stability requirements' for program eligibility,” Donna continued, making air quotes around the bureaucratic language. “Basically making it harder for kids from non-traditional family structures to access support services. Because obviously what helps struggling students is fewer resources.”

Marcus met my eyes across the table, a moment of connection that suggested this wasn't just abstract policy discussion but something with specific relevance.

“Non-traditional structures like...?” I prompted, feeling like I was missing something important.

“Single parents, grandparent guardianship, foster placement,” Marcus listed. “And sibling guardianship situations.”

The last category hit like ice water. Leo's family. Exactly the situation Leo had fought to create and maintain for a decade. I kept my expression neutral despite the sudden knot in my stomach.

When the lunch period ended and colleagues scattered to their afternoon classes, Marcus lingered, waiting until we were alone before speaking quietly.

“Townsend requested access to specific student files last week. Including the Reyes siblings. All three of them.”

“Can he do that?” I asked, alarm bells ringing loudly in my head.

“Technically, yes. Board president has oversight authority.” Marcus gathered his papers slowly, voice deliberately casual. “But targeting specific students is unusual, especially personally reviewing their files rather than asking for aggregate data.”

“What exactly is he looking for?”

“He spent most time with the custody documentation and social services reports. Made copies of certain pages.” Marcus paused, glancing toward the door to make sure we weren't overheard. “The timing isn't coincidental. Mari turns twenty-one next month. The custody arrangement automatically comes up for review when she reaches full legal adulthood.”

Protective instincts I didn't even know I had flared up immediately. Someone was potentially threatening a family I was growing to care about deeply, despite all my efforts to maintain professional distance.

“Someone should warn Leo,” I said.

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