Page 14 of Under His Sheets
“Thank you. We’ll see you at pickup,” she said, nodding to both men before she turned on her heel and followed Alonso into the school, the two of them carrying on a conversation in low voices. Lara caught my eye as she walked in but continued speaking to Alonso after the doors closed behind them.
The black SUVs passed me by and Ferrer saluted me from the passenger window.
What in the fuck was happening?
The only clue I received was a staff email at the end of the workday:
Dear Staff:
In light of a situation in the parking lot today at lunchtime, I will ask you, please, if any parent comes to you with a concern, send them directly to the office. We want our school to be a community within our larger community, but we also want to keep our school community safe. I’m happy to answer any questions you may have in person.
Thank you
Lara Trujillo-Perez
Principal
Frederick Douglass International School
Great, that explained a whole lot of nothing. Maybe I should go to Lara and let her know what I found in Alonso’s office?
I was still debating when my phone buzzed.
“Guesswhatguesswhatguesswhat?”
Cecilia tended to jump right into the conversation without a whole lot of preamble.
“I hope you’re going to tell me?”
She squealed in a very un-Cecilia-like way. “I’m flying to Barcelona with Felip tomorrow! It’s his mother’s birthday this weekend and we’re coming to surprise her.”
“That’s great! Will you have time to meet up or anything? I don’t have a car?—”
“We want you to come to the vineyard for dinner with us. On Saturday. You don’t have plans, do you?”
“No, and I’d love to come with you,” I said, my heart feeling a little lighter now that I knew I’d see my good friend. Maybe I could have some time alone with her and tell her about Alonso and ask her what I should do. She helped me find a new purpose with this job, maybe she could help me figure out what to do about him.
FIVE
4:05 PMFriday Frederick Douglass International School, Castelldefels, Catalonia, Spain
Friday afternoon came along and I was dreading another interaction with Paulo Ferrer, only it was after four and no one had arrived to pick up Pere.
“Hey, buddy, do you know who was supposed to pick you up today?”
Pere had been continuing to practice his piano piece, which he was actually picking up really quickly. The kid was so musically talented. Genes ran strong in that family.
“No, senyor Sutter,” he said. “Mi papa is supposed to pick me up on Fridays but I know he has meetings sometimes.”
“Meetings? You mean about his music business?”
Pere shrugged. “Sometimes. But he also meets with people about the separation.”
Aw, the poor kid. He shouldn’t have to worry about that kind of adult stuff. “Things are pretty rough at home, huh?”
“At home? No. Well, my stepmother doesn’t like me very much, but no. They are happy. No, the people meet him to talk about la independencia.”
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.
