Page 139 of Ghosts Don't Cry
I lean over and kiss him, pouring everything I can’t say into it. “Wait for me.”
The boardroom is full when I enter. My heart pounds against my ribs as I step inside. Principal Martinez rises from her seatnear the door, giving me a small nod. Beverly Walsh sits at the head of the table, perfectly coiffed in her designer suit, pearl necklace gleaming. She looks like she’s presiding over a trial.
The other board members fill their usual seats. Robert Anderson and William Hayes sit on Beverly’s right, both old money who have never voted against her. Dr. Eleanor Stewart, who’s served on the board almost as long as Beverly, takes the spot on Beverly’s left. Michael Burke and Anne Sullivan complete the row.
I take the single empty seat facing the row, spine straight, chin lifted. The envelope from Tom burns in my pocket.
“Ms. Gladwin.” Beverly’s voice carries that particular note of false concern she’s perfected over the years. “I trust you understand why you’ve been called into this meeting?”
My mouth is dry, a lump forming in my throat, but I force myself to speak clearly. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”
Her smile is cold. “We’re concerned about your … judgment, and your choices. The example you’re setting for our youngest and most impressionable students.”
“You mean the choice to stop a fight?” I meet her gaze. “Or the choice to see past someone’s mistakes?”
“The choice to engage in public displays of inappropriate behavior with someone who has a violent criminal record.” She shuffles some papers, then slides a newspaper clipping across the table. It’s a grainy photograph of the incident outside Wilson’s. “And then to involve yourself in an altercation that resulted in injury. Parents don’t want their children exposed to someone who shows such …disregardfor proper conduct.”
Heat floods my face. Before I can argue, Dr. Stewart speaks up.
"That isn’t exactly accurate. I've reviewed the police report from Saturday. Mr. Hartman wasclearlythe aggressor, and several witnesses confirmed?—"
"Eleanor." Beverly's tone carries a clear warning. "We arenothere to debate the specifics of the incident. We're here to discuss Ms. Gladwin's pattern of poor decision making."
"My students are not at risk." My voice comes out sharp. "And you have no right to?—"
"We have every right!” Beverly leans forward. “When you choose to conduct yourself in a manner that reflects poorly on this school, it causes parents to question whether you should be teaching their children at all."
"What exactly are these parents questioning?" I keep my voice steady despite the anger building inside me. "Myteachingability? My dedication to my students?"
"Yourjudgment," Beverly repeats. "Your choices. I have multiple letters here." She pats a folder. "All expressing serious concerns about your behavior, and the example you're setting."
"May I see them?"
Her lips pinch together. "I'm afraid these parents requested anonymity. They're worried about potential ... retaliation."
"That's convenient." The bitterness in my voice is impossible to hide. "Just like it was convenient when you spread rumors about Ronan seven years ago. When you made sure everyone believed exactly what you wanted them to believe about a homeless kid who needed help."
"Ms. Gladwin." Robert Anderson leans forward. "This attitude isn't helping your case."
"No?" Something snaps inside me and I laugh. "Then let me be perfectly clear. You're not concerned about the children, and you don’t care about my teaching ability. This is about you having control, and making sure everyone in this town falls in line with Beverly's particular brand of morality."
"How dare you—" Beverly starts, but I cut her off.
"How dareI?" My voice rises. "How dareyousit there in judgment of others? How dare you decide who deservesredemption and who doesn't? Who are you to decide who gets to make mistakes and who gets crucified for them?"
"If you're referring to Mr. Oliver's criminal record?—"
It’s clear that she’s already decided how this meeting is going to go, so I pull out Tom's envelope and place it on the table. "I was asked to give this to you."
Beverly reaches for it, her expression dismissive. When she opens it and pulls out a handful of photographs, her expression changes. The color drains from her cheeks and her hands shake as she stares at whatever is on them.
I catch a glimpse of one as she frantically tries to shove them back into the envelope. A younger woman I assume is Beverly, wrapped around a leather-jacketed boy on the back of a motorcycle. Another shows them kissing against a brick wall. A third of her climbing out of a window, skirt up around her thighs, hair messy, and lipstick smudged.
"I move that we table this discussion." Her voice has lost its sharp edge. "Pending ... further review of the situation."
"Tableit?" Dr. Stewart's eyebrows lift. "We're here becauseyouinsisted Ms. Gladwin's behavior warranted immediate review. You claimed to have dozens of parent complaints. Yet I notice those letters haven't been shared with the rest of the board."
Principal Martinez clears her throat. "I've received no formal complaints about Ms. Gladwin's teaching. In fact, several parents have specifically requested their children be placed in her class next year."
