The Ghosts of Lovely Women (20 page)

Derek headed back up the aisle and spied me. “Hello, Miss Thurber,” he said.

“Hello, Mr. Jonas.” I waved to a couple of students I knew and then said, “I’m sorry to interrupt — I have a quick question for you, if you have a moment.”

He came into the hall with me and smiled. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Mr. Jonas, I wondered if you could walk my dog for me after school. I have to drop a necklace off at the Halliday residence.”

“Miss Thurber, I would be happy to do that for you.”

“I believe I gave you the new key?”

“In fact you did.”

“Well, that is all, then.”

“And shall I remain at your residence for further instructions? Or am I expected to go home?”

“It would be nice if you remained, although I will be saddled with forty rough drafts, and not very good company.”

“Perhaps just for a while, then. Does keeping a low profile require us to speak in this stilted manner?”

I smiled. “Yes. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Jonas.”

“I am having the best possible day, thank you.” This, his look hinted, was because of me.

He returned to his room. I lingered long enough to hear him say, “How do we define democracy? Yes, Miss Hilliard?”

A girl’s voice said something, barely audible. Derek was drawing out a shy student. Her answer was halting, and I couldn’t hear the words, but then Derek clapped his hands and said, “Yes! Did you all hear that? Miss Hilliard just defined it better than our book does. I am blinded by the brilliance in this room today.”

I walked away, grinning. I had heard from the students that Derek was a good teacher, but it was impressive to see him in action. I turned the corner to see Fred and Anthony in deep conversation. I tried to tippy-toe past them, but Fred stopped me. “Teddy, I need that information about your class proposal for the curriculum guide.”

I had suggested a new writing class for the next year; it had been accepted by the curriculum council, but I was supposed to submit a detailed list of class objectives and outcomes. It wasn’t a difficult task; I just hadn’t gotten around to doing it. “Uh— okay. When do you need it?”

“Yesterday,” Fred said.

Then he smiled. Fred smiled. I wondered if I were hallucinating; I looked at Anthony for verification. He was still there, looking normal. I looked back at Fred, who said. “Just try to get it to me this week, Teddy.”

Fred was joshing around. This was unacceptable. I needed the two-channel Fred that I was used to. I had never even seen Fred’s teeth before, and now here they were, displayed for me in a shocking flash of white. Did he and Anthony know about Derek and me? Was gossip floating around? Is that why they were grinning at me?

“Uh— this week. Right. I’ll go finish it up right now.” I made my escape, wondering when things would just return to normal around here. Nothing had been sane since Jessica’s death. With that grim thought I returned to my room.

“It’s a great sin what you and Papa did to me. You’re to blame that nothing’s become of me.”

—Nora,
A Doll’s House
, Act III

It was going to rain; I dashed to my car under clouds so gray they looked almost black — yet far, far in the western distance I could see little beams of sun. “Darn,” I said. Still, I’d promised Mrs. Halliday, and I wanted to get this errand out of the way. I stowed my bag of research drafts in my passenger seat just as the first raindrop hit me on the back of the neck.

Shivering, I climbed inside and started up the engine. The rain came then, a steady patter on my windshield; I put on the wipers and began my journey.

The Hallidays lived in the northern part of Pine Grove — the very wealthy part where houses could cost a million dollars or more. I knew this only from my occasional scanning of the real estate section in our local paper, trying to assess the feasibility of ever buying a house on my salary. So far, it wasn’t feasible.

I had never driven to a student’s house before, believing as I do in the teacher-student distance. I had only indulged in coffee with Jessica because she was no longer my student. I had been blessed or cursed with a natural reserve, which made this distance a perpetual requirement (and a professional one, I thought). But today was an exception, because a girl had died and her family was grieving, and I thought perhaps this errand might bring a modicum of comfort.

The house was a gorgeous thing, reminiscent of a castle and set back from the street behind a sweeping front lawn and a circle drive. I felt odd pulling into that driveway. I didn’t entirely understand this kind of wealth — where it came from, what it meant. I parked in front of the double doors, leaped up the steps, and rapped on the oaken edifice with a large brass knocker.

I half expected a butler to open the door, but instead a boy did — a boy of about twelve or thirteen. I guessed that this was the youngest of Jessica’s three brothers.

“Hi,” I said. “I think I talked to you on the phone. What’s your name?”

“I’m Sam,” he said, staring at me.

“I’m Teddy, and I’m getting wet.” I smiled at him, and he jumped back, blushing.

“Uh— sorry. Are you here to see my mom?”

“If I could, yes.” We were in a large foyer, at the back of which was a gorgeous stairway that curved sinuously upward.

Sam gestured vaguely. “She’s up there,” he said. “I’ll get her.”

“How are you feeling? Your mom said you were sick.”

“I’m okay.”

Sam was a man of few words.

“Are you — are you handling things okay? I know it must be so hard for you guys.”

“We’re doing all right. We’re pulling together as a family. That’s what my mom says.”

“It’s good that you have each other.”

“Yeah.” He turned away, then turned back. “You were Jessica’s teacher, right? The one she always talked about when she talked about books.”

“I was her English teacher her junior and senior years.”

“Huh. She talked about you a lot. And about the books and stuff.”

“She was a very talented student. Do you like reading?”

“It’s okay. I’m reading
David Copperfield
right now.”

“In school?”

“No, just on my own. I pick my own reading.”

“That’s great. You should read what you enjoy as often as possible.”

“Yeah.” Sam looked as though he wanted to say something else, but then he turned abruptly and bolted up the grand staircase, not intimidated at all by its beauty. To the manor born…

Moments later Janet Halliday descended the stairs, looking tired and thinner, but composed. Sam was not with her. She strode toward me, holding out her hand. I clasped it in mine. “Hello, Miss Thurber. Thank you for coming.”

“It’s no problem. Listen, I don’t intend to stay — I just wanted to leave this with you.” I began to search in my purse for the necklace, which I had put into an envelope.

“Don’t rush off, Miss Thurber. There are so few people who knew Jessica as well as you did, and no one really wants to talk about her. To remember what a wonderful girl she was. I feel like people are just — erasing her.”

I stopped hunting for a moment and touched her arm. “That could never, never happen. She was a real force in the world, a powerful personality. She will stay with people, many people, for a long time. It’s just that they don’t know what to say — they don’t want to accidentally make your grief worse.”

She smiled wryly. “How could they possibly do that?”

I nodded. There was no way I could understand, and yet I did, on a basic level. I found the envelope and handed it to her. “Here’s the necklace,” I said.

She took it out and looped the gold chain between her fingers, staring at the stone. “This was such a lovely trip. We’d never been to England before, and we went on this wonderful tour that took us all over the place. Saw lots of scenery. And Jessica just loved Dover; I always said she was my sea creature — she loved to swim and just walk along the sand with this dreamy expression. I told her we’d take the stones, and they’d be these good luck charms — what’s the word?”

“Talismans?”

“Yeah. She loved the idea. It made it easier to leave, to have something like that to take with her. That was back before she entered her feminist period, as I call it.” Her smile was a mixture of pride and confusion. “She just said the craziest things. Started reading Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan.”

“Really?”

“Well, you know — about the website. She suddenly became this warrior.”

“That website made quite a bit of money,” I said.

“So I hear.” She looked down at the necklace. “Did you know this was a locket?”

“Really?”

“You need a pen or pencil to open it. I had it specially made. I said she could put her secrets in there. The name of the boy she loved or something.”

I felt my body tensing. “You should look inside,” I said.

“You think she loved someone?”

“What if she used it for something else?”

Janet Halliday looked at me for a moment, her expression quizzical. I took a pen from my purse and handed it to her; she clicked it open and pressed the tip against a tiny, barely visible hole in the back of the jewel housing. Then the stone popped open, revealing a hollow inside. We both peered in; a miniscule piece of white paper was folded within. Janet’s hand was shaking as she pulled it out, using the tip of one of her elegantly-painted fingernails.

It was torn from a piece of computer paper, and on it Jessica had written a little poem, in careful printing, then a sentence beneath it in her pretty cursive:

101.

People trust him when in fact they shouldn’t

I said step down and then he said he wouldn’t

If in time he refuses to agree

He will answer to a very angry me.

In my story, I make the miracle happen
.

Her mother stared at the poem, her brows furrowed. I touched her arm.

“Mrs. Halliday? You need to call the police.”

“I have to try to educate myself. You can’t help me with that. I’ve got to do it alone.”

—Nora,
A Doll’s House
, Act III

I left before the police got there, but not before Mr. Halliday came blustering in, bringing the damp smell of rain and making the room seem smaller with his presence. He shook out his trench coat and hung it on a hook near the door. His dark hair was wet, as were the fronts of his expensive trousers. “Between the law office and the campaign office they’re going to drive me crazy!” he said, but he was smiling. Then, “Hello. You’re Jessie’s teacher, right?”

“Teddy Thurber, yes,” I said, shaking the hand he offered. “I was returning something of Jessica’s to her mother.”

Mrs. Halliday held up the necklace. “Look at this. Look at what Jessie had written in the secret compartment!”

Mr. Halliday’s face took on a curiously plastic quality, as though it had hardened over whatever reaction he actually had. He reminded me of the mold-o-ramas at the zoo. He stepped forward in one stiff movement and took the little piece of paper, read it, then said, “So? She liked writing poetry, didn’t she?”

“This could be him, the man! Doesn’t it sound that way, Miss Thurber?”

“It sounds like she was going to confront someone,” I said. “Perhaps she did. And that number — she also circled it in a book she gave me. A book the police have now.”

Mr. Halliday snorted. “You’re not going to bother the police with this, are you, Jan? They have actual work to do.”

His condescension felt like an insult to me, but his wife merely shrugged. “They can come out as a favor to me, then. They said if I ever needed anything.”

He shook his head, disgusted. “Do not call them over something this dumb.”

I lifted my hand. “It was actually my idea, Mr. Halliday. I think it seems important. Her mention of the miracle—”

The face he turned toward me was not as friendly now. “You were the teacher that made Jessie so different, aren’t you? The one that made her so militant.”

“I didn’t make her anything. She made
herself
into something special.”

I wasn’t looking at Janet Halliday, but I felt her triumph as we both looked at her husband. “In any case, Mr. Halliday, I know that Detective McCall is happy for any information people think might be important.”

His smile was close to a sneer. “Well, I’ll leave you ladies to it. Where’s Sam?” he asked, turning abruptly to his wife.

“He’s lying down.”

“What are we having for dinner?”

“I don’t know, Nathan,” she said.

They locked eyes. There was a silent struggle that made me very uncomfortable; I backed toward the door. I saw Sam descending the staircase on silent sock feet.

“I’ll be going, then. I hope the police are able to do something with the poem, Mrs. Halliday.”

“Call me Janet,” she said, pulling away from her husband’s accusing stare.

Sam must have heard something of our conversation, because he wordlessly took the piece of paper from his mother’s hand and read it to himself. His eyes widened with grief or horror. I didn’t have the courage to face any more.

“Thanks, Janet. Call me if you need anything,” I said. She walked forward to embrace me. As I shut the door behind me I heard her saying, “Sammy, your brothers will be home soon. You want to order some pizza?”

* * *

Derek was doing lesson plans. He sat with a notebook and a calendar at my table, P.G. reclining at his feet. He looked up at me and said, “Good! I was afraid you got washed away in the downpour.”

“It was not fun driving, I must admit.”

“P.G. does not like to walk in the rain. We had to run the last hundred yards.”

“I appreciate the back-up. The necklace, meanwhile, is back home. And it has provided yet another mystery.”

“Of course.” He patted the seat next to him. “Should I make you tea or something?”

“No. But stay for dinner. I need company.”

I told him about the poem, which I had memorized. His eyes widened. “Wow. And her father thought this was not significant?”