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 | Meljean Brook, Chris Marie Green, Erin McCarthy, Susan Sizemore |
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 | Claudia Dain, Allyson James, Robin Schone, Shiloh Walker |
Excerpt Prologue The sun shone in a crystal clear blue sky, beating down on the heads of the mourners. Mocking us, Joe Stonehouse thought bitterly, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He closed his eyes because he didnıt know where to focus them. He couldnıt look anywhere without almost losing it. Beside him, his sister Ruth gripped his hand like a lifeline, though she leaned heavily on her husbandıs arm, too. Joe just held onto her. His gaze traveled to his niece and his nephew, both on their fatherıs left. Both openly sobbing, as were Ruth and Al.
After all, they were standing before the coffin of their older daughter. Josephine"Josie" Carson. Named after Joe. But when push came to shove, her beloved uncle-- hotshot United States Secret Service Agent that he was-- couldnıt save her. How ironic; heıd spent his entire adult life protecting others and he couldnıt keep his own family safe. Of course, heıd been hundreds of miles away when a sixteen year old kid pulled out a Glock and gunned down Josie and four other students, then turned the weapon on himself. God, would his sister have to attend the other funerals, too?
While birds chirped in the quaint cemetaryıs trees, teenagers wept around the grave site. Preppy types cried alongside goths and rabble rousers. Grief knew no boundaries, and Josieıs friends had come together today to show respect for their popular classmate. He could still hear the excited lilt in his nieceıs voice, still see her green eyes, so like his own, sparkle with news. Uncle Joe, I made cheerleading...Uncle Joe, I was voted homecoming queen...Uncle Joe, I got into Stanford, just like you.
He sucked in a breath, struggling to contain the grief that ticked inside him like a terroristıs bomb, ready to explode. Though heıd spent his life squelching his feelings, a necessity in his job, today he was losing the battle. His hands shook with the effort. Concentrate on the mechanics. Say prayers. Hold on to your sister. Place a yellow rose on the casket. Josie loved them and he sent her one for each year of her age on the birthday they shared. Do not let the emotion out.
Finally, the burial service ended. A tapestry of voices broke the quiet. As they walked to the cars--he and Al had to drag Ruth along--Joe prayed to a God he didnıt believe in that he could do something to ease his familyıs grief and his own. As a certified clinical psychologist, who happened to work for the Secret Service, he should be able to do something. Maybe he could use Josieıs death to help others. His niece would have liked that.
He had an plan, part of which heıd been tossing around inside his head for a while, even before Josie was shot. On the short walk to the cars, that plan crystallized. He glanced at his watch.
"Youıre not going anywhere, are you, Joey?" Ruth asked. The tree cast her grayish face in shadows and she swayed like one of the branches.
He remembered so many times in their childhood and adolescence when sheıd begged him, Please, don't leave me alone. Then, it was to protect her from their parents.
"No, Ruthie. Iım not going anywhere."
"You...you were on assignment when..." She couldnıt finish the statement.
He tugged her closer, kissed her hair, emotionally ambushed by the smell--Josie must have shared her Momıs shampoo. "Iım here for as long as you need me, honey."
A bleary-eyed Al, still holding on tight to what was left of his family, threw him a grateful look. Joe would stay here in this sleepy Connecticut town for as long as they needed him. But when he was done, he and his boss at the United States Secret Service were going to have a talk.
He slid into the car after his sister. As he slammed the door, he vowed heıd do something in Josieıs name.
It was a promise he intended to keep.
Chapter 1 Three years later "Mrs. Quinn, look at this." Heather Haywood thrust a flyer in front of high school principal Suzanna Quinnıs face, while students rushed around them in the hall to get to class on time. "Everybody wants it. Can we do it? Will you participate?" After she scanned the paper, Suzanna smiled down at her sonıs girlfriend. "Yes, Heather, we can do it if the after- prom Senior Bash Committee writes it up formally, gives it to your advisor, Ms. Cunningham, she approves it and brings it to me." The young girl pushed dark bangs off her forehead. "I know that, Mrs. Q. What I really wanna know is if the ideaıs okayed, will you sit in the dunking booth?" And let four hundred members of the senior class take literal pot shots at me? Oh, God. At her hesitation, Heather added,"You want kids to come to the Bash, right? You want them off the streets after the Senior Ball, right? If the principal goes in the dunking booth, everybodyıll come." Suzanna chuckled. That was true. Suddenly Heather looked away, staring blindly at the rows of lockers facing her. "Zach would have loved this idea." Suzannaıs laughter disappeared at the mention of one of the most popular boys in Fairholm High School, whoıd spearheaded this yearıs Bash. No one, including her, had had any idea heıd been carrying around a heart full of sadness until heıd downed a whole tumblerful of pills and died alone in his basement just weeks ago. Faculty and students alike had been stunned by his death and poleaxed by the sensitive, witty suicide note he left, which included messages to many of his teachers. And to her. Suzanna suffered with the knowledge that sheıd failed him; they all had. Briefly squeezing Heatherıs slender arm, Suzanna whispered,"Yes, Zach would want it." Heather shook off her sadness. Mischief replaced the gloom on her face. "Maybe even Max Duchamp would come to the Bash." "Now thatıs a stretch, Heather." But Suzanna wished it was true. Though he was one of her hard core cases, she sensed a little boy in him that was still salvageable. Contrary to his friend Rush Webster, whom counselors, administrators and teachers alike thought was a lost cause. She glanced at her watch, shoving Websterıs sneering face out of her mind. She also banished Zachıs choirboy look, which was hard to think about these days. "Iıve got a meeting at the Administration Building." The girlıs big blue eyes pleaded with her. Suzanna could see why her son Josh was so besotted, which was just something else to worry about. "All right. If it goes through the channels, Iıll sit in the booth." Heather threw her arms around Suzanna and hugged her. "You are mad-cool, Mrs. Quinn." It was at moments like these that Suzanna knew sheıd made the right decision to take the principalıs job at Fairholm five years ago. Even if she had questioned every single thing sheıd done after Zach died. She hugged Heather back, and said goodbye. Hurrying down the hall and out the door, she tugged her butter-soft leather coat closed over her suit, and fastened the wool scarf her husband Lawrence had bought her in Paris five years ago just before he died. The biting late- February wind was arctic cold; midwinter in upstate New York always was. As she walked the short distance to the district offices, she reaffirmed the good sheıd done, and thought about what sheıd yet to accomplish. She needed to reach some of the outsider groups like Duchamp and his friends. Max was interested in the military and often wore camouflage to school; his father had been a Vietnam vet. She wondered if she could capitalize on that. And Ben Franzi and his friends were into the Wiccan religion, which tended to ostracize him from other kids. She made a note to get some information on that group. Then there were the dyed-in-the-wool geeks, the kids everybody picked on. Sheıd been hearing some rumors about bullying--especially in gym classes--and had given her assistant principal a directive to investigate them. Since Zachıs death, sheıd promised herself she wouldnıt give up on anybody. She was thinking about how to proceed with these on-the- fringe kids as she signed in at the Ad Building, greeted the receptionist, and made her way to the superintendent's office. Dr. Maloney met her at the door. "Hello, Suzanna. Thanks for coming on such short notice." She smiled."This summons is unlike you, Ross. Whatıs up?" "Let me take your coat," he said as she entered his spacious office overlooking the track. Scanning the airy room with its oak furniture, rows of bookcases and Syracuse University poster on the wall, she caught sight of the other occupants. Two men. One was slouched over in the chair, his chin buried in a leather bomber jacket, his hands stuck in his pockets. She revised her assessment. This was a student. Ah, probably a new student, despite the fact that it was a month into the semester. A difficult new student if sheıd been called over here to deal with him. Across the room was most likely his father. Both shared the dirty blond hair. The big build. Though the older man was clearly Wall Street in his Brooks Brothers suit--and his kid would blend right into the Village--they looked related. There must be fireworks at their house. For a moment, she remembered the quiet harmony of her husband and son, playing chess in front of the fire, laughing over an A&E special, and Lawrence cheering loudly at all of Joshıs basketball games. Theyıd been so lucky as a family. "Suzanna. Sit down." Ross had hung her coat and returned to his desk. His kind brown eyes were troubled and his face wearier, more lined, than usual. She sat in a comfortable leather chair across from the boy. "Dr. Stonehouse?" Ross said. The man at the window had been watching her."Hello, Iım Joe Stonehouse." Crossing the short space, towering over her, he held out his hand. Moss-green eyes stared down at her. Up close, she could see some gray in his hair, though not as much as Rossıs."Nice to meet you," he said in a neutral tone. Cold, really. Grasping his hand, she smiled."Suzanna Quinn. Nice to meet you, too." She nodded to the boy in the chair."Is this your son?" Something flickered in his eyes."Ah, no. My nephew." He glanced across the room."Stand up and greet your principal." The boy shuffled to his feet, obviously against his will. He wasnıt as tall Stonehouse, about five-ten, but was stocky for a teenager, with weight-lifter muscles. Maybe she could get him into spring sports. His hair was shaggy and in his eyes, so she couldn't make out their color. "Hey. Iım Luke Ludzecky." Everyone sat, Stonehouse a good distance from Luke. Ross turned to Suzanna."Dr. Stonehouse and Luke just moved into the district. We asked you to meet with them before Luke starts at the high school for a couple of reasons. One is that heıs had some trouble adjusting in school in the past and we want to do everything we can to help him be successful this time." Like a man accustomed to being in charge, Stonehouse straightened. "Actually, his mother sent him to live with me because heıs been kicked out of every other school heıs attended. She thinks I might be able to help him." Luke snorted. Stonehouse glared at him. Interesting dynamics here, ones Suzanna had seen numerous time."Weıll look after Luke." She gave the boy a warm smile which he returned with an insolent stare. "Iım sure we can help you be successful this time around. What are your interests?" "I dunno. Guitar, I guess." His uncle put in,"The one subject he does like is history and government." "We have great Social Studies electives. And a terrific music program. We might be able to get you some individual lessons on your guitar." Stonehouse closed his eyes briefly and sighed. Suzanna hid a smile. The kid probably played an electric guitar that split his uncleıs eardrums and scraped his nerves raw. Luke stood."Fine. Thanks." He turned to his uncle, his demeanor still surly."Iım goinı." Stonehouse watched Luke with the look of a drill sergeant assessing his recruits."All right. Just be careful driving. One more incident and--" "I know!" Luke snapped. He nodded to Suzanna."Ciao." "See you Monday, Luke," she called out to his retreating back. When the boy was gone, Ross shifted in his seat. "Suzanna, I have something else to tell you." His tone was strained. "Joe Stonehouse has been hired by the district as a temporary crisis counselor for the next few months." "Our district?" Usually principals were consulted on the implementation of new programs. They were at least asked for their needs. "Is he assigned to one of the elementary schools?" "No, heıll be working in your building, though he wonıt be under your supervision. Iıll evaluate him, but his main responsibilities will be at the high school." Her spine arched."I...then why wasnıt I consulted on the position?" She nodded to the man."No offense, Dr. Stonehouse, but Iım always part of the decision-making process on who we hire. This is highly unusual, Ross." And the antithesis of what Suzanna believed in and how she ran her school. Ross seemed uneasy."Normally we operate that way. But the school board has been tossing around the idea of a position like this for the past month, mostly since the Riley boyıs suicide." "Understandable. Still, I canıt remember the last time you hired someone to work in my building without discussing it with me, at the very least." "Iım sorry, we decided to act fast." "Thatıs obvious." It doesnıt quite fit, though, Suzanna thought. And why wouldnıt she supervise this man, as she did the two other school psychologists and the social worker? Steepling his hands, the superintendent nodded to Stonehouse."Dr. Stonehouse agrees with us on the need for expediency." "Donıt get me wrong," she said."I want all the help I can get. I just wish Iıd had some say in who we chose." Stonehouse interrupted. "Youıve had a great deal of loss in your school, Mrs. Quinn. Zachary Rileyıs recent suicide, for example. I understand many students were close to him, that he blurred the clique lines. Then there are the hundreds of kids whoıve suffered from the death of a parent, divorce, or broken boy/girl relationships. I agree with the school board that you need more help asap." "Of course we have those problems. But I donıt understand the rush to get someone without input." Mine, especially. Stonehouse glanced at Ross. It was one of those, canıt you control your troops? look. Alarm prickled inside her. Years of listening to her educatorıs intuition kicked in."Is something going on here I donıt know about?" Suzanna asked bluntly. "No, of course not. In any case," Ross said dismissively,"itıs a fait accompli. Dr. Stonehouse starts on Monday." Irked, Suzanna stood."Well, then." Calling on every ounce of professionalism she had, she extended her hand. "Welcome aboard." As Stonehouse stood and shook hands, she tossed Ross a meaningful look. It said, weıll deal with this some time. Then she turned and left the office. |
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