Hindsight by Barbara Rogan

Author:Barbara Rogan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

20

A whiff of sweat in the air, lingering pheromones of adolescent funk. Willa, cooling her heels in the outer office, couldn’t suppress a twinge of the anxiety peculiar to the waiting rooms of principals and dentists. Her nervousness was due in part to the dicey nature of her errand, in part to the deep familiarity of her surroundings. Many times before, she’d sat in this room, occupied this very bench, or a direct ancestor of it—hauled in for some infringement, real or imagined, sometimes alone, more often en masse. For the Beacon Hill kids were Principal Grievely’s usual suspects, and proud of it.

Sometimes they were innocent; more often not. One prank in particular came back to her now: the fallout-shelter caper. Caleb’s heist; he was the one who’d coveted the black-and-yellow sign for his bedroom door. Hijacking that particular sign was a serious offense in those paranoid times, and with every one of them on probation for something or other, it was foolhardy; but there was never any question of refusing Caleb. His plan, laid out with military precision, involved diversions, synchronized action on two fronts, sentries, and a purloined wrench; and it probably would have worked if it hadn’t been for Travis Fleck. Standing guard at one end of the corridor with instructions to whistle in case of danger, Travis was so rattled by the unexpected sight of the principal bearing down on him that his mouth went utterly dry; and though he puckered and blew for all he was worth, nothing emerged but an arid hiss. Grievely barreled past him and turned the corner just as they were removing the final bolt.

Suspensions all around, except for Jeremiah, he whose back must always be protected. They kept him clear of school pranks: too valuable an asset, their mole in the establishment.

All that was a long time ago. It was silly to feel so nervous. She wasn’t a teenager anymore; she was a woman of wealth and accomplishment. Willa smoothed her skirt over her knees. She had dressed with care for this meeting, in an Oleg Cassini suit of light gray silk, an unstructured jacket over a shell and a straight skirt. A power suit only in the sense that money is power.

It would have been better if she’d gone straight in. Waiting made her antsy, it forced her to consider what she was doing. O’Rourke should have moved on, as young teachers do; she wouldn’t have chased him down. What were the odds he’d end up principal of the very school he’d started teaching in? Finding him had been the easy part; getting him to talk would be the hard. Could Patrick have been right? Maybe there was a statute of limitations on certain questions.

Her palms were damp. She wiped them surreptitiously on the vinyl bench cushion. Then the door to the principal’s office opened, and Tom O’Rourke stepped out with his arm around another man’s shoulders. He was a large man with an open, Irish face and blue eyes surrounded by laugh lines.

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