THE STUDENT COUNCIL

The call came as expected, right after Paul would have left for football practice. “The Westins,” she answered cheerfully. “Amy speaking.”

“This is Mister Barner, Paul’s father. I think we should talk.”

Amy heard venom in the voice. Paul had done his job. “Are you watching practice? I know you never miss it.”

“I’m parked in front of your house.”

“I see. Would you like to come in?”

“I’d rather you come out and sit with me for a minute.”

“Sure, give me five minutes. Just got out of the shower.”

Amy took her time. She dressed in her sister’s clothes again, the same outfit she had worn to the Titusville game. The jeans slid on more easily – evidence of more lost pounds. She spent ten minutes in front of her mother’s mirror. While fussing with her exterior, she steeled her interior. When she finally stood, she barely recognized either one.

Before opening the front door, she took a deep breath, made herself ready. Her character then strolled slowly down the sidewalk, looking side to side, knowing Mr. Barner was staring from behind the dark-tinted windows. When she reached the black Mercedes, she made no move to open the passenger door.

Big Ed lowered the window and glared. “About time. Get in.”

His eyes were cold, intimidating. Amy stared back anyway. “Oh, I’m sorry. Paul always opens doors for me. I thought he learned that from you.”

When Ed didn’t budge, she entered the car, leaving the door slightly ajar. The leather interior reeked of cigar smoke. “So, you wanted to talk?”

“Are you ... involved ... with my son?”

“Involved?”

He rolled his eyes, then pointed them straight back at her. “I was trying to ask nicely. Are you screwing him?”

Wow, Amy thought. Eighth Wonder of the World! How could a jerk like Ed have a son like Paul? “Why would you think that?” she asked. “I never sent you a bill.” She watched Ed’s chin hit his chest. “Actually, our relationship is none of your business.”

“Actually,” he mimicked, “it is. My son is my business.”

Amy laughed. “What would you know about any business, Ed? You’re nothing but a spectator. You never worked a day in your life!”

Ed scowled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What’s happened to you? You were such a polite little girl.”

“I guess I grew a pair.” She winked and nodded to her chest.

Big Ed sucked in a breath. “Are you trying to piss ... provoke ... me on purpose?”

Amy teased him with another grin. “You were pissed before I got in the car.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I was. You need to understand something. Paul’s going to Penn State. That’s just the way it is.”

She flipped her hair. “Really? And why’s that? What kind of parent wants the worst for their child?”

“Shut your mouth!” he exploded.

Amy had tried not to blink. “At Ohio State, he could play for a national title. It’s the right choice. He’ll go there because that’s what I want for him.”

Ed squeezed the steering wheel, his eyes bugging out. “Penn State’s a family tradition! He’s going to follow in my footsteps.”

She giggled. “Oh, please. What footsteps? He’s going to play football and graduate.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ed snarled.

“Well, you barely got off the bench for Penn State. And you never did graduate.” His body shook so hard that the whole car vibrated. “Don’t worry, Little Ed. I can keep a secret. Wouldn’t want to embarrass Paul after you paved Oil City with bullshit all these years.”

His eyes backed into the sockets, almost disappeared. “You’re a nasty little slut, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me? When Paul hears you said that, he’ll be out your door faster than your ex-wives.”

The hand came out of nowhere. The back of a hand. Knuckles. Smacking her face. Jarring her teeth. Snapping her head back. Dimming the light. She covered her head with her arms, protecting herself from whatever might come next.

There were no more blows. The fog started to clear. She peeked through the space between her elbows, through her tears. Big Ed Barner sat in a stupor, staring at his right hand.

Amy remained still, making no effort to escape. Blood spilled from her mouth, dripping off her chin to her right breast. She marveled at the man’s expression. He had no concern for her, no regard for her condition. It was his hand that captivated him. It had betrayed him again.

There were no legal records of Ed’s past violence. Money could buy such convenience. Nonetheless, small towns had other ways of preserving history, ways that couldn’t be expunged. His two former wives had fled marriage and Oil City, but memories of the reason would always remain. Ed was a violent man with a short fuse.

Working her lower jaw from side to side, Amy wished there had been another way, an easier avenue to saving her father’s company. There simply wasn’t. If Big Ed wouldn’t help at the request of his precious son, he wasn’t going to do it at all. Not willingly.

She lowered her arms and leaned forward, spitting blood on the floor mat. He had reacted more quickly than expected, caught her by surprise. There were still plenty of barbed arrows in her quiver; her shooting had barely begun. She spat again. “This ... is how ... gonna work.” Talking was painful but necessary. “I’m goin’ to the emergency ... room. I either tripped or you hit me. If I fell, nobody hears a thing. If I report the attack, you get sued, go to jail, and lose your son forever.”

Ed continued to stare at his hand, at knuckles punctured by her teeth and seeping his own blood. “You’re crazy, aren’t you? You wanted me to do that! You forced me.”

“Tell a judge ... or go find my father right now. Tell him you’ll arrange his bond so he can help Oil City. Do what you should have done the first time I asked.”

“That’s it?”

Her head was throbbing; half her mouth was going numb. “Your son goes to college wherever he wants. He’ll be on scholarship, so it’s his own decision.”

Ed grimaced. Amy realized her second demand hurt more than the first. “One last thing,” she said. “Order a new sign for Oiler field. We’re Samaritans now.”

After he nodded, she directed him to back up her driveway so she could enter her house unnoticed. Big Ed Barner left without saying another word.

Amy called her mother immediately. “Need you,” she cried. “I had an accident.”

Opening her eyes on Friday morning, Amy saw her mother’s beautiful face on the pillow next to hers. She was sleeping. A gray squirrel looked in from a third-story window ledge, gnawing on an acorn. Feeling the tightness in her right jaw, the aching in her upper gum, Amy knew she wouldn’t be doing any gnawing of her own. Not for a while. Six stitches had closed lacerations inside her mouth. The dentist had wired three upper molars in place, hoping they’d recover from the trauma and reset.

All in all, the outcome was acceptable. How many times had she been struck on her catcher’s mask in Little League? How many foul tips had rocked her head back, leaving her stunned? She had taken more than a few for the team, and this was no different. Still, a protective mask would have been welcome.

Her mother’s eyelids fluttered and opened. “Honey, did you just wake up?”

“Ah duh.” Minutes after Ed Barner’s vicious backhand, swelling had begun to impede Amy’s speech. Her face had inflated more overnight.

“Oooh,” Emily purred, stroking her daughter’s hair. Her eyes had filled with tears. “Don’t try to talk yet.”

Amy was tempted to look in a mirror, but thought better of it. She didn’t want to be seen by anyone. Not even herself.

“Why were you wearing your sister’s ridiculous boots?” Emily asked. “Those heels are an accident waiting to happen.”

Amy lifted her eyebrows and shrugged. “Jus soopid.”

“Well, there’s news that will cheer you up. Your father’s going to build the new school after all. Ed Barner himself came to the rescue. He heard about the problem and insisted on helping.”

Emily had slept in her clothing. She rolled off the bed, saying she needed to make an ice pack. Then she’d have to go to the office. The new contract was going to keep her very busy. “Take your pills,” she added. “One antibiotic and the other for pain.”

Amy closed her eyes and tried to relax. She would stay at home until she healed, take a pass on at least a week of school. Her checklist seemed close to complete. She could lay back as everything unfolded.

Her mother returned with a small bag of ice and a bowl of oatmeal. After wrapping the ice in a washcloth, she placed it gently on her daughter’s face. “Try to finish all the cereal, sweetheart. You’ve lost so much weight lately. Are you worried about this new school?”

Amy shook her head slightly. Her mother was such a dear. So caring. How could she have even considered having an affair? So out of character.

“Well, your father will be home to check on you soon,” Emily said, turning to leave. “If he seems angry with me, it’s because I didn’t tell him about your accident until late last night. He was busy and I decided to take care of you myself. You were asleep when he got home.”

Amy realized only then that she hadn’t seen her father. She’d been to the doctor and dentist, lost in a haze of pain medication and lidocaine. Crawling into bed was her last memory of the night. Her mother delayed telling her father about his princess? Her injury? That was inexplicable – close to a declaration of war! Was their relationship broken beyond repair?

Emily continued. “A couple of your friends called last night. Paul and the Runsfeld boy. I told them about your accident. I’m sure they’ll be calling back. Just get some rest.”

Amy watched her mother step toward the door and hesitate. She returned and delivered a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “Love you.”

Now alone, Amy powered up her iPhone. The first voice message had been left by Paul. “Why aren’t you answering your phone? I have good news! My father’s going to support Westin Construction! He was mad as hell when I told him about Ohio State, but he calmed down later. He took me to dinner after practice and told me he was taking care of everything. And get this! He said I could go to college wherever I wanted, as long as I didn’t go Buckeye. After he was nice enough to help your dad, I went ahead and told him Penn State was my choice. I’m going to make it official tomorrow.”

The left side of Amy’s mouth lifted into a half smile. Ed Barner’s victory aside, she knew Paul was destined to be a Nittany Lion. All of Oil City was relying on it and she was a loyal fan herself. The football program had cratered over the last decade, but players like Seven Three could hasten a return to glory. He’d become a successful professional regardless of which college colors he wore. And she would deal with Big Ed eventually, when the time was right.

The second voice was Google’s. “Why aren’t you texting? What’s up with those Samaritan pies? What did you do? Forty-one sales this afternoon? People paying in advance for pies that aren’t even baked yet? Call me.”

Sadly, there was no message from Trisha Berman.