THE STUDENT COUNCIL

Entering Grant’s back office, Trisha found him sitting behind the desk, all business. On her previous visits, he had always jumped to his feet when she arrived. She took a seat on the couch and crossed her legs.

“I know why I’m here,” she said, assuming control. “Our time has passed and that’s for the best. You and Emily have made things right.”

She read his look as possibly surprised, certainly relieved. “Trisha, I’m sorry to have put you through all this. My wife changed. I didn’t expect that to happen.”

The teacher leaned back comfortably. “That’s a good thing. Good for both of you, and good for Ames.”

“Ames?” He raised an eyebrow. “Why did you call my daughter Ames? Only I call her that.”

“Because she asked me to. Your daughter is the reason I’m here. I wanted to make it clear that we’ve become close friends. That’s not going away.”

Grant swiveled in his chair and stared at the blinds. “That’s a terrible idea. Teachers don’t make friends with their students. It’s unprofessional.”

“This teacher and your daughter are the best of friends. Just deal with it.”

He spun back to face her. “I told you to stay away from her!”

“You told me lots of things.”

He nodded in apparent acknowledgement. “I was hoping there might be an opening for you back in Erie. Your family would like to have you ...”

“No way,” she said, cutting him off. “I love Oil City. Best decision I ever made ... even if I made it for the wrong reason.”

Both noticed a glimmer of light through the blinds. Headlights. Grant stepped to the window and spread slats with two fingers. “It’s Emily! What’s she doing here?”

Trisha quickly stood. “Why am I here? What do you want me to say?”

“There’s nothing to say! Hide ... hide in the closet,” he stammered, pointing to a louvered door. “I’ll tell her I was just leaving. and we’ll go home.”

Emily grabbed the merlot bottle from the passenger seat and stepped out of her Explorer. She pulled the belt on her bathrobe tight because she wore nothing beneath it. Each of two pockets held a long-stemmed glass. Exciting! She hurried up two steps to the trailer door.

The light in Grant’s office went out as she entered. He closed his door behind him and hurried toward her, smiling. “What a nice surprise!”

She untied her belt with a tug, allowing the robe to open. “Here’s a nicer one.”

Her husband’s eyes were on the floor, not her naked body. She followed them to a pair of mud-covered tennis shoes beside the door. Pink and white. Ladies’ shoes. The wine bottle dropped from her hand. It bounced and rolled across the linoleum, making the only sound in the trailer.

Emily closed her robe and stared at her husband, praying for a reasonable explanation. Grant stared back, saying nothing. His hesitation told her everything.

“My God,” Emily gasped. “Someone’s here now! You weren’t alone!” Only seconds ago, she loved her husband more than ever. Now she hated him more than anyone ... any thing ... on Earth.

She spun around and dashed out the door, running for her car. Grant scrambled after her, but she managed to lock the doors before he could stop her. She turned the key, backed away, and sped off in a spray of gravel.

Looking into the rearview mirror through her tears, she saw his truck light up. He was going to follow! She couldn’t go home. She never wanted to see his face again. Reaching into the center console, she touched her billfold. Driver’s license and credit card. All she needed. She would head due south. Jupiter, Florida, was thirteen hundred miles away. Her mother and father. Shoulders to cry on. A place to hide.

After a restless night, Amy sat up in bed. Eight a.m. No email all night. Not a single text. Communication from Google had dwindled since their awkward confrontation. Understandable. And after his big moment last night, he probably partied up a storm. Silence from Trisha was more troubling. The two had become regular chatterboxes, texting and talking day and night.

A text arrived as she looked at her phone. From her mother. Emergency in Florida. Had to run. Will call soon.

What? Where was she texting from? What emergency? She called her mother’s number. No response. She went downstairs to find her father. Nobody home. No cars in the driveway. Amy called her father’s number. No answer!

Had something happened to grandma or grandpa? Amy located their phone number in Jupiter.

Her grandmother answered on the second ring. “Hello. Who’s this?”

“It’s Amy. Are you okay? Is it grandpa? What happened?”

“We’re fine, Princess. I’m so sorry about all this.”

“About what? Mom said there’s an emergency. Is she there?”

“Emily’s not here yet. It’s a very long drive. She won’t get here until late tonight at the earliest.”

Driving? If there was something urgent, why not fly?Why didn’t her mother talk to her before she left? “Grandma, why is she coming to see you? I don’t know anything.”

“Then it’s up to your mother to tell you ... not my place.”

Amy knew her grandmother’s silence on any subject was temporary. She was a seventy-year-old Sadie. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to stick out my thumb and hitch a ride to Florida.”

“Then ask your father.” She seemed to spit the last word. “He’s the one Emily caught with another woman!”

Amy slapped her phone down on the kitchen counter, then pushed it away as if it were diseased. Two feet wasn’t far enough. She swatted it like a hockey puck, sliding it six feet down the counter and into the sink. Anger took an even firmer hold. She chased after the phone and tried to force it down the garbage disposal. Wouldn’t fit. What was happening?

Outside the window, her father’s pickup rolled up. She watched him get out and hurry toward the back door. Her legs were trembling. She dropped into a chair at the kitchen table.

He rushed into the room. “Where’s your mother?”

Her father looked unraveled, even weak. Amy knew the problem was real. Yet it made no sense. His affection for her mother had been so genuine, at least for the last couple weeks. “Tell me everything, Grant. Tell me the truth.”

His slack face tightened. “Grant? You can’t call me that. I’m your father.”

“I’m not sure who you are. What happened last night?”

“Just tell me where your mother went. I know she hasn’t been here all night. I’ve been driving by every fifteen minutes.”

Amy looked away and tapped her fingers on the table. She’d wait him out, force him to talk.

Her father stepped close and dropped his right hand on her left, stopping the thumping. “There’s nothing to tell. We had a simple misunderstanding.”

Amy shook her head. A jury would convict Grant Westin on his demeanor alone. “Missing an appointment could be a simple misunderstanding. Making one with another woman, late at night, is probably more than that.”

Grant hung his head. “What did your mother tell you? She misunderstood.”

“So, you weren’t with a woman last night?”

“For a short time, when your mother and I were having problems, I was seeing someone else. That’s old news.”

“Original question: Were you with someone last night?”

“Not like your mother thought. We were only talking, putting it all behind us.”

“Give me a name,” Amy demanded. Like with Roger Cooper, she would punch another ticket out of town.

Her father started pacing. “That’s none of your concern. She meant nothing to me. Please, tell me where your mother is, so I can fix all this. I promise that I will.”

“Was it someone mother knows?”

Grant stopped in mid-stride. “Your mother guessed that I wasn’t alone in my office, that’s all. She saw a pair of shoes by the door and jumped to a conclusion. She didn’t give me time to explain.”

“Then explain to me,” Amy ordered. “Who the hell was it?”

“Stop with the swearing,” Grant said, trying to take charge. “It was nobody anyone knows. It was brief and stupid and over.”

Amy conceded a nod. Anonymity might be helpful in a way. It could speed her mother’s healing. “I’ve decided to believe you. Mother’s on the highway somewhere, headed all the way to Jupiter.”

“Then pack a bag. We’ll catch the next flight out of Pittsburgh.”

Amy walked to the sink and recovered her phone. “It’s between the two of you. I’ll be fine here alone.”

Her father was showered, packed, and gone in ten minutes, ample evidence of his commitment to the marriage. Amy had booked his flight to West Palm Beach. Arranged a car rental too. The world would seem less perfect moving forward, but as she knew better than most, one had to roll with the punches.

She proceeded to write a series of texts to her mother, encouraging her to be forgiving. Everyone’s entitled to a mistake in a life. You both made yours.