THE STUDENT COUNCIL

Trisha Berman didn’t want to get out of bed. Not ever. She had just destroyed a marriage, and that was the least of the damage. Amy probably knew about the affair by now. How could everything right turn into everything wrong so quickly?

Standing in the shame of a dark closet, she had heard Emily’s pained declaration through thin walls. She had felt the tremor of running feet through the floor. And listened to the sounds of slamming doors outside. Gathering her shoes to leave, she understood what had happened. Her Nikes were sitting beside the door of the tidy office, waving like a bright red flag. The experience would haunt her forever.

In all likelihood, Grant had surrendered her identity to his wife. If Amy didn’t know about her teacher by now, she soon would. End of fairy tale. She’d have to start her career again somewhere different, as something much less than she had become in Oil City.

Amy’s text arrived at 8:45 a.m. Can you hurry over to my house? Need to talk.

Go to the Westin house? Out of the question! That was off-limits forever. Trisha decided to dip a toe in the water. She typed back, Everything okay?

Family troubles. Need a friendly ear.

Trisha rubbed red, swollen eyes, a result of a whole night of crying. Amy didn’t know yet. Should she deliver the news herself? After glancing out the window at decent weather, she pecked, Our spot by the river at ten.

OK.

Amy was already there beside the Allegheny, sitting on a black canvas bag, when Trisha arrived. Her gifted student looked up at her. “You look tired. Too busy selling shirts last night?”

“It’s crazy the way people keep buying them.”

“Sorry about that,” Amy shrugged. “My parents are on their way to Florida. My mother’s driving while my father chases her on a jet. They had a blowup last night. Mother found out he was seeing another woman.”

Trisha stood in silence. Any words from her, short of a confession, would be hollow – at best.

Amy didn’t wait for a response. “My mother was fooling around too. If you can’t have trust in your own parents, who can you trust?”

Trisha wanted to raise her hand and shout out an answer. Me, Ames! You can trust me! Couldn’t do it. Her conscience held her mouth shut. She extended her arms instead. Amy looked like she needed a hug, and there was no one else to provide it.

Amy sprang up and rushed to her. Instead of wrapping her arms around her teacher, she took her face in both hands and crushed her lips with a kiss.

Trisha stood like a statue, too surprised to move. A kiss from another female wasn’t an entirely new experience, but this one felt especially awkward. Her grandma Berman had been a notorious lip-smoocher. She’d been Trisha’s first – her first hundred, actually. At age twelve, she had touched lips with other girls at a slumber party, while playing Spin the Bottle. In high school, she even twisted tongues with a few girlfriends during Truth of Dare, but only when they were drinking or smoking pot. Amy was straight ... or at least sober. She wasn’t screwing around.

Before the teacher pulled away, Amy stepped back herself. “I wanted you to be my very first kiss, Trisha. I needed to know how you felt about me. Please don’t be angry.”

Anger was off the board for Trisha. She couldn’t be mad at Ames. Confusion was the operative emotion. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m flattered that you like me. I just wasn’t expecting ... that.”

Amy’s eyes stayed locked on hers. “I had a thing for Paul Barner when I was younger, but you’re my first real love. I’ll always love you.”

“No, you won’t,” Trisha heard herself say. She couldn’t believe it. She was about to confess. “It was me.”

Amy cocked her head. “What does that mean? It was you ... what?”

Trisha thought of running away, maybe delivering the news with a text. She braced herself. “I had an affair with your father. It was me.”

She saw Amy squint, process. When she didn’t explode, Trisha assumed she didn’t believe her. “I lied to you, Amy. I came to Oil City because of your father. We met in Erie last summer. That’s when it started.”

Watching Amy’s head shake back and forth, faster and faster, Trisha started sobbing. “I’m an awful person. I’m so sorry. I really love you. I really do.” Trisha knew she was blabbering, coming unglued.

A single tear started down Amy’s left cheek. Feeling it, she turned away. She picked up her black bag and started walking home. The $300,000 would go back in her laundry basket, not to Vermin. Strutting quickly, she detested her eyes for weeping. Life had tossed her another curve, that’s all. She’d be able to deal with it.

Amy called a locksmith first. Grant Westin must never step in the house again – not while she was living there. The man agreed to install new locks at noon.

With a box of Hefty bags in hand, she attacked her parents’ bedroom. The contents of her father’s closet filled five of them. His dressers filled three more. She hauled all eight to the garage and tossed them in like garbage.

Back in the house, she scoured every room for his personal items or photographs that featured him. Everything went into the trash. By the time the Watson Lock and Key van arrived, the house had been sanitized.

With new house keys in her pocket, Amy finally got to the lawn. As she motored across the yards, driving in razor-straight lines, she thought only of the traitorous Miss Vermin. How could she have misjudged anyone so completely?

She had actually intended to hand her money over to that tramp, officially make it their money! After explaining exactly where it came from, sharing the whole marijuana story, she was going to let Trisha decide its fate. Amy saw it as a relocation fund for the two of them at the end of the school year, but that was to be a suggestion only. The final say would have belonged to the teacher.

In truth, there had been another motive for conveying the cash. Amy knew her own future was in serious doubt. By the end of the day, she might not be around to spend any of it. Her plan for Louis Sorvino seemed sound, but certainly not without huge risk. Things could go wrong. Thanks to Vermin and her father, however, all fear had evaporated.

After cleaning the mower and parking it in the garage, Amy sat at the kitchen table. She munched a green apple while deleting unread email and texts. Google and Paul had written. Nothing from William. He’d left for Cleveland to romance her sister. She flushed away half a dozen fresh messages from Vermin. What could she possibly have to say?

Amy checked on the arrival time of her father’s flight. Landed in West Palm Beach twelve minutes ago. She called his cell and despised the voice that answered. “I’m in line for a car at Alamo. I’ll call back in a few minutes.”

She said, “Shut up and listen. I’ve decided on a divorce, a total separation.”

The line went dead. He had disconnected.

Amy stared at her phone for five minutes. Then ten. A return call finally arrived.

“Ames, there won’t be any divorce. I told you I’d work things out with your mother.”

“Don’t call me Ames. I don’t care what happens with you and Emily. I’m divorcing you as a father. It’s over. You and Emily will sign my emancipation papers.”

“You don’t want that. You’re upset. That’s understandable. We’ll get past this.”

“We are past it, Grant. As long as I’m living in this house, you’re never stepping inside it again.”

“Stop the nonsense, young lady. That’s my house. Mine and your mother’s.”

“I’ll take care of the payments and utilities until I leave, which will be soon enough.”

“Why are you talking such madness? What’s come over you?”

“Two words: Trisha Berman.”

He was quiet.

“I’ve written a text to Emily about you and Trisha. Did you know that she’s only five months older than your own little Sadie? Emily’s going to like that, isn’t she? Do you want me to send it?”

“Why would you hurt your mother like that?”

“Better question: Why did you hurt your wife like that? Your whole family?”

More silence.

She added, “Probably a rhetorical question. She’s a young hottie, isn’t she? I was attracted to her myself.”

“I think you need to talk to someone,” he said weakly. “A counselor.”

Amy laughed. “I think you need to talk to someone. A divorce lawyer! Don’t get burned in the sun.”

“Promise you won’t say anything to your mother about Trisha.”

“Here’s the deal. Take it or leave it. You and Emily sign my emancipation papers as soon as I get them to you. A judge would grant it anyway, given the games you two play. The house is mine to live in until I leave.”

“We’ll talk when I get back.”

“My finger’s on the SEND button. ‘Emily, say hello to Trisha.’”

“You’ll get whatever you want!”

Amy sighed. “Doubt that. I wanted a father I could love and respect.”

She disconnected. The time for chitchat was over.