Rescue - By Anita Shreve Page 0,66

lets out a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” the teacher says. “I should have said something earlier. There’s really little that can be done at this point. But I’ve been curious. And I thought I’d ask.”

Webster opens his hands and shakes his head. He knows the woman’s motives are pure, that she has Rowan’s best interests at heart, but he feels as though he’s being called on the carpet, too. To not know what’s going on with Rowan at school makes him feel like an idiot. “I’m completely surprised,” he says. “Thanks for telling me. Obviously there is something wrong. You can bet I’ll talk to her about it.” He checks his watch. “I’m late for my shift,” he says.

Elizabeth touches his arm. “I didn’t in any way mean to suggest you’ve been a bad parent. Personally, I think you’ve done a tremendous job with Rowan. She’s one of the few students I’m really fond of. But lately, she seems to be undergoing a personality change.”

Webster shakes her hand, simply because he can’t think of any other way to say good-bye. He has two minutes to make it to Rescue. He wishes he could pull Rowan aside and ask her about the bad grades, but unless there’s an emergency, it’s understood that a parent doesn’t pull a player away from a game.

But failing English and calc? Isn’t that a valid emergency?

He glances in Rowan’s direction, but though he can see her face, she doesn’t look his way. Her lips are pressed together hard.

Webster strokes his rough chin while gazing at a pile of bills he’s been neglecting for weeks. Usually, he practices triage, dividing them into three piles: those that have to be paid immediately, those he could pay at the end of the month, and those he could let go for a few more weeks. Today there will be no triage: all the bills are late. He ponders the tuition bill that will soon come due. He’ll have to take on more shifts at Rescue or mortgage the house. At least UVM’s tuition for in-state students is reasonable.

Since Elizabeth Washington took him aside the day before, Webster completed his tour and was waiting for Rowan when she woke up this morning. In the kitchen, he confronted her with what he knew.

“So?” Rowan asked, trying and failing to brush it aside.

“So?” Webster asked. “So? You might not get to go to college.”

“So?” Rowan repeated.

“That’s it,” Webster, fuming, said. “Give me the keys.”

“Seriously?” Rowan asked. She had her backpack over her shoulder. She hadn’t planned on having breakfast.

“You bet,” he said, holding his ground, though he could already feel that platform shift beneath him.

“How will I get to school?” Rowan asked.

“Walk. Lots of kids have to walk.”

She tossed the keys onto the table. They slid in Webster’s direction. “No one walks, Dad,” she said in a tone that suggested she felt sorry for his ignorance.

He watched her leave the house. He did not stand to see her make her way down the driveway.

At the table with the bills, he checks his watch. One thirty.

Tomorrow night is Rowan’s senior dance. He wonders if she’ll be speaking to him by then. The talk this morning didn’t go as he imagined it would. Why does he continue to expect reasonable conversations with a seventeen-year-old whose moodiness is taking over her entire personality? Because he used to have sane conversations with his daughter.

He takes a sip of cold coffee. He could heat up the coffee in the microwave, but he decides to make another pot. He has at least an hour with the paperwork ahead of him anyway.

He wipes a spill of water with the tail of his cotton shirt. He’ll stick it in the laundry basket when he goes upstairs. He has on the beat-up slippers Rowan gave him two Christmases ago. They have fur inside and are too warm for this time of year. He’ll have to find his boat shoes.

He hears a sound. The front doorbell? Only FedEx and UPS ever use the front door.

A package for Rowan, he guesses. He pads down the hallway. So few packages are for him. Because she shops online and is, for the most part, frugal, Webster doesn’t mind the odd delivery or two. He likes the look on Rowan’s face when she catches sight of a package on the kitchen table.

Webster opens the door.

A package he never expected.

“You have some nerve,” he says.

“So do you.”

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

“One good surprise deserves another,” Sheila says.

Webster feels