Last week Rob said he’d have Lee work on reading with Sherm. Robert E. Lee. My heart begins to race as all the pieces click together in my head. “And your brother, Grant?”
“He swears a lot.”
I can’t stop the laugh, and I hate that it’s partially out of relief. Rob lives with his brothers and sisters. That woman was one of his sisters.
But the next instant, my heart sinks when I realize nothing about this revelation changes anything. At lunch yesterday, Theresa was gossiping about the chemistry teacher at Loveland High who got canned last semester when he got caught in an affair with the mother of one of his students.
“Now that’s what I call chemistry!” she’d joked.
Granted, a group of students walked in on them doing the deed in his classroom, and granted, they were both married, but still, I doubt this kind of relationship is encouraged by the school board. I need to stop thinking about Rob that way. And besides, his hard shell seemed to soften a little on the bus today, but I don’t think that constitutes the beginning of a relationship.
But it definitely makes this whole mystery a little more complex. Both Rob and the sister I saw have to be in their twenties. How old are the other two? They seem a little old to still be living together. Has it always been that way, or is this a new development since the move to Port St. Mary?
“So . . . do you have something to remember your dad by?” I ask.
Sherm shakes his head. “Papa’s in jail,” he says with all the indifference of saying he was at work.
My jaw hits the desk. His father’s supposed to be dead.
The bell rings before I can question him any further, and I decide that’s probably a good thing, because I’m having trouble containing myself, and poor Sherm was just about to get the third degree.
But untwisting the mystery occupies my thoughts for the rest of the afternoon.
What if this is the traumatic thing that happened between Sherm and Rob? Maybe whatever their father went to jail for is what has caused Sherm to close down. But then I think about Sherm when he said it. He didn’t seem at all affected by it.
Rob comes to the door at the end of the day and waits there for Sherm, as though he doesn’t trust himself to come any closer. I pretend to be engrossed in paperwork because, honestly, my mind is taking me to some pretty outrageous places and I feel like I need a grip on my thoughts before I start asking questions. Once the room has cleared, I take a deep breath and tug Sherm’s file toward me, thumbing through it for the number of his previous school. It’s listed as Skyview Elementary. I root through my bag for my phone and dial. I jot down my questions as it rings.
1) Math level?
2) Social skills? Shy? Talkative?
“Skyview Elementary,” a secretary answers.
“Hi. This is Adri Wilson calling from Port St. Mary Elementary in Florida. I have a student here, Sherman Davidson, who was in Ms. Patrick’s fourth-grade class last semester. I’d like to speak with her if possible.”
“Certainly,” she says. “Let me see if she’s available.”
There’s a series of beeps and a brief pause before a woman picks up. “Debra Patrick.”
“Hi, Debra. My name is Adrianna Wilson and I’ve got Sherm Davidson in my class. I wondered if I could ask you a few questions.”
“How is he doing?” she asks by way of an answer.
“He’s starting to adjust, but it’s been a rough transition. He’s still quite withdrawn and I was hoping to find out about his demeanor when he was there.”
“Yes,” she says. “He was quite withdrawn. But that’s understandable considering he lost his parents so recently.”
“When was that again?” I’m suddenly shaking, and I hope she doesn’t hear it in my voice.
“Two years ago, I believe,” she answers.
A cold tingle crackles under my skin. Rob said Sherm was four. That was five years ago. “Oh. I thought it was longer ago than that.”
“Did Sherm tell you something else?” she asks cautiously.
“No. I just had that impression.” I tap out a nervous rhythm with the end of my pen on Sherm’s file. “And both the parents were killed in the accident?”
“That was my understanding, yes,” she says with that same air of caution. “Such a tragedy.”