Cora’s eyes narrow. “Are we wiling?”
I frown at her. “Are we what?”
“Wiling. Using our womanly wiles.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “I heard you and Jake broke up and I thought maybe we were conspiring to get him back by homecoming.”
I shake my head. “Nothing so fun as that, unfortunately.” I glance at Tina again. “Yes or no?”
Tina nods. “Yes.” She looks up at Cora, and then the door; Cora nudges the door closed and sits on the edge of my desk.
“Ohh,” Cora breathes. “This is something serious.”
Tina nods, and Cora’s eyes fly wide.
“You’re pregnant?” Cora guesses.
Tina nods again. “I—I think so.”
“Youthink?”
“That’s where you come in, Cora. She needs a test, but if she goes into the pharmacy…”
“Mr. Van Hess will have the whole town talking about it in under five minutes,” Cora finishes.
“Exactly. He’d also start talking if I got one.”
Cora nods, following my logic. “But he wouldn’t bat an eye if I did. He’d assume I let one of the town drunks knock me up.”
“Mrs. Pearson!” Tina says, laughing with shock.
“Everyone always assumes the worst about me, Tina,” Cora says, waving a hand. “I’m used to it.” She smiles at the distraught girl. “I’d be glad to use my black sheep status to get you a pregnancy test.”
“Thank you,” Tina whispers.
Cora wraps her up in a hug. “It’ll be okay. Come on, let’s do this. You can use my bathroom.”
“Come in and talk to me tomorrow, after you talk to Jake, okay?” I say to Tina.
She nods. “I will.” She sniffles. “Thanks, Mrs. Thomas. You’re the best.”
“I’m here if you need me, Tina. Always. Even when you’re not a student anymore, okay?”
Another nod, and then Cora and Tina are headed out of the main office, which is empty except for Alice Frank, a para-pro, who’s making copies in the copy room.
It’s four thirty, and now that Tina’s crisis has been handled, I fly into motion, shutting down and locking up my office and power-walking to my car. I rush over to the elementary, where there are only two kids left on the playground with Mrs. Emory, the latchkey program supervisor, watching over them.
Aiden is not at the playground, and I’m low-key panicking.
Mrs. Emory sees me and hurries over. “Ah, Elyse! I was getting worried about you! You’re never this late.”
“I had a last-minute student crisis,” I explain, peering past her at the playground, scanning for Aiden. “Where’s Aiden?”
“Oh, he was getting really upset about being late for football practice, so Mr. Trent walked him over to the field. I think he tried calling you, but you didn’t answer.”
I haul my phone out of my purse and see I have three missed calls from the school, and a voicemail—I listen to it:
“Hi, Elyse, this is Jamie Trent, principal at the elementary school.” His smooth voice is all business. “Aiden is here with the latchkey kids, but he’s getting pretty antsy to get over to football practice. The field is just over behind the administrative building—but you know that, obviously. Anyway, I’m going to walk him over there. He said he’d have to sit out an entire quarter of his next game if he’s late, and I wouldn’t want that for him, and I know you wouldn’t either. I know how last-minute meetings can be. So…hopefully you get this message and call me back. I’ll be at the field until you get there.”
Instead of calling him back, I thank Mrs. Emory and then drive from the elementary over to the practice field parking lot, which is on the far side of the school complex acreage. I see the kids in their huge pads and oversized helmets lining up and practicing plays, with Coach Barnhart yelling direction and encouragement and criticism from one side. There’s a little quarter-stand of bleachers on this side of the fence, and the bleachers are filled with parents watching their kids practice. I spy Jamie by himself, arms resting on the fence, watching the practice.
