Occult Suspense for Mothers Boxset: The Nostalgia Effect by EJ Valson and Mother's by Michelle Read (2 ebooks for one price) (7 page)

She felt abandoned.
  And I felt like I was abandoning her.

I pulled her up to my hip and squeezed her as tightly as I could without breaking her, reaching my hand around her back to wipe my eyes so she wouldn’t see me crying.
 
Cut the cord,
I was thinking, and I set her down as gently as if she were made of crystal.

I pecked her on the forehead and promised again, “I’ll see you after school.  And you can tell me all about your day.”  With a wink and another quick embrace, I nudged her back into the room and backed away from the door. 

It was only then that I actually noticed the other children filing in behind her.  These children were in the wrong place.  They were huge!  They had to be at least seven or eight, but definitely not five.  These were big kids, tall and more  mature-looking than Violet.  I wiped at my eyes again.  Did they go to the wrong class?  Surely these weren’t
kindergarteners
?  Surely Violet wasn’t this big.  I stepped closer and peeked into the classroom.  Sure enough, there sat Violet at a square table, next to three children that were just about the same size as her. 

No.  That can’t be right,
I thought
.  She’s just a baby.

I realized I had stopped breathing and sucked in a small breath.

My baby.

“She’s distracted now, leave while you can.”

I jumped at the voice, the sound of it was so near that I could feel breath on my ear.  I was also startled because a hand was suddenly bearing down on my shoulder.  I turned my head.  It was Charlotte, centimeters from my face and leaning over my shoulder to sneak a peek at Violet.  Our eyes met and she was grinning widely—proudly.

“She’ll be great.  You’ve raised her
perfectly so far; she’s a pretty well-rounded little tyke,” she soothed.

“Yeah.” 
I sunk back away from the door and sighed.

“She won’t have any trouble adjusting or making friends, that’s for sure.  The little socialite.”  I smiled at her use of John’s word for Violet
— socialite.  Very true.

“All right
boss
,” I joked, hugging my friend and wishing I could cry on her shoulder.  “I’m ready to work.”

“Fine,
employee
,” she teased in return.  “Follow me.”

We walked arm in arm down the hallway, Charlotte patting my hand.

SEVEN

In the room adjoining her office, Charlotte showed me how to clock in, where my mailbox was, and fastened a walkie talkie to my waist.  She handed me a set of keys and warned me to guard them with my life.

We walked and talked for nearly an hour as she explained which key opened which door and made a second pot of coffee in the lounge.  She talked for several minutes about her own children, one of whom went to school here.  Halfway through my first cup of mediocre coffee, just when I was beginning to wonder what Violet was up to, my radio chimed in.

“Vomit in the first grade wing,” it pealed.

I swallowed.  Was this going to be my first task?  Puke duty? 
Ugh.
  What a way to start the day.  I shuddered at the thought of cleaning up after someone else’s kid, and Charlotte took notice of my sallow color.

“That’s the janitor’s job
,” she laughed, very clearly amused at my reaction.

The phrases
eeew
and
Oh thank goodness
registered simultaneously, and I went back to my coffee.  Charlotte checked her watch and rose to her feet briskly.

“Duty calls,” she announced unexpectedly, obviously realizing that she had somewhere else to be.  “Just wait here, or wander the halls if you like, until you get something to do.  It’s a free-for-all today so just keep an ear out for your walkie talkie.  If you have any orders, they will be coming from me this morning.”  She tossed her cup into the trash.  “If anyone else tries to talk you into doing anything, just help them if you feel like it.”

“Easy enough,” I remarked.

“Yes, but not every day will be this easy, so enjoy it while you can.”  And with that, she slid out of the room.  When she disappeared, the quiet nearly enveloped me.

I was absolutely sure that I wouldn’t be able to sit still, it didn’t feel right to be lounging in the big comfy chair I’d discovered, sipping coffee while everyone else was so very busy.  I needed to be
doing
something.  So I refilled my tiny little cup and went for a walk.  My feet apparently knew where I was headed long before I had consciously made the decision, taking me in the direction of Mrs. Autry’s kindergarten room.

I decided in advance to simply glance in Violet’s room quickly and then keep moving.  As I neared her class, I picked up my pace to a brisk walk and turned my head casually.

Oops.

I had walked
too
quickly and missed her completely.  No one seemed to have noticed me passing by the first time, so I spun on my heel and walked in the other direction, much more slowly this time.

There were children buzzing about everywhere in the room.  It appeared that they were all doing something different.  I spotted Violet quickly at a table labeled
Manipulatives
.

I studied her expression carefully—she was concentrating very hard on something.  I watched her fidgeting with a strange looking puzzle
. 
As I scrutinized her expression, her face changed.  She was frustrated.  She worked a little longer and her features eventually morphed again . . . the corners of her mouth turning up in a grin.  Her eyebrows raised slightly, like she had surprised herself—she was proud of herself. 
How sweet!
 

My eyes searched for the person who would congratulate her, someone who would clap their hands and let her know what a great job she had done.  But no one was paying attention to her.  The other children at her table were busy making their own discoveries and M
rs. Autry was clear across the room.

I wanted to go in and let her know that I’d seen her hard work and was proud of her, but after I had considered it for only a moment, she had put down her masterpiece and gone on to something else.

Straightening my shirt and swallowing hard, I decided to keep moving.  I couldn’t get used to staring at her all day anyway, most of the time I would be busy.  I
hoped
I would anyway; I couldn’t handle being the peering parent outside the door trying to be invisible all day.  I needed to be working, but since that wasn’t an option right now, I resolved to continue my walk.

I wasn’t really sure where to go
next.  I really
wanted
to stand there and watch her all day, and I wondered how long it would be before I was given something constructive to do.  I felt useless wandering the halls.

I could be getting so much done around the house right now
, I thought. 
Rather than roaming around aimlessly feeling like I’m in the way.

I trudged up and down the halls for a full thirty minutes alone, appreciating the beauty and charm of the small school, and quickly fell in love with whoever decorated it.  The floors were the typical ugly school floors—a muted, washed out yellowish color, made of some easily cleanable material.  The walls were painted in alternating chunks of beige and burgundy, not really matching the floors at all, but it didn’t seem to matter.

The plethora of Americana décor was utterly overwhelming.  On every few feet of wall that wasn’t covered in bulletin boards, there was an old-fashioned painting or an American flag quilt hanging artfully from a quilt rack.

Along the baseboards were knickknacks such as antique bicycles and giant alphabet blocks with U.S.A. painted on them.  Also, in each hallway, there was at least one bench, flanked by a side table.  The benches were adorned with red, white, and blue pillows and the tables sported tablecloths, lamps, and more knickknacks.

Adorable
was the only suitable word to describe this place.  I would want to learn here if I were a child, it was so warm and inviting. 
Heck,
I’d like to spend Christmas here.  It looked like my grandmother’s house!

The more old-fashioned memorabilia I walked past, though, the more I wondered how it had survived in this place.  This was a facility filled to the brim with small children— children with flailing arms and clumsy feet.  How did this stuff manage not to get broken?  Weren’t the decorative bicycles ridden down the hallways by ornery boys?  I was curious to watch the kids move from corridor to corridor so I could see for myself how often things were broken or damaged.

The radio on my hip buzzed again, startling me as it echoed in the hall.  I couldn’t understand what had been said, and I was amazed how everyone’s voice sounded exactly the same coming through the speaker.

Worrying that I had missed hearing a command, I panicked.  I pulled at the small device on my hip but was unable to get it off. 
Hold on!
I wanted to yell into it.

“On it,” someone’s robotic voice answered.

Whew,
I thought, relaxing my grip slightly on the gadget attached to my waist.  I ceased my senseless pawing at it and tried to think rationally about how to unfasten it.

Got it.

And perfect timing, too.

“Erin, can you go to Mrs. Stevens’ room and sit with the children for a while, please?”

It was Charlotte’s sweet but commanding voice ringing in the radio.  I was surprised that I recognized who it was, though.  Of the few exchanges I had heard on it so far, everyone sounded like an old truck driving woman who’d been smoking heavily for twenty years.

“Sure.  Where’s…she…at?”  I answered, depressing the button firmly and speaking as clearly as I could back to her.  I knew that if someone happened to pass me, I would probably look like an old woman using a cell phone for the first time:  awkward and entertaining.

“You don’t have to talk like that,” she giggled.  “Just speak normally.”

“—Kay.”

“She’s in the third grade wing, her son is in the fourth grade here and he threw up this morning.  She has to go make some phone calls and get him a ride home.”

“Poor thing.  All right.”  I tried to recall the map of the school that I’d memorized a few days ago and headed off to the third grade classrooms.  “So do I just sit there?”

“Yes.  They are doing their journal time right now, so just make sure everyone stays seated and is working quietly.  And monitor trips to the restroom.”

“Sounds like fun.  I’m almost there— I think.” I searched the nameplates on the wall.  “Found it.”

“Call me if you have any trouble.”

“Right.  Over, boss.”

“You’re a dork.”

After introducing myself to Mrs. Stevens, and taking over the class for her, I realized after she left that I really had no impression of her at all.  The short, squatty woman had been bustling about when I entered the room, and scurried out the door almost immediately after my arrival.  We didn’t even speak, nor did she acknowledge my presence with anything other than brief eye contact and a half-nod.

She then snatched up her cell phone and waddled past me out the door, mumbling sentence fragments like “
How am I supposed to find someone . . . first day of school . . . take him to the doctor . . .”
Though she did have an air of sympathy in her voice for her son, who was apparently ill, she was also quite put out that her morning had been interrupted.

M
onitoring journal time was every bit as uncomplicated as I had imagined it would be.  The third graders seemed to know the rules already and were content with quietly filling in their journals.  Some were at their desks, a few were sprawled out on the floor beneath the white board, and there was a small gathering of workers in the reading center.

This section of the classroom
was adorable; it looked like a miniature library.  There were tiny chairs and bean bags, and shelves that were just high enough to make the area into a little enclosure.  There was some whispering going on in that part of the room.  Clearly the kids felt they had found a spot that was secluded enough to share secrets rather than do their work, but they were so quiet that I didn’t feel the need to say anything.

Forty minutes later, Mrs. Stevens reappeared.  She
looked flustered and annoyed.

“Thank you,” she said curtly, barely looking in my direction
.  Then she clapped her hands loudly.  “All right, class.  Please put your journals in the blue tub . . .”

A
nd with that, I assumed I had been dismissed.  I left quietly, tossing my empty coffee cup into the trash on my way out.

“I’m done, Charlotte,” I reported into the radio.  I walked into the hallway and looked at the bulletins boards while I waited for an answer. 
Several minutes passed before I got one.

“Okay,” Charlotte finally blurted from the speaker.  “Just hang tight, alright?”

“Okay.”

Not wanting to hang around outside cranky Mrs. Stevens’ room, I roamed the halls once more swathed in boredom. 
Wonder how often I’ll be doing
this, I thought to myself.  I hated not having something to do.

Curiosity soon became an unwelcome motivator, and I found myself ambling toward the second grade wing.  Maybe I would just peek in Danna Thayer’s room and catch a glimpse of what Claire looked like.  My mind had been idle for far too long this morning, and I was now cooking up ways to get myself into trouble for sure.  I was anxious to meet this woman that might give me some insight into the strange confrontation between Charlotte and Danna several mornings ago
; so many days ago that it seemed like a month.  I had pushed the scene so far back in my mind it was practically a distant memory, trumped easily by the excitement of the first day of school I’d been mentally preparing for.

Maybe Claire and I would hit it off right away and she would dish on the topic that had had my two colleagues on their toes, anxious and enigmatic.  I would also just love to make a new friend, if nothing else.  It seemed like the only people I had talked to in the last three months were my immediate family and Charlotte.  I suddenly felt like a hermit.

Nearing the classroom where I had witnessed the unusual weightless desk incident, a rush of unease crept through my veins.  I shivered a little, not knowing why.  I couldn’t explain to myself just
why
I felt so nervous in this place.  It wasn’t the apprehension I had expected—the jitters that come with any new job.  It just seemed like the air was saturated with tension
all
the time.  Sometimes it felt like I was walking on eggshells, particularly when I was around Charlotte, which was most of the time.  I had only been here a few times, and didn’t feel like I should already be as uncomfortable as I was.  I hadn’t even really met anyone besides Danna yet.

I perused around in the hallway for a bit, pretending I had only happened into this part of the school.  I tried to imagine what Danna’s face would look like if I simply walked into her classroom.  Probably some assortment of fear, panic, and secrecy.

That’s it,
I thought suddenly.  I had remembered the definite uneasiness I had been trying to place moments ago.  I felt like a high school girl who wasn’t a part of the good clique.  Like there was a secret that I wasn’t allowed in on . . . like everyone was laughing at me . . .