Read Online A Safe Place for Joey by Mary MacCracken - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary MacCracken
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don’t come true? Ms. Answera went home to Florida for Christmas vacation and never returned. And even more wonderful for Joey, Mr. Templar was able to persuade Mrs. Madden to come back and teach Joey’s third-grade class for the remainder of the year.
“Portugal has been around for quite some time,” Mrs. Madden said when I went over to school to talk to her. “It’s likely it’llstill be there six months from now.”
Once again I had to stick my hands in my pockets to keep from hugging her. Joey would be all right now – at least for this year, with Mrs. Madden back in charge at school and Joey’s mom and dad a team again at home.
I continued seeing Joey twice a week through third and fourth grades and worked closely with his teachers. He accumulated a solid foundationof knowledge on which he could build and a growing confidence in his ability to learn. He was also the star of every class play. His tremendous natural energy projected out from the stage, and within minutes he held the audience in the palm of his hand.
We cut our sessions to once a week halfway through fifth grade and ended completely in sixth.
I was there for Joey’s graduation inan aisle seat. He shone like a burnished penny – dressed in a new blue suit, his red hair washed and neatly combed. He managed to sit still through the graduation exercises and receive his diploma without incident, but he caught my eye on the way out. The lopsided grin lit his face, and he did a perfect miniature imitation pratfall as he passed my seat.
As I said earlier, there was alwayssomething about Joey …
Eric
Nobody was in the waiting room the night that I met Eric. In fact, the lights weren’t even on.
It had been a long day, and once the last child had left and I had cleaned up and put away books and toys, I was eager to be off. It was a good forty-five-minute drive from my office to our apartment, and the commuting traffic was heavy on the highways.
I shrugged on my jacket,turned out the lights, pulled shut my heavy office door, and almost stepped on Eric.
I rocked back away from him in surprise. “Hey, now! What’s this? Are you okay?” As my eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light, I could make out a small boy sitting on the waiting-room floor just outside my door, examining the contents of a woman’s purse.
The janitor had evidently already turneddown the lights in the waiting room, so the only illumination was from the overhead light in the hall. I groped my way toward one of the reading lamps, and the little boy gave a whimper as light flooded over us.
A woman’s voice came from one edge of the room. “Mrs. MacCracken? Is that you?”
She pushed herself up from the sofa with effort, at the same time pulling her worn black coatmore closely around her. She must have once been a handsome woman, but now as she came closer I could see that her face was gaunt and deeply lined and there were dark circles beneath her eyes.
She spoke to me, but she was looking at the boy. She walked past me toward where he huddled against the wall, hands across his eyes. She pulled him toward her, gently cradling his head against herthigh, crooning, “Shhh, Errol. Shhh. It’s all right now.”
She turned to me and said, “He doesn’t like the light.”
They made a strange picture here in the lamplight – the black-cloaked figure bending over the tiny boy, her knobby fingers entangled in his limp brown hair, his face buried in her coat.
I glanced at my watch. Almost eight o’clock. More than a half-hour drive backhome. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s very –”
“Please,” the woman interrupted. “Don’t go.” She moved closer to me, her dark eyes searching my face, the boy clinging to her leg. She looked too old to be the mother of such a young child, but her next sentence implied she was.
“Mrs. Tortoni told me to come. You helped her Frank. She said you’d help us, too.”
I felta small rush of pleasure. When
“Portugal has been around for quite some time,” Mrs. Madden said when I went over to school to talk to her. “It’s likely it’llstill be there six months from now.”
Once again I had to stick my hands in my pockets to keep from hugging her. Joey would be all right now – at least for this year, with Mrs. Madden back in charge at school and Joey’s mom and dad a team again at home.
I continued seeing Joey twice a week through third and fourth grades and worked closely with his teachers. He accumulated a solid foundationof knowledge on which he could build and a growing confidence in his ability to learn. He was also the star of every class play. His tremendous natural energy projected out from the stage, and within minutes he held the audience in the palm of his hand.
We cut our sessions to once a week halfway through fifth grade and ended completely in sixth.
I was there for Joey’s graduation inan aisle seat. He shone like a burnished penny – dressed in a new blue suit, his red hair washed and neatly combed. He managed to sit still through the graduation exercises and receive his diploma without incident, but he caught my eye on the way out. The lopsided grin lit his face, and he did a perfect miniature imitation pratfall as he passed my seat.
As I said earlier, there was alwayssomething about Joey …
Eric
Nobody was in the waiting room the night that I met Eric. In fact, the lights weren’t even on.
It had been a long day, and once the last child had left and I had cleaned up and put away books and toys, I was eager to be off. It was a good forty-five-minute drive from my office to our apartment, and the commuting traffic was heavy on the highways.
I shrugged on my jacket,turned out the lights, pulled shut my heavy office door, and almost stepped on Eric.
I rocked back away from him in surprise. “Hey, now! What’s this? Are you okay?” As my eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light, I could make out a small boy sitting on the waiting-room floor just outside my door, examining the contents of a woman’s purse.
The janitor had evidently already turneddown the lights in the waiting room, so the only illumination was from the overhead light in the hall. I groped my way toward one of the reading lamps, and the little boy gave a whimper as light flooded over us.
A woman’s voice came from one edge of the room. “Mrs. MacCracken? Is that you?”
She pushed herself up from the sofa with effort, at the same time pulling her worn black coatmore closely around her. She must have once been a handsome woman, but now as she came closer I could see that her face was gaunt and deeply lined and there were dark circles beneath her eyes.
She spoke to me, but she was looking at the boy. She walked past me toward where he huddled against the wall, hands across his eyes. She pulled him toward her, gently cradling his head against herthigh, crooning, “Shhh, Errol. Shhh. It’s all right now.”
She turned to me and said, “He doesn’t like the light.”
They made a strange picture here in the lamplight – the black-cloaked figure bending over the tiny boy, her knobby fingers entangled in his limp brown hair, his face buried in her coat.
I glanced at my watch. Almost eight o’clock. More than a half-hour drive backhome. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s very –”
“Please,” the woman interrupted. “Don’t go.” She moved closer to me, her dark eyes searching my face, the boy clinging to her leg. She looked too old to be the mother of such a young child, but her next sentence implied she was.
“Mrs. Tortoni told me to come. You helped her Frank. She said you’d help us, too.”
I felta small rush of pleasure. When
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