could talk to him about her meeting with Kate Lange. She’d wanted the lawyer to deal with her troubles, not heap more on her plate. She couldn’t make her understand that calling Child Protection Services was the worst thing Marian could do to Lisa.
Wasn’t it?
She had been so sure of that on Friday. Then over the weekend the doubts crept in. Just like the fog.
When her friend Margaret called last night to invite her for lunch at the art gallery today, she accepted with alacrity. Her doubts would not let her rest. Better to have some company. She wasn’t sure if she would confide her troubles to Margaret; she’d see how lunch went.
The cottage seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when she had locked it up earlier this morning and ventured tentatively onto St. Margaret’s Bay Road. The drive had been slow, the road windy and nerve-racking in its opacity, although the dense fog that hugged the curves didn’t seem to slow down some drivers. Normally she liked to tune into the CBC radio morning show. But today she had needed to concentrate extra hard. She would never admit it to anyone, but driving was a bit difficult nowadays. She missed things that would suddenly rush at her and cause her heart to jump.
The call from the headmistress had been the third in the past two weeks. Hope put the phone down and stared at her hands. Her fingers clenched slowly into fists, thenstretched out onto her desk. She breathed deeply. She had to be in court in five minutes. She needed to calm down. But it was difficult. The headmistress’s insinuations had been offensive.
“Have you heard the morning news?” Ms. MacInnes had asked her.
Hope had. A homicide in the south end of the city. Police were refusing to provide any details until the victim’s family had been notified, but witnesses claimed the victim had been a prostitute.
At first, Hope did not grasp why Ms. MacInnes had brought this up. But then it hit her. And she was outraged. She couldn’t believe the nerve of the headmistress— Headmistress —who was she kidding? A glorified public school principal, more like it.
Hope’s voice became glacial. “What, exactly, is the relevance of that question in terms of my daughter’s absenteeism?”
Ms. MacInnes paused. Hope felt a spark of satisfaction. It quickly died at the headmistress’s next words. “It is very relevant if Lisa is using drugs again.”
“She’s not,” Hope snapped. “There has been no proof whatsoever that she is using them.”
“Besides the fact of her truancy,” Ms. MacInnes said softly. Then she asked, “What does she do when she skips school?”
Hope inhaled sharply. “Her grandmother keeps an eye on her.”
“I see.” The headmistress did not bother to disguise her disbelief. “Lisa cannot continue to miss school, Your Honor. We have academic standards that must be met.”
“I assure you that I am handling matters,” Hope said stiffly. “Lisa will be at school tomorrow.”
“Good. Perhaps we could arrange a time to meet about this…?”
“I will have my assistant call you.” Hope disconnected the line.
She did not want to make the next call but she had to.
The phone rang. It jarred the stillness. Marian jumped. She had been lost in thought. Kate Lange had left a message on her answering machine just minutes before she had arrived home from the cottage. She’d left one the day before, as well. She wanted Marian to call her, but Marian hadn’t—not yet. She decided she would talk to Margaret before she dove into those muddy waters.
The phone rang again. Insistent.
Was it Kate Lange? Marian’s fingers hovered over the handle. She really didn’t feel ready to talk to her.
The phone rang a third time. She hesitated. Maybe it was Margaret. She really should answer it. She snatched up the receiver.
“Marian.”
Her heart sank at the sound of the crisp voice on the other end. “Yes.” Why was Hope calling? Had her ex-daughter-in-law heard that Marian had
Wasn’t it?
She had been so sure of that on Friday. Then over the weekend the doubts crept in. Just like the fog.
When her friend Margaret called last night to invite her for lunch at the art gallery today, she accepted with alacrity. Her doubts would not let her rest. Better to have some company. She wasn’t sure if she would confide her troubles to Margaret; she’d see how lunch went.
The cottage seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when she had locked it up earlier this morning and ventured tentatively onto St. Margaret’s Bay Road. The drive had been slow, the road windy and nerve-racking in its opacity, although the dense fog that hugged the curves didn’t seem to slow down some drivers. Normally she liked to tune into the CBC radio morning show. But today she had needed to concentrate extra hard. She would never admit it to anyone, but driving was a bit difficult nowadays. She missed things that would suddenly rush at her and cause her heart to jump.
The call from the headmistress had been the third in the past two weeks. Hope put the phone down and stared at her hands. Her fingers clenched slowly into fists, thenstretched out onto her desk. She breathed deeply. She had to be in court in five minutes. She needed to calm down. But it was difficult. The headmistress’s insinuations had been offensive.
“Have you heard the morning news?” Ms. MacInnes had asked her.
Hope had. A homicide in the south end of the city. Police were refusing to provide any details until the victim’s family had been notified, but witnesses claimed the victim had been a prostitute.
At first, Hope did not grasp why Ms. MacInnes had brought this up. But then it hit her. And she was outraged. She couldn’t believe the nerve of the headmistress— Headmistress —who was she kidding? A glorified public school principal, more like it.
Hope’s voice became glacial. “What, exactly, is the relevance of that question in terms of my daughter’s absenteeism?”
Ms. MacInnes paused. Hope felt a spark of satisfaction. It quickly died at the headmistress’s next words. “It is very relevant if Lisa is using drugs again.”
“She’s not,” Hope snapped. “There has been no proof whatsoever that she is using them.”
“Besides the fact of her truancy,” Ms. MacInnes said softly. Then she asked, “What does she do when she skips school?”
Hope inhaled sharply. “Her grandmother keeps an eye on her.”
“I see.” The headmistress did not bother to disguise her disbelief. “Lisa cannot continue to miss school, Your Honor. We have academic standards that must be met.”
“I assure you that I am handling matters,” Hope said stiffly. “Lisa will be at school tomorrow.”
“Good. Perhaps we could arrange a time to meet about this…?”
“I will have my assistant call you.” Hope disconnected the line.
She did not want to make the next call but she had to.
The phone rang. It jarred the stillness. Marian jumped. She had been lost in thought. Kate Lange had left a message on her answering machine just minutes before she had arrived home from the cottage. She’d left one the day before, as well. She wanted Marian to call her, but Marian hadn’t—not yet. She decided she would talk to Margaret before she dove into those muddy waters.
The phone rang again. Insistent.
Was it Kate Lange? Marian’s fingers hovered over the handle. She really didn’t feel ready to talk to her.
The phone rang a third time. She hesitated. Maybe it was Margaret. She really should answer it. She snatched up the receiver.
“Marian.”
Her heart sank at the sound of the crisp voice on the other end. “Yes.” Why was Hope calling? Had her ex-daughter-in-law heard that Marian had
Similar Books
