Read Online More Like Her by Liza Palmer - Free Book Online Page A

asks. I disregard her and I’m back out onto the breezeway, through the double doors, down the stairs, through the anteroom, past Cerberus and back into Emma’s office. I kneel down in front of Harry, short of breath and red faced.
    “Here, sweetie. Put this—” Harry winces as the cold hits his swelling eye. I pull the leather wingback chair close to Harry, holding the bag on the ever-swelling eye myself. I settle in. Look at Emma. Still on the phone and pissed. Well, that makes two of us, lady.
    Harry’s blue blazer with Markham’s seal is buttoned and loose on his rail of a body. His white oxford-cloth shirt is ironed and his blue tie is tight and businesslike. Little crimson droplets of blood dot the perfectly ironed oxford-cloth shirt. I can’t imagine what Mrs. Sprague will think about this. She’s going to lose her mind. I look down to see Harry’s one act of rebellion: a pair of scuffed, unlaced skateboarding shoes. I give Harry a smile as we both try not to listen to Emma’s phone call.
    I scan Emma’s office while we wait, my hand numbing from the bag of ice, despite the paper towel, that rests on Harry’s eye. Three long, thin vases anchor her pristine desk, each holding a single orange gerbera daisy. The water is sparkling and the flowers laze to one side. The vases are exactly the same distance apart from one another. She has one expensive-looking artisanal basket on her desk filled with a few files.
    My eyes focus on the altar of photos arranged on the mahogany credenza on her far wall. Photos of Emma and Jamie in every imaginable part of the world. Great Wall of China. Houses of Parliament. Sydney Opera House.
    Harry is sitting stock-still, only his hands are a tangle of nerves. I give him an easy smile. He quickly looks away behind the freezer bag filled with ice. If I act like I’m bored, he’ll just think this is business as usual. I can’t let him see I’m nervous, too.
    Just as Emma is winding down her conversation, my eyes fall on her wedding photo. Jamie and Emma. Once again, I’m reminded of what a mismatched couple they are. I recognize the backdrop immediately as Mount Tamalpais in Mill Valley, a tiny suburb just outside of San Francisco, more commonly known as my hometown. Emma Dunham got married in my hometown? I thought she was from Michigan . . . wait, Jill did say she was in the Bay Area for a time. I store that piece of information in my memory bank for future conversation starters—conversations that will inexplicably wend their way right into the head of department position. A head of department position I am on the cusp of throwing away because of how angry I’m growing by the second. Emma signs off, hangs up the phone and jots down a couple of lines in an opened file.
    “Thank you for coming, Ms. Reid,” she says.
    “What can I do for you, headmistress?” I ask.
    “It seems Mr. Sprague got into a fight with Mr. Sean Stone,” Emma says.
    “The lacrosse player? He did this?” I ask. Sean Stone is at least six foot three with the IQ of someone just wealthy enough to buy his way into any school he wants.
    “Yes,” Emma answers.
    “Then I’m not following,” I say. Having Harry here makes it difficult to point out the obvious holes in Emma Dunham’s theory without hurting his feelings.
    “What’s there to follow?” Emma asks. I inch forward in my chair.
    “Harry has a black eye, headmistress. Clearly it wasn’t . . . where is Mr. Stone now?” I ask, deciding to start with the obvious.
    “In class,” Emma answers.
    “Why is he not present at this disciplinary meeting?” I ask.
    “He’s being dealt with another way.”
    “Another way?”
    “Yes, Ms. Reid. Another way.”
    “Harry, can you excuse us for a second?” I ask, turning to the terrified ten-year-old.
    “Yes, Ms. Reid,” he mumbles, situating the ice bag on his eye as he shuffles out of the office. I wait. My face is unruffled as he looks back in fear. Emma smiles, too. The door