Read Online School Days by Robert B. Parker - Free Book Online Page A

Her gaze was again steady.
    I shelled the beans from their long, red-and-cream pods and dropped them in boiling water and turned down the heat and let them simmer. I drank some scotch. I gave Pearl another cookie. Then I shucked the corn and put it into a pan with some cold water and brought it to a boil and shut off the heat and put the cover on the pot. Pearl had taken her cookie to the couch and eaten it. I took a small steak from the refrigerator and diced it into little pieces and cooked them rare in the frying pan. Then I turned them out onto a paper towel and let them sit.
    Pearl returned.
    â€œI can’t keep giving you cookies,” I said.
    She looked at me steadily. I felt the steak dice. It was cool. I gave Pearl a piece. It must have struck her as exotic. She took it into the bedroom. My drink was gone. I took the corn from the pot with tongs and let it cool on the counter. Then I made a drink and took it to the couch and sat. Pearl came back from the bedroom and sat with me. I sipped my scotch.
    â€œI’m missing something,” I said to Pearl.
    Pearl was a good listener, even if she didn’t have much in the way of advice to offer. We sat quietly. I thought. I drank some scotch. Housman was right.
    â€œFirst of all,” I said to Pearl, “somebody said once that you probably can’t figure out the truth, if you think you know ahead of time what the truth is supposed to be.”
    Pearl made a little sigh and settled.
    â€œSo I can’t go at this trying to clear anybody. I just have to find out what happened and why.”
    Pearl’s eyes were closed now. I got up and checked the corn and found it cool enough and cut the kernels off in long rows with a knife. I drained the beans into a colander, dumped them into a bowl with the corn, cut up some fresh tomatoes, added the steak, and tossed the whole deal with some olive oil, some cider vinegar, and salt and pepper. Then I let that sit for a while, freshened my drink, and came back to the couch. Pearl appeared to be asleep, but I pressed on.
    â€œSo what am I missing?” I said.
    Pearl’s breathing was even and soft.
    â€œI’m asking the wrong people,” I said. “Goddamn it, I’m talking to the adults.”
    I took a long, self-congratulatory pull on my drink.
    Pearl made a soft sound. I bent toward her and listened more closely. She was snoring. I got up and put my supper on a plate.
    â€œI should be talking to the kids,” I said.
    I drank my drink and ate my supper with some French bread.

19
    I T WAS AFTER Labor Day and instruction was under way when I walked into the Dowling School. Sue Biegler brought me into the president’s office, introduced me, and departed.
    The president was a middle-sized man with thinning hair, so that close up, he was balder than you first realized. He wasn’t fat, but he was soft-looking. His soft face had one of those perpetual blue shadows that no amount of shaving would eliminate. Nature is not fair. Too little hair, too much whisker. His name was Dr. Royce Garner.
    â€œFirst,” he said, “let me say that every one of us here at theDowling School are heavy at heart of last spring’s tragedy. And we stand ready to help you in any way we can.”
    â€œThat’s swell,” I said.
    â€œWe do, of course, hope,” he went on, “that we can put it behind us as quickly as we can, and get back to what we do best.”
    â€œEducating the young,” I said.
    â€œExactly.”
    He leaned back a little, with his fingertips pressed together, delighted with himself.
    â€œWhat is your doctorate in?” I said.
    â€œDivinity,” he said. “I am an ordained minister.”
    â€œHow come you’re a president,” I said. “I thought prep schools had headmasters.”
    He smiled indulgently at my lay confusion.
    â€œWe are planning to expand into a junior college as soon as our fundraising for the venture is