Crossroads

“Or a detective.”

“I’ll remind you of those many career options next time I ask for a raise. So should I send her in?”

Mitch hesitated. “Give me five minutes, okay? I want to make a few notes about that last meeting—or should I say confrontation?” he added with a grimace.

“That bad, huh?”

He reached up and massaged the back of his neck. “Karen, let me ask you something. Was I too hard on the King boy?”

She gave an unladylike snort. “I don’t think you were hard enough. I would have expelled him.”

Mitch smiled. “Thanks for the reality check.”

“You’re welcome.” Karen tilted her head and studied him for a moment. “You look tired.”

“Goes with the territory.”

“Nope. Don’t buy it. You push yourself way too hard. You worry about these kids like they were your own. That’s way above and beyond the job description for principals.”

He shrugged. “Somebody has to worry about them. And parents don’t always do the best job.”

Karen shook her head. “I admire your commitment. The world could use more principals like you. Only do me a favor, okay? Try not to take their problems home—at least not every night. You need a life, too.”

“I have a life.”

“Right,” she said dryly. “You spend your days—and a lot of nights—here, then help your uncle on his farm every weekend. Some life.”

“It works for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a lost cause, Mitch Jackson.”

As she closed the door behind her, Mitch shoved his hands into his pockets and turned back to the window, his gaze troubled. Karen was right. He didn’t have much of a life. And he wasn’t sure his sacrifice was making much difference. Since switching careers from law enforcement to education, he’d run into far too many parents like those who had just exited his office. Overprotective. Unwilling to admit their offspring might be wrong. Blaming the system for their child’s problems.

There were good parents, too. But in his job he saw mostly the ones who really didn’t care. Or who were too busy to pay much attention to what their kids did. Or who were so absorbed in their own lives or careers that their priorities were screwed up. Or who abdicated their parental duties by treating their teenagers like adults instead of like the kids they were—desperate for guidance despite their facade of confidence and bravado. They were the same type of parents he’d run into as a cop. Only in his previous career, he’d usually run into them when it was too late—because that’s when the law generally got involved. He knew that firsthand—not only as a cop, but as a parent.

The sudden, familiar clench in his gut made him suck in his breath, and his hands knotted into fists as memories came flooding back. Nightmare memories that haunted his dreams and far too often jolted him like an electric shock during his waking hours. He closed his eyes as the pain washed over him. Dear God, will it never go away? he cried in silent anguish. The searing pain was as fresh as it had been six years before. A pain so intense it had motivated him to switch careers. Had driven him to try to catch kids’ problems at an early stage, before it was too late. Had compelled him to transform the job of principal from deskbound administrator to one of hands-on involvement and intervention. His atypical methods had raised more than a few eyebrows. But they were often effective. And those successes were what made his job worthwhile, what gave his life meaning.

A discreet knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced toward it as Karen stuck her head in.

“Ready?”

No, he wasn’t. But he couldn’t put if off any longer. After the meeting with Jerome’s parents, Mitch wasn’t optimistic about that boy’s future. But maybe Bruce had a better support system. That was one of the big differences between his job and his personal life, he reflected as he drew a deep breath. There was always another chance with his job.

“Yes. Send her in.”

As Karen ushered in Tess Lockwood, Mitch did a rapid assessment. His secretary had been right about the woman’s appearance. Though she had to be in her mid-thirties, she could easily pass for a college student. Her boxy pantsuit couldn’t quite hide her slender curves, nor could the staid barrette at her nape successfully restrain her shoulder-length russet hair. A few tendrils softly framed her face, which would be lovely if it wasn’t so tense. But even the strain in her eyes couldn’t take away from their vivid green depths, framed by a thick fringe of lashes.

Karen also seemed to be on target about Ms. Lockwood’s attitude. She obviously didn’t want to be here, and she was clearly nervous. But why? Was it due to legitimate worry about her son, inconvenience to herself or anger at a system that she believed was the real cause of the problem, as Jerome’s parents did?

Mitch didn’t know, but he’d find out soon enough. And in the meantime, some subtle nuance that he couldn’t put his finger on told him to handle this woman with kid gloves. Maybe it was the fine lines of fatigue around her eyes. Or the death grip she had on her purse strap. Or the caution in her eyes, which seemed to speak of past hurts that had left her unwilling to trust. He had no idea why the warning bell had gone off in his mind. But his instincts had saved his life on more than one occasion when he was a cop, and he wasn’t about to question them now.

He smiled and stepped forward, extending his hand. “Ms. Lockwood? I’m Mitch Jackson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Tess placed her cold fingers in his firm, warm clasp, and for a moment she simply stared at the tall man in front of her. This was Bruce’s ogre? she thought incredulously. This dark-haired man with the compassionate, deep brown eyes and cordial manner, whose face reflected character and humor and intelligence? This was the hated principal? She’d prepared herself for another Mr. Markham, someone pinched-faced with beady eyes and an intimidating demeanor who, with a single look, could make her feel nervous and incompetent as a parent. She had not been expecting a handsome contemporary with kind eyes and the rugged physique of an athlete, who radiated virility—and who suddenly made her feel nervous and incompetent on a very different level.

Tess realized that he was waiting for her to reply, and somehow she found her voice. “Th-thank you. Please excuse me for staring,” she stammered. “It’s just that you aren’t exactly…that is, I had a different image of…well, from what Bruce said…” She felt hot color steal onto her cheeks. So much for eloquence and poise. She sounded like an idiot!

But if the man across from her thought so, he was gallant enough not to show it. Instead, a smile twinkled in his eyes as he gestured toward a seating area next to his desk. “Let me guess. From what Bruce said, you expected a monster with eyes in the back of his head, a fire-breathing dragon intent on burning anyone who comes close, an evil version of a Superman/Santa Claus with X-ray vision and a checklist of bad deeds—or all of the above.”

That description pretty much fit her image of Mr. Markham, for whom nothing less than absolute compliance and perfection had sufficed. Thank heaven Mitch Jackson seemed to be cut from different cloth, Tess thought with relief as she sat in one of the upholstered chairs. For one thing, he didn’t appear to take himself too seriously. For another, he seemed warm and personable.

“You just described the principal at my grade school,” she confessed with a smile.

For a moment Mitch was stunned by the transforming effect of her smile. She looked even younger now, her features relaxing as they softened. Though she wore almost no makeup, her face had a natural loveliness and a certain intriguing—and appealing—wistful quality. Her eyes radiated warmth and intelligence, and for just a moment he found himself drowning in their depths. It was an unexpected—and disconcerting—experience. So he forced himself to focus on the shadows beneath those amazing eyes instead. Shadows that didn’t appear to be the result of one sleepless night, but spoke more of long-term strain, stress, overwork—or all three. For some reason, those shadows bothered him more than they should. Which was odd. And way off the subject, he reminded himself.

“I think we all have a principal like that somewhere in our memory bank,” Mitch commiserated, struggling to regain his balance.

He had an engaging dimple in his left cheek when he smiled, Tess noted distractedly, trying to focus instead on the conversation. “Though they probably weren’t quite as bad as we remember,” she admitted.

“Maybe not. But I’m certainly not the most popular man on campus with some of my students. Bruce happens to be one of them.”

“Why not?” She hadn’t meant to be quite that direct, but this man was easy to talk to, and the words were out before she could stop them. Fortunately Mitch didn’t seem to mind.

“For a lot of reasons. Number one, I enforce the rules. Number two, I care about my students, and I make it a point to keep my eye on the ones who seem to need a bit of extra supervision. Number three, I used to be a cop, and I can spot trouble—and the potential for trouble—pretty quickly. That’s why I’ve been watching Bruce. He seems to be a basically good kid who just needs a little more help than most to stay on the straight and narrow.”

Tess stiffened at what she perceived to be criticism. “You make it sound like he’s on the verge of becoming a delinquent. Don’t you think you’re overreacting to one little smoking incident? Which Bruce tells me he didn’t even participate in, by the way. Most kids experiment with cigarettes at some point or other. I don’t approve, but I don’t think it’s necessarily a sign of serious trouble.”

Mitch frowned. “Is that what he told you? That this meeting is just about a simple smoking incident?”

Now it was Tess’s turn to frown. “Isn’t it?”

Mitch rose to retrieve a folder from his desk. As he rejoined her, he flipped it open. “The smoking situation was only the latest in a series of incidents,” he informed her, the seriousness of his tone and demeanor in sharp contrast to his initial conversational manner. “Though even that was more than you’ve been led to believe. Those guys weren’t smoking cigarettes. They were smoking a joint.”

Tess stared at him incredulously. “You mean marijuana?”

He nodded. “Yes. There was no sign of it when I showed up. But the odor is unmistakable—and lingering.”

“Marijuana?” Tess repeated the word in shock. “Drugs? You mean Bruce is involved with drugs?” Now there was a note of panic in her voice, and her fingers tightened convulsively on her purse.

Mitch wished he could bring back her smile of moments before, erase the twin furrows of worry on her brow and ease the tension that had made her skin go taut over the fine bone structure of her face. But his job wasn’t to make parents feel good, he reminded himself. It was to help kids.

“I don’t think he’s into drugs,” he replied carefully. “At least not yet. But he hangs around with a rough, older crowd, and sooner or later they’ll pull him down to their level. Kids like Bruce are easy prey, Ms. Lockwood. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of self-confidence, and it’s tough to break into established cliques, especially midyear. That makes him vulnerable to groups that are on the fringe. They offer a haven of friendship that can be very powerful—someone to sit with in the cafeteria, a sympathetic ear, somewhere to belong. A ‘home,’ if you will.”

“Bruce has a home,” Tess protested, a tremor of fear running through her voice.

Mitch studied her for a moment. He knew he was venturing onto shaky ground, but the more information he had, the more likely he could help. “May I ask a question?”

Tess eyed him cautiously. “What is it?”