In Confidence

He seldom did lately and she wasn’t surprised when he said he wouldn’t. After he left, forgetting the goodbye kiss she no longer expected, she stood looking at nothing in particular for a moment. She’d been thinking for a while that she needed to impress upon Ted the fact that he needed to make a little more time for his family. He was very busy, all physicians were nowadays, what with the strictures of HMOs and PPOs cutting into the profits and time off that doctors used to enjoy. It meant taking on more patients, and more patients meant more time at the practice and at the hospital. Still, Nick and Kendall needed their father. At fifteen, Nick, particularly, would benefit from seeing more of his dad. Maybe Kendall wasn’t quite so needy, but a nine-year-old girl deserved more from her daddy than she was getting.

With a sigh, she pulled a cotton-knit sweater over the denim skirt and added a leather belt anchored at her tummy. She quickly brushed her short, dark hair into its casual style, added a bit of blush on her cheeks and some soft plum lip gloss and—her one vanity—sprayed a bit of perfume near her throat. All done, she stood back and surveyed herself. No designer look to her, alas, more like a librarian. Still, if Ted had aged well, she hadn’t done too badly herself, she thought, even if she had to cover her best feature—unique amber-colored eyes—with reading glasses. At Rose Hill High School, her students were more comfortable sitting down with a guidance counselor in denim and a casual sweater than the latest designer fashions.

“Mom, where’s my CD player?” Nick appeared at the door of her bedroom. Tall and lanky, black-haired, with strong male features, her son was on the brink of manhood. She still couldn’t get used to her firstborn being six inches taller than she was!

“The last time I saw it was in the sunroom.”

“I had it after that.”

“Sorry, son. You know you’re supposed to be—”

“Responsible for my own stuff. I know, Mom.” He stood with his face wrinkled in thought. “I gotta find it. We’re—”

“It’s in the game room on the pool table,” Kendall called out from her room down the hall.

“Right!” Nick snapped his fingers. “Thanks, brat.”

Rachel made an exasperated sound. “Don’t call her—”

“Brat. I know. It slipped out.” Nick turned, headed down the hall. As he passed his sister’s room, he gave her door a friendly thump. “Thanks, sissy.”

“Ni-i-ick!” Kendall appeared, frowning ferociously, small fists propped on her hips.

“Oops.” He grinned and gave her ponytail a yank. “Thank you, Kendall Kate Forrester.”

“To the car in five minutes,” Rachel said, shoving her feet into a pair of Birkenstocks. Moving to the sitting area of her bedroom, she gathered up the dozen or so folders she’d worked on last evening. Each was labeled with a student’s name on a bright blue sticker. She often worked at night, as trying to concentrate in her busy office was often impossible. She paused a moment, taking in the chintz-covered love seat, the coffee table she’d restored herself, the pretty view of her backyard from the window beyond. She loved her bedroom. The design was hers alone. When she and Ted had built the house five years before, she’d planned for the master bedroom to be a retreat for both of them. Unfortunately, he spent only the time it took to shower, shave and get dressed there. Or to sleep.

Downstairs, Kendall was pouring kitty pebbles into the cat’s dish while a yellow-striped tomcat purred and circled in and out of her ankles. “Graham, be patient!” she scolded. “You’re gonna make me have an accident.” She set the bowl on the floor and stroked the cat a few times before standing up. She had chosen his name when they’d adopted him from the Humane Society, explaining that he was exactly the color of graham crackers. Rachel, feeling the push of the clock, found her purse and settled the strap on her shoulder.

“All set?” she asked Kendall. “Got your lunch money? Homework?” In her backpack and little denim jumper paired with a pink shirt, and sneakers that looked out of proportion, her baby appeared ready to go.

“Can I take my camera, Mommy?” She held up the inexpensive digital model she’d begged for on her birthday.

“You know you can’t, honey.”

“Puleeze, Mommy…”

“Do you want your teacher to confiscate it?” Rachel grabbed her coffee in a travel cup and opened the door.

“What’s conferskate mean?”

“Take it away from you.”

Mouth in a dejected droop, Kendall reluctantly placed the camera on the counter. She had probably gone through a dozen throwaway cameras before getting the digital for her birthday, and she treasured it above anything she possessed. At first, Rachel had been amused at a nine-year-old’s interest in snapping photos right and left, thinking the novelty of it all would soon fade. Then she’d realized Kendall’s interest went beyond a child’s obsession with a new toy. The pictures were sometimes quite good. To the little girl, photography was no longer a novelty, but a passion. Still, taking her camera to school was out.

Rachel shooed her through the kitchen and out the door that led to the garage, where Nick sat behind the wheel of the BMW, waiting for them with the motor running. Rachel hadn’t driven to school a single day since he’d gotten his student permit three months ago. She wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be satisfied to ride with her and Kendall, but a car of his own was not in his immediate future, no matter how intensely he lobbied for it. A camera for Kendall was one thing. A car for Nick was another entirely.

“Is Daddy gonna come home tonight and eat with us?” Kendall asked, studying the empty space in the garage where Ted’s Lexus belonged.

“I don’t think so, sweetie,” Rachel told her.

“So, what’s new?” Nick muttered as he backed out of the garage.

Finding no reply to her children that wouldn’t sound lame, Rachel turned her gaze to the spacious, upscale homes lining their street and said nothing.

Thirty minutes later, she was at her desk gazing into the pale face of a teenage girl. Ashley had been observed vomiting in the shrubs along the north side of the school before the morning bell. Had the observer been anyone but another teacher, Rachel probably wouldn’t have had this chance to talk to the girl. Fortunately, it had been a teacher.

“How are you feeling now, Ashley?”

A glance down at knotted fingers in her lap. “I’m okay.”

“Do you think you’ve picked up a stomach virus?”

“Probably.” Gaze still fixed on her hands.

“Then we should call your mom to pick you up. These things are contagious, you know. They spread like wildfire among the other students.”

“No!” Ashley’s head jerked up. “I mean…ah, it’s okay. I don’t think I have a virus. I’m feeling better now.”

“Did you have any breakfast this morning, Ashley?” Rachel opened a drawer in her desk and offered a blueberry muffin she’d picked up in the cafeteria.

The girl’s face went from pearl white to pea green. She put both hands to her mouth and closed her eyes, breathing deep. Rachel stood up and quickly brought her waste can within reach just in time to catch another spate of vomiting. However, this time, there was little left in her stomach for the girl to throw up. Rachel waited with a handful of tissues until the retching stopped, then poured a small amount of ice water from a Thermos carafe on her desk and urged her to take it. “Don’t drink much, honey. Just a taste.”

“Thank you,” Ashley whispered, then after using the tissues, she took a tiny sip or two, grimacing.

“Here, I think you’ll feel better lying down.” Rachel helped her to her feet, then led her over to an oversize sofa—one she’d purchased herself—and gently urged her down on the big cushions. She took an afghan and spread it over the girl, then watched her dab at tears, now trickling from the corners of her eyes. She looked absolutely miserable.

Rachel spoke with quiet understanding. “Are you pregnant, Ashley?”

The girl didn’t respond for a moment or two, then closing her eyes, she nodded.

“Have you told anyone?”

One bleak negative move of her head.

“Do you have any idea how far along you are?”

“Four months, I think.”

Rachel winced at the reply. Ashley wore an oversize sweater and jeans that she was probably having difficulty zipping all the way, but only a practiced eye would spot the signs. She was a bit overweight to begin with and apparently concealing her condition had not presented a problem. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to conceal the bouts of nausea that sometimes accompanied pregnancy.

“Have you been to a clinic, seen a doctor?”

“No.”

“Have you told your boyfriend?” Ashley and Mike Reynolds, a star football jock, had been dating steadily since they were in eighth grade. Things, apparently, had progressed naturally when two healthy, sexually active kids had been unable to resist going all the way. Without protection.

“Mike knows.” Her face was turned away now. “He said I should get an abortion.”