“No!” she said, suddenly panicked.

“Yes,” Iris said. “Yes—which is better than having something really bad happen. You can tell Rachel if you feel you need to—tell her that I’m worried about all those accidents and I want to know who’s doing that to her. Tell her she can come to me. She can trust me.”

“She won’t,” Cammie said.

“Don’t let this go on, Cammie. Will you at least think about it?”

She nodded weakly; she looked overwhelmed with doubt.

“Check back with me in a day or so. Let’s get this taken care of for Rachel’s sake. She’s a wonderful, sweet girl. She has such a bright future, just as you do. I want you girls to have it all, you know. A great graduation, a great college experience, good lives, friendship for a long time.”

Cammie stood. “Here’s what you don’t get. If I tell, if someone gets involved, it’s going to be so bad. So much worse.”

“Not always. Sometimes when someone gets involved, solutions are found. You’d be surprised.”

“Do you want me to leave this door open?” Cammie asked.

“Yes, thanks,” she said.

Iris sat at her desk, thinking. She hadn’t been completely honest with Cammie. When a kid was in an abusive situation at home, the child could be saved, but usually at a great cost that would make her wonder just how good that solution was. It often meant breaking apart a family, getting police involved, foster care, all kinds of interventions that, for at least a little while, seemed worse than the abuse. Years later they might look back and think, Thank God someone was brave enough to step in! But getting there often felt like the pain was only escalating.

If Rachel’s twelve-year-old brother was beating her up badly enough to leave black eyes and bruises, the children would have to be separated. Maybe counseling could help both the victim and the abuser, put them on a better path.

Of course, it might not be Bobby at all. Maybe it was Sassy or Rachel’s father or one of the many other family members they lived with. But it was now beyond doubt as far as Iris was concerned. Someone was isolating Rachel and pounding her. Those situations didn’t get better spontaneously.

She heard the laughter of girls and it was like a balm for her worried spirit. She opened her other door, the one that led to the offices and cubicles. She went in search of the laughing and, in a small cubicle set aside for her use, Iris found Krista and Misty sorting and stapling papers and laughing hysterically.

“I must have missed the joke,” she said, leaning into the little room.

Krista looked up and had tears on her cheeks from her laughter. “Oh, Ms. McKinley, it was hilarious!”

“You know Butch Sandler?” Misty asked. “He’s such a slob anyway, but he was making milk come out of his nose! Totally gross.”

“We didn’t laugh in front of him,” Krista said. “That would only encourage him.”

“But we had to bring our ice cream back here to finish because it was just impossible to eat it in the lunchroom with that going on. Really, I thought I was going to die.”

“Did you two just finish lunch?” Iris asked.

“It’s my study hall and Misty’s lunch period, so I worked in here during lunch and went to lunch during study hall so we could eat together. A bunch of my girlfriends have this lunch hour so we can all eat together. That’s okay, isn’t it? Because you said—”

“Of course it’s okay,” Iris said. “You can manage your schedule. Both of you do so much for me and it’s appreciated.” She squinted at Misty. “Did you get a new haircut?”

Misty beamed. “Do you like it?”

“Very sharp,” Iris said. She looked like a new girl. Not a hint of sadness or stress. She even looked more mature.

“Oh, by the way, I signed up for the PSAT without the prep course, just to see where I stand without a lot of studying ahead. That’s what Krista did and it worked out for her.”

“It was perfect,” Krista said. “I took it again the following year and did great.”

“Good,” Iris said. “But let me ask you this—is the syllabus for the prep course ready for me to pass out? It’s coming up soon.”

“All ready,” Misty said, pointing to a neat stack of papers on the bookcase.

“You are lifesavers. I hope I’m paying you enough for all this hard work.”

They melted into laughter all over again.

I couldn’t have planned that better if I’d planned it! Iris thought.

* * *

Seth could count on one hand the number of people from his childhood who’d kept up with him after the accident and Robbie Delaney wasn’t one of them. Of course, most of their lives, from grade school through high school, they were rivals as much as friends. It seemed to Robbie that Seth got every break, Robbie was clear about that.

Now, so many years later, Seth was trying to figure out a little bit about Robbie. He’d been seen around town regularly, going to the occasional football game, but he had a small business in North Bend and had lived there for years. Robbie painted lines in parking lots and cut down trees. His cell phone number was on his business card and internet advertisement.

Seth called him. “Hey, Robbie, it’s Seth Sileski. From Thunder Point. How are you?”

“Good, good. Need some lumber cut?”

“No,” he said. “But I do need to talk to you. Can we get together?”

“What about?” Robbie asked.

“Well, about your boy, as a matter of fact. Nothing too serious, but... Sassy didn’t tell you I gave Bobby a lift home the other night?”

Seth heard a heavy sigh. “No, no one mentioned that. What happened?”

“Look, can I just get a half hour of your time?”

“I’m real busy today. I like to get a lot of work done when the sun’s shining. Why don’t you just lay it on me. He in some kind of trouble?”

Seth didn’t answer. “You break for lunch?”

Robbie was quiet. “I’ll meet you at the casino. I’ll be the guy in the truck in the parking lot with the line painter. I can’t take a lot of time, Seth. But if that’s the only way you’re going to tell me about my boy, we can meet there.”

Seth went to the sandwich shop and got a couple of subs and a couple of drinks and pulled slowly into the casino lot. It was easy to see where Robbie was working—a big area was sectioned off with orange road cones and tape. The line painter was a handheld piece of machinery about the size of a large lawn mower and Robbie had his head down, watching his work, the painter chugging along.

Seth parked outside the tape and carefully made his way over to Robbie, watching the wet white lines. Robbie finally looked up, raised his visor and turned off his machine. Seth was struck by how much Robbie looked like his dad—he was large and a little overweight. Then he gave a half smile and pulled off his cap, wiping a hand over his balding head.

“I brought lunch,” Seth said. “I know you’re on a tight schedule.”

“I’m painting lines,” Robbie said.

“In the sunshine.” Seth handed him a bag. “I bet it’s a good business.”

“It’s not like I carry a gun or anything,” he said.