Chapter Nine
Grace was in the kitchen the next morning with a cup of coffee long before the rooster crowed. The result of a night full of tosses, turns, and guilt but little sleep. She’d peeked in on JJ, hoping he’d be willing to help with the animals before school. He was dead to the world, covered in a mound of blankets.
Once dressed, she went to the mudroom and stared at those scuffed boots, torn between knowing she needed to use them and hoping she couldn’t. She shoved her feet in. The leather curved around her toes and heels like a second skin. They felt…comfortable—but only in a gotta-slosh-through-mud-so-why-not sort of way.
She headed out toward the goats. Her boots cut through the morning dew glistening in the dawn’s light. The smell of wet grass and wild flowers filled her nostrils, reminding her of her mother working tirelessly in her flowerbeds. Scents of a different time, of a happier place. Dear Lord, how did it all end up here, now?
When she was done milking Lacy, she’d managed to get more than half the milk in the pail. Buoyed by that success, she practically skipped to the chicken coop. It was all coming back to her. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they’d seemed yesterday.
After collecting the eggs, she checked her watch and hustled inside to wake JJ. She knocked on his bedroom door and called inside, then ran to the shower.
Forty minutes later, Grace knocked on JJ’s door for the third time. “Come on, JJ. We’re going to be late. You’ve got school, and I have that meeting with your teachers.”
“I ain’t going,” JJ yelled.
“What do you mean you’re not going?” He’d been fine all day yesterday, fine—as far as she knew—last night at dinner. She heard sobs through the door. “Are you sick?”
No response but for a few stifled sniffles.
“JJ, I’m coming in.” She pushed open the door. “Now what’s…?”
JJ cowered in the corner surrounded by sneakers, slippers, and boots. “I don’t have any shoes to wear.” Tears rolled down his cheeks.
Grace knelt down in front of him. “What do you call all these?” She waved her hand at the mess on the floor.
He picked up the nearest sneaker and lobbed it through the doorway into the hall. “None of them fit.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, JJ. Feet don’t grow overnight.” She grabbed the pair of black cowboy boots he’d worn yesterday and held it out to him. “Put these on.”
“They hurt my feet.”
They really didn’t have time for this. “You can’t stay home again. What about the science test you told me about? You can’t miss that.”
He curled his fingers into tight fists. “I have no shoes to wear.”
Grace huffed. “Look, JJ.” She shoved down the desire to whack him on the side of the head with a slipper. “We’re going to be late. Try. Them. Again,” she said through gritted teeth.
He ripped the boots from her hands and shoved a foot into one, all dramatic-like, squirming and grunting like a piglet in a mud puddle. As soon as his heel made contact with the bottom of the boot, he whipped it off his foot and pushed it at her. “See, I told you it doesn’t fit.” He stood up, his face stoplight red with sweat beads covering his forehead, and stomped—literally. Then he leaned back against the wall and slid down to the floor. With his eyes squeezed shut, he banged his head against the plaster. “I can’t. I can’t.”
“JJ, stop it, please, honey. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
He kept rocking and banging his head. His eyes popped open and glazed over. “I can’t go. I can’t. I can’t.”
Grace sat back on her heels, speechless; stunned. Was he afraid to go to school because of the science test? Her heart ached watching JJ struggle with something she couldn’t understand. Or maybe she could. Maybe she and JJ weren’t all that different. She rubbed her hands down her sleeves. The material itched worse than poison ivy. She’d gone through five outfits—five—this morning before settling on a maroon long-sleeved blouse. Red was a power color, her futile attempt to inject herself with enough confidence to face the teachers as JJ’s caretaker. The idea gave her chills. If only she could get out of all this by chucking her shoes; every pair she’d packed would be at the bottom of the Truckee River by now.
“It’s okay, JJ.”
He kept rocking.
“Can you hear me?” She reached out and touched his arm. He jerked away and stared at her, or rather, through her.
“JJ, can you hear me?” she asked softly.
His eyes focused on her. “I hear you. I hear you. I heard you last night, too!” His eyes squeezed shut again, and he banged his head against the wall, over and over and over.
Grace’s lungs plummeted to her kneecaps and twisted, squeezing the air out until she couldn’t breathe. He’d heard them talking last night. He knew about New York and the boarding school.
She was out of her league here. Without another thought, she stood and ran out of the room, to the cottage.
…
Noah stepped out of the shower and heard the pounding.
“Noah, are you in there?” Gracie hollered from outside.
He glanced at his watch. Ten to eight. They should’ve been gone by now. JJ would be late to school now, and Gracie would be late for the meeting. The prima donna had probably overslept and wanted Noah to take care of the animals. My, how the hard-assed rhetoric disappears when the inconvenience of reality sets in.
Well, he wasn’t going to do it. Gracie thought she could handle everything on her own, then by God, he would let her handle it.
The banging on the cottage door got louder. Noah threw on a T-shirt and grabbed for a pair of jeans. “I’m coming,” he bellowed, zipping his jeans and hustling to the door. He swung the door open, ready to tell Gracie exactly what he thought of her pounding.
The terror in her eyes iced his heart.
“It’s JJ.” Her voice quaked. “He…he…”
Noah ran past her and to the house.
By the time Noah and Gracie got into the bedroom, JJ had calmed to almost catatonic, except for an occasional thump of the back of his head against the wall. Gracie grabbed Noah’s arm and pulled him a couple steps back from the bedroom door. “Wait, you’ve got to know something.”
It was her tone—more than urgent, almost desperate—that made him stiffen. “What?”
“He heard us last night.”
“What are you…” Shit.
Gracie nodded. “Talking about the boarding school. I’m sorry, Noah.” She squeezed his arm. “He shouldn’t have found out like this. What can I do?”
He yanked his arm away, tried to temper the frustration, the anger, revving inside him. “I think you’ve done enough.” He regretted the harsh words as soon as they were out, but she wasn’t his primary concern now. JJ was.
“I’ll take care of him.” He softened his tone and pushed past her into the bedroom. “You best get to the school,” he said to her over his shoulder. There was nothing she could do here. It’d be a miracle if JJ acknowledged him. The boy definitely wouldn’t respond to Gracie.
Noah waited until he heard her heels click down the wooden hallway and then scooted next to JJ. “Want to talk about it, buddy?”
JJ’s head thunked against the wall.
When JJ shut down like this, the kid was too far gone to respond. It was best to ease him into new things. Explain, convince, maybe even cajole. Getting JJ’s buy-in, making him feel like he’d been part of the decision, was critical.
It was too late for any of that. “I know you heard us talking last night.”
Thunk.
“That school Gracie found for you is great. You’re going to do so well there, meet tons of new friends. You’re going to love it.” Noah’s mouth dried on the lie. He closed his eyes and waited for another thunk.
Instead, silence.
He opened his eyes and looked at JJ, whose head was drooped, his chin against his chest.
JJ sniffled. “Please don’t leave me, too.”
Those five little words shredded Noah’s heart. And then strengthened his resolve. No more sitting on the sidelines hoping Gracie would come to her senses. He needed to take control of this situation. He had to make Gracie see how wrong her plan was. JJ belonged here.
Problem was, maybe Gracie didn’t anymore.
…
Grace’s car screeched into Goldfield Academy’s parking lot. She pulled down the visor and checked herself in the mirror, ensuring all evidence of panic was gone from her eyes.
Maybe she shouldn’t have left JJ cocooned in the corner of his room freaking out. No, Noah was there. Thank God. He knew how to reach JJ—she didn’t. He knew what to do, starting with telling her to leave. She couldn’t help, so it made sense that Noah told her to go to the meeting. It made perfect sense, but for some reason, it still hurt like hell.
Focus, Grace. School meeting. One thing at a time.
She rushed into the school office without a notebook, pen, or plan. As the door shut behind Grace, an older woman with a severe bun looked up from a wooden desk behind the counter. “Good morning,” Grace said, giving her a weak smile. “I’m here for a meeting with, uh…” What was the name Noah had told her? “Mrs. Matthews, I believe.”
The woman picked up a notepad and stood. “Yes, I’m Mrs. Matthews.”
“Sorry I’m late. Something came up. JJ wasn’t feeling well.”
“He’ll miss school again?” Without waiting for a response, Mrs. Matthews scribbled something on her notepad. “And you are?”
“Grace Harper, JJ’s…stepsister.” Grace straightened her back and tried to regain some of the credibility that her late arrival had lost.
Mrs. Matthews continued writing on the pad. “I’ll update JJ’s family contact information.”
Family. The lump of resentment from that word swelled Grace’s vocal cords shut. She nodded.
“The rest of the team is waiting in the conference room.” Mrs. Matthews looked up from her notepad and gave Grace a fake smile.
“Of course.”
The older woman led Grace around the counter to a windowless conference room at the back of the office. One, two…six school personnel were seated on one side of a long rectangular table. Twelve unblinking eyes stared at her. This wasn’t like the parent-teacher conferences she remembered as a kid.
Mrs. Matthews took the empty seat in the middle of the six other women and motioned Grace to the other, empty side. “As you know, I’m Mrs. Matthews, School Administrator.” Six names and titles followed, the teachers from each of JJ’s classes. “Shall we begin?”
Grace nodded, feeling like she’d just agreed to the start of the Spanish Inquisition.
“As Mr. Taylor probably told you, this is an annual meeting we have for each child on an IEP, an Individualized Education Plan, to review the child’s progress and work through any issues. We do have some issues to discuss with respect to JJ’s behavior.”
Grace felt the wave of heat wash over her face about a millisecond before the fourteen eyes saw it. She might just kill Noah for not warning her. “What… I, uh, wasn’t aware of any issues. I just got into town this week.”
“I spoke with Mr. Taylor about one recent incident.”
And, of course, Noah hadn’t shared it.
“Maybe you could fill me in on the details?” Grace looked around at all the faces, all with judgment written on them. “Like I said, I’ve just arrived.”
Only Mrs. Matthews responded. “Last week, JJ walked out of class.”
Grace’s stomach crunched. Even she knew leaving school grounds without permission wasn’t acceptable. “Where did he go?”
“The park next door. We found him sketching.”
His go-to stress reliever. The tension eased a bit from Grace’s stomach muscles. “As I’m sure you know,” Grace said, “my father and JJ’s mother died two weeks ago. There’s bound to be some negative response.”
Six heads swiveled between Grace and Mrs. Matthews.
“We understand JJ’s going through a tough time right now.”
Understatement of the year.
Mrs. Matthews removed her wire-rimmed glasses and set them neatly on the table. “The truth is, Ms. Harper, Goldfield Academy may not be suited to meet JJ’s needs.”
Well, at least the school wasn’t going to jump on the Noah-guilt-trip bandwagon about Grace removing JJ from his current environment. Still, Mrs. Matthews’s words sparked Grace’s curiosity. “What do you mean ‘not suited’?” Grace scanned the faces around the table. Suddenly no one would look her in the eyes, except Mrs. Matthews.
“We’re a family here at Goldfield, a community,” Mrs. Matthews continued. “Some children just don’t fit well within that community. When that occurs, we have an obligation to be upfront about that to the family.”
“And how doesn’t he fit in?” Grace tried to wipe this morning’s events from her mind, knowing her face was as easy to read as a See Jane Run book.
“He tends to stick to himself, doesn’t socialize with the other kids.”
That didn’t seem too bad. At least he didn’t bang his head against the wall.
“Does he have friends in his neighborhood?” Mrs. Matthews asked.
Grace hadn’t seen any sign of those. But was Goldfield a school or a social club? “Being shy isn’t against school rules, is it?”
“Of course not. Though JJ tends to have trouble with rules.”
Something twisted inside Grace, a just-don’t-feel-right twinge in her gut, as she remembered what JJ had said about his art teacher.
“Any class in particular?”
“He can be difficult in all of them, but he seems to particularly struggle in art.” Mrs. Matthews indicated the woman sitting at the end of the table. “Ms. Ripoli can elaborate.”
Grace turned toward the teacher, a mousy woman in a conservative suit. A woman who, by the looks of it, had missed the self-expression and creativity train twenty years ago.
“He doesn’t follow directions well,” Ms. Ripoli said, pushing her thick-lensed glasses up the ridge of her nose. “We paint on rectangular cardstock, ten by twelve-inch sheets. I require each piece to have a one-inch white border. The piece’s title goes in the border’s top right-hand corner, and the student’s name in the bottom left-hand corner. He hasn’t followed those instructions all year.”
Though the class sounded utterly boring, the directions seemed straightforward enough. “Does he forget to put his name on it?”
“No,” Ms. Ripoli clipped. “He typically incorporates it into the drawing.”
Was this woman serious? It was an art class. JJ was being creative, not defiant. “You mean, he adds it into the piece artistically?”
“I mean it’s dissimilar to the other students and against my instructions.” The tone of her voice made it clear she was not only annoyed at JJ’s behavior but borderline shocked.
“How is the quality of his work otherwise?”
Ms. Ripoli squared her shoulders. “His clouds were the worst clouds I’ve seen in all my years of teaching.”
“Clouds?”
“They had no definition.”
“They’re clouds.”
“I’ve been very disappointed in his work.” She sniffed. “His grade reflects that.”
“To be honest, Ms. Harper,” Mrs. Matthews cut in, “JJ’s grades in his core classes are not at par with his peers, either. We’ve tried to modify the work and help improve his test-taking ability, but his scores on the statewide exams this spring were well below grade level in both math and reading. We have standards to maintain.” She folded her hands on the table. “Like I said, we’re concerned Goldfield might not be the best fit for JJ.”
That weird feeling of protectiveness sprouted in Grace’s chest and spread to her shoulders. She sat up and tried to shake it off. But the unfamiliar emotion clung to her shoulder blades, its thorns digging into the small of her back. “Let me get this straight, you want to kick him out because he’s pulling down your school’s test score average—and because he can’t draw clouds ‘correctly’?”
“We pride ourselves on offering an outstanding educational experience to all of our students, Ms. Harper. We want to do what’s best.”
Her words sounded so similar to Grace’s the night before. Words that, at the time, Grace had meant as sincere. Words that now sounded so shallow. Noah’s response to Grace echoed in her brain. Best for who?
Grace cleared her throat. “Best for JJ, or best for your test scores?”
“Best for everyone.” The woman looked down her nose at Grace. Down her nose.
Oh no, that wouldn’t do. Neither would this prison.
JJ deserved a place that at least tried to understand his social quirks, a place that nurtured his imagination. Would the boarding school do that? Maybe, maybe not. But it sure couldn’t do worse.
“We’re on the same page, then. I’m here to withdraw JJ from school. Today. He’ll be returning to New York with me in a couple weeks. I need him at home.” Grace glanced toward Ms. Ripoli before finishing. “It doesn’t seem like he’ll miss much here.” Grace leaned forward, resting her weight on her elbows, taking command of the room like she’d seen Simon do in countless customer meetings. “If you could pack up his locker. Now. I don’t expect JJ will need to return to Goldfield Academy.”
Mrs. Matthews’s face turned ashen. Clearly, decisions to leave Goldfield were typically one-sided.
Satisfaction surged through her veins like adrenaline. No one would get away with treating her brother poorly. Not on her watch.