“I didn’t know he had actually hurt her.” Mrs. Sloan’s voice weakened.
You didn’t bother to find out.
“If children are afraid to stand up for themselves, then your policy protects and enables bullies.” Morgan turned to the principal. “Did you know I used to be an assistant district attorney, and now I’m a criminal defense lawyer?”
“No.” The principal looked as if that information made her physically ill.
Morgan addressed the boy’s mother. “Did you know that parents of bullies can be sued?”
Bret’s mother’s mouth hung open a full inch. Sadly, the only thing that appeared to get the woman’s attention was the thought of the incident costing her money, not the fact that her son had hurt another child.
“Now you do.” Morgan stood. “You can all expect an e-mail summing up today’s discussion. Since this is a district policy issue, I’ll copy the school board and superintendent. But as far as I’m concerned, my daughter handled the situation admirably.”
No one responded, but then Morgan hadn’t really expected them to. She also didn’t expect that Bret would bother Ava again. Not that she had any faith in his mother’s ability to discipline her son. It was Ava’s well-placed kick that had earned Bret’s attention. Most bullies didn’t pick on kids who fought back.
“Goodbye.” Frustrated, Morgan left the room.
Ava sat up. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, honey. But you’re going to have a couple of days off from school. Maybe you and Gianna can do something fun.”
“But I want to go to school.” Ava’s eyes filled with tears, and she sagged back against Lance.
“I know, honey. I’m sorry.” Morgan touched her daughter’s head. “But you did the right thing. You can always defend yourself.”
Lance shot Morgan a tight-lipped look. He stood with Ava still wrapped in his arms. “Let’s get you home.”
He set her down, and she slid her tiny hand into his giant one as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Can we get some ice cream?” Ava asked with a thin smile.
Morgan looked at her daughter’s teary, swollen face. “Absolutely. Let’s get some for everyone.”
“’Specially Grandpa.” Ava’s step lightened as soon as they left the building.
“Yes. Especially Grandpa,” Morgan agreed.
They climbed into the vehicle.
“Why don’t you stay with your kids tonight,” Lance said as he started the engine. “I’ll take Sharp with me.”
“Are you sure?” Morgan glanced in the back seat. The sight of a sad-faced Ava resting her head on the side of her booster seat tugged at Morgan’s heart. Balancing her career and motherhood felt like she was juggling a raw egg, a live grenade, and a chainsaw. At any moment, something could break, blow up, or slice her to pieces.
“Sharp and I can handle one interview. Ava needs you tonight.”
“You’re right, and thank you.”
Lanced inclined his head toward the rear seat. “She is the most important thing today.”
They bought several containers of ice cream, and Lance dropped Morgan and Ava at home. Morgan was greeted with the usual chaos of kids and dogs.
Mac was standing behind the crew. “If you don’t need anything else tonight, I’m going to head home and see Stella before she goes back to work. She has some kind of meeting tonight.”
“We’re fine.” She gave Mac a hug. “Thank you for everything.”
He left. Morgan locked the front door and tossed her coat and bag over a chair. She took the ice cream into the kitchen and put the containers into the freezer.
Gianna peeked in the oven. “Mac and cheese is almost ready. Girls, let’s go wash up.”
“Gianna made garlic bread,” Mia yelled as the girls followed Gianna from the room.
“What happened at school?” Grandpa asked.
Morgan filled him in.
“I’m not exactly making friends at the school.” Morgan couldn’t shut off the instant replay of the scene in the principal’s office. How many times could she second-guess herself? “Do you think I overreacted?”
She thought of Warren Fox grabbing her, the stench of him, the bruises he’d left on her arm. The incident with Esposito hadn’t been violent, but he’d also tried to intimidate her. She touched her throat, where Tyler Green’s hands had left a ring of bruises two months ago. And now she had to consider the possibility that Tyler was stalking her.
Had today’s incident with Ava hit a personal chord and had she let her emotions get the best of her?
Grandpa snorted. “Should you have let it go to make nice with the teacher and principal?”
“No.” Morgan reached for a pile of mail on the counter. “I won’t kowtow to school administrators who would rather look the other way than address a difficult issue. I guarantee Bret’s days as a bully aren’t over.”
“But he probably won’t target Ava again.” Grandpa sounded pleased. “At least not unless he’s wearing a cup.”
“I’m going to have kids at that school for the next nine years,” Morgan said. “They probably have me marked as a troublemaker.”
“Or maybe your response will change the way the school handles this kind of behavior.”
“Maybe.” Morgan hadn’t thought of it that way. “But I was angry. Really angry, and I don’t lose my temper often. I’m an adult. But this—this really threw me.”
“Someone hurt your baby, and you went mama bear on their asses.” Grandpa crossed his arms. “Now they know not to mess with you or Ava. Nothing wrong with that.”
Morgan flipped through the mail. Mostly junk. She set it down. On the counter next to the envelopes was a squat brown box. Morgan’s name and address was printed on the top, but there was no return address. “What’s this?”
Grandpa craned his neck to look at the package. “Gianna said the neighbor from two doors down dropped it off. She said someone left it on her porch this afternoon. The delivery service must have gotten the houses mixed up.”
“There’s no postmark or bar code.” Morgan’s instincts went on alert.
Obviously, so had Grandpa’s. “I should have noticed. Don’t touch it. We should call Stella.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This could be anything.” Morgan went to the chair at the front door and took a pair of vinyl gloves from her tote. Back in the kitchen, she used a pair of scissors to slit the tape at the end of the box. When she opened it, she found photographs nestled in crumpled brown packing paper.
Morgan lifted the stack. The first picture was her leaving the courthouse. The photographer had clearly followed her. The stack of images followed her from the courthouse across the parking lot to her minivan. There were photos of her arriving home as well, getting out of her minivan, walking into the front door, and greeting her kids.
My kids!
A chill swept through her, settling in her chest. Her hands trembled. Seeing her little girls in the sights of a stalker made Morgan ill with terror.
But the children clearly weren’t the focus of the sender’s rage. Each picture had a bloodred X drawn across Morgan’s face. Some of the lines were scratched into the photographs, as if the hand that held the marker had pressed hard enough to break the felt tip.