They both looked up as well, at the dagger of ice that
could indeed have done some damage if it had fallen, and
one of them said, “You might want to knock that baby off.”
He had, because they were right; with the melt, it
could fall at the wrong time. Solving the problem of
what he might do at the wrong time was another matter.
E-mails from buddies. He’d been sending more these
past few months—one form of progress—and therefore
getting more in return. One guy from his platoon was
in a Veteran’s hospital recovering from the loss of his
left lower leg, shattered by mortar. His e-mails were
somewhere between philosophical and pissed. John
wondered if Miller would be honest if John were to ask,
Do you have nightmares, too? Ever had a flashback?
Can you talk to your family? Girlfriend? I mean, really
tell them how you feel about losing your leg, about the
stuff you saw over there? Just wondering if all of us are
having the same problems.
But of course he didn’t, just sent the usual chitchat
back.
He’d figured the two e-mails from unknown senders
would be some kind of spam. Sure, he’d want to help some
poor Nigerian widow get out of the country so she could
share her millions with him. Instead he got a surprise.
Mr. Fallon,
I don’t know if you remember me. I’m one of the
students who got stranded there before Thanksgiving, during that big storm. Ms. Mac, you know, Ms.
MacPherson, gave me your e-mail address. I just
wanted to say thanks again. All of us had a really fun
time there. I’m trying to talk my parents into coming
up to stay maybe this summer.
We’re doing really good. Erin and Troy and all the
other seniors are so worried about what colleges
they get into they’re like no fun to talk to. I guess I’ll
be like that next year, too.
Ms. Mac is good, too. You probably hear from her
anyway. Did she tell you she’s started dating Mr.
Scammell, one of our vice principals? He’s like the
enforcer. You know? He suspends kids and expels
them and stuff like that. Maybe he’s okay I mean I’ve
never been in trouble so I don’t know.
Anyhoo—thanks. Maybe I’ll see you this summer.
Tabitha
Untangling a few of the sentences with no commas
to help took him a minute, but finally he sat back. He
tried to think, despite feeling as if he’d been slammed
by a recoil.
Back in November, along with a generous reimbursement check from the school district, he’d gotten a series of dutifully written thank-you notes from the
students, each mailed separately. Fiona hadn’t gathered
them up to send them together, but it was pretty obvious
she’d expected each and every one of them to write
him. Even Amy had thanked him prettily.
Tabitha had been a nice girl, but he didn’t remember
making any kind of personal connection with her.
Still—maybe she was just being friendly. Wanting him
to recognize her if she showed up with her parents.
Or maybe not. Maybe she was trying to tell him
something. Burying that something in enough chatter
so as not to be obvious.
The something could only be her news about Ms.
Mac, her teacher.
She was dating? It was only March! How long ago
had she and this Scammell started? The week after she
got back, having written John off?
Anger, his familiar companion, stirred. Maybe she’d set
Tabitha up to e-mail him, to taunt him. You blew it, buddy.
After a minute, he replied, telling Tabitha that of
course he remembered her, it was nice to hear from her,
and he hoped he’d see her and her family.
Then he moved on to the second e-mail from an unfamiliar address, and was a whole lot less surprised to see that it was from Dieter.
The boy’s was even longer, telling him about a later
Knowledge Champ competition down in Eugene and
how both Willamette Prep teams had rocked, and how
he had a girlfriend now.
Willow. Remember her? She might try out for Hi-Q
with me next year.
Hi-Q, John knew, was an even more demanding form
of academic competition.
Dieter was more straightforward when it came to the
news about his beloved Ms. Mac.
I thought you two liked each other, he typed indignantly.
And she went up to see you at Christmas and all. So