Cutting Teeth(60)

“I don’t know,” Rhea tells her. “I don’t know how long it’s supposed to take.” Did Darby ask because she thought Rhea would have the inside track, because she’d be able to speak from experience? Probably not. She’s being paranoid. News travels fast, but not that fast.

Darby goes to the kitchen and pours herself a large glass of water. “Are they questioning all the kids or just Lola?” Her eyes close as she takes a long pull from the glass while still standing beside the refrigerator.

“I don’t know that either. Sorry. They took a DNA sample from the school today and I don’t know what to think.” Except she does. She for sure does because it’s what they’re all thinking. Bex’s mom was walking around with an open wound. Zeke attacked her son. Asher’s mom landed in the hospital. And before today, parents were whispering about how kids could get belligerent if they weren’t “fed” properly. It felt like the children at Little had latched on to the wrong end of the Little Red Riding Hood story. My, what big teeth you have … the parents thought. The better to eat you with, Mommy!

“I don’t get it.” Darby sinks down on the sofa beside Rhea instead of the chair across, which Rhea would have preferred. “Do they think she saw something? I’ve asked her. I’ve definitely asked her. She won’t tell me anything.” Darby looks miserable. “Unless it’s about marine life.”

Rhea stops herself before she can say I don’t know one more time. “It feels like maybe they’re not just treating the kids like witnesses anymore. It feels like they could be suspects.”

Darby looks at her sharply, then, dropping her eyes, she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Fuck, Rhea.” The force of her words surprises them both. “I know you’re speaking words, but it’s like I literally don’t understand what you’re telling me. Is this about those little footprints? Because the kids are all over that place. No one locks the door the way you’re supposed to. I mean, mistakes happen.”

Rhea doesn’t know what she means by that. Not if the footprints were in the blood. If that’s how it went down, then the footprints had to have been put there after.

“I don’t understand it either,” Rhea agrees. Two police officers came to her house to ask her questions about her past. And now those same officers are stomping around her child’s school. Are they grasping for straws or are they on to something? “The police are probably trying to throw us off-balance. Force someone to make a misstep.”

She imagines Miss Ollie’s eyes still and glazed as a taxidermied animal’s, trained at the ceiling. A creeping pool of dark red. A child hunched inside the supply room. A trail of imprints marking the path.

“Sorry,” Rhea says. “Poor choice of words.”

“But not Lola. They can’t think that Lola would have…”

Rhea doesn’t know what to do with her hands. She wonders how she looks to Darby in this moment. She hopes Darby isn’t paying attention too closely to her; better not to leave a lasting impression after she goes.

But no sooner has Rhea thought this than Darby turns her full, wide-eyed gaze back onto her. Like a cartoon character. “I know you had it out for her,” she says solemnly. “Miss Ollie. But, well, I’m telling you now: I didn’t agree with you. Not at the school. Not at the café. I was just being supportive. Like when a friend goes through a breakup and you say, ‘Oh yeah, that guy was a total asshole. You can do so much better. He’s going nowhere in life.’”

“Darby, about that, Miss Ollie wasn’t who you think she was—”

Darby squeezes her eyelids shut. “Enough. No, Rhea. No. I let you have your hissy fit or whatever.” Rhea feels branches of cold steel fan out in her lungs. “But Lola loved her. She pulled special books for Lola every week. And they sat and had special cuddle time and Lola has really needed that lately. Miss Ollie called it ‘filling her love cup.’ She was so good to Lola. Not everyone is. Not everyone”—she swallows—“appreciates Lola. She was a great teacher, Rhea, and I’m sorry. I know you have a chip on your shoulder about everything and everyone, but now…” Darby looks at the ceiling and Rhea spots tears teetering precariously on her lower lid.

A surge of anger strikes Rhea and she wants to slap those silly, perfectly perched tears out of Darby’s head. Of course Darby’s going to side with Miss Wholesome Polly Perfect. Just like she’s always suspected, Rhea’s never been one of them.

“Is that what your husband thought, too?” Rhea shoots back. “That she was such a great teacher?” She’s not about to take the entire blame for this. No way. Just because she died doesn’t turn Miss Ollie into some kind of discount saint. Darby thinks she’s been too hard on Miss Ollie? If she only knew how much Rhea held back, well, she might be singing a different tune.

After all, it was Rhea who was sitting in her car when she saw Miss Ollie talking to a man through the windshield. At the time, she could feel the tension building in the back of the man’s neck from clear over there. He was hulking over Miss Ollie. Her face obscured. Rhea watched the teacher retreat a couple of steps. He pointed a finger at her. Like, really pointed it. A purposeful shake. At the time, Rhea imagined what her friends might do in a situation like that. Would they intervene? Would they check to make sure the woman was okay?