Cutting Teeth(91)
She momentarily deflated when she heard that Princep and Bright were aware of Erin’s true identity and that they’d run a background check on both of her names and come up with nothing, but then that would make perfect sense, wouldn’t it?
He’s quiet for a long moment, studying her. “Actually, no.”
She exhales. “I didn’t think so. I just— I had a hunch. Don’t you think that’s weird? The Nierlings clearly believed that their son, Ollie, wasn’t really driving the boat, that he was on the straight and narrow, and the Sarpezzes had money.”
“He’s a pastor now, though?”
“Yes,” she explains patiently. “At the church connected to Little Academy. I understand it’s an easy thing to miss if you’re not familiar with the ins and outs of the Little community. Erin’s family sued Ben’s for a lot of money. But unfortunately, the Nierling family attorneys were no match for the fancy whiteshoes of the Sarpezzes. I discovered that Erin’s family lost.” Darby is editorializing a bit because, in fact, she doesn’t know whether it’s unfortunate or not, but the feeling she got when she learned the end of the story was, without question, sorrow.
“That’s good work,” he says, and he does sound genuine.
Darby’s heart blips up. It’s all fitting together, or starting to. “What happens next?”
“We’ll look into it.” He rises from his chair.
Her mouth drops. “You’ll look into it?”
He holds out his hand for her and she doesn’t know whether he wants to help her out of her chair or simply shake hands. Neither seems appealing.
“Detective Bright gets back to the office on Monday. I’ll brief her and we’ll look into it.”
“Don’t you think you should call her?” Darby presses.
“She’s at her cousin’s wedding,” he says as if that settles it, as if Tulsa is the motherfucking Arctic Ocean. Off Darby’s look, he softens. “Darby, I understand why this is important to you and we’ll take every lead seriously, you have my word. But Lola’s footprints were found in the blood. We’re being as sensitive as possible because we’ve never dealt with a potential perpetrator this young before, but you may have to face the facts that your daughter needs help. She’s a minor. That’s key. A terrible, terrible thing happened and the family needs answers. But she will have a life after this.”
Darby sits motionless in her chair, unable to muster the leg strength to move when he leaves. He’s wrong about Lola and her life. Wrong about her future. Right now, she’s so young, so tender and impressionable. She may not rot in jail, but there are bigger, deeper consequences than that. If she grows up with a scarlet letter for murder, how will Lola ever define herself apart from it, and who would let her? Darby thinks about her daughter, with her monster tantrums and sensitive spirit. She’s worried already a thousand times over that Lola will grow up to think Jack is the golden child and, as her mother, she can’t let that happen. She must be sure of it. But how?
The Nierlings have lost two children without justice. Thinking about it, her own maternal heart is a tiny bit wrecked. How would she feel if every closet she checked in the middle of the night, every reading tutor she wrote checks to, every moment she stopped herself from screaming in frustration, every green vegetable bribed down, every puddle of vomit, every snotty nose, every time-out and knotted ponytail and lost retainer, every slobbery kiss and sweet-smelling forehead, every quiet hug, disappeared? In their darkest moments, sitting alone at night watching television, how pointless it must sometimes feel to the Nierlings, all of it. And that’s why, no matter what, Darby can’t let anything happen to Lola.
After a long moment, she summons what last scraps of brass she had when she came in to leave the police station. The sun is already on its downward curve and her stomach growls. She’s missed a call and a text, both from Bodhi’s father, Marcus, of all people, and her empty stomach sinks. What’s happened? What could possibly have happened now? She reads the text: Can we meet in person? I’ll come to you.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Well after hours, Mary Beth enters her access code to the Little Academy building. The parking attendants and new security personnel have all gone for the night. Soon, the parents will be gathering for a state of the union meeting and she’ll be expected to attend, but for the moment, she remains undecided.
The hallway lights are motion activated and they trip on as she makes her way down the hall. With every step, she feels as though she’s losing altitude. Cold sweat crops up on the back of her neck.
Behind the closed door at the end of the corridor, Miss Ollie’s old room sits untouched, like a shrine, the children having moved to an unused class on the other side of the building in the weeks following her death. She waits outside the door as if something might happen without her setting it in motion first. She feels Schrödinger’s cat on the other side of the wall, both dead and alive. Awaiting confirmation.
On the first day of school this year, Noelle wore a smocked dress with apples embroidered on the collar, a bright blue bow pinned in her hair, and Mary Beth thought how grown-up she looked. It’s the first year Noelle has helped put on her own shoes, climbed into her own car seat, carried her own backpack.
The latch emits a faint click as Mary Beth opens it, the smell of finger paints lingering in the dim air. Parent-teacher evaluations weren’t set to take place until just after spring break, but Miss Ollie would have been keeping progress reports on file. Now to figure out where she stowed them.