The Moment Before

Chapter Nineteen

NINETEEN

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There is a car I don’t recognize in Nona’s driveway when I get back to North Portland. A bronze Toyota with a “Keep Portland Weird” bumpersticker. My grandparents are unaccustomed to visitors, and I get the feeling that that car has something to do with moi.

            “Brady, your teacher is here. Mrs. McCornell, from your English class.”

            “Please, call me Beverly,” says Mrs. McConnell, standing up and giving me the onceover as I walk into the living room. The smell of Italian cooking is thick. Sabine’s prayer candle is plugged into the wall, her hair glows white from the little table behind the assembled Inquistion.

            “Hi?” I say, biting my tongue so I won’t ask why the hell she’s here.

            “I tracked you down, Brady,” says my Classics teacher, proud of herself and obviously relieved I’m not dead or dismembered.

            “Your teacher was surprised you’re not in school today, Nipote. I’m surprised, too.”

            Nona has that I’m-going-to-take-a-wooden-spoon-to-your-behind look in her eye.

            “It’s the article,” Mrs. McConnell says to Nona, whose eyebrows are all wrinkled together in confusion.

            “Papi, come out, we have company,” Nona hollers behind her at the hallway.

            There’s a noise from the bedroom. Some shuffling, and Nona excuses herself to go back to help my grandfather amble out. I talk fast. “They don’t know anything about it, Mrs. McConnell, and I think we should keep it that way. They’re old, you know? It’ll upset them.”

            Mrs. McConnell sighs. “I hate to think that you’re eliminating your support system, Brady. You took a risk, and I know that you’ll have consequences. From your peers, at any rate. I just worry that you’re cutting yourself off from those who care about you.”

            It makes sense, but I’m still not sure what’s going on. “Is that why you’re here?”

            “I know it seems odd, that a teacher would follow up like this, instead of a counselor, but, you know, everyone has their hands full. It’s a crazy time of year, and with the budget vote next week, so much is in the air.”

            I touch the lightened bruise under my eye; it’s still a bit tender. “It is a crazy time. That’s true.”

            “Brady,” she says in a half-whisper, nervously tucking her gray bob behind her ears, “You’re a bright girl. Your family has just had a devastating tragedy. One, I can relate to. I lost my brother when I was your age, and I made lots and lots of mistakes in the wake of that.”

            She looks fragile, my teacher, like, if given the choice, she would disappear into her sweater. This is not the Fucknarian scholar with the booming voice I know from class. I feel like hugging her, or at least patting her hand, but that would be insane.

            “I was in the park,” I say happily, hoping that I can somehow translate the positive aspect of that. “With a sketch pad and pencils. I knew Greenmeadow would be awful today, so I went and did the thing that brings me, you know, peace and joy and whatnot.”