Page 8 of Someone to Have
“Didn’t figure you were asking me to prom.”
Silence greets my lame attempt at humor. Even though only a thin layer of plastic separates me from the cold ground of the crawl space, I lift my hand and touch the rotting foundation beam above me, needing to be grounded to something natural. A fine layer of dust rains down on my face, because that’s just how this day is going.
Trying not to choke on the potential particles of black mold I’ve just ingested, I ask “What can I do for you, Assistant Principal Kenkel?”
“There’s been an incident with Rhett that involves an assault on a teacher.”
“What the fuck?” I jackknife up, then let out another explosive curse when my head slams into the beam. “Sorry for the language,” I say quickly. “What happened?”
She clears her throat. “I think it would be better if we spoke in person. A couple of staff members are involved, with differing accounts of the incident.”
I rub the heel of my palm against my forehead. “Is there a version that involves Rhettnotgetting in trouble?”
“How soon can you be here?” she asks instead of answering my question.
I have no idea if this is what normally happens when my nephew causes trouble.
There must be a typical way this goes. Although my sister was in no shape to focus on anyone other than herself by the time I got to her house in Denver—it took nearly twenty-four hours and three layovers coming from Munich the day after Christmas—Jen found it necessary to warn me about Rhett’s issues at school. But she made it sound like most of it had to do with grades and his lack of effort. I mean…that’s relatable. When I suggested pulling him from his current high school and transferring him to Skylark for the last half of his freshman year, the relief on her face was palpable.
Rhett had been less excited by the prospect but played it off under the guise of being too cool to care. It was a defense mechanism I’d also perfected at his age. Grunting, monosyllabic responses, and silence has greeted most of my attempts at conversation with him since then, and I’m embarrassed to admit I haven’t minded much.
“I can be there in ten minutes,” I tell her, already flipping over and army crawling toward the opening to the first floor of the house I’m working on.
“I appreciate that, Mr. Anderson,” the administrator tells me, and I don’t bother to correct her again.
Until I figure out exactly what my nephew has gotten himself into, the less I say, the better.
When I walk out, Marty Maxwell is standing in the front yard of the dilapidated house, barking orders into the cell phone that’s almost always plastered to his ear. He ends the call as I approach.
“How bad is it?” my temporary boss asks. I know he’s not talking about Rhett, even though that’s the first place my mind goes.
“One of the beams needs to be replaced, but we can sister the damaged joists. I get it if you want one of the other guys to confirm it.”
He shakes his head. “I trust your judgment, Eric.”
Something sharp pings across my chest at his words. It’s an emotion I don’t quite recognize, but if I had to name it, I’d go with gratitude.
“Appreciated.” I draw in a deep breath. “Hate to follow it up by asking if I can take off early, but…”
Marty chuckles and gives me a knowing wink. “Hot date your first Friday in Skylark?”
“Not quite. Someone from the high school called. There was anincident”—I put air quotes on that last word—”with Rhett.”
His smile disappears. “What’s going on?”
I can’t bring myself to mention the word assault. “Unclear at this point. She wants me to come to the school to talk in person.”
I expect Marty to look disappointed or judgmental, the typical reaction I remember from parents of high school classmates when I got into trouble with friends. Instead, the smile he flashes is almost wistful.
“Victoria and I spent way too much time in that principal’s office when the older two were in high school,” he says, scratching his gray beard. “Toby was the biggest handful, as you’d expect, but Elise had her moments. The only thing that kept either of them from really stepping out of line was the threat of pulling them from sports.”
I massage a hand along the back of my neck. “Someone should have taken a harder stance with me. My coach always found a way to circumvent the school’s consequences if he needed me for a game.”
“It wasn’t the school administering the punishment.” Marty chuckles. “Victoria and I benched them. Toby and Elise were wild, but they wanted to win championship rings more than they cared about rebelling. Take whatever time you need. I imagine your nephew’s dealing with a lot right now.”
“Thanks, Marty. I’ll remember the advice about benching him. I doubt Rhett’s going to swing up to varsity as a freshman, but the kid loves hockey.”
“Smart kid,” the older man answers.
