Page 16 of No Greater Love
six
tasha
I was havingthe most delicious dream about lying on a beach with a mojito and Chris Evans when my phone shattered the fantasy. Chris, you see, had just offered to apply my sunscreen with those impossibly perfect hands of his onto places the FDA doesn’t even regulate. So when I saw Crawford's name on the screen of my phone, I almost sent him straight to voicemail—emergency room trauma could wait until my actual shift—but some impulse made me answer.
His voice was tight with the strain of someone barely holding it together. Paige was in trouble. He had one else to call. Woe is him. Please help.
Now I was pulling into Riverdale Elementary's parking lot, wondering what the hell I was doing. This wasn't my problem. Wasn't my kid. Wasn't my responsibility.
But something in Crawford's voice had gotten to me. The iron control he wore like armor had cracked, just for a moment. And somewhere in that crack, I'd seen something real.
Besides, I liked Paige. The kid had substance.
The school's front office was the same beige-and-inspirational-poster combo as every elementary school in America. The harried-looking woman at the desk looked up as I entered.
"May I help you?"
"I'm Tasha Williams. Nate Crawford sent me for Paige."
The woman's expression immediately shifted to relief. "Ms. Williams, thank you for coming. I'm Andrea Wilson, the assistant principal." She lowered her voice. "Paige is still in the girls' bathroom near the cafeteria. She still won't come out, though we've assured her she's not in trouble."
"Has she said anything specific about what's wrong?"
"Just that she wanted her dad." Ms. Wilson sighed. "Fifth grade can be tough socially. We've had incidents of bullying, though Paige hasn't reported any."
"I'd like to try talking to her alone," I said. "Kids can be funny about audiences."
Ms. Wilson led me through the cheerful corridors decorated with student artwork and science projects. Outside the bathroom door, a female teacher was speaking softly through the door.
"Paige, honey? There's someone here from your dad."
I nodded to the teacher. "I've got this."
Once she'd retreated to a discrete distance, I leaned against the wall beside the bathroom door. "Hey, Paige. It's Tasha. From the hospital. ‘The Giver’? Butterfly maker extraordinaire? Remember?"
Silence. Then a small, muffled voice: "My dad sent you?"
"Yep. He's stuck at work with some major emergencies, so I'm the B-team. Lucky you."
A wet-sounding sniffle. "I want to go home."
"I bet you do. But first, think you can unlock the door? Just for me? These hallway tiles are hideous, and I'd rather not be seen hanging out here too long."
A pause. Then the soft click of a lock. I slipped inside quickly, locking the door behind me.
Paige sat on the floor in the corner, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her face was blotchy from crying, hair escaping from her ponytail. She looked so small and miserable that something in my chest squeezed unexpectedly tight.
"Hey, kiddo," I said, keeping my voice casual as I sat on the floor beside her, leaving space between us. "Rough day?"
She nodded, not meeting my eyes.
"Want to tell me what's going on? I'm pretty good with emergencies. It's kind of my whole job."
Paige buried her face against her knees. "It's embarrassing."
"More embarrassing than the time I accidentally set off the fire alarm at my high school because I was trying to microwave a Snickers bar?"
That earned me a quick glance. "Why would you microwave a Snickers?"
