27. June
Chapter 27
June
“ A nd this is where we have our teacher’s lounge.” Mary opened the thick wooden door with a modest windowed slat on the side. “It’s not much, but at least we have a place to get away for a moment while the children eat lunch.”
The square room consisting of a long countertop with a coffeemaker, microwave, and a refrigerator at the end.
“This is much bigger than the one I had back home.”
Mary nodded as she opened the fridge, pulling out a bottled water. “It’ll be nice having a fresh set of eyes here. The kids will love you.”
She handed me the bottle, and I gripped it in my chilled hands—the condensation forming over the plastic, dampening my fingers. “Thanks.” I gave the bottle a shake. “I hope so.”
“So you start next week?”
I brought the bottle to my lips and took a sip. “Yes. I believe that’s what Principal Carpenter said.”
“Great.” Mary led me out of the teacher’s lounge as the bell rang. The halls filled with screaming children running towards the playground. “We’ll see you then. I need to check on my TA and make sure she hasn’t lost all of her hair yet.” She laughed over the children’s screeches, and we parted ways when she dipped into her classroom.
Buzzzzzz.
Buzzzzzz.
My phone vibrated in my purse, and I pulled it out, glancing at the screen as I answered.
“Hey, Mom.”
Kids raced toward the playground—the noise a constant roar, like waves crashing on a jagged shore. I ducked my head, plugging my ear with my finger.
“June, I need to talk to you... are... there?”
I frowned, holding the phone tighter to my ear. “What? I can’t hear you, Mom. Hang on.” I moved toward the edge of the hallway, pressing myself up against the cold brick wall.
“I said... something important... your dad...” Her voice crackled with urgency.
“Dang it.” I sighed. “Let me call you back later. I can’t hear anything.”
“June, it’s really—“
“Okay. Just give me a moment.” I hung up and put the phone in my dress pocket.
“June.” Principal Carpenter waved me over from the office doors. “I’m glad I caught you before you left. I wanted to introduce you to the teacher you’ll be replacing.”
I shifted from the front doors to the office and gave him a big smile as he gestured towards a tall man with long dreads pulled back.
“June, this is Damien Cole. Damien, this is June Collins.”
We shook hands and gave him a warm smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“Damien, earned himself a position at Oxford University. You are looking at their new professor of Childhood Education and Development.”
I gasped in awe. “That’s incredible. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” His deep baritone voice carried as we followed Principal Carpenter into his office. “There are some things I’d like to go over with you about the curriculum, the students who are a little behind, and those who have excelled.”
“Great. Let’s hear it.”
Hours passed as I jotted down notes, my hand cramping from the constant scribbling. Pages filled with reminders, suggestions, and strategies.
Am I enough for these kids ?
I’ve never taught a class of thirty before.
My shoulders weighed heavy beneath my coat as he wrapped up.
“This is going to be incredibly helpful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The final bell rang, a welcome sound after a long day. I put my notebook and pen in my purse and stood, stretching my stiff limbs.
“If there is anything you need, my email is always open. I’d be happy to help any way I can.”
We walked out into the hall together, the children filing to the front in hordes—their eager chatter spilling into the hallway.
“And they don’t need someone to help them into their cars?”
They raised their brows.
“No,” Principal Carpenter said. “Their parents are here, or they get on the bus.”
“Oh.”
“Is that not how they did that in Avon?”
I shook my head as we walked outside. “No, it’s quite different over there, but I’m a quick learner. I’ll get the hang of it.”
Parents stood outside, some chatting, others waving to get their children’s attention. Kids ran in every direction, backpacks bouncing off their small frames.
I inhaled the crisp breeze, hoping it would clear my head. The school buses lined up along the curb, engines idling, as kids hopped on one by one as I said my goodbyes and walked to my car. I slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door with a sigh and started it, the engine and glass muffling the excitement outside. I drew my phone out of my pocket, my eyes growing at the number of missed calls from my mom.
What the hell is going on?
An uneasy rhythm settled in my chest. My fingers gripped the steering wheel, the vinyl cool and slick beneath my sweaty palms. I dialed my mom.
“Hi, this is Susan. I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message—“
I hung up before she could finish, my thumb tapping the call button again and again, then called Dad.
Another ring.
Another voicemail.
My fingers tightened around the phone. A pulse of dread crept up my spine.
Mom never let it go to voicemail twice.
Neither did Dad.
I shoved the phone down onto the passenger seat, a familiar coil of anxiety tightening inside me. The drive home was a quick shift of pavement and trees blurring past, my thoughts spinning in circles, searching for an explanation.
Maybe they went out and forgot their phones.
Maybe there was a service issue.
In Philly?
What if…
I swallowed hard.
By the time I turned onto my street, my pulse pounded in my ears, a constant thrum that drowned out the usual comfort of pulling into the driveway. Two police cars sat in front of my house, their presence like a fist to my gut.
Oh my gosh.
Something’s happened.
Is it Carter?
Is that why my parents called?
What’s happened?
My stomach swirled, and nausea boiled in my gut, burning the back of my throat. My heart clunked in my chest, threatening to give out.
Carter’s Mercedes was parked in the garage, and his parents’ sedan was parked behind him in the driveway, looking woefully out of place. I stopped the car, my breath catching in my throat.
Something’s wrong.
I got out, the cool afternoon air hitting me like a slap. My legs shook, my knees wobbling like a newborn lamb. The garage door loomed ahead of me, a yawning mouth of darkness that stretched with each step. The door creaked open, and Carter stood in the entryway, his face pale, eyes shadowed as though he hadn’t slept in days. He pressed his lips into a bloodless line. A wail sounded behind him as he stepped aside.
“Carter, what’s happening?”
A chill washed over me.
“You.” Linda launched from the couch and marched toward me, the officer trailing behind. “Did you know about this?”
Her red nose stood out against her pale features—her eyes bloodshot. She held a crinkled tissue in her hand as she pointed at me.
“What is she talking about?” Ice seeped into my bones as I glanced between everyone.
“Mom, you know she doesn’t.”
“Do we?”
“Know what? Is there something wrong with my parents? Mom’s been trying to get ahold of me for hours.”
Linda shrieked and turned to Frank, sobbing against his chest.
“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Tears burned my eyes as I braced myself. “Are they dead? Is that it?”
Carter wrapped his hands around me as if the spell cast around him broke. “Have a seat, June.”
“No, just...” I broke free from his hold. “Just tell me, dammit. Tear the Band-Aid off. Are they dead or not?”
“No. They’re not.”
A whoosh of air left my lungs, and my knees gave out, falling into Carter. He wrapped his arms around me and brought me to the couch, where the police remained seated. Linda wailed, and Frank took her into the kitchen.
“June Collins?” The first officer in uniform asked.
“Yes.” My hands shook against Carter’s leg, my stomach queasy. “What is this about?”
“Your mother, Susan Collins, has been arrested in connection with the murder of Amber Morgan.”
“What?” My vision crowded in black, and the tips of my fingers tingled. A high-pitched ringing slapped my ears, drowning out the words slipping out of the officer’s moving lips.
Murder?
Amber’s murder?
Mom?
No way.
“There must be some misunderstanding. My mom would never – Carter, tell them. She wouldn’t.”
The officer glanced up at the man in khaki pants and a polo shirt, his badge clipped to his belt.
“I’m Detective Sanderson.” He flipped open his notebook. “This afternoon, your parents came in and made a full confession. You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?”
“I told you she didn’t.” Carter’s arms tightened around my frame.
“Yes, we know what you’ve said, but this is just protocol. We can have this conversation at the station if you’d like.”
Parents?
What did dad confess to?
Did he help her?
Why?
I stared into the distance, my mind swirling with the events of that night.
Mom’s calls.
She dropped me off.
“What do you want to know?” My throat ached as it tightened, keeping the tears from wetting my cheeks .
“The night of the murder, did you have any contact with your parents?”
I chuffed. “Of course I did.” My brows pulled together. “What do you mean my parents confessed—confessed to what?”
“That night, your mother, Susan Collins, confronted Amber at a party for her behavior towards your father—“
“My dad? What behavior.”
“Their affair.”
“No. No. No.” I stood, clenching my belly, bile rising. “I’m going to be sick.” Rushing to the half bath, I expelled the contents of my stomach, retching over and over.
Carter bent beside me, his hand rubbing over my back. “I’m sorry you had to hear it this way. I tried calling you earlier, but it wouldn’t go through.”
I ripped off some toilet paper and wiped my mouth. “You knew?”
He nodded, worry peppering his face. “I confronted your dad.”
“What do you mean?” I wrenched away from him. “Confronted... I don’t understand.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “Things didn’t add up for me, and they all came together last night when you told me about the box. The necklace you told me about...?”
I nodded.
“That was Amber’s. She wore it the night she went out.”
“But...” I walked through the events of that night, the outfits we wore, the picture we took. “I don’t remember seeing it.”
“It was there.” He flushed the toilet as I stood, leaned over the sink, and rinsed out my mouth. “She fought with my mom about what was inside.”
My stomach roiled again. “What did she have inside?”
God, don’t let it be my dad.
He shrugged. “That was the fight. She wouldn’t let her see it. She tucked it down her shirt and walked out the door.”
I turned off the water and faced him. “She never told me they had a fight. She acted like everything was fine.”
“There’s a lot we didn’t know about her, I guess.”
“Like what?” I clutched his shirt in both fists. “Tell me. I need to know.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and pulled me in tight against him, hugging me, his scent engulfing my senses. “She was obsessed with your dad. Threatening to tell people they were having an affair.”
“What?” I tightened my hold on him but pulled away, staring him straight in the face. “She wouldn’t do that—my dad wouldn’t do that. Ew—my dad?”
“He didn’t—at least not... they kissed at the concert in the picture or sometime after it.” He shook his head. “I’m a little fuzzy on the details. Not that I want all of them.” A forlorn sigh fell from his lips.
“My dad confessed to this?”
He nodded.
“And my mom? ”
“Said she was doing it to protect her family.”
My belly twisted like my guts were turning on a torture pike. “I... I don’t know what to say.”
“There isn’t anything you need to say, June. This isn’t your fault.” He cupped my cheeks, my fingers tight in his shirt.
“My parents.” Tears spilled down my cheeks. “Your mom.”
“Don’t worry about her.”
“She blames me.”
He pulled me in, his hand tucked against my skull. “She just found out who killed her daughter. She doesn’t blame you. She’s grieving all over again.”
“I hope you’re right, but I wouldn’t blame her if she did.”
“June. Where is she?” Linda’s weak voice fell into the bathroom, breaking my comforting hold on her son.
“I’m here.” I stepped around Carter and into the living room where she stood—her tears a permanent stain on my soul. I winced. “I’m so—.”
Linda stepped closer, her lips pressed tight, her chin trembling. In one quick motion, she pulled me into her arms and hugged me tight.