11. Chapter 11
Charlie
The school hallway smelled faintly of chalk and industrial cleaner.
A comforting smell.
Most of the children had already left when Charlie spotted Théo’s mother near the classroom door. Up close, she looked older than Charlie remembered. Maybe because of the way her shoulders curved inward.
“Madame Pelletier?” Charlie kept her tone gentle. “Vous avez une minute?”
A flicker of wariness. Then a nod.
“I just wanted to check in,” Charlie said, choosing her words in French carefully. “Théo seems … quieter in class, lately. I wanted to make sure everything is okay.”
She hated herself for stepping around the elephant in the room, but this woman had already canceled two meetings. She didn’t want to give her any excuse to bolt.
The woman’s lips stretched into an uncomfortable smile. “Yes. Théo’s fine. Growing up too quickly. And tired. He reads too much.” A small laugh escaped her.
Charlie chose her words carefully, no longer worried about her French. She felt as if she were stepping on broken glass. “He’s a bright boy. We just want to be sure he feels safe here. And at home,” she added meaningfully.
At home.
A shadow crossed Madame Pelletier’s face, but was gone before Charlie could be sure.
“Thank you for looking out for Théo, Ms. Charlie.” Another uncomfortable smile, but this one seemed more honest.
Before Charlie could respond, a heavy presence filled the hallway behind her.
Charlie turned, but Théo’s father wasn’t looking at her. He was looking straight at his wife.
After a long instant, he turned his head towards Charlie.
“Is there a problem?” he asked. His French was faster than his wife’s. Sharper.
“No,” Charlie said evenly. “I was just—“
“Stop bothering my wife. And my son.”
“That’s exactly what I was saying, Pierre, dear,” Madame Pelletier said quickly.
The man went on as if his wife hadn’t spoken. “Children change. They grow. They learn to think.” His gaze hardened. “You should stop bothering my son and focus on your own responsibilities.”
The phrasing snagged in Charlie’s mind. She knew, with complete certainty, that this was her responsibility.
“And leave my family alone,” he said, his tone harsh.
Charlie held the man’s stare. “I’m only concerned about Théo’s well-being, as I am for all my students.”
“He does not need your concern.”
Charlie’s French was fluent enough, but nuance sometimes escaped her. Was that a warning? A dismissal? A threat?
Before she could decide, another voice walked up to them.
“Everything all right here?”
The principal approached with measured calm. After thirty years at the school, Sean Whittaker had an instinct for tension.
Théo’s father stepped back half a pace.
“No problem. We came looking for Théo.”
“He’ll be out on the field, dear. He has football today.”
“Excellent. We’ll meet him there.”
As the couple walked off, hand in hand, the principal turned towards Charlie.
“Is everything okay, Charlie?”
“I’m not sure. I was sharing some observations about Théo. He’s been increasingly withdrawn, and his parents are not … forthcoming.”
Sean nodded slowly.
“Is this a concern?”
Charlie thought back to when it’d all started. Before the field trip. But how long before? How long had she missed this?
“I don’t have certainty. But I’m worried.”
“You did the right thing bringing this up, Charlie. We’ll keep an eye out, and schedule an appointment for Théo on Monday with Madame Rideau.”
Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. The school psychologist was a magician. If anybody could get Charlie to open up, that would be her.
“We’re not the kind of school that stands by when a child needs help,” Sean continued. “Keep me informed if anything else happens in the meantime.” Then he shifted gears with administrative efficiency. “On another note—I need your help.”
“My help?”
“The PGHM has invited us to their spring fundraising event. After they were so kind as to let our students visit them, it’s time for us to scratch their back.”
Her heart beat faster, as it did whenever she heard that word. PGHM. Lorenz.
“I don’t understand. Why do they want the school there?”
Sean shrugged. “Most likely to stand there and make them look good in front of the mayor. Nobody wants their funding cut.” He coughed into his hand. “I would attend, but I have dinner with the superintendent tomorrow night.”
Tomorrow.
He looked at her expectantly.
“I thought you and Carmen might be willing to represent the school.”
Why me?
Paranoid thoughts overtook her.
He knows about Lorenz. He knows—
Charlie pulled herself back forcefully. There was no reason for her boss to have found out. And, even if he had, what she did in her spare time was her business. She and Lorenz were both adults.
“Yes?” he pressed.
Charlie forced a polite smile. “Of course. But I’ll have to check with Carmen.”
“Excellent. My secretary has already spoken with her, I think. I’ll send the invitation. Seven p.m. tomorrow. Nothing too formal. Tenue de cocktail.”