Chapter 17: Pickup

On Friday I took Eli to school myself, with my new lawyer's letter in my coat.

The school secretary read it standing up, and her mouth went thin.

"Dean Tolland is removed from the pickup list," she said. "Effective now. I'll put a note on the door."

"Thank you."

"I never liked that godson thing," she said. "I always thought it was odd."

At three o'clock, I stood in the front hall with Freja, in her white coat with a dog hair on the sleeve.

She had come straight from a calving.

Neither of us said much.

At 3:05 the front door opened, and Dean walked in with his coat buttoned and his best smile on.

He looked rested.

I hated that.

"Cal," he said warmly. "Freja. What a surprise. I'm just here for Eli."

"No, you're not," the secretary said from behind her desk.

"I'm on the list."

"You were on the list."

"Ma'am, I've been a principal in this town for eleven years."

"And you're on leave," she said. "I've got it in writing. Please step away from the office."

The hall had started to fill.

Parents with car keys.

A kindergarten teacher with a line of kids in matching hats.

Every one of them was looking at the principal of Harlan Falls High School.

He was standing in an elementary school lobby, arguing with a secretary.

"It's a misunderstanding," Dean said, a little louder. "I'm his father."

The hall went still.

A woman near the trophy case drew in her breath.

"Biologically," Dean added, too late.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said a voice from the line of kindergartners.

It was Eli's teacher.

She had one small hand in each of hers, and she looked at Dean.

"Mr. Tolland, I've known that boy for two years. You have never once come to a parent night. Mr. Niskanen has come to every single one."

"With a bag of juice boxes," someone added.

"With a plan for the bake sale," said someone else.

Dean's smile came apart.

"This is a family matter," he said.

"Then take it outside," said the secretary. "Or I'll call the officer who's already parked there."

He turned and saw it through the glass: a patrol car at the curb, and a young deputy leaning on it with a coffee.

Freja had called him an hour before.

I hadn't known.

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