"Morning, Ms. Schapiro!" a student called.
She turned to see Claire Nguyen waving to her as the girl hurried across the lawn from her mother's car. Allie smiled and waved back.
At least the kids will have a snow day or two, she thought, trying to make light of the dread that had coiled itself like a snake around her heart.
She glanced at the line of cars, made sure Claire's mother saw her, and then slipped between them. She had just reached the sidewalk when she heard the crunch of metal and a squeal of skidding tires. Students making their way across the snowy lawn spun around with wide eyes. Allie ran to Mrs. Nguyen's car and stood on her toes to get a glimpse of a dark blue Cadillac drifting away from the parked pickup truck it had just sideswiped on the other side of the street.
The Cadillac coasted toward the back of the morning drop-off line, its driver's-side mirror dangling from some wires.
Students were yelling, some hurrying toward the sidewalk to get a better look.
"Get back!" Allie said. "All of you get-"
The Cadillac's engine raced, speeding up instead of slowing. It struck the last car in line with a whump of crumpling metal and fiberglass. The chain reaction slammed three or four vehicles into the cars ahead of them, and then it was over with the hissing of a cracked radiator and the enraged swearing of several parents who were already popping open doors and leaping out to survey the damage.
Allie whispered a prayer and rushed to the nearest car, looking in the passenger window at an eighth-grade boy named Ryan Morretti. The kid opened the door and stumbled out.
"Ryan, are you all right?" she asked. "Are you okay?"
"I'm good," he said, shaking his head. "What just happened?"
Allie left him standing there and hurried along the line of cars as the students got out, none of them apparently injured, grabbing their backpacks and walking toward the group of parents who were gathered around the Cadillac. Its hood had buckled, the front end punched in, but the rear end of the little gold Ford Focus ahead of it had been demolished. Both airbags had deployed and now she saw that Lauren Cappuccio and her mother were still in the car. A parent Allie didn't recognize had opened the driver's door and was helping Mrs. Cappuccio extricate herself, so Allie tried to do the same, but Lauren's door had been jammed shut by the collision.
The window had shattered, so Allie crouched and peered in at Lauren. "Are you okay?"
Ordinarily full of confidence and sarcasm, the girl had gone pale, but she nodded.
"Feel like I got kicked in the chest, but I think I'm okay."
"You can breathe all right?" Allie asked.
Lauren smiled wanly. "If I say no, does that mean I don't have to go to school?"
"You probably should have a doctor look you over anyway," Allie said.
"I can breathe fine, but my ears are ringing," the girl replied.
"Sit tight. I'll make sure you're taken care of," Allie said, turning back to the Cadillac.
A shouting match had begun. Mrs. Cappuccio seemed to be trying to calm everyone's nerves but the driver of the Cadillac had the misfortune to have included the queen bitch of the PTO, Helen Smith, in his collision.
"Is everyone okay?" Allie asked, looking for injuries.
Heads turned.
"Does it look like we're okay?" Mrs. Smith barked.
"Actually it does," Allie said. "But Mrs. Cappuccio's daughter might have a concussion."
And how lucky you all are, Allie thought. Banged up but alive. Your children alive.
"Oh my god, Lauren," Mrs. Cappuccio said, rushing around the back of the Cadillac so that she could get to her daughter, passing right by Allie.
Only then did Allie realize that she recognized the driver of the Cadillac. Tall and broad and carrying thirty extra pounds, Eric Gustafson had won election to the city council the year before. His son, Kurt, was one of Allie's students, though Mr. Gustafson had not come in for parents' night or parent-teacher conferences-his wife had come alone. Allie recognized him only from his pictures in the local paper. With his Nordic features, chubby face, and buzz-cut red hair, it would have been hard not to remember him. She wanted to be furious with him but his expression was so pathetic and he was surrounded by so much anger that she could only pity him.
"Are you drunk?" Mrs. Smith demanded, poking Mr. Gustafson in the chest. "Is that it? Don't think you're going to get away with this just because you're on the city council!"
The other parents-three of them, not including Mrs. Cappuccio-had seemed angry before, but with Mrs. Smith's tirade ringing in the air they all seemed to be feeling more awkward than angry now. All the students had slunk away to a safe distance on the snowy lawn where they could watch and mock with their friends. Even Kurt Gustafson stood twenty yards away, looking alternately enraged and humiliated by his father.
"I'm sorry! It was an accident!" Gustafson protested, his face reddening. He looked on the verge of tears.
"Drunk driving isn't an accident, it's a crime!" Mrs. Smith snapped.
"I'm not drunk!" Mr. Gustafson cried. He looked around as if searching for someone to back him up, and when his eyes lit on Allie, he pushed past the other parents to approach her. "Ms. Schapiro, please. You can smell my breath. I swear I haven't been drinking."
Allie stared at him. Maybe he hadn't been drinking but his behavior was certainly odd. Mr. Gustafson seemed on the verge of panic, like a child in trouble for something and trying to get out of it instead of a grown man-a city councilman, no less-facing people who were angry about the damage he'd caused.
"Mr. Gustafson, I have no interest in smelling your breath. You need to calm down." She looked at the other parents, focusing on Mrs. Smith. "You all need to calm down. It's a fender bender. They happen every day. I'm sure you've all been in one at some point or another."
"I am going to be late for work!" Mrs. Smith declared, crossing her arms defiantly. The sun glinted off her glasses and picked out the cat hairs that clung to her jacket.
A siren blared in the distance; someone had called the police. Allie turned around and saw the principal, Mr. D'Amato, and the gym coach hustling the students toward the school. Relief flooded her. She would be happy to leave this mess to Mr. D'Amato.
"All of you please go back to your cars," Allie said, glancing over at Mrs. Cappuccio, who had knelt down on the sidewalk to encourage her daughter. Lauren had begun to release herself from her seat belt and the airbag, making her way to the driver's door.
"Not until I get an answer," Mrs. Smith said, striding over to where Allie stood with Mr. Gustafson, who had taken up position behind her as if she could shield him from Mrs. Smith's wrath.
"Look, I'm sorry," Mr. Gustafson said, but he wouldn't meet Mrs. Smith's gaze. He kept shifting his weight from foot to foot, glancing around with an air of awkward frustration. "But I'm not drunk."
"If you haven't been drinking, then what the hell were you thinking?" Mrs. Smith demanded. "You hit that pickup truck back there. I saw you coming in my rearview mirror. You were all over the road and then you hit your damn accelerator instead of the brake, like one of those ninety-year-old ladies who crashes through a convenience-store wall. We all had our children in the car! If you're not drunk, you must be high-"
"I'm not high!" Mr. Gustafson roared.
"Then what happened?" Mrs. Smith roared right back. "And don't tell me your pedal stuck, because I will slap you right in the-"
"I don't know how to drive a car!" Gustafson shouted.
That silenced them all for a moment.
"I mean … " he fumbled, "I mean I don't remember how. Something happened to me. I … I had to get my son to school and he wanted me to drive him. His mother went in to work early this morning and I was his only ride, but I don't know … I can't remember how to drive!"
They all stared. Allie knew there was something he wasn't saying but she could also tell that much of this was the truth because it hurt him so much to reveal it.
A police car turned the corner seconds ahead of an ambulance that came from the other direction. Principal D'Amato had been striding toward the gathered parents but now he redirected himself to meet the police car. Allie glanced around and saw that all the students had gone inside and only the cars involved in the accident remained at the curb. The school bell clamored inside, the sound rolling across the lawn.
Mrs. Smith abandoned them abruptly and marched toward the policeman, probably to insist that Mr. Gustafson be tested for drugs and alcohol. And that was the right thing to do, Allie knew. It might have been accident, but Gustafson could have killed someone. She didn't like Helen Smith at all-nobody did, really, not even Mr. Smith-but Allie wondered if the bitch might be the only one who really understood what she could have lost this morning.
Penitent and yet somehow also a little petulant, Mr. Gustafson wiped his eyes and waited for the policeman and the principal. Allie stood close to him, though all the others had turned their attention elsewhere.
"Did you hit your head recently?" she found herself asking.
Gustafson looked at her. "What?"
"Did you hit your head or fall down or something? I mean, people don't usually just forget how to drive."