Wrong Place, Right Time(78)

“Do you know what’s going on?” I ask. “Do you have details?”

“We’re still investigating. But what I can tell you is that there was some shoving, and there were some children who were injured.”

I force Sammy’s head back a little so I can take a closer look at his face. He couldn’t be more pitiful, but I don’t see any bruises or cuts anywhere. “Sammy, tell me what happened. I’m not blaming you for anything; I just want to know.”

Sammy shakes his head and tries to dive back into my chest. I think he feels guilty, but that’s not all that’s going on here. If he were the bully, or if he were the one causing all the trouble, he wouldn’t have a stomachache; he’d still want to go to school. It’s going to take some finesse to get to the bottom of it, and it’s not going to happen here in this office. Not this close to the scene of the crime.

I sigh heavily. “I have to work tomorrow, but then I can take a few days off and talk to Sammy and figure out what’s going on from his end.”

Sharon gives me a funny look. She seems decidedly uncomfortable when she responds. “You see, though, the problem is, I’m not sure we can take Sammy tomorrow.”

It takes my brain several long seconds to process that little nugget of awful. “Why not?” I’m actually pretty proud of myself, how I’m maintaining a hold on my temper, because this woman is seriously asking for me to lose my mind and Hulk-out right here in her office.

She’s a daycare director. She knows better. You don’t tell a working single mother in the late afternoon on a Thursday that her kid can’t come in the next day without any kind of prior warning. And you sure as crap don’t say it in front of her kid!

“The parents of the other children involved are not happy with the fact that their children were physically abused.”

I stand and hold my hand out awkwardly; Sammy is still thinking he wants to crawl into my blouse. “Stop right there. Just stop. You’ve known my son for over a year. You know as well as I do that he is not a mean person. He would never just hurt somebody out of the blue for no reason. That’s not who he is.”

Sharon nods and closes her eyes. “I realize that. I also know that he has some things going on, and some issues that you need to address at home. These are things that we can’t do anything about here at the school.”

I frown at her. What in the hell is she talking about? “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” My arms are about to fall off. Sammy is so heavy, he feels like a bag of bricks. “Can you just stop running around in circles and tell me what you really mean?”

Sharon takes her time answering. When she finally does, she’s cringing as she speaks. “You do realize that Sammy has a speech impediment, right?”

My jaw drops open. All I can do is stare at her. I’m trying to figure out if she’s joking with me, because I can’t imagine what her purpose would be in saying this other than to be cruel and ridiculous. Is she seriously making this about my son’s lisp?

I guess she’s tired of waiting for me to respond, so she continues. “You know, when children are young, it might seem cute, but as they get older it’s really not cute anymore. And it’s up to the parents to do something about it.”

I shake my head, stopping her from crossing any further over the line than she already has. “Do not . . . no. Do not go there.” I stand and walk to the door, reaching down to grab my purse on the way. Unfortunately, the strap is tangled around the chair leg, and in my struggle to get it free, I flip the chair over. It makes a loud crashing sound that causes Sammy to start crying again as he climbs up higher into my arms, practically strangling me with his efforts.

“You don’t have to worry about Sammy tomorrow or ever again.” I throw my purse over my shoulder and turn around to glare at a woman who has a lot of nerve calling herself a director of a daycare. She should go be the director of a damn prison. “I have never been so appalled at someone’s behavior as I am right now with yours. And you call yourself a daycare provider? How dare you.”

I don’t want to hear what she has to say in defense of her horribly cruel words spoken in front of my son . . . words that should have been kept private between adults . . . because I can’t trust that I won’t slap her across the face after hearing what she says.

I leave her office as quickly and as gracefully as I can, while my son clings to me like we’re stuck together with Spider-Man’s web glue. It’s only when we’re at the car, standing at the back door with his car seat waiting to take him, that Sammy finally lets go of me and speaks.