Assumptions (5 page)

He slipped the small package out of his jeans
and sunk into the cab of his truck, turning the package over in his
hands from front to back to front. He laid it on top of the bible,
riding shotgun since July, and tucked them both deep into a duffel
bag stashed on the floor of the passenger side. He dug his phone
out of the glove compartment. He scrolled through half a dozen
missed calls from National Risk Insurance and one unknown. Then he
dialed.

“Yes,” answered a cool voice.

“I’m leaving.”

“The file’s been assigned for investigation."
The voice wavered. "There was a photograph. They know it’s
missing.”

“You knew it was flagged. You knew this would
happen when it didn’t show up. Relax. Eventually they’ll just write
it off as missing."

“Maybe you should amend your report, add it
to the inventory, buy some time."

“They’d discover it at the audit and then
there’s the liquidation auction, too. By the time they notice
anything it will be January. You’ll have some time. We’re in deep
enough already. No need to compound it any further."

The voice turned icy. “You’re in this with
me. You handled the inventory. It’s your name on the appraisal
records, not mine.”

“Yeah, I know. See you in Chicago.”

The line went dead.

Stillman mumbled into the silent phone. "It’s
too late to change anything, anyway. The file’s open.”

CHAPTER SEVEN: LEAST AMONG US

Cloud-filtered sunlight bounced off the
full-length mirror in the corner of Jordyn's bedroom. She inspected
her school uniform one last time then smoothed her long ponytail
before twisting it up and pinning it at the back of her head. She
rubbed at her cheeks trying to salvage whatever was left of the
healthy glow from spending a lazy summer in San Diego where she
shared a dilapidated Ocean Beach cottage with her father and a
feral tabby cat, named Mr. Orange, who lived under the front steps.
She shared the beach with surfers and stoners and seagulls, none of
whom cared to know her name.

Grudgingly, she picked up her backpack, heavy
with new textbooks, and lugged it downstairs to the second floor
breakfast room. At the center of the otherwise empty table lay the
completed registration form, an electric blue sticky note at the
top:
Fresh OJ in the fridge. Happy Monday! Love, Dad
. Jordyn
peeled off the note and dropped it into the trash under the kitchen
sink. She stuffed the paper into her blazer pocket. Heaving her bag
over her shoulder on the way down the steps, she dragged herself to
the foyer. She pulled on her overcoat and left for school under an
overcast sky.

Newly rehabbed three-flats and ostentatious
rowhomes, nearly every one sporting a tiny boxwood lined garden,
peppered her new neighborhood. At the end of the block, a toddler
sat in her stroller happily chewing the ear of her toy bunny. The
child's mother, dressed in a smart suit and high heels, handed the
nanny a list and kissed her daughter goodbye.

Jordyn rounded the corner at the end of the
block and walked along Lincoln Avenue past the children's hospital,
past hip boutiques and swanky bistros, then headed west toward the
Fullerton el stop where she boarded a southbound train. By the time
she walked up the Eastview steps, the sky had cleared to an
inviting patchwork of gauzy clouds against milky blue. She went
inside anyway.

The administration office was empty. She took
a seat in an orange plastic chair and waited. She pulled out her
schedule.
Embry for Geography. Wikstrom, Literature. Third
period, Reynolds, O. Chem. Fourth period, American History.
Lunch.

The office door popped open. A thin woman
Jordyn hadn't met escorted a girl with long, curly black hair into
the room.

“Please wait here, Miss Callaghan,” said the
woman sternly. “Miss Quig, I’ll be right with you.”

The woman guided the girl to a desk near the
center of the room. Neither sat. The woman pulled a small sewing
box from a pencil drawer and handed it to the girl. She opened the
box and gathered a needle, a tiny pair of scissors, a navy button,
and a skinny spool of navy thread. She set the items and the open
box on the desk, took off her blazer and, still standing, threaded
the needle and began to sew the button onto the cuff. When she was
done the girl draped her blazer over her forearm, returned the
items to the box, handed the box back to the woman, and smiled
warmly. The woman frowned, dropped the box back into the drawer,
and closed it with a sharp clang. The girl’s smile did not waiver.
She put on her blazer and walked toward the door.

“Miss Callaghan, please remember to polish
your shoes for tomorrow. They look like you’ve been tromping
through puddles. Off to class now.”

The girl nodded and continued out the office
door.

“Now, Miss Quig. I am Ms. Novak. How may I
help you?”

Jordyn stood and pulled the crumpled paper
from her pocket. “Mrs. Hansen asked me to have my father to
complete this form." Jordyn handed the woman the paper. “I’m just
dropping it off.”

“Very well. Thank you." The woman took the
paper.

“Ms. Novak?

"Yes, dear?"

"Who is she? That girl?”

“Oh, her? Just a scholarship student. Fifteen
minutes to first bell, Miss Quig. Better get going, dear, if you
want to find your class on time." Ms. Novak shuffled through the
papers stacked in the in-box on the counter, paying no attention to
Jordyn's glare.

Jordyn walked slowly, stopped at her locker
on the first floor, and looked out the window of the scruffy
courtyard she'd seen from the library. She still managed to arrive
on the second floor at Professor Embry’s Geography classroom a full
ten minutes before the first bell. She opened the door. The room
smelled like mushrooms. Old maps papered the front wall. Shelves of
crumbly books lined the back of the room. Tall windows ran the
length of the outside wall. A group of students gathered at the
glass, focused on the street below.

Cooper sat on the wide sill. A small girl
with a sour expression and four honey-blonde twists like cinnamon
buns stuck at the top of her head stood on a chair, draping herself
over Logan's broad shoulders. The rest had been among Jordyn’s
first-day gawkers.

The door slipped from Jordyn's hand. It
slammed with a metallic crack. Copper wheeled around, hopping up
and down. "Oh, Jordyn! You're here! Hi!”

Jordyn waved politely.

Logan peeled the sour-faced girl off his
shoulders. “I didn't know you were in this class."

"Yeah, right." Jordyn surveyed the neat rows
of chairs, writing tablets all unusually clear of doodles. “So,
where do I sit?”

"I sit in front," said Logan.

"Where everyone can see him," jabbed the girl
with the twisty hair.

"Thanks, Alex. Remind me to tell your ugly
boyfriend I saw you checking out the football team after school
yesterday."

Alex showed him her middle finger then
returned to the window.

Logan motioned to the front row. "There's an
empty seat next to mine."

"Why not?" Jordyn plopped her backpack into
the seat.

Cooper squealed. "Ooh, here he comes!'

Logan walked back to the window. "Mark, who
won?" A short boy with meaty arms ran the tip of his pen down a
piece of notebook paper.

"Burgundy tie, no stripes. Looks like
Alex."

A girl with thick eyeliner and pale orange
lipstick groaned. "Alex again?"

Alex put out both of her hands. "Aww, sucks
for you, Jilly. Pay up, losers." The other students handed her wads
of cash as she cast her unsympathetic sneer upon each of them.

Jordyn joined the group at the window. " Hi,
Cooper. What's all this?"

"Oh, um, it's nothing. There's just this guy
who walks by the school every day. We make bets on him. Kinda
funny, don't you think?"

"Maybe. I guess." Jordyn crossed her
arms.

A man in a navy suit squatted at the gutter.
His longish black hair was slicked back into a short ponytail at
the back of his neck. He prodded a bottle cap in the gutter. A
small paper bag and long black umbrella lay on the sidewalk near
his feet.

Cooper sidled up against Jordyn and continued
her explanation. "He walks the neighborhood at exactly the same
time, crossing the exact same streets every single morning, even if
it’s pouring rain. Well, if it’s raining the umbrella is open, but
otherwise, there’s no difference."

The man bagged the bottle cap and neatly
folded the top of the bag closed. He unfolded the bag, checked its
contents, and folded it down again. He did this two more times then
pulled a pen from his breast pocket and scribbled something on the
brown paper. He pocketed the pen and the bag, picked up his
umbrella, and walked a few feet before poking at an empty
Butterfinger wrapper with the tip of his polished shoe.

"We used to bet on when he would show up, but
after a few days that got boring since he shows up at exactly the
same time every day." Cooper snorted an oinky laugh. "Now we bet on
what he wears or what he does, like which piece of trash he will
look at or if he will put it in his bag. Sometimes we leave things
for him. Mark left the Butterfinger. Took us a while to get that
right. Too big and it won't fit in the paper bag. Too small and he
misses it. Mondays are always more interesting, of course, because
the street sweeper hasn't been by in a week."

Alex chimed in, "Mark brought in binoculars
so we could bet on his tie. I always win."

“Ooh, look, there’s that Irish girl," said
Cooper.

Mark craned to see. "What's her name?"

Cooper answered, "Deirdre Callaghan."

Mark shook his head.

Cooper put her hands in the air. "What?
Honestly. It's my business as your class representative to know
these things."

Mark shook his head again. "Sad, Cooper. So
sad. Look, she's talking to the weirdo."

Deirdre touched the man on the elbow, both
smiled. The first bell rang. Deirdre excused herself and ran toward
the school entrance.

“Maybe she’s his illegitimate daughter,”
hissed Alex.

“Maybe he just likes little girls,” said
Logan.

“You don’t know anything about him.” The
students at the window turned toward the voice. William Emerson sat
alone in the back row, face toward the front of the room. He leaned
back in his seat, tapping the eraser end of a pencil on the
desktop.

Logan stepped away from the group. “He’s a
freak. Just like you.”

Will stood, facing Logan. “I think if someone
didn’t know you, by looks alone they’d guess you were an
idiot."

“That's what you think?"

Will did not respond.

Logan pushed through the row of desks.

Will did not move.

Logan's face reddened. “I think you need to
shut up. Nobody is interested in your opinion. You’re just another
freeloader. Maybe you and that girl and the freak should get
together and form your own sorry ass club.” The other students
snickered.

Professor Embry barreled through the
door.

“OK, everyone. Find your seats. Show’s over."
He dropped a stack of thick books and rolled maps onto his desk.
"Chapter four today, folks. Let's go." The group near the window
scrambled to their desks and dug out their textbooks. Logan and
Will stayed. Jordyn took her seat at the front of the room and
shuffled though her backpack, watching them from the corner of her
eye.

Professor Embry leaned forward, both hands on
his desk. He peered over his half-moon glasses. "Mr. Harris, to
your seat, please."

On his way to the front of the class, Logan
slammed into Will's shoulder. “You’re dead, Emerson.”

CHAPTER EIGHT: GRACE

Jordyn jotted down the last of her notes in
third period chemistry lab. Professor Reynolds stopped in front of
her work station. "Miss Quig, may I borrow your beaker?" Jordyn
shrugged and handed it over.

He swirled the pale yellow fluid and lifted
it shoulder high. "This, class, is what you should be seeing about
now."

Half of the students mumbled, the others had
their heads down trying to finish the experiment. A kitchen timer
dinged at the front of the room.

Professor Reynolds set the beaker down. "Nice
work, Miss Quig." He walked to the front of the class and clapped
his hands twice. "Time to clean up. Don't forget to put your
journals in the basket on your way out. Next time we'll be
synthesizing aspirin. Don't forget, you owe me two pages on the
scientific method and how we apply that in the lab. I expect
concrete examples, people."

Jordyn cleared her station and peeled off her
gloves. She slid her goggles off her head and jammed them and her
books into her backpack.

Cooper, Alex, and Jilly waited near the door.
Cooper leaned against a low shelf, saying hello, by name, to
everyone in sight. Jilly freshened her lipstick and wiped a smudge
from under her eye. Alex hiked up her skirt.

Jordyn grabbed her things and headed for the
door.

Cooper stopped her. "Jordyn, your lab
coat."

"Oh, thanks. Forgot." Jordyn tossed her log
into the basket. She shook off the white coat and stuffed it into
her bag as she bolted out of the room.

Copper, Alex, and Jilly followed close on her
heels.

“I have to get some stuff out of my locker
before next period," said Jordyn, doing her best to dissuade them
without being rude.

“Oh, okay. We'll come along,” said
Cooper.

Jordyn flew down the corridor. The girls
chattered behind her, Alex the loudest. “Mr. Reynolds is so
disgusting. I swear, if he blew his nose one more time I would've
had to puke." Jilly jabbed her index finger deep into her mouth,
fake gagging. Alex rolled her eyes.

Cooper came to his defense. "Oh, I don't
think he's that bad. You know how they get. He's just a little old,
that's all."