The Blameless Bystander Ch. 13

"Wouldn't you want to protect him to keep him from talking?"

"That was my first thought. But if we let him go, and then he talks, we can just say that he's bitter about being fired. With all the other talk, no one will pay any attention to anything he says. It'll be my word against his. Who do you think people will believe?"

"I dunno, Nathan," Ed said, shaking his head. "What about your plans about the Math Department? I thought he was such a good teacher."

"He's an excellent teacher," Nathan admitted. "I hate to lose him, but there is a calculation to be made here and..."

"I thought that he told Vicki that would keep silent," Ed reminded.

"I told him to keep his nose clean when he first started here," Nathan scolded. "If he hadn't been running around with her, he wouldn't be in trouble now. So, you see, it's really his own fault."

Hey Nathan, people in glass houses..."

"If I'm found out we'll have to move away. That means a new Principal for you to deal with and no buffer between you and Jackson. Most of all, it'll mean no more going away for the weekend with my wife."

Ed sighed. "I don't like it, but—what do you want me to do?"

"Just go along with whatever I say," Nathan said.

"How are you gonna do it?" Ed asked.

"I'm not sure, Nathan answered, rubbing his chin. "I have a feeling that Bob Jackson will do it for me. I just won't stop him."

***********

James sat in a waiting area at the social Services area at the County Office Building, waiting for his appointment with Miss Martin. There was a receptionist at a desk who handed him a clipboard with a pen so he could log in. She tried to look important, but it appeared that her only job was to hand visitors the ubiquitous clipboard, and tell them to wait until their name was called, and to studiously avoid eye contact with any person she could find.

Looking beyond the reception desk James saw a sea of fabric partitions, held together by wood frames. The floor was a vinyl tile with a gray-swirled pattern; the fabric of the partitions was gray, as well. It might have been said that the faces of those waiting in the area were gray, too. The ceiling overhead was supposed to be white, but had turned gray from age and the same for the snow outside, tainted with car exhaust.

James might not have noticed those details if it weren't for his frame of mind in these days. There was little to be happy about. Considering the suspicions about his sexual practices, being thrown out of his apartment, ending up in a drafty trailer, and losing all three of his girlfriends in one week, he couldn't have been blamed if he were a little depressed.

"Bubba's my only friend, and he's never in town," he thought to himself. He was thinking to ask him if he needed a helper on the truck at Spring Break. He was considering the possibilities of that when he heard his name being called.

"Mr. O'Toole!" a voice called. His mind was halfway back to Florida with Bubba and he didn't respond. "Mr. O'Toole!" the voice called again. "James O'Toole!" it called louder. James finally shook himself and lifted his head up to see Connie Martin at the receptionist's desk preparing to shout at him again.

"Sorry," James said as he gained eye contact with her.

"This way," she ordered, ignoring the apology. She abruptly turned and headed into the gray maze. James followed, lest he lose sight of her and be unable to find his way out.

It was because of the hovering suspicions that James found himself summoned to the presence of Miss Martin at the County Building in Hornell. He had told her everything in their earlier meeting. He hoped for some news about how the case would end.

On their journey through the maze Miss Martin made several turns and James struggled to keep up with her. He realized that she looked exactly as she had the day he met her in Bob Jackson's office. It looked like the same black suit.

"Maybe she never goes home," he mused to himself.

To James surprise, she didn't inhabit one of the gray cubicles. As they ended their walk she deposited him in a modest office against the wall. "I though that we were going to end up in one of those cubicles," he said, to break the ice.

"No, I'm senior," she replied. "Take off your coat, if you want to." The offer was her first friendly act.

Miss Martin closed the door and seated herself behind her desk and motioned James to the chair in front.

"How were the roads on the way over?" she asked. She hauled a folder from her desk as James groped for an answer. "It's an easy question," she said as she looked up with a smirk.

"A little icy, but alright if you keep your speed down," James answered.

"I'm sorry that you had to make the trip," she continued. "It's just that I didn't like having to interview you with all those others looking over my shoulder."

"Did the results of the blood test come back yet," James asked hopefully.

"We haven't even sent the bloods out to be tested," she answered. "We may never test it; we haven't anything to test it against. We won't put the County to the expense until we have something to test it against."

"What do you mean...?" James began to ask.

"The mother has to have the baby's blood drawn and sent to us. We only just found out where she is. I spoke to her by phone. From what she said, I don't think she's going to send it—or come back to New York for that matter. It seems that her father is the one pressing the complaint. He has no standing. The girl is eighteen."

"That's no good!" James exclaimed.

"I thought that you'd be happy that you're off the hook."

"If I get off on a technicality everyone will think I'm guilty. I'll never live it down; I've got to be cleared outright.

Miss Martin leaned forward and looked James in the eye. She grimaced slightly, shook her head; she sighed and eased back in her chair. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "There's nothing we can do without the baby's blood. The mother isn't even in-state anymore." To James, her sympathy seemed real, and he welcomed it. It was the first hint of human feeling that he felt towards him in days.

"I need a statement from you," she told him, returning to her cold professional role.

"I told you everything when you visited the school," James protested.

"I just want it in your words without the boss looking on. I'll tape it and have it typed up later." She turned on her recorder and placed the microphone in front of James. He recited his story; it was simple enough and didn't take long. It was identical to the original. When he finished Miss Martin turned off the recorder and took the microphone away.

"Off the record," she asked, "why did you decide to help her? Any other teacher would have been running full speed to the Guidance Office."

"It never occurred to me to not help her," James replied. "Becky might be eighteen, but she's naïve. She's a pretty girl, too; naïve and pretty sometimes don't go too well together."

Miss Martin nodded in agreement. "Her father is so sure that it was you. When I mention your name to him he hits the ceiling. What's going on here that I don't see?"

James sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "It's probably because I'm a former priest."

Miss Martin looked up with a start. She eyed him, her mouth open in surprise, but quickly regained her composure. "I...didn't know that."

"I left the Order last summer," James explained. "I taught Math at a boys' prep school in Rochester. By the time I got looking for a job, the one in Bates was the only one I could find. Here I am."

"So, you're going to stay?" she asked.

"Maybe. A lot depends on how this all comes out. I'm not the most popular man in town right now. It's a funny feeling. Everyone knows I'm not guilty, but few will acknowledge it. They're afraid of the truth. I can't live like that much longer. I might have to move on."

"I hope it works out for you," she said with caution. "If we're still off the record, I know you didn't get that girl pregnant. I've been doing this work for a lot of years. It doesn't add up."

"You're the first person to say that," James said. "It was nice of you."

Miss Martin stood to show James that their interview was over. "I wish I could do more to help you. Officially, I have to be neutral, of course." She offered James her hand. He took it carefully, not wanting to crush it. She smiled slightly to acknowledge the courtesy.

**************

"You understand that I'm here in an unofficial capacity," Jarrod asked them.

"Of course, Jarrod," Bob Jackson answered. Nathan nodded in agreement.

"This thing with your guy, O'Toole," Jarrod began. "It's creating a lot of trouble."

"Nothing that we thought up, Jarrod. It's Ethan; he's the one who's stirred this up."

"Well, I don't know," Jarrod countered. "There are a lot of charges here—a lot of evidence. If it's true, it could be serious."

"You know it's not true," Jackson retorted. "Ethan's a crackpot—we all know it. I know you belong to his church—but we all know it."

"I don't know that," Jarrod said stubbornly. "Let's just say that I wish that he might be more tactful."

"Yes, tactful; that's a good word to use. His not being tactful has caused us a lot of trouble, Jarrod."

"Ethan believes in what he's saying," Jarrod warned. "I think that he's about ready to go further. That would rile a lot of people up. I doubt if any of us want that to happen."

"He hasn't got a leg to stand on," Jackson countered. "He won't even get his daughter to give a blood sample so we can see if O'Toole really knocked her up or not."

"Hey, hey! Don't get angry, Bob," Jarrod raised his hands in mock surrender. "Listen, if Ethan gets going with this it'll hit its peak when that bond issue for the school addition comes up for a vote this spring. You wouldn't want that-and I wouldn't either. If that doesn't pass, our bond for the new park will go down, too. We've got to look at the practical side."

He's got a point, Bob," Nathan added. "These things are more important than any one person."

"Any two people," Jarrod corrected.

Bob and Nathan glanced at one another, sensing a breakthrough. "Then, you're suggesting a trade?" Bob asked.

"I prefer of thinking of it as shedding our liabilities simultaneously," Jarrod said. "You know, with Ethan's family breaking up and everything, he would benefit from a change of scene; and that O'Toole will never live down what's been said about him in this town. Let him start over somewhere else."

"So we're going to hang them out to dry," Bob said.

"Call it what you want," Jarrod replied.

"What about timing?" Nathan asked.

"I've got that figured out." Jarrod said. "If you cut O'Toole loose pretty soon it will keep Ethan at bay for a while. He'll have no target to shoot at. I've already put out some feelers to the seminary for June graduates. Our move will have to wait until then."

"It sounds like you get something now and we have to wait" Jackson complained.

"It's the way it is," Jarrod answered. "At least with O'Toole out of the way we'll have some peace and quiet. It would be nice if we could do something before the next School Board Meeting. We don't really want to put on another show for the Sentinel."

"Let us think it over and we'll..."

"You don't have to answer now," Jarrod calmed them. "When O'Toole's gone, I'll know the answer. Don't bother to get up—I know my way out. I would say the ball's in your court." Jarrod put on his overcoat and left the office.

"This is real hardball," Jackson said to Nathan.

"I think it has to be done," Nathan replied. "You've got cause because he kept the girl's pregnancy to himself. Besides, he's on probation. I told him that when he started in September. I told him to keep his nose clean, but he didn't listen."

"This thing has already distracted us enough," Jackson said.

"Then I would say that you have to do it," Nathan urged.

"What about the union?"

"I'll explain it to Ed. None of the other teachers like him, anyway."

"I'm worried that Jarrod won't follow through?"

"I've got that figured out," Nathan said. "We won't fire him. We'll put him on unpaid leave. Then Jarrod will have to move or we'll bring him back"

You're better at this than I am, Nathan," Jackson said, chuckling.

"I hate to do it. Remember that O'Toole was to be our Math Department answer. Now we'll have to figure out something else."

"When the time comes, let's make sure O'Toole has good references so he gets out of town fast."

***************

"You see it our way, don't you," Nathan asked as James squirmed in his chair. "If we can get you out of sight for a while, this whole thing will go away. Otherwise, Ethan Chandler will just keep it up until you can't take it any more."

"It sounds like I'm being fired," James replied. "I don't understand why. All my students are passing. They're the best math sections in the school."

"It's not about that," Nathan said. "I already explained it all to you. You're not being fired. It's just an unpaid Administrative Leave."

"When do I get to come back?"

"That's hard to say right now," Nathan admitted. "You never know how these things are going to turn out. I wouldn't plan on anything before next September."

"I don't have the money to sit around doing nothing."

"I can't help you with that," Nathan said. "Unfortunately, you haven't been in the system long enough to have any vacation or sick days accrued. Try Unemployment Insurance. I know that they're looking for a substitute in Cohocton. If you like, I could send them a letter." James nodded.

"I'd like to know where Cassidy is. He's been here every other time something came up."

"I told you when you started in September that your status was in my hands," Nathan leaned forward, pressing the point. "The Union has no say in this."

James sat back in his chair. "Things started so well. They sure went downhill in a hurry."

"I'm sorry to rub salt in the wound, but I told you when you started to keep your nose clean," Nathan reminded him. "It was good advice; you should have followed it."

"Maybe you should follow your own advice," James shot back.

"I knew you'd bring that up," said through bared teeth. "Go ahead! See who believes you."

"I may be at a low point," James sighed. "I'm not that low."

"If you have any more questions," Nathan said as he rose, "channel them through Abby and she'll relay them to me."

**************

After his meeting with Nathan, James cleaned out his locker and then drove directly back to his trailer. It was only one in the afternoon, but he felt like a drink just the same. His outlook about working as a teacher anytime soon was pessimistic. The scandals were sure to follow him. He had enough money to last until month-end. He needed something else fast.

He thought about calling his parents to ask for help. He could even pull up stakes and go back to Boston and live with them for a while. Surely, he could eventually find a teaching job back home. He dreaded it; it would be better than starving, but not much. It would require explanations about the 'why' of his dismissal—the pedophile rumors, Becky's pregnancy. He would have to lay it all bare to them. It would hurt them; they would believe his denials because he was their son and they'd have to. It was the fear of their unspoken questions that froze him. They would yearn for the untold details, as do all parents. He would have none to give them. If their suspicion was to be penance, he preferred to live with the sin.

James didn't bother with ice for the whiskey. He had a light breakfast and skipped lunch, so it didn't take long for him to feel the dram's effects. He glanced at the half-empty bottle, thinking that he might have to ration it. If he could cut down on some things it might give him some extras time to work something out.

It was a cold, stormy day. James heard of an automobile engine struggling to start over the howling of the wind. It was his neighbor from three trailers down the lane, a young woman whom he had not met. He saw her in her car as he drove in. The grunting engine slowed with each try until only the clicking solenoid sounded as the woman insistently turned the key.

James looked at his half-full whiskey glass. The annoyance from outside precluded any further enjoyment of the liquor. He stood and sighed, put his overcoat and boots back on and reluctantly went back out. As he approached he saw her rolling down the window.

"Do you think you can get it started?" she called out the window as James approached.

"You'll never get this started now," James yelled over the wind. "You've worn down the battery."

"I don't know what to do," she replied. "My shift at the grocery store starts in fifteen minutes. I've already been late twice this week."

James took a deep breath. "What the hell!" he thought to himself. "Get in my car," he said. "I'll run you over."

The young woman, whom James pegged in her late twenties, bounded from her car and started running toward James' sedan. "We've got just enough time to make it," she called over her shoulder at over the wind.

"I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along," she gasped, trying to catch her breath as James' car ambled down the lane in the trailer park toward the State Highway.

"What are neighbors for?" James asked.

"Things were easier when I had my boyfriend living with me," she explained. "We broke up three months ago. Now I can hardly make ends meet, or I would have gotten rid of that old heap long ago." She paused to blow warm air on her hands. "Norma Weaver's my name," she added as an afterthought.

"James O'Toole," he answered loudly, testing to see if she knew him by his reputation.

"Hi, James," she replied. "I saw you move in last month. I should have come over to say hello. Probably would've if the weather had been nicer."

"That's alright," James answered, not quite believing her. "How do you plan to get home tonight after your shift ends?"

"In all the rush I clean forgot," she said. "I could ask around at the store—not many live this way. Do you think you could...?"

"What time do you get out?" James asked, anticipating the request.

"At nine," she answered. "Just wait for me in the parking lot. I'll find you."

"Give me your car keys and I'll see if I can get your car started," James offered.

Norma handed dug into her pocket and handed him her key chain. "The trailer key's on it, too. I'm not worried. There's nothing in there worth taking," she said with a laugh.

James was grateful for the jumper cables his brother left in the car before he sold it to him. The car finally started with the help of a couple of quarts of drygas and a gallon of gasoline in the tank. James drove it to the gas station to return the gas can and fill the tank the rest of the way. So far, he had a few hours and fifty dollars invested in his good deed. He didn't mind. The exercise had taken his mind off his own problems.

The activity made him feel better, so he finished his whiskey by sipping it instead of gulping it down. When he emptied the glass he saw that it was only five o'clock. He had four hours before he had to pick Norma up, so he decided to take a shower to relax. As the hot water pelted down, he thought about his new neighbor.

Aside from an estimate of her age, it was hard to tell much about her from their brief meeting. He guessed that she was thin, although hard to tell for sure with her winter jacket covering her. He remembered that her black pants fit her tightly. She had dark brown hair that she tied in the back in a pony tail, but that might have just for her work hours in the grocery store. For James, she had neither allure, nor repulsion.

"She doesn't mind taking favors from strangers," he said to himself.