The Fourth Child by Jessica Winter (best classic novels TXT) 📕

that Tedquarters was now called Bundytown.Mrs. Bonnano quietly took over his classes for the rest of the year. Mr. Treadwell took over the end-of-year workshops, dumpingMr. Smith’s plans for a tribute to Edward Albee in favor of a Cole Porter revue.

“That boy may never teach again, not with an arrest on his record,” Mamie Figueroa said to Jane one evening on the phone.

“Well, he was arrested, but not formally charged,” said Jane, who could say the same of herself. “And a potential employer wouldn’t necessarily know any of this. He wouldn’t have to disclose it. He could just start over somewhere else.”

Pat and the older kids were eating ravioli in front of the TV in the living room. Jane and Mirela were eating toast and jamat the kitchen table. Jane planned to eat all of hers, to set a good example for Mirela.

“Andy always said there was something strange about Mr. Smith,” Mamie said.

“Even his choice of play last fall—it had two suicides, World War II, negligent homicide,” Jane said. “Is this appropriatefor children? I know they do a good impersonation of adults, but they are still children, after all.”

“I didn’t understand why high schoolers would be asked to perform Grease, either,” Mamie said.

“Oh, we watched the movie!” Jane said. “I remember loving it when we were kids. But it’s ridiculous trash. Whatever else Mr.Smith did, he had abysmal judgment.”

“I wonder what will happen to him now,” Mamie said.

“He has no one to blame but himself,” Jane said.

“Although it would be a shame for his whole life to be ruined by all this,” Mamie said.

The egg timer on the kitchen table pinged. “Mamie, I’m sorry, I need to go,” Jane said. “It’s time for Mirela’s bath.”

 

For a few days it seemed likely that the Arden Attachment Center would sue the Brennans for damages. What had happened was never in doubt: Jane had stood on a chair, fashioned a blowtorch out of Carolyn’s hairspray and Lauren’s lighter, and aimed it directly at a sprinkler head. The visual shock of the fire itself, and the subsequent triggering of the sprinklers, was undoubtedly frightening and disruptive to the Arden staffers fleeing the scene, but there was little damage to speak of, and Arden was insured. Jane appreciated that Pat didn’t take the incident and legal threats all that seriously, at least not in front of her. He called his dad, his dad called his lawyer, letters were written, counterthreats were issued. The guiding idea was that Arden wouldn’t want anyone taking a close look at what went on inside their facilities. Pat listened carefully to Jane’s account of the events, and he blamed her for nothing. He hadn’t seen what happened, and so he took her at her word—she was his only witness. He believed in what he couldn’t see. When he was sweet, he was so sweet.

And Jane was grateful to Arden, because if nothing else, Arden had given them a regimen. How long the regimen would last wasopen-ended. Every day, Jane and Mirela did the same things at the same time, together. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were alwaysthe same, according to the day of the week. Mirela went to bed at the same time every night, behind a locked door. The eggtimer went with them everywhere. Mirela could argue anything with Jane, but she rarely argued with the egg timer. Jane didnot hold herself to any standard of cheerfulness or even equanimity; she aspired only to an inexorable thereness. All shewished for Mirela was the knowledge that her mother was there and there and still there. A basket hold of rigid, unendingroutine. Jane was a wall, a building, at times an impediment. They began each day by tuning in to the weather report, on boththe radio and the television. Mirela could not control what the weather could be, and she could not, to her immense pique,control how accurate the forecasts proved to be, but she could control how many weather reports she consumed and how she synthesizedtheir often subtly conflicting assessments of the day to come. Jane set the egg timer, and when it went off, there was nomore weather.

Jane had to present her with something immovable and inarguable to attach to. Jane’s inescapableness would at first seem negotiable, then perhaps dreadful, and then—if they were very lucky—something that Mirela could resign herself to. A structure wall for a future home, but first Mirela would try to climb over the wall, and then she would bash her head against it. Other concrete goals—starting a half-day kindergarten program, joining a soccer club, a playdate here and there—could wait. First they had to construct the wall and test its strength, its safety.

 

After Respect Life petered out, Summer and Charity Huebler joined Witness for the Innocents. They did sidewalk counselingin front of Dr. Rosen’s clinic every Wednesday morning and at WellWomen every Saturday morning. Jane begged off when theyasked her to join them, using Mirela as an excuse, but they kept calling to ask.

“Charity,” Jane said on the phone, “I had an idea. I wondered if, this Wednesday, you and Summer might be willing to swapplaces with me and my daughter—my older daughter. Lauren. She wants to see what sidewalk counseling is all about.”

“Are you sure?” Charity asked. Jane could hear her flipping pages. “I think it would just be—let me check—yes, it’s only thetwo of us that morning. LifeForce doesn’t show up until the afternoon at Rosen’s. Why don’t we all go, the four of us? Strengthin numbers.”

“That’s such a nice idea, but the thing is, my daughter is quite shy,” Jane said. “It might be better for her first time justto come with her mom, see how it goes. Who knows, maybe we’ll turn her into a regular.”

“Or what if you went on Saturday? Saturday’s our busiest day, of course—many more opportunities to engage.”

“Well, I was thinking a quieter Wednesday would be better for my daughter, actually,” Jane said. “For her first time. Theproborts may not even bother with escorts on a