The Blameless Bystander Ch. 15

© Copyright 2006, 2007

Chapter 15—Confessions

After Jarrod left with the briefcase Tracey phoned Hal Wright, as he asked her to.

Tracey: "He's gone. He took the case and left; he didn't stay long."

Hal: "Good! Did he suspect anything?"

Tracey: "No, he asked if I opened it, and I said that I didn't. He believed me."

Hal: "I still don't like it, Tracey. He might look in the folders and see that the papers have been reshuffled. He'll have to know it was you. He'd be sure to fly into a rage again."

Tracey: "I don't know what I can do about that."

Hal: "If he gets on to you, tell him everything. If he knows the police are aware of what he did, he won't dare do anything. We'll know it's him."

Tracey: "I don't think he'll be around for a while—not until my face heals up. I'm no good to him without my looks. If I have a big scar on my lip, he may never be back."

Hal: "Maybe so, but I'm going to be calling on you from time to time until this is over. Don't you have some family you can stay with?"

Tracey: "Just my stepmother, but I won't go there. She has young children and I won't have them seeing me like this."

Hal: "Stay out of work for a few days. I'll look in on you tomorrow."

Tracey: "How long do you think it will be before this is over?"

Hal: "That's hard to tell. I'll call the IRS tomorrow and let you know."

***********

"Look, there it is; what else can I say?" Nathan asked.

"You mean to say that you don't want me associated with the school, but you want me back; that you have great teachers, but many students failed; that you need me, but you want me to form a dba so that no one will know that I'm here." "I know that you need the money. That Feed Mill job doesn't pay much and your Unemployment claim was rejected," Nathan countered.

"I'll get by," James replied. He felt victorious, but he kept stone-faced, enjoying staring down Nathan for a change.

"Look," Nathan pleaded, "we're in a bind. I think you can see that."

"I'll do it," James assured him. "You'll have to up the fee by fifteen percent. I want you to know that I'm doing it for the students—and the money. Don't consider this a personal favor."

"I can see that you're not as naïve as you were when you first came here," Nathan conceded.

"Around here, that's self-defense," James countered. "You know, I would never have disclosed your secret. You should have known that. If you had, I would still be here backing you up."

"That's water over the dam now," Nathan said. "I suppose it's true. You don't know what it's like to be afraid all the time. I never know when someone might see me or some little fact might lead to another and then another. I can't afford to take chances."

"I'm sure that there are others who know. Vicki does, of course. I'd bet that Abby knows, too."

"I only trust people who have something that I can hold over their heads," Nathan said. "I never had anything on you, so I couldn't trust you."

"Well, you have no choice, now."

"It's thirty-three students," Nathan changed the subject. "I know it's a big section. We're making our best classroom available to you."

"That's not what I want," James replied. "Give me a classroom that's small and in close quarters. I'm splitting the class. I want the class list and the grades. I'll divide the class between those that came close to passing, and those that are really lost."

"You're going to teach two sections at one time?" Nathan asked.

"The lower section will be Tuesdays and the better section on Wednesdays."

"James, we really didn't have two nights a week in mind," Nathan cautioned. "Maybe the better students can help the slower ones."

"The word 'better' is a relative term here. They have troubles of their own." "You named your own poison," Nathan shrugged.

"It doesn't matter; results are what count and time's wasting. There's a lot to be done, and this is the way it has to be," James demanded.

"Okay, okay," Nathan held his hands up in surrender.

"There's one more thing," James said. "I need an assistant. I want Raymond Jacobs to help me."

"You mean your tutoring student? I don't have the money in the budget for it, and I could never get a payment approved for a student," Nathan protested.

"Don't worry about that. I'll take care of the payment. It's the reason for the extra fifteen percent."

***********

When Raymond got home from school that day, James was waiting for him, talking with Shirley over coffee.

"Hi, Mr. O'Toole! I didn't expect to see you here."

"Raymond, Mr. O'Toole has something to ask you," his mother said.

"Did you hear how many seniors failed the Trig midterm?" James asked.

"I heard it was a lot," Raymond answered.

"It was thirty-three," James replied. "I have a job at the school teaching them review at night so they can pass the Final in June and graduate."

"Does that mean you won't be able to tutor me anymore?" Raymond asked, almost hiding a frown.

"No," James answered. "Our sessions are on Mondays, and I set these new classes up for Tuesday and Wednesday. I came to see if you'd like to be my assistant. You would give special help to students to ease them through the problems. I want to work one-on-one as much as possible. There's too much catch-up necessary for regular teaching methods in the time we have left."

"I don't know, Mr. O'Toole. I don't know many of those kids. I'm not sure I can do it."

"It'll be good for you, too. The math should be easy, but you'll learn some things that will help you later."

"Those kids don't really like me. They think I'm a bookworm."

"They'll like you when they're in their caps and gowns accepting their diplomas because you helped them," James countered.

"Raymond," Shirley said, "you've received a lot from Mr. O'Toole for free. You've got to give something if you have a chance to."

"I'll keep tutoring you whether you agree or not, Raymond. It's your choice. I need your help on this, and these kids do, too."

"What can I say?" Raymond said. "I just hope I can do it."

"There's one other thing," James added. "The School District will pay you a fee for your work. It'll be a hundred and ten dollars a week right through exams. It'll be a nice amount to have in the bank when you go to college in the Fall."

"You didn't tell me that!" Shirley exclaimed.

"I guess I forgot until just now," James answered.

***********

James had to ask around to find out what a dba actually was. Bert Hodges tried to explain it, but couldn't. No one knew, so he called Nathan back and asked him.

"You get it at the County Clerk's office," he told James. "It stands for 'doing business as' and it means that you're registered to do business under a trade name."

"Do I really have to have one?" he asked.

"Bob Jackson wants it," Nathan confirmed. "In the long run, you'll get your payments faster. When you get it, bring it over to me and I'll get the purchase order cut for you. You should do it today, if you can, so we can get moving."

James couldn't go until his shift was over at the Feed Mill. He had already asked for time off for his meeting with Nathan. It was two in the afternoon before he was on the road to Hornell. He had to stop at the bank first, because he found out that the certificate would cost sixty dollars.

In all, it was an aggravating exercise. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," he quipped out loud as he patiently guided his car over snow-covered roads. He shook his head in disbelief. "Please tell me I didn't just say that," he begged to the empty passenger's seat. "Better stop talking to myself," he told himself silently.

At the County Clerk's office an attendant approached him as he leaned on the massive wooden counter. She was a corpulent woman, with an unhurried manner. She thrust a form over the varnished wood. "Fill this out," she ordered. "Don't forget to look in the book before you write in the name. Bring it back after you have it notarized," she recited.

"What book? What am I looking for?" James asked.

"Over there," the exasperated clerk pointed to the end of the counter. "You have to see if the name you want is already taken."

James did as instructed. He hadn't even thought of a name for his venture. He scribbled something simple on the form and returned to the attendant. "You've got to get it notarized," she reminded him.

"Where can I do that?" James asked patiently.

"Almost anywhere," was the answer. "Banks, lawyers—they've all got 'em."

"Are you a notary?" James asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"Would you notarize my form?" James asked.

"I can't," she answered. "I have to sign in a different place, so I can't witness it, too."

The hour was drawing late and James was determined not to have to return the next day. A sudden inspiration, born of need, came upon him. He hurried to the lobby and found a public phone. After looking up a number he placed the call.

"Hello," he said loudly into the phone over the din of the lobby. "Can I speak with Miss Martin?" He waited on hold for half a minute. "Hello, Miss Martin—James O'Toole. I'm downstairs right now. I was wondering if you're a Notary Public—or maybe you know one who could sign a form for me."

"You're a real lifesaver," James attested as he presented himself in Miss Martin's office.

"What have you got?" she asked as she took the paper from him. She read it without waiting for his answer. "A dba form? I wouldn't have guessed that." She read a little further and then pressed a stamp onto the witness line and signed her name above it. "JOT Education Services," she read out loud. "So you're an entrepreneur, now?"

"It's a long story," James answered. "You'd be bored if I told you. Besides, I've got to get back to the County Clerk's office before they close."

"There's a fee for notary services," she called after him as he was halfway out the door.

"Sorry, I didn't know," James answered sheepishly and dug into his pocket.

"None of the stories I've heard about you are boring," she said, "so the fee is that you have to come back up when you're done at the Clerk and tell me the story."

James realized that he had been had, and shot a grin at her. He thought he detected a faint trace of a smile on her lips, but realized quickly that he was probably mistaken.

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

James returned to Miss Martin's office after securing his dba certificate.

"So what's the dba all about?" she asked, as James took a seat in her office.

"Like I said before, it's a long story, so I hope you don't have anything to do right now."

"Go ahead," she urged. "I'm listening."

At that moment the department secretary stuck her head in the door. "The County's closing the roads. We have to close the office in fifteen minutes."

James hadn't noticed how bad the weather had become. There was a heavy snow falling and the wind was driving it sideways. "I better give you a raincheck on this story of mine," James said. "I think that I'll get on the road."

"You'll never make it all the way to Bates," she admonished. "The roads are closing, anyway; the police would stop you. You should try to get a room at the Downtown Hotel."

James sighed. A night in an old hotel wasn't the evening or expense he had in mind, but he knew she was right. To make matters worse, nightfall was close at hand.

"Let me call down there and reserve you a room," she offered as she punched the numbers in the keypad. She waited for the line to connect, and then set the receiver back on its hook. "Their line's busy," she said. "Everyone's probably trying to get in there."

"There must be another hotel," James said. "It's just for a night. I'm not fussy."

"None in town," she answered. "You'd have to go out on the State Highway. I doubt that they'll let you." She glanced out the window. "Look at it coming down," she said in awe. From her window on the fourth floor they watched the wind-driven snow, so heavy that they could barely see the hundreds of office workers struggling against the blizzard to find their cars.

"You'll have to do something," she said. "You don't have much time to make up your mind."

"I'll try the Hotel again," James suggested.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's not a very big hotel; I'm sure that they're full by now. I know someone who'll take you in. You can leave your car here in the lot. I'll drive you there."

"That's too much trouble to put you to," James replied.

"I insist," she said. "Let's get going before the weather gets even worse."

***********

It was nearly a half hour before they were able to brush the snow from Miss Martin's car and make their way out of the parking lot and onto the street. The going was slow. At times the wind blew so hard that the tail lights on the car ahead were invisible. "If we can get into the residential streets it should block some of the wind," James said.

"That's true," she answered, "but the streets won't be plowed. They're having a hard time keeping the main roads clear." At long last, after an hour of creeping though snow-drifted streets, they arrived at a duplex on the edge of town. "You can stay here for the night," she assured him. "I know the person who lives here."

She turned the car to point into the driveway. The car lost traction on the slight incline and James got out to push it. After great exertion and spun wheels, the car staggered up the hill and came to rest alongside of the side door of the house. Miss Martin shut off the motor, and James followed her inside.

The doorway opened to a stairway that led to the kitchen. The house was dark. She flicked on the switch and peeled off her coat and then her boots.

"It looks like no one is home," James observed.

"I live here," she replied. "This is my home—at least this half of the house."

James was surprised and kept silent for a second before speaking. "This is asking too much," he protested. "What will it do to your reputation if the wrong person finds out?"

"I don't have a reputation, so it would probably give it a boost," she declared, "and I'm glad for the company."

"I'm practically a stranger to you," he said, but did not convince her.

"Less a stranger than you might think," she answered. "Never mind that, it's too late for you to go anywhere else, anyway. I'll heat up the stove and start some dinner cooking. Is spaghetti alright? I'm a little low on supplies."

"Right now, soda crackers and catsup would look appealing," James said.

"You had better take off your coat and boots," she said as she put on the pasta water to boil. "I have sauce already made in the refrigerator. I'll put on some tea to warm us up. I have wine for later."

"Can I help with anything?" James asked.

"No," she answered. "Just make yourself at home. The living room is that way. Maybe you can find some storm news on the television."

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

James hadn't realized how truly hungry he was until he finished his second plate of spaghetti and sauce. Then he remembered that he had skipped lunch. Over dinner he told her the story of the dba, Nathan, and the remedial courses he was preparing to teach. Miss Martin said nothing as he told her. She just listened and nodded approvingly as his excitement was on display. He told her just how he planned to do it and pull every last student through. At long-last he pushed away from the table.

"That was the best Italian food I've had in a long, long time," he declared. "I was so long-winded that I forgot to say thank you." He topped off both wine glasses.

"It was just thrown together," she replied. "It just tasted good because you were so hungry and worn out from pushing the car up the driveway. Anyway, I don't get much chance to have dinner guests."

"It's very nice of you to do this for me, Miss Martin."

"If we're to be housemates for a night, I think you can call me Connie." James thought he spotted a trace of a blush on her skin. She rose to clear the dishes and James helped her. "I'll wash them in the morning," she said. "We can go in the living room and finish the wine."

Connie sat on the sofa and curled her feet under her. James sat in an easy chair nearby. "I don't usually drink this much wine," she confided.

"You have a nice home," James observed. "How long have you lived here?"

"About two years," she answered.

"Where did you live before that?"

"Hmmm—around," she replied.

"Have you been a social worker a long time?"

"Fifteen years."

"In the kitchen you said that I was less a stranger to you than I thought," James asked. "Why did you say that?"

Connie looked away for a second, and then snapped back to attention. "I'll tell you later," she replied. "First, tell me why you gave up your vows."

"A lot of people have asked me, and I'm not sure of the answer to this day. I just know that I didn't feel much like a priest in those last few years. I was ashamed of my hypocrisy. I guess that I was running away from it."

"Wasn't there any time that you thought you were right for it?" she asked.

"There was—a long time ago." James told Connie of his Guatemala days. He told her the story of them. He played back the scenes of the villages, the poor, but hard-working students that he taught. He recounted all the things he did, and learned. Mostly, he told her how the hardships refreshed his body and the sacrifices stirred his soul. "In the end," he confessed, "I think I resented having to leave. That's what probably told me deep-down that I wasn't cut out to be a priest. Having to obey ruined it. Obedience was a vow that I had no joy in keeping." He paused, thinking about what he just said. "You know, I never realized that before," he confided. "You really helped me."

"I won't take credit for what was inside you all along," she said.

"Your turn," he reminded her.

"It's boring, compared to what you've just told me."

"C'mon, we had a deal. It's time for you to hold up your end."

"It's really not much of a story," she protested, and then looked away, biting her lip.

"Never mind," James consoled. "We'll talk about something else."

"I'll tell you," she replied. "Let me summon up my courage first." She refilled her wine glass, and James', too. She took a big swallow and a deep breath."

"I was a sister in the Convent of Charity," she declared. James' eyes widened with surprise. "You see, in a certain way, we're not strangers." She swallowed some more wine. "I was a social worker, assigned to work in a hospital. My father passed away. Not long after that, my mother became sick, too. My brothers were far away in their Silicon Valley jobs. The only one to take care of my mother was me."

"You gave up your vows to care for her?" James asked.

"I asked for a leave for that purpose," she explained. "I never wanted to give up my vows. Not long after my mother passed away, the hospital where I worked closed. The Order had no work for me. I would have been an extra mouth to feed. They asked me to be on 'hold' until they figured out something. I used the time to wrap up my parents' estate. After that, the Order still had nothing for me, so I asked for my release. That was two and a half years ago."

"That's kind of sad," James said.

"It's in the past," Connie said. "I'm doing the same kind of work, and I've found that I can still be close to God, with or without vows."

"You appear to be doing well in civilian life," James said.

"It's alright," she admitted. "I only rent this half of the house. I have some savings. Sometimes I think that I'd like to buy a place of my own, but it's easy to lose interest when there would be no one to share it with."

"I was born to teach Math," James said. "I'll be doing that somewhere. It might not be in this Valley, after everything that's been said about me."

She didn't answer, but filled their wineglasses again, draining the bottle.