Chapter 5: The Son Who Called
I stepped to the side of the hallway.
Ariel looked up at me, reading my face.
"One second," I mouthed to her.
"Mr.
Grunwald," I said into the phone.
"How did you get this number?"
"The school gave it to me.
I hope that's all right.
I told them I was family." A pause.
"I've been trying to reach my mother all morning.
She wasn't answering.
I finally called the school and they told me she was in a meeting with the principal and a police officer, and I—" He stopped.
"I panicked."
"She's fine," I said.
"She's right here, actually.
Everything is fine."
A long exhale on the other end.
"Thank God."
"Would you like to speak with her?"
"Yes.
But first—" Another pause.
Longer this time.
"Is it true?
What they told me?
About the little girl and the glasses?"
"Yes," I said.
"It's true."
The silence that followed was the kind that has weight to it.
"I didn't know her glasses were broken," he said finally.
His voice had changed.
Something in it had cracked open, just slightly.
"She never told me."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
"She never asks for anything," he said.
"She's been that way my whole life.
I should have — I should have been paying more attention."
Ariel was tugging gently at my sleeve.
I held up one finger.
"Mr.
Grunwald, would you like me to put your mother on?"
"Please."
I walked back to the principal's office.
Mrs.
Grunwald was still inside, saying goodbye to the officer.
I knocked on the open door.
"Mrs.
Grunwald.
Your son is on the phone."
She went very still.
"Gerald?"
"He's been trying to reach you.
He was worried."
She took the phone from me slowly, like she wasn't sure she deserved it.
"Gerald." Her voice was different now.
Softer.
Smaller.
"I'm fine.
I'm perfectly fine."
I stepped back to give her privacy, but the office was small and the door was open and I couldn't help hearing.
"Mom, why didn't you tell me about the glasses?"
"They were just glasses."
"Mom."
"I didn't want to make a fuss."
"You taped them together."
A silence.
"How long?" he asked.
"How long were they like that?"
She didn't answer right away.
"A few months."
"A few months." His voice was careful.
Controlled.
The way people speak when they are trying not to say the thing they actually feel.
"And you didn't call me."
"You're busy, Gerald."
"I'm never too busy for—" He stopped.
Started again.
"Mom.
I'm coming.
I'll be there by four."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm coming."
She was quiet for a moment.
Then, very softly: "All right."
She handed the phone back to me.
Her eyes were dry but her jaw was tight.
"He worries too much," she said.
"He loves you," I said.
She looked at me for a moment.
Then she looked at Ariel, who was standing in the doorway, pretending she hadn't been listening.
"Your daughter," Mrs.
Grunwald said, "did something your daughter's mother couldn't do."
I frowned slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"She made Gerald call." Mrs.
Grunwald straightened her new glasses.
"I've been waiting for that call for two years."
The hallway felt very still.
Ariel looked at me.
May you like
I looked at Ariel.
Neither of us had any idea what had been sitting underneath this story the whole time.
