The Last Night Of The Class Trip
My daughter had snuck out of that hotel in the middle of the night and dragged Maddie with her, to a party or a boy or something worse. They had been picked up by the police. And the school, out of kindness, had tried to keep it small.
That is what I believed. I believed it completely. I need you to know that, because of what I did next.
Mark got home at eight-thirty. I met him in the garage with the card and told him everything, and we walked down the hall together. Mark knocked gently. Nothing.
So I talked to the door. And I said it all wrong.
“Lily, we know. We know you snuck out on the last night. We know the police brought you back. I found the detective’s card. Whatever you did, honey, whatever it was, we need to hear it from you, right now.”
There was a long silence on the other side of that door.
Then my daughter said, in a voice so flat I almost didn’t recognize it, “That’s what he told you, isn’t it.”
“Who? Lily, who told us what?”
She didn’t answer. I heard the bed creak as she lay back down, and I lay awake until three in the morning asking myself one question.
Who was he?
At seven-thirty the next morning I called the high school, and Principal Lowry took my call right away, which I should have found strange.
He was warm. He has a big, easy voice, the voice that does the morning announcements and the football games, and he used it on me like a blanket.
“Mrs. Carlson, I’m so sorry. I left a message at the number on file the morning after. I should have followed up. That’s on me.”
“What happened?”
He sighed, sympathetic. “A curfew violation. Two of our girls slipped out after room check and ended up at a gas station a block from the hotel, which, at that hour, in that city, I don’t need to tell you. Somebody called the police. The officers were very courteous. The girls were back in their rooms by two. Nobody was hurt.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Last night of the trip. Kids.” His voice softened even more. “Lily’s a great young lady who made one bad choice. By the book that’s a suspension and a note in her file, and I chose not to go that way. I’d hate to see one bad night follow a straight-A student to college. The less said, the better. For Lily most of all.”
“There’s a detective’s card in her suitcase.”
“Standard. They take everybody’s name.” A pause. “I’d let it rest, Mrs. Carlson. She’s embarrassed. Don’t make her relive it.”
When I hung up, I felt something I am ashamed of. I felt relieved. A curfew violation. One bad choice. I could ground her for a month, take her phone, and we could all move on.
That relief lasted three hours.
At lunch I ran into the Hy-Vee, and in the cereal aisle I came face to face with Joanne Kerr.
Her chin started to shake. “Your daughter took mine out of that hotel in the middle of the night, Amy. In Los Angeles. Greg Lowry told me everything. And you haven’t even called me.”
And here is the worst part. I apologized.
I stood in the cereal aisle and apologized to Joanne Kerr for my own daughter. I said I’d only just found out, that there would be consequences, that I didn’t know what had gotten into her. Joanne said, “Neither does Maddie. She won’t say one word about it.” Then she pushed her cart away.