The Ghosts of Miller's Crossing Page 6

  “Yes, Father, I agree. And thank you for the kind words.” Just hearing that was rather comforting, more so than what Edward experienced back in Portland. The priest that presided over her funeral told him he was sorry for his loss and then said a generic prayer with the family. After the service, Edward and the kids never heard from him again.

  “My office is always open for you and your children anytime you need to talk. Welcome home. I look forward to you stepping into shoes vacated by your father’s tragic loss.”

  Edward stood there for a few seconds, watching the familiar form of Father Murray disappear down the hall and around the corner. He wondered what he might have stepped into. His stomach rumbled sending him sprinting to the lounge. He had just a few moments left to down some junk food before his meeting.

  10

  The school year started full of optimism. Of course, that described Edward, not his children. He had to wake Sarah up three separate times so they would not be late. Jacob was up on time, but took his ever-loving time to get ready. As Edward got ready himself, he found it necessary to walk up and down the hall like an old-fashioned barker every five minutes to shout encouragement and reminders of how much time they had left. Just as he expected, at the last minute, both of his pride and joys exited their rooms and headed downstairs.

  The ride to school was completely silent. Jacob’s nose was stuck in a video game on his phone; Sarah’s was buried in her bookbag for a more moments of sleep. When they arrived at the elementary school, Edward veered right out of the drop off lane and into the parking lot. He parked his car in the first visitor spot next to the walkway. Jacob made sure to slam the door as he got out, and watched with delight as his sister jerked awake.

  As Edward walked him in, Jacob seemed nervous at first about starting at a new school, but all that went away when one of his classmates walked up and introduced himself before they were even in the classroom. Edward took just a few minutes to talk to the teacher before heading off. With a final look at Jacob, a smile grew on his face as he saw his son already making new friends. Jacob took after his mother in that respect. She could walk into a room of strangers and have four or five new best friends in just a matter of moments.

  When Edward opened the car door to finish the drive to the high school, Sarah greeted him with the largest over-exaggerated smile he had ever seen. It went from cute to eerie in moments. “What?”

  “I was just thinking. It is such a WONDERFUL morning outside. How about you drop me off a little way before we get to the school and let me walk the rest of the way in?”

  Knowing Sarah hated mornings more than anything else in existence instantly tipped her hat and he called her on it. “You just don’t want to be seen getting out of the car with me, dear old dad, a teacher. Huh?”

  “Oh, Dad, that’s not it.” She tried to give him those big eyes that usually cause him to say yes to anything.

  There are bigger battles to be had, so he gave in. “Alright. I will let you out just before we get there.”

  “Thanks, Dad, you’re the best.” She threw her arm around him and gave him a half hug.

  He dropped Sarah off about a quarter mile from the school with instructions to walk straight there and text him when she got there. Edward pulled into the faculty parking lot and took a spot. He grabbed his brown satchel and headed inside among the crowd of rather cheerful teenagers all arriving for the first day of the new school year. Walking into a school that didn’t have metal detectors at the front, seeing students walk around being friendly and polite to the teachers and each other, and hearing the magical words “Mister” and “Missus” echo everywhere was a stark contrast to the “Yo, Teach” he had heard for the last several years. The refreshing and energizing environment engulfed Edward. He decided to stand outside his door to welcome in his first class instead of waiting at his desk, using it as a shield, as he usually did.

  Students filed by him down the hallway with polite and cheerful “good morning’s. He checked the time on his phone. Just a few moments left until the bell rang. Sarah walked down the hallway as close to the other wall as she could possibly get, doing everything to look straight ahead while cutting her eyes in his direction. Feeling the urge to be the annoying father, he considered yelling something across the hallway such as, “Have a great first day, sweetie.” But the disruption to the now peaceful home life wasn’t worth the bit of ill-timed humor it would bring him, and he let her pass peacefully.

  The bell rang, a real bell sound, not some electronic tone signaling the start of class. The last time Edward heard a real school bell, he was a student in elementary school. A few students made a mad dash toward their classrooms as the doors closed. Back in Portland, half the students treated the bell as a couple minute warning, and it took an assigned member of the faculty to walk the halls and send the students to their classrooms. The hallway beyond Edward’s closing door resembled a ghost town. The inside of his classroom was a picture from Normal Rockwell himself.

  Edward walked to the front of his class and leaned back on his desk. Every set of eyes in the classroom focused on him. He felt a quick shiver, followed a pressing feeling on every inch of his body. He did not expect to feel nervous about addressing his classes.

  He dipped his head and took a deep breath to collect himself before he addressed the class. When he looked back out, he noticed a visitor walking toward the back along the chalkboard to his left. He appeared to be a cheery older gentleman just out for a stroll, wearing a tweed jacket and a Doctor Doolittle hat.

  Not now, Edward thought to himself. There was never a good time for this to happen, but a moment like this was the worst. Edward watched as the man disappeared through the back wall and then returned his focus back to his class. As he did, he caught a few students turning around as well. Their expressions were normal, not showing any fear or surprise, maybe a hint of confusion. They were probably all wondering what the weird new teacher looked at.

  “Good morning. I’m Mr. Meyer. Welcome to twelfth-grade literature.” Edward picked up a stack of papers and took a few shaky steps to the first row of desks, giving several pages to the student sitting in each desk. “This is the syllabus for the class. Please take one and pass the rest back. If there are any left over, please just put them on the table in the back. While we hand these out, let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves.” The papers disbursed backward, and he noticed students looking at them and reading them.

  “Let’s start here.” Edward stood in front of the first desk on the left side of the room. The occupant of the desk, a curly-haired blonde wearing glasses and a simple t-shirt and jeans, laid her syllabus flat and sat up straight, and said with a tremble in her voice, “I’m Susan Parker.”

  Edward looked back to the gentleman sitting behind her and without hesitation, said, “Robert Lewis, nice to meet you.”

  The rest of the class picked up the pattern and each of the other twenty-four students took turns introducing themselves.

  “I am usually pretty good with names, so there will be no need for any name cards or anything. I should remember each of your names after the next few days, but now let’s get to a more important topic. Why are we here?” Edward saw many students looking down at the syllabus, expecting a read-through or review of what was handed out. “It’s a more general topic than even what is on the syllabus, so you can put those down for the moment.”

  Edward felt enthusiastic and a bit idealistic. “We are here to learn about literature. Now, that is a very broad topic. More specifically, we will talk about the types and styles of the American classics. We will read some of those classics and talk about the styles of each author and what they try to convey to the reader with their story. But there is something else...”

  The English teacher in Edward forced a pause in his speech.

  “Let me try that again, using proper English.” A few students in the class laughed. “We will be reading several of the American classics and talk about their sty
le and content, BUT” he over emphasized that word on purpose, “I am after an even bigger goal. I hope to share and instill with you a love for reading like I have. So, before we begin, who reads for fun?”

  Not a hand entered the air, to which Edward was not surprised. “Oh, come on, reading can be fun. Let’s try this again, ignoring what you have been forced… I mean, assigned to read for school, who has read something in the last year?”

  This time, about half of the hands jumped in to the air. “Good. Umm... Lisa, what did you read?” Edward asked, pointing to a girl sitting in the back of the third row.

  “Origins by Dan Brown.”

  “Good, and have you read any of his other books?”

  “Yes, all of them.”

  “You enjoyed it, right?”

  Lisa nodded yes, as a voice from the back commented, “Not like there is anything else we can do when the sun goes down around here.”

  “Well Michael, thank you for volunteering to go next. I saw your hand up earlier, what was the last book you read and enjoyed.”

  Without hesitation, Michael responded, “Relentless.”

  Edward clarified, “The book by Tim Grover?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent choice. I have read it myself. You enjoyed it, right?”

  Michael’s eyes perked up when he heard his teacher had read the same book as well. He straightened up in his seat before responding, “Absolutely.”

  “Why?” Edward asked, looking for him to clarify with more context.

  “I like sports and have always been curious about that edge that some athletes have. How can someone who is equally as talented as someone else find that extra something to excel further? That book gave me a look into how their minds work.”

  Feeling his point was made, Edward did quick summary before continuing with his plans for today’s class. “See, everyone? Lisa is reading what many think of as one of the best authors of our time, at least one of the most popular, and she enjoyed it. On the other side, Michael read a self-help book. A type of book that many think can be very boring, and he found enjoyment in the topic. There really is something for everyone. I hope you each find something enjoyable in what we read this year.”

  Looking around the classroom, Edward felt he had the class fully engaged. “OK, so let’s look at your syllabus and see where we are going to start…”

  Each of his remaining five classes followed suit the rest of the day. Introductions, a quick discussion about what he hoped they get out of the class, and then into the syllabus and preparing for the first selection of the year. Well, almost. By the third class, he started noticing a look. Not a look, perhaps, but a feeling coming from the students. Not one of disrespect, but like he was an animal on display at the zoo. The feeling grew from class to class until it finally came to the surface with his last class of the day.

  During the introductions and open discussion, Edward asked the question, “Does anyone have any more questions?” A timid hand appeared from the middle of the room. A student who was outspoken during the open discussion now appeared hesitant about asking a question.

  “Mr. Meyer?”

  “Yes, Jeff?”

  “Is it true you live in that eerie old house at the edge of town?”

  Every town has that one house that everyone tells tales about. In this town, like it or not, it was Edward’s home. He had no doubt the story had grown to the level of town folklore. Probably at some point, some school-aged kids stood at the end of the driveway, just outside the tree line that separates the property from the road, daring each other to run up toward the house. The dare, of course, was accompanied with some fable about an old man that lives there that eats any child that comes close to the house.

  “Well, if you mean my old family home. Yes. My family and I have moved back to it. Rest assured, none of the stories,” more exaggerated than before, “no matter what you have heard…” Edward pauses and leans his head forward slightly, and looks at his class humorously out of the top of his eyes under his furrowed brow, “it is not true. The house is the same as it was when I grew up there.”

  There was an audible murmur circulating through the classroom as they realize their teacher was that little boy from the story they heard about.

  “It isn’t haunted?” a voice inquired amongst the murmur.

  Edward chuckled and with a straight face replied, “Well no, Robin, I can absolutely guarantee it is not haunted.”

  When the school day ended, Edward packed up his things, locked his classroom, and headed out to the parking lot. His daughter, who was too cool for anyone to see her driving into school with “dear old dad,” now leaned against the car waiting for her ride home.

  “So how was school?” he asked as he opened the driver’s side door.

  “Not bad.”

  Edward felt fortunate. He received a two-word answer instead of a half-hearted “fine” or something to that effect. “Well, glad you survived. How are your classes?”

  “Not bad. Seems I am a bit of a celebrity.”

  “How so?”

  “I… am the girl that lives in the haunted house.” She looked at him with that satirical smile he saw when she was being a smartass.

  “Yeah, I got a little of that, too. Let’s go pick up your brother.”

  11

  Friday afternoon arrived, providing a quiet and normal end to the first few days back at school. Both Edward and his children settled into the rhythm of the school year, and even though they continued to complain about going to school, as all kids do, they both enjoyed it. Of course, they would never admit it.

  As they pulled into the driveway, they headed inside for a quick change of clothes and then back to school for the Friday Night Football game. Edward missed this part of his life. His high school education came from teachers the state sent in to conduct classes in the hospital. Having experienced the games with his mother and father, he always felt a longing for it. Now as a father, he wanted to make sure his children did not miss out.

  Sarah zipped down the hall toward the bathroom she shared with Jacob. In the breeze caused by her brisk movement he heard, “A few friends want to pick me up for the game.”

  Sarah appeared to have forgotten how the whole parent and child thing worked. “Is that a question asking for permission?”

  Doing her best impression of a whining teenager, “Dad! It’s just a few people I met at school. We’ll be at the same game.”

  Edward knew it was safe and said, “OK, al…”

  Sarah blurred past him in the hallway, interrupting his answer. The glimpse Edward caught caused a quick change of his answer. “… absolutely not.”

  The answer stopped Sarah in her tracks at her bedroom door. “Why not?”

  “You are not wearing that out. You still have to follow the school dress code.” Sarah stood in her bedroom door wearing a skirt that barely covered her butt and tube top that was missing its midriff.

  Sarah slammed the door. “If I change, THEN can I go to the game with my friends?”

  Settling for one victory, Edward conceded. “Sure, just text me when you get there and when you leave.”

  Edward took a few moments to get himself ready.

  The sound of someone running down the stairs was followed by a quick yell of, “Bye, Dad,” and punctuated by the slamming of the front door. Edward glanced at the clock and realized he and Jacob needed to get going, too. Unlike the games in Portland which started at 7:30 PM, the games here had always started at 5:00 PM. Even the away games. He remembered hearing someone ask his father about the start time once. “It was a tradition.”

  Edward and Jacob headed out in the direction of the school and joined the parade of cars and trucks lined up to turn into the school’s football stadium parking. Surrounded by cars blasting music, pickup trucks loaded with people in the back waving pompoms, and scores of others walking past them, they inched their way toward the stadium. He rolled down the windows and the smell of hot dogs on the
grill, popcorn, and the sound of two marching bands playing various tunes from their positions in the stands wafted in with a flood of memories that brought a smile to his face.

  Once parked, Edward and Jacob walked toward the source of the sweet smells and growing sound. Neighboring Valley Ridge was that night’s opponent. Their fans created a sea of gold and crimson walking among the blue- and white-clad Miller’s fans.

  They parked, bought tickets, and went inside. No large police presence or wanding here.

  Knowing what was on Jacob’s mind, and his too, their first stop was the concession stand. There was a small line, but not too long. It gave them a moment to look at the simple menu board with the Coca-Cola red wave emblem on it as a sponsor. He felt a quick vibration in his pocket and pulled out his phone. There was a simple message from Sarah’s number that just said, “here.” He took a quick glance back toward the gate and saw his daughter walking in with a group of students, smiling and laughing. That image took away any doubt he had about coming back here to start fresh. He’d made the right decision.

  He and Jacob placed their order, two hot dogs with extra mustard and relish, two Cokes, a popcorn, and a pack of M&Ms. The concession workers made a few trips to bring their food to the counter and Edward handed them a ten-dollar bill and donated the change back to the football boosters. With the food in hand and the popcorn pinned to Edward’s chest by the arm supporting his hotdog, they headed to the bleachers and found a seat. Both teams were out on the field warming up.

  ✽✽✽

  The game itself was great. Miller’s Crossing won 14-10, but what stuck out to Edward was how right Mark was about his son. Chase had five catches for 120 yards and was an absolute beast out there blocking. Edward tried to find Mark after the game to send Chase congratulations on such a great game, but something else drew his attention. Within minutes, the stands and parking lot were almost empty. Except for the Valley Ridge fans, it was a virtual ghost town. Thinking he might have more luck over at the gym, where the locker rooms were, he and Jacob headed that direction, but found more, or less, of the same. Less than fifteen minutes after the final whistle, the Miller’s Crossing players had left with their families. The only folks roaming around were the families of the opposing players, who waited to see their sons emerge from the locker room before they boarded the buses and headed home. He and Jacob gave up and headed back to the parking lot where they found a handful of cars left, all but his adorned with the yellow and crimson colors of Valley Ridge.