Love and Sorrow - Jade C. Jamison Page 0,4

a train careening off the rails. But no matter what this man thought, I was fairly stable and my kids came first. “I’ve been seeing someone for a little over a year.”

“Are you living together?”

One word shot out of my mouth like a bullet, far too abrupt, like I was protesting. “No.”

The principal didn’t seem to notice. “Is her behavior different now compared to her behavior before you started dating?”

As I looked back, I knew that my daughter had started withdrawing, becoming introverted sometime over the past year. Had I missed something obvious during that time? “Do you think that has anything to do with how she’s been acting?”

“Anything’s possible. You might consider family therapy to help her talk about whatever she’s feeling, get those issues out in the open. If she’s feeling hurt or rejected because you’re not focusing one-hundred percent of your attention on her, she could be acting out.” He blinked a couple of times before continuing. “Do you have insurance?”

“Sarah’s on her father’s insurance.”

“Then you might look into what therapists in our area are covered under his plan. In the meantime, I’m afraid I’ll have to come off as the bad guy. I realize Sarah must be going through a rough patch but my job is to keep all the students here safe…so I’m suspending Sarah from school for the remainder of the week.”

I just stared at him, surprised my jaw wasn’t literally open—but I was at a loss for words.

“She can, of course, return to school Monday.”

The breath evaporated from my body as if someone had hit me in the stomach. Just the thought that maybe I’d done this to my child…

“Of course.” My voice echoed in my ears as if it didn’t belong to me.

“Right now, we have her in the counselor’s office.” When he stood, I followed suit. “She’s refusing to talk, and we were going to have her gather up her things in her backpack, but—well, in her present state of mind, I and the counselor thought it best to just let her be until you got here.”

In silence, I followed Mr. Cooper back through the maze of cubicles and out into the hall where the ever-present smell of the school once again assaulted my nostrils. Then he stepped over to the office marked “Counselor.” After he rapped on the door, he opened it without waiting for the counselor’s voice inviting him in.

As if it established who was in charge, the counselor’s office was smaller than the principal’s, but it also had a big window on the right-hand side looking out over the front of the school. The other window that opened up to the main hallway was covered with miniblinds, presently closed. Much like Mr. Cooper’s office, the counselor’s desk sat in the middle of the room with one entire back wall covered with bookshelves.

But my eyes were drawn toward my daughter Sarah. She was slumped in the loveseat across from the desk, her small arms folded across her chest. I noticed right away that my child didn’t look angry or depressed. In fact, her expression was devoid of all emotion. If I had to describe her face at that moment, she looked bored. Her blue eyes were half-closed, staring across the room—but as I tried to see her through the eyes of another, I saw a problem child. Her long brown hair, something she inherited from me, cascaded over her shoulders and partially blocked one side of her face. Worse, it was stringy and unruly, like she’d been in a fight or hadn’t bothered pulling a brush through it in a couple of days. It was no wonder these people thought I was a shitty mother.

The soft-spoken counselor, a man with dark hair, said, “Ah, you must be Sarah’s mother.” When he stood, Sarah finally looked up at me, but there was no emotion in her expression.

It didn’t stop that guilty feeling beginning to brew in my gut.

“Yes.”

“Kevin Campbell.” When he held out his hand, I shook it. “Mr. Cooper explained the situation?”

“Yes. We talked about possible options…”

“Good idea. Now may not be the right time to talk, but I’m happy to help in whatever way I can.” Opening a drawer, he pulled out a card and handed it to me. “My number, in case you need to call.”

“Thank you. Is there anything else I need to do right now?”

I’d almost forgotten about the principal until he cleared his throat. “We’ll need to have you sign her out at the