Wish Me Tomorrow

The edges of the paper bent beneath his tense fingers. He perused her grades and double-checked the name at the top. This had to be a mistake. A misunderstanding. Becca would not flunk out of school. Not on his watch.

“Can we get Becca down here?” He dropped the paper as though it burned. “She’ll clear this up.”

Mrs. Luce chewed on her bottom lip then picked up the phone. “Please escort Becca Roberts to my office, Cynthia.”

Escort? He suppressed a snort. Was his daughter a criminal? What had happened to innocent until proven guilty? He and Mrs. Luce stared at each other, the silence stretching to its breaking point. Moments later, footsteps sounded in the hall. The door opened. Becca.

He strode to the door and opened his arms. Becca must be scared. Would need his assurance. But she took a far seat without acknowledging him, her eyes darting everywhere but in his direction. She couldn’t have looked guiltier. He pulled out his chair and dropped into it. Was she responsible for the note? The incompletes? He rubbed his temples.

“Becca,” Mrs. Luce began in a stern voice. “Please look at your father and tell him what you told us.”

Her wide pupils turned her blue eyes black. “I wrote the note,” she croaked. Her fingers fidgeted with the tulle band wrapped around her braid.

“What?” His mouth fell open. He pointed at the paper scrap. “That’s yours?”

Becca nodded and studied her crisscrossed flip-flops.

“Why?” His voice came out hoarse and low. He hated that it had taken a stranger to make him pay attention to his own daughter. “Why would you tell someone they were going to die? You...of all people...after what we’ve gone through.”

Becca’s ashen face jerked away. “Yeah. What would I know about death? We’ve never talked about it, right?”

His silence on the subject had been to protect her, not hurt her. The disposable cup bent in his hand. “That’s no excuse to threaten to hurt someone.”

“Is that what you think?” Becca stomped to the door. “That girl’s a smoker. I was warning her about dying of cancer. You know—cancer? I think you might have heard of it, Dad. I didn’t want her to end up with our sucky life.” He flinched at her bitter tone.

The metal doorknob rattled in her hand. “May I be excused, Mrs. Luce?”

“Of course, dear. You may return to the study room.”

“Thank you.” Becca slipped through the door without a backward glance.

His hands gripped the chair’s plush arms. This was worse than he’d imagined. Would Becca fail eighth grade? Leave her friends, change schools? He’d fought hard to keep his kids’ lives as unchanged as possible, to maintain the life they’d had before his had fallen apart. Would this event bring everything tumbling down?

“Mr. Roberts, when we first questioned Becca, she simply confirmed that she’d written the note. In light of this...” Mrs. Luce cleared her throat “...clarification, we might need to reconsider our decision not to recommend her for promotion if she can make up her work.”

“You think?” he asked rhetorically, furious with himself and sorry that Mrs. Luce had been put in the middle of this mess. He grabbed the annoying, clanking silver balls and stilled them, guilt heavy on his shoulders.

“Mr. Roberts,” she began, pulling the apparatus out of his reach. “We see this every day. Children acting out in school when something is wrong at home.”

“Everything’s fine,” insisted Eli, wishing he felt as sure as he sounded.

“Your family is facing a devastating crisis.”

He shifted in his seat. Someone must have told her about his cancer. The guidance counselor. What was her name? The one who smiled a lot. Sort of like Christie without the charm.

“Mrs. Kevlar,” he murmured and pulled out his twitching phone. He powered it off without looking at the screen.

Mrs. Luce nodded. “Yes. Mrs. Kevlar told me of your health issues. And of your wife’s...absence. Is there some chance that she might be of help?”

Absence? Was that the euphemism used for being dumped? He passed a hand over his eyes. “Let’s leave her out of this. She won’t want to be involved.”

“But surely, as a mother, she’d—”

“She was never a mother to them.” And it was true. He’d changed their diapers, read them to sleep, made their lunches, ordered their birthday cakes. As the eldest child of twelve, his ex had once told him she’d already done her share of parenting.

Mrs. Luce’s face softened. Did she pity him? Now, that he couldn’t stand. His family might be having a tough time, but they’d get through it. They always did.

“And have you been engaging Becca and Tommy? Talking to them about everything that’s going on? Encouraging them to express their feelings?”

Now she sounded like Christie.

“We’re going to counseling today,” replied Eli, certain now, more than ever, that he’d been right to make that appointment. If only he’d done it sooner. Prevented Becca from digging herself this hole. He noticed a penny by his loafers. It was heads up. Christie would say that was good luck, though fate was hardly on his side today.

Mrs. Luce rested her head on the high brown back of her chair. The rain-forest sounds quieted, replaced by the muffled thrum of Manhattan traffic. After a long moment, she leveled her gaze on him.

“Given the extenuating circumstances, I believe we can work out a plan so that Becca still has a chance of attending Elisabeth Irwin this fall.”

His heart sped as he leaned forward. “It would mean a lot.” He would do whatever it took to get his family back on track. But for right now, he needed Mrs. Luce on his side.

The principal hit another button on her sound soother and set the metallic balls back in motion. “If you agree to attend family counseling until school starts in September, and Becca makes up her work over the summer, I will recommend her promotion to ninth grade.”

Relief flooded him. “That’s generous. Thank you.”

She pointed a gold-tipped pen. “I’ll need to see signed documentation from your counselor along with Becca’s completed assignments. You can pick them up tomorrow.”

“Will do.” He glanced down at the gleaming copper penny. He almost left it on the floor then discreetly pocketed it instead. Not that he believed in crazy superstitions. But it would remind him of how close he’d come to losing touch with his daughter.

“Would you excuse Becca and Tommy so they can leave with me? Our appointment is at Memorial Hospital in an hour.” No way was he taking a chance they’d be late.

“Of course. And, Mr. Roberts?”

He stopped at the door and turned.

“Good luck.”

* * *

CHRISTIE’S ACHING FEET carried her down the hallway of Memorial Sloan-Kettering Counseling Center. A pink-and-white-checkered dog leash drooped by her side, Sweet Pea trotting on the other end. Where did her pet’s boundless energy come from? After working seven days straight, she couldn’t wait to hang up her monkey-ears stethoscope and head home. Not that Sweet Pea worked every shift. As an Angel on a Leash therapy dog, the spaniel accompanied her two times a week and during their monthly Toward Tomorrow group forum.

“Paging Nurse Bates. Nurse Bates line 224,” crackled the PA system.

She rubbed her forehead. Minutes from a clean getaway. She pressed a hand to her tender back and turned into a nearby nurses’ station. She hooked Sweet Pea’s leash on an unused IV pole and leaned over the gray countertop for the phone.

“Christie Bates,” she said after punching the blinking red button.

“Christie!” exclaimed her friend and fellow grief counselor Joan. “Thank goodness you haven’t left yet.”

She twisted the cord around her finger. “Nope. Still here. What’s up?” She leaned down and ruffled Sweet Pea’s long ears.