in trouble over this?”
“With the school, you mean?”
He nodded.
“I don’t know. I hope not. I did call my principal
before we left Redmond, and he agreed that it made
sense to take the alternate route. And it wasn’t snowing,
and forecasters were off by hours about when the storm
was supposed to reach this far north.”
She wasn’t trying to convince him, John guessed, but
rather herself.
Her voice went quiet. “Maybe I deserve to lose my
job. We could have all died. I used poor judgment.”
He’d been harsh yesterday, and now felt like the
worst kind of hypocrite. His own misjudgment had
resulted in horror. Maybe she’d been lucky, but her
error had been mild in comparison.
Besides… He’d been surprised himself yesterday
afternoon to walk out of the grocery store and see snow
falling so soon. His own drive back to the lodge had
been treacherous.
They’d reached the hallway above.
“I suspect there are travelers stranded all over. You
may not be the only Knowledge Champs team that got
in trouble. From what you said, high schools all over
Oregon had sent kids.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no! I didn’t even think about
that. Two groups came from Portland and one from
Lincoln City over on the coast. What if…?” She pressed
a hand to her throat.
“Nothing you can do about it.” Okay, that didn’t
help, John saw immediately. He tried again. “Eight kids
is enough for you to take responsibility for.”
“I can’t help worrying. Oh, I wish we could get some
news coverage!”
“You can’t do anything.”
She tried to smile. “I can worry, can’t I?”
They’d been standing here in the hall too long. He
was becoming uncomfortably aware of her. Of little
things: the palest of freckles on the bridge of her nose,
the fullness of her lower lip, the single strand of dark
hair that curved down over her brow. He resisted the
urge to lift his hand and smooth it back.
The effort made his voice curt. “Worrying won’t help.”
Her pointy chin rose. “No. It won’t. Hadn’t we better
get started? I figure they’ve already been out there five
minutes. By your estimate, Amy will be coming in the
door in another five minutes.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay. You’re trying to help. I know.” She smiled,
a benediction.
His fingers curled into fists at his sides. She wouldn’t
be so forgiving if she knew about the death he’d rained
on the innocent.
The road to hell was paved with good intentions.
She took the girls’ bathroom, he took the boys’. From
long habit, he cleaned fast, and then carried a pile of
towels and washcloths to her. She was wiping the countertop, which took longer than in the other bathroom because of the amazing array of toiletries and cosmetics scattered there. All of which had presumably come out of their purses and bookbags.
“Oh, thank you,” Fiona said, seeing the pile in his
arms. “More loads of laundry in the making.”
His laugh felt rusty. “You don’t look like the half-
empty kind.”
She smiled impishly. “In this case, the washing
machine is going to be a lot more than half full.”
Still smiling, although it felt unnatural, John said,
“And I seem to remember you promised to load it.”
“Yes, I did.” Fiona began hanging towels on racks,
leaving part of the stack on the counter between the pair
of sinks. “What you said earlier, about Iraq… Was it
awful? I know a lot of the returning veterans are suffering from posttraumatic stress, just like after Vietnam.”
PTSD—Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder—was a
fancy way of saying that you’d seen things you
shouldn’t have, in John’s opinion. It was ridiculous to talk
about it as a disease, as if the right pills would cure it.
He cocked a brow at her. “Are you asking if I’m one
of them? Maybe. Most soldiers do have some symptoms.”
She flushed. “I’m so sorry if you thought… I really
wasn’t asking, even obliquely. You haven’t given me