Print a heavy sigh, threw her now-unwanted dinner in the garbage, and grabbed her car keys.

 

She paused in her search to listen. The hall was so quiet she didn't think he could have moved without alerting her to his location. Then she heard it: the scrape of the legs of a chair on the linoleum floor. Hunter, she thought, and started briskly toward the sound. When she neared the end of the hall, she wasn't sure exactly which room the noise had come from. It had been the right side of the hall, but there were two possible classrooms.

"Hunter?" she whispered. "It's Ms. Lawson. I want to help you."

Nothing.

She didn't want to open the wrong door without reassuring him first. She didn't think he would hurt her, but she was terrified he would hurt himself.

"Hunter, come on out. I just want to talk to you." She kept her voice soft. She was confident he would be able to hear, and she didn't want him to think she was angry with him.

After a little more coaxing, she heard the sound again: the chair on the floor. She heard soft footsteps, then the door to her left opened. There stood Hunter. His cheek was bruised, and he was holding his stomach. When she looked more closely, she noticed there was blood on his shirt. He had a bad cut on his arm.

"Hunter, sweetie, what happened?"

The boy just looked at her, terrified.

"Who did this to you? Did the police officers hurt you?" Please god, tell me they didn't, she thought.

He shook his head.

"Frank." she said. The foster father. It wasn't even a question. It came out in an angry, flat tone.

Hunter dropped his head, and stood still for a few seconds. Then he began to nod.

"Are you ready to talk to the police? I promise, I'll be right there with you."

He wouldn't look up at her, but he nodded again.

Finally, she thought. I can't believe it had to come to this..

 

2250 6/16/08

 

 

Story Three

"Don't think that just because you're a man, you can do whatever you want!" she screamed at him.

"Exactly what does that mean? For your information, I haven't done anything wrong!" Granted their voices weren't quite that loud, neighbors started to look out their windows to watch the fight.

"Haven't done anything wrong? Is sleeping with your secretary 'not doing anything wrong?'" Just saying it aloud, it seemed, finally telling him she knew, took a lot of the pressure away, but it was also sad; she sounded disappointed. Kind of like now that she said it, she had nothing to hold over his head. Like she no longer had a right to be angry. Marriage does weird things to people.

"Now wait just one second," he said, then lowered his voice. "Open the door; let's go inside. People are starting to stare."

"Quite the spectacle, aren't we?" she shouted toward the faces in the windows. "Right out of those cop TV shows, huh? Suppose now you're going to call the police? Tell them about the terrible scene we're causing?"

"Ursula, come on. Very funny. Why don't we just go inside and talk about this, in private?"

"Excellent. You'd like that wouldn't you. Zack, after what you've done to me, you could stand a little public humiliation. Anything you have to say to me, I'm willing to let them hear. Be my witnesses."

"Come on, be reasonable. Don't make this any worse than it already is. Everyone doesn't need to see our marriage fall apart," he said with a nervous smile, glancing toward their audience.

"Fine," she said, finally giving in, but the murderous look hadn't left her face. Grabbing the door handle, she flung the front door the their townhome apartment open and stormed inside. He followed closely behind.

"Is that