Afterlife - Douglas Clegg [5]
At the front desk, near the secretary’s office, Julie flipped through one of the magazines (Psychology Today, perhaps, but she wasn’t really noticing), and finally the headmaster came in.
She glanced up from the magazine. “He’s all right?”
“He’s resting. He’s fine now. I’d like you to speak with Dr. Maitland, first.”
“Maybe I should drive him over to Dr. Swanson.”
“We already put a call in. Our nurse, Miss Jackson, thinks that’s not necessary at this time. He’s fine, really.”
Julie refrained from commenting, “Cut the condescending attitude. I’m a nurse, too. I’ll decide what’s fine for Matt.”
Instead, she said, “I’d like to see him now.”
4
The school psychologist was named Renny Maitland, and he looked like a ski bum to Julie, and far too young. He was on hand every day for the students. A psychiatrist was in once per week for special consultations, but Maitland handled the day-to-day issues.
“It’s not as big a concern as we’re making it,” Maitland said. “It’s just not the first time it’s happened, and we wanted you and Mr. Hutchinson to be aware of it. It may be the added pressure right now of the exams. We’ve been going through standardized tests these past few weeks. Nothing the students have to prepare for—but they’re timed, and there’s some pressure, so there’s some…well, some students act out a bit when doing them.”
“What exactly are we talking about here?” “He’s been carving things. Into his skin.”
“He got hold of a knife?”
Maitland shrugged. “Just a pen. A good old ballpoint pen.”
“He’s done this before?”
“Well, just with drawings. Sometimes on his hands. He seems to have an issue about his hands.”
“You need to call either me or my husband when Matt does this. We can’t be kept in the dark.”
“Mrs. Hutchinson, I did call your husband the last time it happened,” Maitland said.
She felt a brief flush of embarrassment in her face.
“He said he’d talk it over with Matt. When a child draws with a pen on his hands, we simply have him wash the ink off. It’s not abnormal for kids to draw on themselves. But today, well…He cut.”
“Is he all right?”
“I think so. This isn’t the first time a child has done this. It doesn’t always indicate anything more than a preoccupation on the child’s part. But, based on Matthew’s history…”
Julie nodded. “Of course. I can’t…I just can’t think of anything that might be bothering him. I thought with the camera, he was doing better.”
“Most definitely. That was a stroke of brilliance. He videotapes everything. He’s communicating much better because of it.”
Julie smiled, slightly, but still felt worried. “Where is he?”
5
It was a long walk from the front offices down to the nurse’s office. Julie glanced at the green walls as she went down the corridor: pictures that the kids had painted, essays pinned to bulletin boards. The smell of sawdust and paint—she glanced down a hallway as she passed by—two men working on ladders to paint the walls. She passed a girl of thirteen or so in the hall, and smiled at her. The girl stopped. Her arms crossed over her chest in anger, a pout on her lips. The girl watched her as she passed by.
She tapped at the open door of the nurse’s office. The room was white and large, with an empty cot pushed into a corner, the blinds drawn on the windows, and an examination table.
“Yes?” the nurse turned from an open folder on her desk, and smiled. “Mrs. Hutchinson?”
“I’m here for Matt.”
“He’s resting,” the nurse said, nodding toward a closed door. “Sometimes a good nap does the trick.”
Without realizing it, Julie let out a brief sigh. “How’s he doing?”
“It was rough. It started on the blacktop—one of the kids had found the hornet’s nest and they were kicking it around.”
“Wait, he got bitten?” Julie lingered in the doorway, glancing at the door beyond the office.
“Along his arm. It swelled up, no more than normal, but it just made him furious. He got completely out of control. He started kicking when anyone