Dead Reckoning - Charlaine Harris [67]
The Pony Room teacher, Mrs. Gristede, was a nice enough woman, or at least that was what my quick look told me. Hunter nodded.
We ventured into the Puppy Room and met with Miss O’Fallon. We were back in the hall after three minutes.
“Not the Puppy Room,” I told Remy, speaking very quietly. “You can designate, right?”
“Yeah, we can. Once. I can say one room I definitely don’t want my kid to be in,” he said. “Most people use that option in case the teacher is too close to the family, like a relative, or if the families have had some quarrel.”
“Not the Puppy Room,” Hunter said, looking scared.
Miss O’Fallon looked pretty on the outside, but she was rotten on the inside.
“What’s wrong?” Remy asked, his voice also on a confidential level.
“Tell you later,” I murmured. “Let’s go see something else.”
Trailed by Remy, we made visits to the other three rooms. All the other teachers seemed okay, though Mrs. Boyle seemed a little burned-out. Her thoughts were brisk and had an edge of impatience, and her smile was just a bit brittle. I didn’t say anything to Remy. If he could turn down only one teacher, Miss O’Fallon was the most dangerous.
We went back to Mrs. Gristede’s room because Hunter definitely liked the ponies. There were two other parents there, both towing little girls. I squeezed Hunter’s hand gently to remind him of the rules. He looked up at me, and I nodded, trying to encourage the boy. He let go of my hand and went over to a reading area, picking up one of the books and turning the pages.
“Do you like to read, Hunter?” Mrs. Gristede asked.
“I like books. I can’t read yet.” Hunter put the book back where it belonged, and I gave him a mental pat on the back. He smiled to himself and picked up another book, this one a Dr. Seuss about dogs.
“I can tell Hunter’s been read to,” the teacher said, smiling at Remy and me.
Remy introduced himself. “I’m Hunter’s dad, and this is Hunter’s cousin,” he said, inclining his head toward me. “Sookie’s standing in for Hunter’s mom tonight, since she’s passed away.”
Mrs. Gristede absorbed that. “Well, I’m glad to see both of you,” she said. “Hunter seems like a bright little boy.”
I noticed the girls were approaching him. They were longtime friends, I could tell, and their parents went to church together. I made a mental note to advise Remy to pick a church and start attending. Hunter was going to need all the backup he could get. The girls began picking up books, too. Hunter smiled at the girl with the dark Dutchboy bob, giving her that sideways look shy children use to evaluate potential playmates.
She said, “I like this one,” and pointed to Where the Wild Things Are.
“I never read it,” Hunter said doubtfully. It looked a little scary to him.
“Do you play with blocks?” the girl with the light brown ponytail asked.
“Yeah.” Hunter walked over to the carpeted play area that was for construction, I decided, because there were all sizes of blocks and puzzles around it. In a minute the three were building something that took on life in their minds.
Remy smiled. He was hoping this was the way every day would go. Of course, it wouldn’t. Even now, Hunter was glancing dubiously at the ponytail girl because she was getting angry about the brunette’s grabbing all the alphabet blocks.
The other parents looked at me with some curiosity, and one of the mothers said, “You don’t live here?”
“No,” I said. “I live over in Bon Temps. But Hunter wanted me to go around with him today, and he’s my favorite little cousin.” I’d almost called him my nephew, because he called me “Aunt Sookie.”
“Remy,” the same woman said. “You’re Hank Savoy’s great-nephew, right?”
Remy nodded. “Yeah, we came up here after Katrina, and we stayed,” he said. He shrugged. Nothing you could do about losing everything to Katrina. She was a bitch.
There was