You Deserve Nothing - Alexander Maksik [88]
“Will,” she says. “I’d like to ask you a question.”
I nod.
“I’m just going to be direct here. I imagine you know what this is about and that the question won’t come as a surprise to you.”
She looks from side to side, first at Al Mady and then at Paul Spencer. And then back at me.
“Will,” she says. “Are you now having or have you ever had an inappropriate relationship with a student enrolled at this school?”
I stay still. I don’t say anything. I only lower my eyes from her mouth to the glass table in front of me. I wait.
I feel my heart beating. I imagine the blood moving through my body. In all the time I’ve had to think about it, I’ve never considered my answer.
I focus my eyes on the reflection of the overhead light in the glass. It seems to brighten and take on depth and texture.
I don’t know how much time I let pass.
“Will,” Paul Spencer says.
“No,” I say and quickly raise my eyes to his. I think he’s disappointed in me, that he’d been hoping, at least, if nothing else, that I’d be honest.
Mr. Al Mady uncrosses his legs and sits forward as if he’s about to speak.
Moore says, “We have evidence. Other students who have come forward.”
Her voice is unsteady. She speaks quietly, but beneath the slow control there is rage. I know she hates me, that she sees me as an evil man who’s violated a young woman. I’m a hypocrite and a liar. I’m a child abuser.
“Will,” Paul Spencer says again, this time softly, the way a good father might urge his son to stop crying, to get back into the game, to stop lying and tell the truth.
“Yes,” I say, and raise my eyes. “Yes,” I say again.
“Ah,” Al Mady says nodding his head and placing both his feet on the floor. “Yes.”
“O.K.,” she says. “You are released from your position here. The best thing for you and for Marie and for us, Will, is to leave at the end of the school day, the way you normally would. And then tomorrow you won’t come back.”
“Will,” Spencer says.
I look at him.
“It’s a terrible thing you’ve done. You must know that. The school, it will take a long time for the school to recover. A lot of people cared about you here. But then you know all this.”
He shakes his head.
I’m silent.
After a moment Moore opens a white folder.
“Well,” she says withdrawing a sheet of paper. She places it on the table.
I stare at it laid out on the glass.
“This cuts you from the school. Officially. Sign and it’s over and beginning tomorrow, you will no longer be employed here,” Al Mady says leaning forward, straining to read as if to be sure it’s the correct document. He removes a gold Cartier pen from his jacket pocket and places it on the table. “After you sign you’re free, Mr. Silver.”
I take the strap of my bag and wind it around my fist so that I have something to hold on to.
“You must realize that what you’ve done is wrong, Will. Don’t you want to say anything?” Moore asks, shaking her head.
I look at her and feel that I’m drowning.
I want to say something about Marie—her cool skin smelling like night, the way she looked those dim winter mornings, how brave she is, but I realize it will only make them angrier.
I open my bag and withdraw a plastic ballpoint pen.
I brush the gold pen to the side. It clatters as it rolls across the glass.
I sign the paper.
She returns it to the folder.
They all seem relieved.
Al Mady retrieves his pen. I leave mine on the table.
He says, “Mr. Silver, a question if you’ll permit me?”
I meet his eyes for the first time since arriving in the room.
“I wonder—perhaps I don’t understand—but is it true that you’re not sorry for what you’ve done? Morally. Are you sorry? I mean, fundamentally. Do you regret what you’ve done here? Or are you utterly unrepentant? Do you understand that what you’ve done is wrong?”
I’ve wrapped the strap tighter around my hand. I hold his eyes for a moment, and then turn toward Paul Spencer. I am surprised to find him looking at