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“Right now, I just want to help the kids in my class.” She opened the car door. “Are you coming in or staying out here?”
“CanI come in?”
“You have to sign in at the front desk and I have to vouch for you.” She eyed his waist. “I don’t know about the gun.”
“Do they have a security person here?”
“They used to, until they couldn’t afford the position anymore.”
“I think my federal creds will carry the day.”
And they did.
For the next hour and twenty minutes Devine watched from a corner as Alex taught two classes of sixth graders in a makeshift classroom with no windows, high ceilings, and not much heat. And yet the kids loved it. He could see that from their enthusiasm and their questions and how seriously they took Alex’s comments as she went around the room to view each student’s efforts. She was unfailingly positive and detailed, and her suggestions were delivered with genuineness, humor, self-deprecation, and delicacy.
And she smiled—often, he saw, which he had never really seen her do in the limited time he had known her. At the beginning of the class she had passed out granola bars and juice boxes, which, she had told Devine, she paid for with her own money. That was why the knapsack had been so heavy.
Later, as they walked back to the Tahoe, she said, “The entire school is 130 percenters.”
“What does that mean?”
“The government pays for lunches for students whose family income is at or below 130 percent of the federal poverty line. That’s about thirty-six thousand a year for a family of four.”
“That seems ridiculously low for a family to live on. I don’t have kids but I remember how much I ate. I would think it would be damn hard to make ends meet on double that.”
“It is, but that’s the law. And the extra federal funds doled out during the pandemic have dried up. With those dollars, the income level was waived and all kids could eat for free. Not anymore. And a hungry kid has a difficult time learning. That’s why I give them something before the class. Near the end of the school day they start to run out of gas. I wish they let me teach the class earlier, but art is sort of an afterthought. I guess I’m lucky they offer it at all.”
He opened the passenger door for her, took her knapsack, and put it in the back seat.
“It’s a really good thing that you’re doing, Alex.”
“Most days it doesn’t seem like much,” she said. “Throwing a pebble at a tidal wave.”
“Every little bit helps. And you connected with those kids.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I know so. I saw it for myself. Hell, if you’d been my art teacher I would have been a lot more interested in painting. And it’s not just because you’re so...What I mean to say is...I...”
Shit.
She put a hand on his arm as he put the SUV in gear. “Thank you,” she said simply.
On the drive back, Devine said, “Not to unduly alarm you, but someone took a shot at me earlier today.”
“What! Where?” She ran her gaze frantically over his person. “Are you...did it...?”
“No, it missed, but it was a little closer than I would have wanted.”
“Please tell me they got whoever did it!”
“No, they didn’t.”
“First Jenny and now you? This sort of stuff does not happen in Putnam.”
“Violent things can happen anywhere, Alex. Even in Putnam. Look at Alberta Palmer. Her death was very violent. And the person got away.”
He looked at her to gauge her reaction to this.
