Dead Reckoning

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 a lot of headshaking, and I felt the sympathy roll over Remy. Maybe that goodwill would extend to Hunter.
    While they were all bonding, I drifted back to Miss O’Fallon’s door.
    The young woman was smiling at two children who were wandering around her brightly decorated classroom. One set of parents was staying right beside their little one. Maybe they were picking up on the vibe, or maybe they were just protective.
    I drifted close to Miss O’Fallon, and I opened my mouth to speak. I would have said, “You keep those fantasies to yourself. Don’t even think of such things when you’re in the same room with kids.” But I had a second thought. She knew I’d come with Hunter. Would he become a target for her evil imagination if I threatened her? I couldn’t be around to protect him. I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t think of a way to take her out of the equation. She hadn’t yet done anything wrong in the eyes of the law or morality . . . yet. So what if she imagined taping children’s mouths shut? She hadn’t done it. Haven’t all of us fantasized about awful things we haven’t done? she asked herself, because the answer made her feel that she was still . . . okay. She didn’t know I could hear her.
    Was I any better than Miss O’Fallon? That awful question ran through my mind more quickly than it takes to write the sentences. I thought, Yeah, I’m not as scary because I’m not in charge of kids. The people I want to hurt are adults and they’re killers themselves. That didn’t make me any better—but it made O’Fallon a lot worse.
    I’d been staring at her long enough to spook her.