Part 3
Reed’s eyes moved toward Daniel. Daniel kept watching his daughter.
“First, the assignment will be restored in the gradebook,” the principal said. “Then we’ll bring in the assistant principal and parent liaison for a formal follow-up. That needs to happen this week.”
Claire waited.
“We can send a correction to the parents as well. They should know the presentation was mishandled.”
Her hands relaxed on her lap, but she didn’t look satisfied.
Daniel asked for the commitments in writing. Reed agreed to send them and offered Friday morning for the next meeting. When they stood, Daniel took back the folder and signaled Kestrel up.
Mrs. Haskett picked up her cup. Neither she nor Daniel offered a hand.
Under the entrance canopy, Claire stopped where water dripped from a seam overhead. A narrow opening in the clouds had put a bright patch on the wet pavement.
“Is that what fixing it looks like?” she asked.
“Only the first piece.”
“And if they stop there?”
“I’ll keep going.”
“To who?”
“Whoever comes next.”
“That could take a while.”
“I have practice waiting.”
She almost smiled. Daniel gave her a few minutes outside before signing her back in. Through the office window he watched her turn down the hall, then took Kestrel to the vehicle.
He laid the folder on the passenger seat. Mrs. Haskett hadn’t asked about a single page. He could still see her looking past the records toward the principal.
Daniel started the engine.
On Thursday afternoon, a test tone from the radio on his garage bench was interrupted by his phone. He silenced the equipment and answered.
The woman introduced herself as Susan Grady, the district’s director of curriculum and instruction.
“We’ve received a concern arising from your school visit,” she said. “Mrs. Haskett felt intimidated during the conversation. The presence of the working dog was a particular issue.”
Daniel set the radio down carefully.
“What behavior are you reviewing?”
“She’s describing the conditions of the meeting.”
“Did Kestrel move toward her? Did I make a threat?”
“We’re giving everyone a chance to provide their perspective.”
Kestrel lay near the open door to the house. At the sound of his name, his ear turned.
“You already have proof that Claire’s report was accurate,” Daniel said. “Have you reviewed what happened before my visit?”
“That’s included in the matter under discussion.”
“That’s why there is a matter under discussion.”
Grady paused. From upstairs came music from one of Claire’s documentaries, low enough that she could claim she was doing homework.
“I understand your frustration,” Grady said.
“What I need to understand is the district’s position. Are we correcting what happened to a student, or are we letting the person who did it change the subject?”
“Student well-being is our priority.”
“Then we’ll have plenty to discuss tomorrow.”
He ended the call and left the phone facedown on the bench.
When he went upstairs, Kestrel had taken his usual place outside Claire’s room. Daniel had never assigned him that spot. The dog chose it when the household was unsettled, lying far enough from the doorway that her chair could pass.
Daniel knocked against the frame.
“Any dinner requests?”
“Tacos.”
“Give me twenty minutes.”
He had turned away when she asked who’d called.
“The district office.”
Her pencil stopped.
“About tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Did they make it worse?”
He rested a shoulder against the frame. He’d been about to tell her not to worry. She was already watching his face too closely for that to do any good.
“There’s a complaint about my visit.”
“What did you do?”
“The complaint says I was intimidating.”
Her eyes went to Kestrel.
“They said something about him?”
“Yes.”
“He slept on your feet.”
“I was there.”
She rolled the pencil between her hands.
“You’ve got it?”
“I do.”
She looked back at the worksheet. “I haven’t changed my answer about dinner.”
“Good. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
She came down and grated enough cheese to make him lift an eyebrow. Kestrel waited between their places, watching the serving spoon with an attention he generally reserved for work.
Daniel asked about her book. Claire objected to a worksheet whose instructions apparently made sense to no one in third grade. After supper, he let the documentary continue.
The next call came from Warren Decker in district human resources. Friday’s conference would now include Grady, Reed, Mrs. Haskett, the parent liaison, human resources, and a community-relations representative. The teacher’s concern had been entered formally.
Daniel wrote each name on a pad.
After Claire went to bed, he contacted a legal-assistance resource from his former unit. They spent nearly two hours on what records he should request, how findings should be documented, and how to keep the original student complaint visible when other allegations were added.
Then he carried the folder back to the garage.
Under the bench light, he compared dates and certification summaries. He checked the release markings again. He added no restricted material, even when a fuller report would have made a point more quickly.
Kestrel brought him a battered rubber toy and dropped it on his shoe.
Daniel threw it farther than he intended. It struck a cabinet with a sharp crack.
“Too much. Sorry, boy.”
Kestrel brought it back. Daniel set the papers down and rolled it across the floor instead.
By dawn, he had stopped pretending he might get another hour of sleep. He made coffee and sat at the kitchen table, the folder beside his mug.
Claire arrived with damp hair and a clean shirt. She regarded the papers while getting juice.
“You two have become very close.”
“The folder needed supervision.”
“So do you. You look awful.”
“I didn’t sleep much.”
She settled at the table. Through the window they watched Kestrel inspect the fenced yard, pause over a smell, and move on.
“Do I go back to school when we’re done?” she asked.
“That’s the plan. The meeting’s at eight-thirty.”
She held her glass without drinking.
“What if the papers don’t matter? What if they choose her anyway?”
Daniel set down his coffee.
“They might.”
Her face tightened.
“I won’t tell you they can’t. But their decision would have to go on paper, and we could take the next step from there.”
“Which step?”
“I’ll know more when I see what they write.”
Kestrel came through the dog door and shook himself near the mat. Claire called him over and rubbed behind one ear. For a while she studied the wet tracks he’d left across the floor.
Then she put her glass in the sink.
“Bring your folder. Let’s go…”
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