The twenty-something teacher’s assistant stands and greets me. “Hi, Mr. Cobalt. Your wife is in the office speaking with vice-principal Morgan-Stuart. I can let them know you’re here.”
“Actually, I’d like to talk to my daughter for a minute first.”
“Sure, yes. Of course.” She searches left and right for what to do, and then she decides to head to the nearest bathroom out of earshot.
Since the administration wouldn’t tell Rose what happened, I assume they view Jane as being in the wrong. I don’t believe she would’ve hurt anyone. Jane apologizes to her stuffed animals when she drops them. She even gives them medicine.
Literally, she spooned fruit punch on her lion.
Rose hand-washed him until the cherry-red stains disappeared, and then I made certain the real children’s medicine was still locked in our cabinet out of Jane’s reach.
I squat in front of my daughter, light freckles scattering the tops of her cheeks and nose.
She scoots to the edge of her chair. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I didn’t know…I didn’t think it was wrong. Princesses do it all the time.” She lets out a breath. “For as long as I live, I’ll never, ever kiss another person.” Tears flood her eyes.
She kissed someone?
Surprise jumps my brows. She kissed someone. I expected a variety of things, but this never crossed my mind. I don’t know what I feel. On one hand, she’s a curious child. On the other, she’s my six-year-old daughter, and every year I fight this irreparable need that says, spare her heartbreak and misery. You have the power to do so, Connor. Do it now.
I hear Rose, they will feel more than you ever did, Richard.
They’ve already begun.
“Mon cœur.” My heart. I brush my thumb across her cheeks, just as her tears overflow. “Parlons.” Let’s talk.
Jane sniffs and nods in agreement. “Parlons.” Let’s talk.
I rest my knee on the floor but remain here, closer to Jane’s height and not towering over her little frame. “Who was this someone?”
“Wethley.” She slurs his name. I know of a Wesley in the same class as Jane.
“Why’d you kiss Wesley?”
Very softly, she says, “Because of Jane and Rochester.”
I shake my head once. “I don’t follow.” Then I do remember. The boy. His name is coincidentally Wesley Prescott Rochester. And Jane is a little passionate about her namesakes.
My daughter explains, “Jane Eyre falls in love with Mr. Rochester, and so I kissed Wethley so our love would begin…and then Miss Turner yelled at me and dragged me into the classroom by my wrist.” Her chin trembles. “I’m so very sorry. I didn’t know…” She rubs her eyes.
Repeatedly, I replay the part where the teacher dragged her by the wrist. My jaw muscles tic, my teeth bearing down harder. I try to remember that Jane embellishes her stories like her mother. Not entirely inaccurate just hyperbolic.
I waste no time.
I gently roll up the sleeve of her buttoned blouse and check her wrist. Front and back. No bruise or reddened skin. I try to ease myself with this knowledge. She’s physically fine.
Calmly, I tell her, “Kissing another person isn’t bad, but love doesn’t work that way, Jane. You can’t kiss everyone with the name Rochester and expect to fall in love.” I sense her disappointment before I see it.
“Mommy said that some people are fated to be together. Fate guided me to Wethley.”
I nearly cringe at the talk of fate, especially in conjunction with Jane and love. “Mommy also believes in ghosts. It’s all just mere coincidence and partially fictitious.”
Jane pouts and crosses her arms.
She reminds me so much of Rose here. Even with the talk of fate, I feel my grin rise. The precious moments in life, I hold very close.
“My advice,” I say, “don’t seek love from other people. Just love who you are enough that it won’t matter whether or not you find your Rochester.” Rose would explain this to Jane all the same.
“Can I love you?” Jane wonders.
My own mother would’ve told her no.
I smile by her words. And I say, “Bien sûr, mon cœur.” Of course, my heart. I kiss her cheek and then lift her into my arms as I stand. I put her on the ground in front of the office door. “Ready?”
“Oui.” Yes.
When we head inside the office, the sight doesn’t surprise me. Rose and Ryke, red-faced with ire, stand side-by-side like two crackling fireworks prepared to blow. What’s mildly irritating? Ryke here. Next to Rose. He’s where I’m meant to be.
“Rose…Ryke,” I greet first, their murderous eyes swinging from me to Mrs. Morgan-Stuart who looks relieved by my entrance.
She shouldn’t be.
The vice-principal hasn’t realized yet that I will always be loyal to my wife.
Does her relief shock me? No. Since I can remember, this has always been a common expression when I enter the room. They might as well be muttering, thank god Connor is here.
I’m god in every scenario.
Jane hides behind my legs, scared of the vice-principal. I keep a comforting hand on her shoulders.
“Jane just explained to me what happened.” My gaze drifts to Ryke.
Ryke raises his hands in defense. “I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t fucking do.”
“Our actions are never similar. I use the toilet. You use the woods,” I say in front of the vice-principal. It’s why Ryke lets out a short, flabbergasted laugh like I’m the biggest prick in the world. He doesn’t care what people think, but he’d never insult another person in front of others like he believes I do.
I just tell the truth.
Also a truth: I would’ve never roused Rose in this situation like he did.
He outstretches his arms. “You want me to fucking leave? I’ll leave. Rose was the one that asked me to come here.”
I already know why. Rose wanted another voice, maybe even in case she grew too volatile.
She wanted me.
But Ryke is dependable. He’s here when Rose needed someone, and I value that attribute. I value him. “I’d like you to stay, my friend,” I tell him.
He only nods once before Rose bursts forth.
“They’re suspending Jane today,” Rose says heatedly, hands on her hips, “and they’re refusing to suspend Wesley.”
I see. I take a few calm steps towards Mrs. Morgan-Stuart, and Jane rushes to her mother’s side, whispering quietly to her.
The vice-principal rises to her feet. “I was telling your wife that we have a code of conduct here at Dalton Elementary, and we can’t overlook what Jane has done.”
“I see,” I say calmly.
She even offers me a thankful smile. “Then we’ll see Jane tomorrow.”
“Yes, you will.” I run my fingers across the edge of her desk. “And when we bring her home today, we’ll teach her about sexism within this school system. So thank you for giving us the opportunity to remind our daughter that life is full of inequities.”
Rose brims with pride, and when she catches me staring she doesn’t hide the sight. I love him is written all over her features.
The vice-principal looks microscopically small.
I also have that affect on people.
Before I leave, I say, “My daughter can use words to express her sentiments,
and I’d expect Dalton’s faculty to do the same. Next time a teacher physically drags one of my children, you’ll see me under different circumstances and with far less passivity.”
Rose, beside me, whispers heatedly, “They what?”
The vice-principal gapes. “That…we don’t tolerate that. I promise you.”
We have many more children left to attend this school. Jane is just the first, but I was prepared for the students and the faculty to see them differently.
I even understood that could translate into being treated differently. I’d stand in this office with thousands of words to aid them, to help them—to lift them to their feet. I have no doubts in my own ability to protect my children, so I fear nothing.
They should fear me.
The last thing I say to the vice-principal leaves her ashen and mute.
“Only my promises can be trusted,” I tell her, “so your words are meaningless to me.”
October 2021
Eddie’s House
Costa Rica
DAISY MEADOWS
Eddie is one of Ryke’s oldest climbing friends and often travels to Venezuela, Peru, and Chile to scale new rock faces. Whenever Eddie leaves his home for a week or so, he invites Ryke and me to stay at his empty property. A house lodged in skyscraping trees and located in a remote part of Costa Rica—we accept without a moment’s pause.
No electricity.
An outhouse.
A well for water.
Our trips here, I always pretend that Ryke and I are stranded in the rainforest together like Blue Lagoon or Swiss Family Robinson.
This time we have company.
A naked three-year-old presses her itty-bitty fingers to a floor-length window. She gasps with wonder and awe, nose to the glass. I smile wide, knelt behind her as I dry her sopping wet hair. I clasp a cotton towel around the dark brown strands, beads of water rolling along her tanned skin.
Palm fronds pat the window, no blinds or curtains, but Ryke unknowingly captivates our daughter. Right outside, Ryke balances on the deck railing and clutches a rope, one tethered to a tree about ten or fifteen feet from safety. No pool, no lake, just the rainforest to swing towards.