Bon voyage, Ms. Bradstreet

In which we say goodbye to a new friend

The Maria Chronicles, #58

Maria is standing in the alcove of the church, wearing a beautiful cream-colored dress. She peers out into the congregation, surveying a crowd of friends and family. She's amazed when she suddenly realizes who's sitting in the third row: her beloved grandmother, Mamacita. Although she's not sure she should be wading into the crowd before the ceremony, she can't help rushing over.

"Mamacita! What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, what I am I doing here? Por supuesto, estoy aqui."

"But how can that be? This doesn't make any sense -- "

"I'm always with you, mi cara bonita. Siempre."

Dumbfounded, Maria looks for her mother. Surely she can explain. But then Maria realizes that her mother is dead, too. This isn't right, she thinks, shaking her head. This shouldn't be happening this week. She needs to --

Maria realizes that it's Jack who's shaking her. "Maria? Are you OK?"

Maria opens her eyes and stares at him for a moment. He's fully dressed in black khakis and a gray dress shirt, sleeves partially rolled up. His is slicked back and his aftershave smells divine. "Bad dream?" he asks.

"Not exactly," she says, still feeling a little disoriented. "I was at my wedding with my grandmother."

"Having a flashback?"

"No, no. This was the future."

Jack chuckles. "Was this a dream or a nightmare?"

"Hard to say. I was so glad to see her. But it was so creepy, too. She's been dead for 25 years."

Jack stares at Maria for a moment, then takes a lock of her hair and wraps it behind her ear. "I guess this is kind of an intense time for you. But don't worry. I have no intention of proposing until I know you've got a good enough job to support us."

Maria reaches behind her, grabs a pillow, and whacks him with it. "Forget it, pal. I'm a ramblin' kinda gal. Can't be held down."

Jack smiles affectionately. "Well, you're not going to ramblin' anywhere if you don't get dressed soon. We have to be at the airport by 8:30. I was just coming in here to wake you up."

"How long have you been up?"

"Since about five. Needed to make a few trades on the Asian markets before they called it a day."

Maria suddenly smells coffee. She could get used to this. She struggles to sit up. Her iPad, a birthday gift from Jack, is beside her. She should check it. But Jack is fondling her.

"I thought you said I had to get up."

"You do," he says, smiling. "Just a little something to help you get going." He stands up. "The weather there today will be perfect. Sunny in the 80s here; a little cooler there. Dress light."

This is the rest of her birthday gift. Or is it her celebrate her sort-of-promotion gift? Or end of the school year gift? "They're non-refundable tickets," Jack said when he presented them to her. "I'm not going to do this often, Maria, because I know it will get your back up. But please, just this once." A tour of Spanish missions and some wine-tasting in Napa. They'll be flying in and out of San Francisco.

Maria finally puts her feet down on the floor of her apartment. I'm standing on my own two feet, she thinks as she heads to the bathroom to pee. "I won't be long," she tells Jack.

"Take your time," he says.

Heading down to the airport via Interstate 87 in her Prius, the sun almost up and Jack noodling away on his Blackberry, Maria sees the Radisson she stayed at almost a year ago after she decided to accept the job at Hudson. It's been a good year, she thinks. And now I'm ready to begin again.

Digesting

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet choose a course


The Maria Chronicles, #56

"So," Jack Casey says, reaching for one of the few remaining Nachos on the table. "Not long ago, you feared you were going to be out of a job. Now you have two. I dunno, Maria, maybe you should break your foot more often."

"I was told my job was in jeopardy after I fell down the stairs," Maria reminds him. "Would have been happier with one good job and two good feet rather than the other way around."

They're at Tomatillo, a Mexican restaurant in Dobbs Ferry they first visited almost five months ago on what Maria considers their first date. At the time, she was convinced it would be their last; one of Jack's old Bear Stearns cronies came and reminded her of Jack's buccaneering background. The associations were unpleasant enough for her to reject his suggestion they come here tonight and lead her to make a counteroffer of a good Greek place in Irvington. But Jack had insisted -- "we're going to defeat the bad karma from last time" -- and she relented. The memory of the margaritas had tipped the scales. She signals to the waiter that she'll have another.

"Tony says he there were lots of good candidates for the job at Covello. But that he and the committee agreed you were their first choice."

"Well, I was impressed with them. I think it's very exciting what they're doing."

The waiter returns with Maria's second margarita. She knows she has to answer his unasked question.

"I'm really very conflicted at this point. The job at Hudson is very appealing to me. In a way, it's almost too appealing."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's something that I feel like I understand. It's teaching. I mean yeah, sure, I'll be developing a new interdisciplinary curriculum, but it's doing stuff that's familiar and which I think I'm good at."

"So then why would you even think about Covello?"

"Because maybe I need a challenge. I've never done much administration because I never imagined I'd much like administration. But maybe I need to give it a chance. And there's such a sense of mission over there. This sense that they're at the start of something big."

"Yeah, well, charter schools always start that way," Jack says. "But they get pretty conventional pretty quickly -- and that's when they actually survive, nothing you can take for granted." He's in devil's advocacy mode. He doesn't really believe this, Maria thinks.

The waiter is back again with their dinner. Chicken fajitas for Maria. Jack is having some fancy salmon dish.

"What about the money angle?" he asks, reaching for the Tobasco.

Maria bristles. Is he asking her to divulge salaries? She supposes it doesn't really matter. Still, she isn't going to say. "Covello will pay more. Significantly more. It's more responsibility. But also more aggravation. Supervising people -- not something I find appealing."

"You'd be great at it."

"How would you know?" She asks this playfully, but doesn't mind the perceptible edge.

"I know these things," he says, swirling around the Chardonnay in his glass. "It's why they paid me the big bucks."

"Oh, that's why they paid you the big bucks." she says.

"Well no, not really. I'm just bullshitting. That, in fact, is why they paid me the big bucks. I was very good at it. But I still think you'd be a good manager. But what about the Hudson job? What are they willing to do for you?"

"What they're offering amounts to a raise of a few hundred dollars a month. Which is good, except that most of it comes in the form of a two-year grant. So it might be temporary."

"Well, you certainly don't want to end up with a pay cut. That's something you need to fix."

No I don't, she thinks. Jack's getting a little too imperious. But Maria decides that she's not going to get all prickly and argue with him. She turns her attention to her fajitas.

"Of course, I'd probably end up with supervisory responsibilities at Hudson, too," she says a few bites later. I'd be developing courses that other people would teach. In one form or another, that's going to require leadership."

Jack has a mouth full of rice. He nods.

"Covello has more of progressive mission. That's attractive too. More kids of color. Something I've always felt I should be doing more about."

Jack wipes his mouth with a napkin. He puts it down deliberately before he looks at her. "Well, it sounds to me like you have a bunch of good reasons to go with Covello." He motions to the waiter. "You want dessert?"

"I shouldn't."

"Fried ice cream again?"

"Let's share."

"Done." He tells the waiter to bring it to them with a pair of cappuccinos. Maria knows she won't have much but is glad to have coffee and dessert nonetheless.

"As I was saying, sounds to me like Covello is the logical choice. So why do I have this idea that you're not going to take it?"

Maria laughs softly. "I just don't know, Jack. I just don't know."

"'Just don't know' as in you're sincerely confused, or 'just don't know' as in there's something that bothers you about it that you're having trouble putting aside?"

"More the latter."

"OK then, so what is it? You don't have to worry about offending me or Tony. I just wanted you to return the call when he invited you for an interview. I'm not worried about his finding a good candidate. And I want what's best for you."

"I know that, Jack. And I really appreciate it."

"Good. I'm glad. So what's the problem?"

"You." She smiles.

But he doesn't see it. "Oh Jesus, not that again!"

"No, no --"

Jack looks away as dessert arrives. It suspends the conversation, which gives Maria a chance to gather her thoughts.

"It's the opposite of what you think," she says. But he's still looking away.

"It's not because I disapprove of you. Actually, I think it comes from a good place."

He shakes his head, still not making eye contact. "How do you figure that?"

"I don't want to take something that will complicate our . . . relationship." Maria can't believe she just said that.

Jack looks at her sharply. "Our relationship," he repeats. For a second she's afraid he's going to say "What relationship?" But he doesn't. Instead, he leans back in his chair and exhales sharply, putting his index finger over his lip. "I don't know about you, Maria Bradstreet," he says, finally.

"What? What don't you know?"

"You're a curious woman, you know that?"

"What are you trying to say, Jack?"

He reaches a spoon into the fried ice cream and takes a bite."I guess I'm trying to say thanks. I guess I'm trying to say I'm flattered. I guess I'm saying it wouldn't make any difference to me if you did take the Covello job, but I know it makes a difference to you and I guess I'm just glad that you're thinking the way you are about it. I didn't expect it, or expect it at this particular juncture. But I'm glad we're here." He looks at her, beaming.

"I'm glad, too." The waiter has brought the check. It always annoys her when it arrives unsolicited. But Jack doesn't seem to mind. He pulls out his Amex Platinum Card and places it in the vinyl folder without looking at the check. "Don't even think about it," he says, reading her mind and placing his hand on hers to prevent her from moving to her purse. It lingers there for a moment before he takes it back.

"So we're all set, then," she says.

"All set."

Ambush

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet become the beneficiary of a conspiracy


The Maria Chronicles, #55

Maria, who made the mistake of attending the spring concert assembly, is now desperate to get home. She'd gone to the concert at the insistent request of her students Maggie and A.J., who were singing in the chorus and playing in the jazz band respectively, but the auditorium was so stifling and dank that she could barely stand it. The plan was always to depart after a few minutes -- see, be seen, and get the hell out -- but once there, she didn't feel right leaving until it was over. She made her exit and to breathe the cooler spring air on the school's quad, only to be detained by her colleague in the English department, Carl Kurtz, who asked her for suggestions for good books on the 1970s. She gave Carl a few, only to get a request for a few more on the 1980s. It was for a novel he was planning to write. (Stick to your day job, Carl, she thinks.) Her patience wearing thin, Maria made a couple more suggestions and explained, vaguely, that she had to get going. Karl thanked her and Maria now resolved to make a beeline for her desk, her briefcase, and her car.

"Ms. Bradstreet!"

Maria turns her head to see Wilhelmina Marzetti, determinedly converging from Maria's right, which is odd, because it's the opposite direction from where the assembly was held. Shit, Maria thinks. She loves Willie. But not now. Maria looks at her watch: 3:10

"Hi Willie. What's up?"

"Well, I was hoping I could get a little help on my environmentalism essay."

"Well, OK. So tell me about it."

Willie looks a little sheepish. "Well, actually, I was hoping you would actually look at a draft."

Maria points to a bench a few feet ahead of them as a possible place to work. "Do you have it with you?"

"Uh, no. I accidentally left it back in our classroom. Do you think you could walk back over there with me?"

For the first time in the almost nine months she's known her, Maria is irritated with Willie. "Can we do this tomorrow? The essay isn't due until next week, after all."

Willie winces. "I kinda want to work on it tonight. I have a big French test next week, and Saturday is my dad's birthday and --"

"All right all right," Maria says, a bit too tartly. "We'll do it now."

"Thanks a lot, Ms. Bradstreet. I really appreciate it."

The two walk in silence toward Room 211. Then, as they approach the door to the building, Willie says, "Ms. Bradstreet, can I ask, do you know any more about whether you'll be returning next year?"

Yet one more unwelcome question. Still, Maria thinks, if anyone deserves to be the first to know, it would be Willie. She seriously considers telling her that she got a job offer just that morning to become chair of the History Department at the newly formed Leonard Covello Charter School to be located only a few miles away. More money, but more administrative work, too. Still, the opportunity to get in on the ground floor of something big.

"No Willie, I still don't know. But I'll keep you posted." Maria pushes the door to the classroom open.

"SURPRISE!!!"

Maria is stunned by the large cake -- carrot, apparently, with burning candles -- that sits on a student desk. She's even more stunned by the boisterous crowd, comprising about half of her tenth grade class: Maggie and A.J., who managed to get here unseen, along with Mia, Kenny, Jake, Vanessa, Matt, and Derek. They immediately launch into "Happy Birthday." At their urging, she blows out the candles, and there's further cheering.

"Happy Birthday, Ms. Bradstreet," Willie says quietly.

"How did you know it was my birthday?"

"Google," Kenny answers. "Took a while, but I figured it out."

Maria can't decide whether to be pleased or alarmed. She looks at Willie. "This was all your idea?"

"I had lots of help," she says with a smile. "Couldn't have done it without Maggie and A.J."

"Gotta tell you, we worried about whether you would show up for a while there," A.J. says, clearly amused. "And we worried you'd leave too early."

"That's where I came in," Carl Kurtz says, as Maria suddenly realizes he's in the room too. As is her department chair, Jen Abruzzi. And Principal Eleanor Bernstein.

"So apparently it's the big 5-0," Carl notes. "Couldn't let that pass unnoticed around here. It was fun to conspire with Willie."

Maria sees that Willie is getting a little embarrrassed. "Here," she says suddenly, producing a large wrapped box. "Your present. Open it!"

Maria eyes the package warily, but realizes she's expected to open it. She rips the wrapping and opens the box. It's a Hudson High School hoodie sweatshirt.

"I love it," she says sincerely. "And I love this party. It's really one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me." Maria chokes up as she realizes this is true. She feels ambushed by her own emotions.

"Let's have some of this cake," Jen says to break the tension. "Who wants a slice?"

The next few minutes are occupied with distributing cake and pouring Diet Coke into paper cups. Maria hears snatches of talk about the New York Mets, the Hudson softball team, and senior prom gossip (Vanessa, apparently, will be a sophomore date for a senior, and will be shopping for a dress that evening). Gradually, the kids begin to drift off for rehearsals, practice, and the bus. Willie is actually among the first to go, and Maria embraces her warmly before she rushes off, which is for the best. A mere twenty minutes after it began, the party is essentially over. Short and sweet.

Surprisingly, Eleanor Bernstein is the last to go. "Maria," she says, pausing by the door, "I have news that I hope you'll regard as a birthday present. I've just gotten authorization to offer you the job along the lines we've been discussing. Next year, you would be half-History, half-English, with a $7500 grant to begin developing an interdisciplinary curriculum for the following year, probably something you'd want to start this summer. I have no iron-clad guarantee the job would continue in this configuration after the coming school year. But I've got it in writing that next year will be Larry Roganoff's last. So even in the unlikely event that Mandy Merkel actually came back from graduate school to take the English half of your job back, the worst case scenario would be that you'd be full-time History, with another $7500 to finish the curriculum. Sound good to you?"

Seventy-five hundred, Maria thinks. After taxes, that would probably translate to about $400 more a month.

"It does sound good," she says. "But can I think about it?"

"Of course. But I would like to know as soon as possible."

"How about Monday?"

Dani nods, clearly not thrilled with the prospect of four days, but not wanting to contest it, either. "Monday it is. So what are you doing with the rest of your birthday?"

Maria does not want to tell Dani that she's having dinner tonight with Jack Casey, whom Dani holds in low regard (as indeed Maria herself did until recently). "My kids are coming tomorrow," she says truthfully. "We'll do dinner and a movie. I don't like to make a big deal of my birthday."

"Understood. Well, you have yourself a good one," Dani says. "You deserve it."

Human Resources

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet lead a cool man to lose his temper

The Maria Chronicles, #54

Maria is walking to her Prius, parked across the street from her apartment, when she is surprised -- and pleased -- to see Jack Casey's BMW pull up behind it. Jack gets out just as she tosses the bag of clothes on her back seat. They haven't seen each other since her cast has come off her foot. Maria was going to propose taking him out to dinner to thank him for all his help in her recovery, and while she generally doesn't like unexpected visitors, she finds herself in a mellow mood.

"Well hello, Jack. How are you?"

"Not so good, Maria."

"What's wrong?" She's never seen him so agitated.

"What's wrong is that I got a call from my friend Tony Romano this afternoon. He told me that you never returned the call he made inviting you to come in for an interview for the history department chair position."

"I just -- "

"I've spent a lot of personal capital on this."

Maria doesn't like the idea of his thinking of her in terms of trade and commodities, and she can almost feel her face darken. But she decides not argue the point, taking a deep breath. "Jack, I just --"

But he he cuts her off again. "You know, Maria, call me a fool, but I've had this idea in the last few months that I understand you. I think you've been a little too hard on me, but I've accepted it, not only because I know I've made my mistakes, but also because I felt like there was a part of you that liked and accepted who I am. I can believe that I was wrong about that, and I'm willing to understand and accept a decision on your part to reject what I have to offer. But I think you take it a little too far when this withholding thing extends to other people. Tony is a good guy, a real school person, and he doesn't deserve to be treated this way just because he happens to be a friend of mine. This is bigger than you and -- "

"I just got off the phone with him, Jack. I'm going in to talk with him tomorrow."

This shuts him up. He looks away, silent, not quite ready to stand down. Then he meets her gaze again. "Why did it take you so long?"

Now it's Maria's turn to look away. "It's complicated, Jack. But not quite what you think." She looks back at him. "You're right: I waited to long to call Tony back. I apologized to him when we talked, and I'll apologize to you now. I'm usually pretty efficient about these things. And yes, to some degree it was about not wanting to get a job through you, though less out of a sense of disapproval than a need for independence."

"Maria, you would never get the job just because --"

"I know, I know, I'd have to be able to stand on my own two feet. Blah, blah, blah."

Jack smiles for the first time. "I believe the correct post-Seinfeld terminology is 'yada yada yada.'"

"Whatever. But the truth is, the situation has become more complex. Turns out there may now be something happening at Hudson High."

"Really? Wow. Tell me about it!"

She's struck by his unfeigned enthusiasm: He really wishes her well. It's not about her getting a job through him; it's about her getting what she wants. This is the moment Maria Bradstreet falls in love with Jack Casey.

"Well, like I said, it's complicated. And actually, I'd like to get some advice about it. What are you doing now, Jack?"

"You mean other than arguing with you? Not much. I was planning on going home and watching the Mets lose to the Phillies."

"Well, look, what do you say I forget about my dry-cleaning for now and take you out to dinner at the Italian place around the block so we can talk about it."

"The Mets?"

"No, dummy, my professional prospects."

He looks at her slyly. "Maria, are you propositioning me?"

"Believe it," she says, grinning.

"All right, then," Jack says. And they're off.

A really great Willie

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet have an adult conversation with a not-quite child

The Maria Chronicles, #53

Maria is sitting at her desk in her empty classroom, jotting down some notes for the upcoming final exam in her U.S. survey course, when she recognizes the voice of her student, Wilhelmina Marzetti, in the doorway: "Is it true, Ms. Bradsteet?"

"Is what true?" Maria asks, realizing as she does so that she knows what Willie is talking about.

"That you're leaving. At the end of the school year."

Maria meets Willie's gaze. As she does so, she becomes aware of seeing the girl's face as a snapshot of a life in motion. Willie's hair is braided, and the sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose show the traces of the child she is ceasing to be. Maria has long had a theory that everyone has what she calls an essential age -- a core visage in a person's life that somehow defines them even as they move through the life cycle. Not for the first time, Maria thinks that Willie's essential age is midlife; she can somehow see her, perhaps a little puffier and wearier than she is now, nevertheless sturdily sustaining an identity as the mother of children. Probably hold a responsible job of some kind, but a mother first and foremost, and the centrality of that role, that dependability, will keep her from seeming old for a long time after she actually is old. Just a theory. Maria believes her essential age is midlife, too, right around where she is now. But she suspects motherhood is not as central for her as it will be for Willie.

"I don't know, Willie. It might be true that I'm leaving. But it might not."

"What does that mean?" There's a plaintive quality to her student's voice, poised between petulance and justified irritation, that Maria experiences as a dilemma. It wouldn't be fair to burden Willie with the details of her life, anxieties that she would be likely to take to heart. But withholding information seems unfair to the spirit of a relationship which, however circumscribed, has long been understood as significant.

Maria exhales sharply. "Willie, I came to this school in September because I wanted to start my life over. My marriage had broken up, my children were grown, and I wanted, and believed, I could start a new chapter. I left a secure job back in New Hampshire, which I probably could have kept for life, both because I needed a change and believed I was a good enough teacher that I'd be able to find a similarly secure job somewhere else. And I thought that job would be here. So did the people who hired me. But it turns out this may not be the case."

"Is it about tenure? That you were -- what's the term -- denied tenure?"

"No. Actually, I haven't even gotten to the point where that would be an issue. Actually, if it had, I'd feel pretty confident. The problem is really the school budget. As you know, these are hard times. People are cutting back. And as someone who was recently hired, I'm low man on the totem pole."

"That's so unfair!"

"Well, now, I'm not sure it is. In any case, it's not something you need to worry about."

"Yes it is! It's definitely something I need to worry about! You're a great teacher!"

"Well, thank you."

"Is there something I can do? We kids can do? Write letters or talk the the principal? I know there are a lot of people who feel the way I do."

Maria doubts that. "No, Willie, there's nothing you or anyone else can do at this point. Actually, Dr. Bernstein has been working on a plan to keep me here."

"That's great! So if it works, you'll stay?"

Maria is uncomfortable at being drawn into a degree of disclosure she's now regretting. But executing a graceful U-turn will not be easy. "I don't know, Willie."

"Why not? Is it because you're mad? I wouldn't blame you. But I hope you won't take it out on us."

"No, Willie, it's not about revenge. It's . . . well, it's sort of like you're going out with a guy, and he says he wants to see other people, and then he says he wants you back, and you're really glad and everything, but somehow something is broken and even though you want things to work, they just plain don't anymore. I'm not saying that has happened, but it might. That's sort of where I am now. I'm trying to figure out if I can stay, both in terms whether the school will have me, but also whether it will feel right." Jesus, Maria thinks. Why am I telling her this? And is this in fact the way it is with me? Maybe it is.

Willie shakes her head. "I think I understand. I mean, I've never had a boyfriend, but it makes sense. I just hate the idea of you leaving just after you got here."

"Well, let me tell you, I don't much like the idea of leaving, either. Actually, Willie, if it turns out that I stay, you'll be part of the reason why. Even though I know that after two more years you're going to be the one who's leaving. For sure."

Willie smiles ruefully. "Yeah, I guess. But I guess there are always Willies wherever you go."

"No. Not wherever you go. And they're all different. You're a really great Willie. The best."

Willie looks down, her face full of emotion. Maria would like to go over and hug her, but decides not to.

"You go on now, Willie. I appreciate you coming by. I really do. But I've got to prepare this exam."

Willie nods, her head still down. "OK, Ms. Bradstreet. See you tomorrow." She looks up briefly and smiles before she exits.

Maria waits to make sure she's gone before she reaches for the Kleenex at the edge of her desk.

(Re) lit

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet consider learning to speak English

The Maria Chronicles, #52

Maria, sitting alone at a table in the faculty lounge, is restless and bored. She's slogging through a set of mediocre student essays. What's disappointing about this is that she thought she had an elegantly simple essay question: "Who was Martin Luther King, Jr.?" Yet the answers have been uniformly turgid affirmations of King's heroism. Maria had actually been fairly critical of King in her lecture on the Civil Rights Movement, emphasizing the work of women like Ella Baker and Fannie Lou Hamer, and pointing out that King was a plagiarist and womanizer. Yet the class has seemed unwilling to grapple with this; it's easier simply to say that King was a fighter for equality and that his work remains unfinished. Blah blah blah. Even Maria's beloved Willie, who has so often risen to the occasion in her class, seemed uninspired, noting that King has his problems, but using most of her essay to emphasize the depth of the resistance he faced (true, enough, Maria concedes). Beside her, Maria has an old, dog-eared copy of Richard Rodriguez's Hunger of Memory, the introduction of which will help her to kill birds of immigration and neoconservatism once she bolts through the Vietnam War. It's always a sprint to the finish when you're teaching the U.S. survey.

Maria is considering walking across the room for another jolt of caffeine in the form of coffee when she sees the school principal, Eleanor Bernstein, at the doorway of the lounge. This is surprising: Ellie almost never enters this lair. And apparently she's not going to now, either. "Maria," she says, leaning the top half of her tightly coiled body into the room. "You have a minute?"

"Uh yeah, okay," she replies uncertainly.

"Come on over to my office, then," Dani commands. It's only a short walk from the lounge. Dani has gone back there even before Maria can stand up. I wonder what this is about, Maria thinks. At least it's a break from those papers.

Dani is already back at her desk when Maria arrives, motioning her to take a chair on the other side of the desk. "Jesus," Dani says irritably, apparently in reaction to something that's just appeared on her laptop. She fires off a reply as Maria sits there, growing annoyed at the way she's forced to wait after a peremptory summons.

Then Dani looks way sharply from the screen and gazes at Maria directly. "Sorry. Idiots in maintenance. Can't figure out what to do with an illegally parked car. You'd think they would have taped the name of the towing company to the phone by now."

Maria decides to remain impassive, not interested in maligning the maintenance people or talking about parking.

"All right then," Dani says, correctly reading her and deciding to cut to the chase. "Maria, we haven't talked since I told you I planned to recommend you for renewal and eventual tenure, which I did. As you know, we've had budgetary issues since then, principally because Larry Roganoff, who I regard as dead wood, refuses to move on. He's proven to be quite recalcitrant for a passive man. But I've had a series of conversations with him and the pencil pushers working the budget. I've convinced the former to accept a half-time return to his position and the latter to sweeten his health care retirement benefits."

Dani folds her arms and pushes her chair back, regarding Maria appraisingly. "If you were younger and cheaper, Maria, I'd be able to pay you full time on what Larry makes half time. But I'm not going to ask you to do that."

"So you're going to ask me to come back on a half-time basis?"

"No. Or at least that's not my preferred scenario. Tell me, Maria: how do you feel about American literature?"

"American literature?"

"Yes. You know, like The Scarlett Letter. Or Song of Solomon. That kind of thing."

Maria can't help but chuckle. She's never heard Nathaniel Hawthorne and Toni Morrison lumped together as a "thing." "Well," she says, "I was an American Studies major in college."

"Oh yeah?" Dani sounds surprised -- and pleased. "Well, here's the thing. Mandy Merkel has just announced that she's decided to accept a graduate fellowship for an MFA program at Syracuse. She wants to be a novelist, God help her. Mandy was slated to teach two sections of the tenth grade American lit course next year. You make more than she does, but less than Larry does, so the two would more or less balance out. You'd have to teach two preps of an all new course outside your training, but it would be a way of keeping you here."

"The English department would go along with this?"

"Well, they don't have much choice. It's late in the year, a half-time job, and there's no guarantee it will be permanent. Plus you're well-liked. I checked."

"Nice to hear," Maria says. "But I've got to say this is not an especially appetizing offer, Dani. Especially given the way the job I thought was mine proved not to be. This sounds even more wobbly."

"You have a better option?"

"Yes." A fib.But Maria also thinks the job Jack has been working on for her would come through -- if she consented to it.

Dani purses her lips and nods. "Well, I didn't want to bring this up yet, but I see I need to put all my cards on the table."

Maria looks at her quizzically.

"I don't know if you've noticed, Maria, but the English department is fossilized." (Maria has noticed, and nods.) "It's my ambition to bring it into the 20th century. And you're my Trojan Horse."

"A lovely prospect," she observes drily.

"Hear me out. I didn't want to tell you this, but in a few weeks I plan to unveil a major new curricular initiative for the 2011-21012 school year. I've got a few of the department heads on board, including your friend Karl Kurtz. I can't go into the details here -- I've got a meeting in a few minutes -- except to say that it involves much more interdisciplinary teaching. It also involves more team teaching, of collaborating groups working off a shared curriculum."

"How are you going to be able to do that financially?"

"Good question. The plan is actually budget neutral. Eventually. We'll still have the same number of teachers and the same number of kids, but recombine them. More big meetings, more group work, more discussion sections -- overall, a more fluid situation.  I'll need money to get the thing going for training and incentives, but I think I've got some grant money for that. Actually, this is where you come in. I really want you at the forefront of this initiative, Maria. In the short term, there will be extra money for you as the point person. And if  you establish your indispensability, as I'm confident you will, you'll have a secure and prominent future here."

"Wow. I don't know what to say."

"Well, I understand you probably have more questions. Unfortunately, I have to go. The main thing I want to have happen now is that you agree to consider the short-term offer on the table, and not to accept any other position that may be in the offing. Give me a little time to work this out and see if I can put something more concrete on the table. Can you do that?"

"How much time?"

"I dunno. I had hoped to keep this under wraps until I had you on board for next year. But I'm going to change strategies. Can you give me the rest of the week?"

"Yes."

"Good." Dani rises and offers her hand, which Maria shakes. "Now I've got to kick you out of here, Maria. More idiots to deal with."

"For a smart woman, you seem to have to deal with an awful lot of idiots," Maria observes. "Is everyone as really as dumb as they look?"

"Probably dumber," Dani replies. "I know I am." She winks. "Always a pleasure, Maria."

Reality check

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet get slapped on the side of the head with a cellphone

The Maria Chronicles, #51


"So let me get this straight," Maria's friend Janice is saying to her on her cell as they lie in bed in their respective apartments. "Prince Charming, who has been courting you for months, has been a perfect dreamboat during your convalescence, right?"

"More or less," Maria responds, grudgingly, knowing where this is going.

"He learns you may lose your job, and so tells you about a lead he has for another one."

"Yes."

"And you're non-committal."

"Yes."

"And you've had no great leads in the weeks that have followed."

"Well, no. A couple things. I've gotten a couple calls from the employment agency I've been using, but they don't much interest me. Still, I'm hoping something will come through."

"OK. So then this contact of aforementioned Prince leaves you a message asking you to come to interview for a very good job, a better job than you have now."

"Well, I don't know that for sure. But it's probably more administrative. I don't think I want that. I'm a teacher."

"But you don't actually know just what the job involves."

"Right."

"Because you haven't called him back."

"Right."

"And how long has it been since you've received that call?"

"Three days."

"Three days? Jesus, Maria, what are you waiting for? It's just a phone call, for Christ's sake. What: are you afraid you're going to lose your virginity if you call the friend of a friend back? Just to talk to him?"

Maria sighs. "You're not making this easy for me, Janice."

"Is that my job?"

"Of course it's your job. You're my best friend. I'm conflicted. I need someone I can talk to about this!"

"Well I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes, but you're yelling at me. It isn't helpful."

"This is called a reality check, Maria. And it is helpful. You need some friction to see matters clearly."

"Oh I've got plenty of friction in my head, I can assure you of that."

"That's the problem. It's in your head. It's your own friction. You make it, you use it. It's the friction of a control freak. You and I both know this about you."

Maria has no ready answer for this. It's what her ex-husband used to say about her.

"So you're telling me I have to go on that job interview," she says resignedly.

"Can you afford not to?"

"No. I can't."

"So then why are we even having this conversation?"

"Because I really don't want to do it."

"Why, because you'll feel beholden to Jack? Jesus, you've got to let go of that, Maria. So what: the guy was a Wall Street pirate. That's history now. You think you're going to punish him by refusing to accept anything that comes your way because it may be tainted? You're such a goddamn Puritan, Maria. The world's first Chicana Puritan."

"Boy, you're a hard-ass, Janice."

"Well, am I right?"

"Not exactly."

"Fine. You're not the world's first Chicana Puritan."

Maria can't help but laugh. But Janice is pushing ahead. "So what do I have wrong, then?"

"I mean yes, at one point, it was about that."

"Punishing him. Withholding approval."

"Yes. It was. But not anymore."

"So what is it now?"

There's a long pause before Maria answers quietly. "Because I like him."

There's another pause before Janice responds gently. "All right then. Now we're getting somewhere." Another pause. "So you're afraid to take the job because you don't want to feel dependent on a guy -- a rich, good looking guy who might make you feel insecure as it is -- because you'll feel uncomfortable and maybe even self-sabotage the thing."

"Yes."

"Well OK, Maria. That makes sense to me."

"So you think I shouldn't call the guy back for the interview?"

"No, I think you have to call back the guy for the interview. Doesn't mean you'll get or want the job. But again, you can't afford not to. It's really quite possible that you'll get the job, love it, and get Mr. Second Chance in Life in the bargain. Actually, you may well forfeit Mr. Second Chance if you don't make the call, because if I were him I'd begin thinking that you'll never get over what he may well perceive as this withholding approval thing. But none of this is to say that your anxieties are misplaced. I get it now, Maria. Feeling dependent on him would feel really shitty, and maybe doom the relationship. But you're just going to have to face that fear and walk toward it. Which you can and will. Just like you did in walking away from that asshole husband of yours."

Maria's eyes are glistening. She rubs them. "Now I know why I called you."

"Damn well took you long enough. So what's happening this weekend? Is Mr. Right going to sweep you off your feet and take you to some fancy restaurant?"

"No. He did that last weekend. Actually, he's going to be visiting his daughter this weekend down in Washington, where she's attending a conference."

"Great. My sweetie is also going to be out of town. How about I swoop down there with a pair of theater tix. Can you wedge your aching leg into one of those tiny rows?"

"Actually, I get the cast off on Thursday."

"Great. So it's a date."

"It's a date. Love you, Janice."

"Yeah, right. whatever. Back at ya, kid."

The New Deal

 
In which we see Ms. Bradstreet offer instruction on the art of gratitude

The Maria Chronicles, #48

"So there you have it, kids," Maria says to the class, unconsciously fingering one of the crutches beside her desk. "The New Deal in a nutshell. It begins with a surge of activity in Hundred Days of 1933, gets a second wind in the 'Second New Deal' of 1935, and has largely run out of steam after FDR's fiasco with the Supreme Court and the economic downturn of 1937." Maria turns her torso and puts the "red" virtual marker down in its slot in the Smart Board before facing the class again. "This is information I'd like you to make some effort to master. So there will be a quiz on Friday on the various New Deal agencies and legislation we reviewed today. My notes will be available on the Moodle site. See you tomorrow."

Maria hates to let them go: It feels good to be back in the saddle six weeks after the fall that resulted in a serious concussion and a broken foot. The logistics of getting here were torturous -- manageable but painfully slow. And she didn't know what was worse: the feeling of semi-fraudulence of returning to a job that may soon be lost in the budget shell game, or the embarrassing rounds of applause she had to endure from each of the four classes she teaches. It was such a relief to finally be back in the classroom, actually performing the heart of her craft. Maria has tried to maintain a sense of proportion about her work: family and friends have always been central to her life, and she's never had grand ambitions to be anything else but a good history teacher. But more than ever, her work matters. She remembers something her mother used to say. In your thirties, it's all about realizing your ambitions. In your forties, it's about realizing you're not going to realize them. In your fifties, it's about realizing you're going to lose what you have. Maria's fiftieth birthday is still a few weeks away. I've always been a bit precocious, she thinks grimly.

"Good to have you back, Ms. Bradstreet," Wilhelmina says as she exits.

"Great to be back, Willie."

"Yeah,"
-->José says. "It was really tough having the principal as your substitute history teacher. Ms. Bernstein is a serious hard-ass."

" -->José!" Mia says. "You can't say that!"

"It's alright, Mia. I'm not offended, unless perhaps José is implying that I'm not working you all hard enough."

"Oh, no!" José. "You're just right, Ms. Bradstreet."

Maria smiles. "Just checking." Maria sees there are a few kids left, among them Derek, who, since he sits in the back, is always among the last to leave. "Derek, can I see you for a second?"

Derek says nothing, but comes up to Maria's desk, expressionless. She waits for the last of the students to leave and then sits down, reaching below her desk and bringing up a large package wrapped in brown paper that she asked Tommy, a member of the maintenance crew, to bring here this morning. "This is for you, Derek," she says, gesturing for him to take it.

"Me?" He looks a little pained, like he's been offered a huge piece of chocolate cake after a filling meal.

"It's an architectural drafting kit," Maria explains. "I talked to Artie Hinklebaum last week when I was home recovering, and he helped me order it through the art supply store he uses for the school. He said it's what you need if you want to take the next step in your work."

"Wow. I don't know what to say." He looks uncomfortable.

"It's just a little something to thank you for what you did."

"Wasn't much, really."

"Well, I beg to differ on that one, Derek. You may well have saved my life."

"Nah. You probably would have started breathing again on your own. Besides, there were a lot of other people around. Like that math sub, Mr. Casey. And the school nurse, what's her name, Mrs. Cano, was there in like ten seconds. She would have gotten you going again."

"Impossible to know, Derek. All I do know is that you were there and you gave me CPR, and now I'm here. That's enough to be thankful for."

Derek says nothing for a moment. "Mr. Casey lined up a summer job for me at an architectural firm downtown," he says. He half-smiles and points at the kit. "I guess you kinda knew that."

Maria smiles too, but he's still not looking at her. "Yeah, I kinda knew."

"Look, I appreciate this, Ms. Bradstreet, I really do," he says looking up her briefly and using her name for the first time she can ever recall. "But I just feel like this is all a bit much. I'm thinking I should turn down the job with Mr. Casey. I mean it was just something I did. Doesn't have to be a big thing. Shouldn't be a big thing. To be honest with you, it kinda makes me feel like a fake."

There's a long pause as Maria considers if she should say what the thinks. And then she does.

"It kinda makes you feel like a fake because you think everything is a fake." Derek looks up startled: another first. Funny: Maria feels like a boxer who's landed a direct hit.

"That's your problem Derek," she continues. "You're too hard on yourself, and as a result you're too hard on other people. Listen: this kit, this job, is nothing. As you probably guessed, Jack Casey is in fact a fairly powerful man. He hands out favors like lifesavers. Helps him feel good about himself, because he's got things that have him feeling bad about himself, just like everybody else. And I've got my own ulterior motives, even if there are no strings attached. I think of you as a classic underachiever, Derek. You show these flashes of brilliance that you hide because you're afraid showing them will cost you something, probably a sense of limits that somehow matter more to you than the possibilities. I've seen that movie many, many times. But I haven't seen many kids who have the talent of the kind you showed in that exhibit a couple months back, and frankly, I'm using the cover of a thank-you gift to make an investment in your future. But again, this is all beside the point. The only person who should really be thanking you, the only person who really matters here, is you."

Derek's expression changes from irritation to puzzlement. "I should be thanking myself?"

"Yup."

Derek shakes his head. "Can't figure that one."

"Then let me explain it to you. We've all got our doubts about ourselves, our fears about whether we're really good enough. They're always there, and they never fully go away. But you, Derek, get to live the rest of your life knowing that in a moment of crisis, you went and did what had to be done. You did it instinctively, without having to think about it. And because you did it before, you can have earned confidence that you'll do it again. That's a gift you can thank yourself for."

Maria sighs and looks away. "All right, that's enough preachy teacher talk," she says. "You're late for class. And I have some work to do. Now get this damn kit I've been lugging around outta here before I throw it out the window."

Derek looks at her, smiles and nods. He picks up the gift and heads for the door. "Thanks, Ms. Bradstreet," he says, his face obscured by the package.

"Remember, Derek, quiz on Friday." Maria grunts as she hoists herself up on her crutches.

Proposal

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet entertain company -- and an offer

The Maria Chronicles, #47

"Here we go," Jack Casey says, placing a tray with two cups of tea and a pair of scones on the wicker table on Maria's third-floor porch. It's an unaccountably warm day, and they've decided to sit outside. The buds on the trees are barely visible, and so there's still a view of the Hudson from Maria's apartment. This setup has the added advantage of having them sit side by side, rather than face each other. Maria moves her crutches to make it easier for Jack to sit down.

This is his first visit since Maria fell down a flight of stairs at school a month earlier. Jack was actually on the scene minutes after it happened, and has been a unseen powerful presence during her recuperation -- following her to the hospital, getting her car home, having food and flowers delivered. Maria has to admit it's been a shrewd approach, never asking what he can do, or giving her a chance to refuse. Well, maybe it's more accurate to say that Maria has declined to refuse. Her daughter Felicia thanked him on her behalf at the hospital, when she gave him the car keys. But Maria waited until yesterday to thank him by phone, which she realized she simply had to do. She also only thought it fair to invite him over as part of that expression of gratitude. He came bearing boxes of tea and scones that he picked up at the Tom's Bakery, around the corner.

It's turned out to be a pleasant visit. Jack has been alternately tactful, teasing, and curious. Maria realizes that in her desire to assert her independence, she's been so guarded with her children, as well as her best friend Janice, that she's been unable to unburden herself with a source of pain much greater than her ankle: the prospect of losing her job. Though she didn't intend to, she found herself explaining the situation to Jack. Maria recounted the visit of her department chair, Jen Abruzzi, five days earlier, and described the confluence of a teacher returning from leave, declining enrollments, and budget cuts that have imperiled Maria's future. Jack listened intently, nodding throughout. When she was done, he said, "I want to process this for a minute. Can I make us some tea?" And so he did, and so he's back.

"Well, Maria," he now says as he reaches for his mug, "you can't make them keep you. But you could certainly sue the school for a pretty penny."

"Sue them? Over what?"

"Your fall, of course. That's one dangerous staircase, even without that errant potato chip bag you slipped on."

"Jack! I would never!"

"Well, don't be so sure. For one thing, it's not entirely under your control. I can assure you that your health insurance company will be going after the school and that the school has a policy for just this kind of contingency. But you may also be able to net something for yourself. Do you have an attorney?"

"No I do not. And I won't be needing one, either."

"Can you really afford not to, Maria? Especially given this job situation?"

This is where Maria would like to say, "Fuck you, Jack." Instead she says, "I don't think I want to continue this line of discussion." She picks up her own tea, which allows her to cover her mouth.

Jack puts his own mug down and gets up, suddenly restless. He takes a few steps toward the balcony and turns around to face her.

"That's fair enough. I won't press that point. But I do have a proposal for you, Maria."

Oh no, Maria thinks.

"No, not that kind of proposal," he says, laughing as he reads her face. "Really, Maria. Give me a little credit here. No, what I'm talking about is strictly professional. You remember what I was telling you awhile back about my work with some folks down in the mayor's office?"

Maria nods. Jack is apparently deeply involved in the charter schools movement, trying to launch progressive schools using a Ted Sizer approach to challenge the Knowledge-Is-Power model.

"Well, after a couple years of planning, it looks like we're going to get our first charter going this fall. It'll be downtown. We're just getting going on the recruiting end, and I think you'd be a perfect addition. I'm thinking department chair."

"So you're working for the city after all?"

"No, no. Not for pay, anyway. But this is my life now. I've got some connections and the wherewithal to start things, and while I have no official paid role, I do think it's fair to say that I'm a part of this undertaking."

"Which is to say you're helping to underwrite it."

"Well, yes."

"That's great, Jack. But I don't think it would be right for me." Maria put her hand on her knees and looks down. This whole conversation is leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

"Look, Maria. I've long since figured out that you know my story -- the rough outlines of it anyway -- and I know you don't approve of it. That's fine. I'm not going to try to talk you out of your disapproval. But that's not because I feel I can't, but because I don't think there's anything I have to apologize for. Not to you, anyway."

Maria looks up. "Jack, I don't want --"

He holds his hand up to stop her. "Listen to me for a second. I'm not going to tell you that I'm proud of what I did in my years on Wall Street. I'm not. But I didn't do anything illegal, either, regardless of what you may have heard or read. My life since I left, my life since my wife died, has been about the degree to which you can really start over, to what degree you can put your past -- the part you don't like, anyway -- behind you. It's been a fascinating, ongoing experiment. And I'll be honest: I've regarded you as part of that experiment. Not in a clinical way, though it's required some discipline on my part. More as a process of discovery. About myself no less than you."

Maria is looking down again, not sure what to say, or how she feels.

"Anyway, the job is really something you should think about, because you wouldn't be working for me. I'd help you get it, of course, but that's it. I know it isn't ideal, and I wouldn't be bringing it up except for the fact that you're suddenly in this difficult situation with your current job. I wouldn't expect you to say yes right away, or at all. But don't say no now. Think about it and see how things play out at school. You're going back next week?"

"Yes. I probably could have gone back last week, but I wasn't ready to be limping around on crutches and living with the day-to-day ambiguity."

"I don't blame you." Jack looks at his watch. "Well, look, I better get going. Thanks for having me, Maria. I know this hasn't been easy for you. And I know I haven't been easy for you. Weirdly enough, that's kinda why I've kept at it."

"Well you've played your cards pretty well," she says, smiling.

"I am a pretty good card player," he says, picking up the tray and leaving her behind. "The real trick is what you do with your winnings. That's a game I'm still trying to figure out."

The line

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet face a threat to her standing

The Maria Chronicles #46

Maria was able to send her son Evan home the day she got out of the hospital; her daughter Felicity insisted on staying two days longer. That Maria was able to go home was a function of the strong support she received from friends and colleagues. The chair of her department, Jen Abruzzi, came by every day. Her friend Janice told Felicity she'd be coming for an overnight visit the day after Felicity left. And as Maria herself pointed out, "I'm not an invalid, after all. I can get around fine in these crutches." An evident exaggeration. But Janice did succeed in getting Maria into her car, and the two made an excursion to see The Runaways, as both of them were Joan Jett fans in their youth.

As Maria well knew, however, the price she paid for this show of independence with her kids was the invisible presence of Jack Casey. It was Jack who had an extra walker delivered to the apartment before Maria ever got there. And it was Jack who sent a steady stream of gourmet food -- Chinese, Mexican, Greek -- every day. Jack apparently told Felicity that he was going to stay out of the way as long as Maria had the help she needed around the apartment, but that he stood ready to help if and when the need arose. "Quite a friend you have there," Evan observed, and wisely left it at that. Janice, naturally, clucked with approval and told Maria while she knew her friend would have a million reasons why Jack was impossible but that she was just going to have to get over herself. "Fuck you, Janice," she responded, and Janice kissed her on the forehead. Maria knows that at some point she's going to have to explain to Felicity, but she can't do that until she figures out just what there is to explain.

Today, Jen has come by again, this time with a pair of tuna sandwiches, a bag of chips, and a bottle of Diet Coke. Maria is aware that Jen as been a little stiff and uncomfortable on her visits, which she's attributed to feeling awkward with the family around. But the persistence of this discomfort today is hard to explain. Though Maria has been focused largely inward -- the lingering pain in her head and an overall sour mood have left her even more quiet than usual -- she decides to venture outward: "Is there something on your mind, Jen?"

Jen puts down her sandwich. "Maria, there's been something I've been wanting to tell you, but just never felt it was the right time."

"No time like the present, Jen."

"Well, I'm not sure about that. But I suppose at this point I should go ahead and tell you."

"Yes."

"Maria, do you know about Larry Roganoff?"

"Don't know him. I've heard his name."

"Yes. Well, Larry's been teaching at the school for many years. Decades. Two years ago, he took a leave of absence. It was widely believed then that it was a test run for retirement, and that he wouldn't be coming back. This year, he requested an extension on the leave, which Eleanor Bernstein reluctantly granted, but did because Larry's been sick and wanted a kind of security blanket. This in part is what allowed us to hire you. Last week Larry announced he was coming back. In and of itself, that wouldn't matter. But enrollments are unexpectedly down and after a lot of contention over the budget, the Board has ordered school-wide cuts. Individually, those things wouldn't matter, either. But taken together . . . . "

"Taken together means I'm out of a job."

"Not necessarily. Dani's in your corner, Maria, and, as you know, Dani is a pit bull. "'We're going to work this out,' she told me. I don't know whether that means a fight with the Board or a fight with Larry or a fight I don't know about in trying to hold your line. But from where I sit, as a department chair facing an uncertain situation, I felt some obligation to tell you what I see. I have this idea I owe that to you, even though it feels like kicking you when you're down."

"You're right, Jen. I do want to know. And yes, I do feel kicked." This is where Maria feels like she should be saying, "I know it's not your fault." And it probably isn't Jen's fault. But nothing she's been told at any point in the last year spelled out such contingencies. She's understood that her future wasn't guaranteed. But Maria always understood this in terms of her keeping up her end. Which she has. Now it looks like it's time to go back to Carney Sandoe and re-enter the job market. How could she have been so stupid? A middle-aged woman in this economy? She was a fool to think she could leave her old life behind.

Jen punctures the silence: "I should get going."

"I'm sorry, Jen. I'm just feeling a little out of sorts."

"I understand," Jen says as she stands up. "Well no -- I won't say I understand. But I can respect how you're feeling and thinking. I want you to know I'm going to do everything I can, Maria. We all want you here. Even if I can't save your job entirely, I think we can piece something together."

"Thanks for coming by, Jen. I do appreciate that."

Jen finishes buttoning her jacket, and purses her lips. "I'll be in touch, Maria."

Maria pushes the tuna fish sandwich in front of her off to her right. And then she puts her head in her hands and begins to cry.

The Spirit

In which we see Ms. Bradstreet come to her senses

The Maria Chronicles, # 45

The first thing Maria is aware of when she opens her eyes is the searing pain in her head. The second thing, which almost leads her to forget the first, is her daughter Felicity sitting at the foot of the bed, tearfully smiling at her. The third is the medical apparatus beside her, part of the larger unfamiliar bedroom setup in which she finds herself.

"Oh Mama," she says, rising and walking over to embrace her, "I'm so glad you're awake."

"Felicity," Maria croaks. "What are you doing here?"

"You're in the hospital, Mama. You fell down a flight of stairs yesterday."

"Fell down?"

"Yes. You slipped on a potato chip bag. You banged the base of your head on one of the stairs, and broke your foot. It's a miracle you weren't more badly hurt. You had a concussion, but according to the CAT scan it wasn't too bad. You remember any of this?"

"No.' Maria suddenly realizes that her leg is in a cast. It hurts, but not a lot. Is that because of painkillers? If so, why does her head hurt so much? And oh, she's terribly thirsty. Maria pours a cup of water from the tray overhanging the bed and puts it to Maria's lips. "Slowly," she says. Maria laps the water gratefully.

"You're also lucky in that people took very good care of you. You actually stopped breathing for about thirty seconds. Your student Derek Clark, who was the first to get to you, actually administered CPR. He apparently joked that he never thought a bullshit health class would ever do him any good." Felicity smiles. "Sounds like a boy after your own heart."

Barack Obama. Maria suddenly remembers somebody, must have been a doctor, asking her who the president of the United States was. How many fingers.

"And Jack Casey. He's the one who sent all the flowers." Maria sees dozens of roses on the window sill to her right. "He followed the ambulance here. He apparently went through your purse for information. He was the one who called me. And Evan. He stayed with you until I arrived. I just sent him out to get some breakfast."

Maria tries to say, "I'm sorry," but can't get the words out. Felicity puts her index finger on her lip to shush her.

"Evan is here, Mama. He arrived late last night. He went to get me a cup of coffee. I think he'll be back any minute."

Felicity strokes her mother's face, which is bruised. "You gave us quite a scare, Mama. But the doctor says you're going to be all right. They kept you for observation, but I think you'll be headed home soon. But that ankle is going to take a while to heal."

"That's exactly right," a young woman in a lab coat says, entering the room. "Glad to see you awake, Ms. Bradstreet. My name is Emily Battista. You took quite a fall there, Ms. Bradstreet. But I think you're going to be fine. But let me check a few of your vital signs and we'll talk about where we go from here."

And they do. But Maria drifts off, exhausted less by the poking and prodding than trying to digest what's happened. Just when it seemed her new life was getting underway, she's crashed.

"I guess I know what I'll be doing for Spring Break," she says out loud, as the doctor takes her vital signs.

The doctor stops what she's doing and gazes at Maria intently, apparently deciding she likes what she hears. "That's the spirit!" she replies misreading her.

That's what feels broken, Maria thinks. My spirit.