JimBee Toth was a handsome man, a bit past his prime. He’d married late, in his early thirties, because (as he told everyone) “I was having a good time screwing everything that moved, so I didn’t want to settle down.” When he’d finally decided it was time to start a family – perhaps when it became a little harder for him to “screw everything”—he’d chosen Lizzy Bell, a blonde ten years younger than him. Lizzy was plain in the face but a hot babe in the body. To JimBee’s shock, eight and a half months after they’d wed, Lizzy had delivered baby Sarah. His “hot babe” had turned into a mother, and JimBee was no longer the center of her universe. Worse, Lizzy’s figure changed. Her stomach was no longer flat, her boobs were not as perky, and she had stretch marks.
JimBee had had a hard time adjusting to this new situation. A very hard time. He did not love the baby. He felt he should, and it baffled him, until he had a revelation. JimBee realized one morning – following a night when the baby had cried for hours – that Sarah couldn’t be his.
Eight and half months? Sure, he and Lizzy had been enjoying themselves prior to their marriage. But what if Lizzy had also been enjoying someone else? That chimed with so many of JimBee’s suspicions that he knew instantly it was the truth. And while he never confronted Lizzy with her possible lack of faithfulness, he never loved Sarah. If she’d been an adorable, quiet, baby that would have been one thing… but she wasn’t.
Sarah had allergies that kept her indoors, clogged and wheezing and crying. Lizzy was always exhausted staying up with the little brat, suctioning her nose and rocking her, held upright against her chest to breathe. When Sarah was old enough to begin solid food, of course she had food allergies. Then when she was ten, she’d needed glasses, and couldn’t wear contacts, for God’s sake. The girl couldn’t catch a softball, and she sure couldn’t hit one. She had to carry an EpiPen, and she got plump, and she had to get allergy shots… the list of strikes against the girl grew with each year.
Though Sarah could read by the time she was four, JimBee didn’t think much about that. He figured any girl of his would grow up to be a cheerleader, or a Homecoming Queen, or at least popular. When Sarah had been born, he had imagined it might be kind of cool, watching boys trailing after his daughter, giving her advice on what to put up with and when to shut it down. But Sarah never had many phone calls that he knew of, and she never came to him for advice. He finally had to admit there was only one thing that made “his” daughter special.
Sarah was smart.
She was in the Honor Society, and she got some award for writing a poem. She had a bunch of certificates. And other dads congratulated him on Sarah’s achievements, from time to time.
But really, what use was her brain? He sure as hell couldn’t afford to send her to Davidson University, which the girl had set her heart on. She could damn well get a scholarship to the local junior college, and he told her so. He was not going to send her to a fancy place like Davidson when she wasn’t even his own daughter. And he told her that too.
Lizzy’s second child, James B. Toth, Jr., was a son any tire salesman could be proud of. It was evident fairly soon that James wasn’t real long in the brains department, but he could play sports (though not brilliantly), he passed in school (though with an effort), and he was popular (in a modest kind of way). The only strange thing about James was his strong bond with his sister. JimBee wondered at this bond and resented it, in equal measure.
JimBee, who cheated on Lizzy – though not as regularly as he would have liked—found himself fantasizing about Anne DeWitt after he’d attended a Rotary Club meeting at which she’d spoken. So when she called the Toths into her office for a conference, he simply didn’t tell Lizzy, so he could meet Anne on his own. The principal was a fine-looking woman; and as a widow, she must need some lovin’. It stood to reason.
JimBee was full of a pleasurable anticipation when he arrived at Travis High. When Christy told him Anne was ready to see him, JimBee cheered inwardly. DeWitt was wearing a straight skirt and high heels. Her legs were spectacular.
He was a bit disappointed when she took her seat behind the broad desk. The surface hadn’t been cleared for action. There were stacks of paper everywhere, and a metal in-basket that was far from empty.
“What’s on your mind, Miss Principal?” he asked, flashing the big white smile that had helped him sell a lot of tires. “I can give you a great price on some steel-belted radials. Real safe driving.”
“In a way, it’s safety that I want to talk to you about,” Anne said. “Specifically, your daughter’s.”
An alarm bell sounded in JimBee’s lizard brain. “Sarah’s not sick, not that I know about,” he said cautiously. “She’d have talked to her mother about that.”
“She seems to get hurt a lot.” The principal’s expression was neutral.
“She’s always been a clumsy gal,” JimBee said, his inner alarm bell clanging nonstop. “I’m afraid her brother got the athletic skills.”
“Really? Coach Redding tells me all he can do is play football,” the principal said. Her face was as calm and immovable as a glacier. “Redding tells me that on the field, James is not good at strategic thinking. He has to be given the same directions repeatedly.”
“You shouldn’t be down on James because he’s no big brain,” JimBee said righteously.
“Not like his sister.”
“The girl’s smart,” he admitted. Where was this going?
“She’s very smart,” the principal corrected him. “She’s one of the most intelligent students we’ve ever had at this school. She’s so intelligent she may make a record score on her SAT. If nothing happens to her.”
JimBee thought this through. “You mean…” And then he hesitated, uncertain as to how to phrase his sentence.
“No tripping. No falling down stairs. No walking into doors, no bruises, no broken bones. She shouldn’t even shake because someone’s yelling at her. And that situation should be maintained while she’s attending Travis High School. Am I perfectly clear?”
“I can’t promise that girl will suddenly stop being clumsy,” JimBee protested. “But I’ll try my best to make sure she doesn’t take a wrong step between now and the test.” He wavered between confusion and resentment. After all, he had a right to discipline the girl if he saw the need. That girl and her problems! It was just me me me all the damn time. His parents had never hesitated to give JimBee a lick if he needed it, and look how he’d turned out. Whose business was it if he gave the girl a slap every now and then?
“I’m glad you understand me,” Anne DeWitt said, though she sounded as if she doubted very much that he did. She stood up, and once again he got to admire her shapely legs, though not with as much gusto as he had before. “I’d really hate to think we might need to have this conversation again.”
It never occurred to JimBee that she was threatening him.
That night he got Sarah alone in the kitchen. He said, “I don’t know what you’re saying at school, girl, and I don’t want to have to say this again. You keep telling people I’m beating you, and you’ll find out what a real beating is.”
Lizzy’s daughter just stared at him through her thick glasses. “I never said that,” she told JimBee. “Never.”