Escort For The Witch. Veronika Grossman
humming a melody coming from a mobile phone lying on the teacher's desk.
“Mrs. Renton,” Jack called softly.
Mrs. Renton didn’t react, continuing to hum the tune.
“Mrs. Renton,” another attempt to get the teacher’s attention. The reaction remained the same. Which is to say – none.
“Mom!” Jack almost shouted and couldn’t help but smile when Mrs. Renton, startled, jumped up on the stool, nearly falling off the makeshift podium, and briskly turned towards her son. The woman was genuinely scared. Her glasses were askew and slid to the tip of her nose, her green eyes sparkling brightly, betraying the poorly and clumsily concealed joy, as well as new wrinkles. She pressed her right hand to her chest, trying to calm down her racing heartbeat. Jack grinned and bit his lip.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, barely holding back laughter.
“Goodness! Child, did you decide to give me a heart attack?” the woman exclaimed with feigned horror in her voice and, adjusting the thin sweater on her slender shoulders, gracefully hopped off the small stool, revealing to Jack’s eyes a small round aquarium. The woman smiled at her son and danced her way to the teacher’s desk.
“Mom, are you experimenting on goldfish?” Jack asked curiously, observing the tiny fish swimming briskly in the transparent water. “We’re running low on frogs now. By the way, there’s a rumor going around about high mortality rates among rats. Poor things…”
“Back off, Jack,” Mrs. Renton replied, waving her hand while calmly arranging the measuring flasks on the table.
“I won’t. You called me twelve times today,” Jack persisted.
“Yeah.”
“At six in the morning, Mom!” Jack exclaimed indignantly, offended by his mother’s calmness.
“Oh, come on!” the woman murmured melodiously.
“And you didn’t even call back, by the way!” Mrs. Renton delicately adjusted her glasses and looked attentively at her son, scrutinizing him from head to toe.
“Well, I thought we haven’t seen each other in a while, so I decided to drop by.”
“That’s true,” Mrs. Renton replied thoughtfully. “Your father sent his regards,”
she added casually and turned her attention to the leaves of a fuchsia plant that happened to be nearby. “And when was the last time you got a haircut?”
“Mom, is something wrong?” Since Dad sent his regards, something must be up.
Maybe this even explains the sudden change in weather or in Beth’s behavior, who seemed much friendlier today than usual.
“Yes, we were just sitting here and… Just look at these leaves!” Mrs. Renton exclaimed.
“Mom, we’ve been through this already. And if you don’t tell me what happened right now, your marble ficus plant will turn into a stripped version of it!
Trust me on that!” Jack grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the woman who seemed shocked by her son’s words.
“I always knew you were rather cruel,” Mrs. Renton half-whispered before adding almost inaudibly , “We talked a bit and made a decision.”
Reluctantly taking his eyes off the plant leaves, Jack stared at his teacher mother.
Something about that last phrase, thrown in seemingly casually, didn’t sit well with him.
“What decision?” He asked with growing irritation, showing no enthusiasm for continuing the conversation. His mother’s habit of speaking in riddles occasionally got on his nerves, and apparently, today’s conversation wasn’t going to be an exception.
“Lately, Eric’s been behaving, to put it mildly, poorly,” Mrs. Renton began quietly. The way she pronounced his best friend’s name made Jack once again look into his mother’s eyes. This time, her gaze was very sharp and attentive.
“What we embarked on twenty-three years ago was a deviation from the rules of the order. A very serious deviation, as you well know. Every month, sometimes even every week, Alex would send us detailed reports,” she continued.
“People need something to do in retirement,” Jack muttered sarcastically.
“Don’t interrupt me, Jack! As his illness progressed, he sent them less and less frequently, and you know that very well too. In one of his last letters, he promised that Eric would take over from him now.”
Jack lowered his gaze and started studying a piece of old gum dropped by some past student and treaded on a thousand times since by more student feet. He knew where his mother was heading with this, and he didn’t like it. More precisely, he didn't like it at all.
“After Alex’s death, we received only a few incomprehensible scribbles from Eric. Written in completely different handwriting, with all sorts of emoji is and other nonsense,” Mrs. Renton stared intently at her son. “Can you explain that?
And get off the table! What a bad habit!” she scolded her son, clutching her heart meaningfully once again.
“Explain what? The few or the incomprehensible?” Jack asked, still not looking up from the floor, struggling contain his emotions.
“Stop it, Jack, you know what I mean.”
“I think it’s not as bad as you, madam, think. He’s just… finding it difficult to keep an eye on someone who lives under the same roof as him, and that someone happens to be his sister,” Jack whispered the last word almost to himself, thinking,
“I could even bet on who’s keeping an eye on whom there.”
“It’s like me starting to monitor every step of my cat! Sooner or later, he’ll notice and retaliate by ruining all my plantings or peeing everywhere! And if you’re concerned, you could go check it out yourselves. They’re friends, after all,”
Jack looked at his mother again with reproach and once again struggled to suppress a smile. The woman clearly didn’t expect such a retort from her son and froze, her mouth slightly open in confusion. “And don’t blame Eric. He’s depressed… he’s going through a lot."
“Plantings, you say, he’ll ruin? Mess up everything around?” Jack, I’m not arguing, Eric’s a good guy, but this… what’s her name…” Mrs. Renton paused, trying to recall.
“Sarah.”
“Yes, Sarah. He’s become irresponsible! We can’t rely on him anymore,” Mrs.
Renton exclaimed with concern and unmistakable worry in her voice.
Jack swallowed loudly, looking away from the floor where he was now inspecting a curious dark spot, and met his mother’s gaze, as green as his own.
“And what do you want me to do about it? Should I personally check all his scribbles before sending them to you? Make corrections?”
Mrs. Renton turned to the teacher’s desk and casually remarked, “Now you’ll keep an eye on Sabrina.”
“How do you imagine that ?” Jack growled, slamming his hand on the table, where he still sat, despite his mother’s accusatory and meaningful glances. “Have you lost your mind or what?”
“Starting today,” Mrs. Renton said calmly, ignoring her son’s wave of anger.
“No way! That girl has been aching to tear my throat out! Since childhood!”
“So there’s a reason for that. Since childhood till now,” Mrs. Renton retorted, rising on her tiptoes to water the flowers spaced unevenly on the windowsill and hanging shelves.
Jack nervously ran his hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and put on his most pleading expression.
“Mom…”
“Jack.”
“She hates me!”
“So, make her change her