Free Blind Lake by Robert Charles Wilson Page A

Somebody’s anticipating trouble.”
    “All the more reason. Listen!”
    The sound of sirens. Two Blind Lake Security vans sped past, headed south.
    Elaine was spry for a woman of her age. Chris found himself hurrying to keep up.
     
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
     
    Marguerite left work early Wednesday and drove to the school for her interview with Mr. Fleischer, Tessa’s homeroom teacher.
    Blind Lake’s single school building was a long, low two-story structure not far from the Plaza, surrounded by playgrounds, an athletic field, and a generous parking lot. Like all of the buildings in Blind Lake, the school was cleanly designed but essentially anonymous—it might have been any school, anywhere. It looked much like the school at Crossbank, and the smell that greeted Marguerite when she stepped through the big front door was the smell of every school she had ever been inside: a combination of sour milk, wood shavings, disinfectant, adolescent musk, and warm electronics.
    She followed the corridor into the west wing. Tess had entered grade eight this year, a step away from the hopscotch and Barbie crowd, tottering on the brink of adolescence. Marguerite had suffered through her own high school years, and still felt a conditioned wave of apprehension amidst these rows of salmon-colored lockers, though the school was largely empty—the students had been sent home early to allow for this round of parent-teacher interviews. She imagined Tess already at the house, maybe reading and listening to the hum of the floorboard heaters.
Home safe
, Marguerite thought a little enviously.
    She knocked at the half-open door of Room 130, Mr. Fleischer’s room. He waved her in and rose to shake her hand.
    She didn’t doubt Mr. Fleischer was an excellent teacher. Blind Lake was a flagship federal institution, and a key part of its employment package was the availability of a first-class school system. Marguerite was sure Mr. Fleischer’s credentials were impeccable. He even looked like a good teacher, or at least the kind of teacher you could safely confide in: tall, somewhat doe-eyed, well but not intimidatingly dressed, with a trim beard and a generous smile. His grip was firm but gentle.
    “Welcome,” he said. The room was equipped with child-sized desks, but he had imported a pair of parent-friendly chairs. “Have a seat.”
    Funny, Marguerite thought, how awkward all this made her feel.
    Fleischer glanced at a sheet of notes. “Good to meet you. Meet you again, I should say, since we were introduced at Tessa’s orientation. You work in Observation and Interpretation?”
    “Actually, I’m the department head.”
    Fleischer’s eyebrows levitated briefly. “Here since August?”
    “Tess and I moved here in August, yes.”
    “Tessa’s father was here a little earlier, though, wasn’t he?”
    “That’s right.”
    “You’re separated?”
    “Divorced,” Marguerite said promptly. Was it paranoia, or had Ray already discussed this with Fleischer? Ray always said “separated,” as if the divorce were a temporary misunderstanding. And it would be just like Ray to describe Marguerite as “working in Interpretation” rather than admit she was heading the department. “We have joint legal custody, but Tess is in my care the majority of time.”
    “I see.”
    Maybe Ray had failed to mentioned that, too. Fleischer paused and added a note to his files. “I’m sorry if this is intrusive. I just want to get a sense of Tessa’s situation at home. She’s been having some trouble here at school, as I’m sure you’re aware. Nothing serious, but her marks aren’t where we’d like them to be, and she seems a little, I don’t know how to say it, a little
vague
in class.”
    “The move—” Marguerite began.
    “No doubt that’s a factor. It’s like an army base here. Families move in and out all the time, and it’s hard on the kids. The kids can be hard on newcomers, too. I’ve seen it far too often. But my concerns