“Of course. They are your current employers, after all.”
The way he phrases his agreement implies that Carson expects that to change in time.
He closes the planner. “But consider this, Leif. Your presence would reinforce the school’s confidence in Quinn’s accommodations. When parents see a professional like you engaged with our community, it normalizes Quinn’s needs.”
The manipulation twists like a knife, using my care for Quinn as leverage to secure my compliance. What parent wouldn’t sacrifice their time, their boundaries, and their autonomy for a child’s security? What caregiver wouldn’t submit to uncomfortable oversight if it protected their charge?
“I understand.”
“Excellent.” Carson settles behind his desk chair, satisfaction radiating from him in waves. “I knew you would. You’ve always prioritized your students’ needs, often at personal cost. It’s what I’ve admired about your teaching philosophy.”
The false praise stings worse than criticism. He wraps chains in velvet and calls them gifts, expecting gratitude for my own confinement.
“Is there anything else?” I ask, desperate to escape the suffocating office.
Carson fixes his tie, signaling the meeting’s conclusion. “Not today. I’m confident these adjustments will address any emerging concerns before they develop further.”
I rise from my chair, clutching the folder and the documentation.
Carson extends his hand across the desk, and I take it reflexively, his grip firm and dry within mine.
“I appreciate your willingness to step up.” His words drip with professional courtesy while I catch the satisfaction beneath. “Quinn is fortunate to have such a dedicated advocate.”
The outer office is brighter, the air thinner after Carson’s dark space. The secretary’s head lifts, her mouth opening, but I stride past without slowing.
I tell myself the meeting went better than I expected. Nothing was taken away from Quinn, and the requirements sound reasonable when I remove Carson from the equation. Being more present, involved, and visible are small things that can support Quinn’s place in the school.
So why does the new folder Carson gave me feel like an anchor, pulling me under?
Chapter Nineteen
Emily
Icatch the mistake as soon as I crouch to check the laser level. The line runs a quarter inch off where the eastern foundation wall should land, enough to throw the entire corner of the new staff quarters out of true.
Setting my jaw, I motion for Clint to hold the measuring tape while I verify the numbers on the blueprint. The error would slip past anyone else for months, only surfacing when doors refused to hang right, and cabinets wouldn’t sit flush with the walls.
“Need to fix this section before we move forward,” I tell Clint, tapping the concrete edge with my knuckles. “Get Devin and the level. We’ll reset before lunch.”
“Got it, he says, no argument crossing his weathered face despite the extra work I’m creating.
He understands how much precision matters, especially at the foundation stage, which is why I keep him as foreman.
As he heads off to find Devin, movement near the Homestead catches my eye. Leif, who rarely comes to the island midday anymore, hurries up the path, his leather satchel clutched tight to his side, the breeze off the water ruffling his mauve hair.
Whatever business he has with the Wrights must be important.
I consider waving, then decide not to. He’s not here for me, and I have my own problems to solve. The thought brings a subtle pang, which I push aside.
Devin joins me with the laser level, his permanent worry lines deepening as I explain the issue.
“Quarter inch doesn’t seem like much,” he ventures, adjusting his hard hat.
“A quarter inch travels,” I explain, pulling the blueprint from my back pocket. “Every plate, every wall, every cabinet has to compensate. We’ll be fighting it all the way to the roof.”
Devin squints at the line again, then back at the foundation. “So, grind it?”
“Yeah.” I straighten. “High side only. Quarter inch. Feather it back so the sill plate lands clean.”