Unhealthy Coping Mechanism

Chapter 28

Harriet rode to Sam's school in the back of an Uber, tailed by Vicky's car the entire time to make sure she wouldn't make an unplanned ingredient run. Frank met her there with an uneasy smile. "How was the picnic?"

"Fine."

Her blunt response left no room for questions. Instead, Frank slipped her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Her fingers hung limply in his grip.

On their way to the principal's office, they passed Ryan and Peter. The boy's eye had nearly swollen shut thanks to a deep purple bruise, and he clung to his father's leg with trembling fingers as he stared up at Harriet.

Ryan pulled him closer, eyeing Harriet as if she was a lioness that had come to finish the fight her cub had started. He met Frank's plaintive gaze with a slight shake of the head before walking his limping son out of the building.

Motivational posters covered every inch of the walls in Principal Wade's office. The woman herself had an equally cheesy, fake-happy smile stretched across her face, although her eyes betrayed her worry as she watched Sam rocking his feet back and forth in the seat in front of her desk. "Thank you for coming, Mr. and Mrs. Walker. Make yourselves comfortable."

Harriet and Frank sat on either side of Sam. He glanced at Harriet with bloodshot eyes as his breath came in ragged gasps. His hands lay clasped in his lap, his knuckles wrapped in bandages.

"First thing's first," Principal Wade said. "Let's let Sam tell us what happened."

"I got into a fight with Peter," Sam said quietly. This wasn't the quietness of a child upset they had fought with a friend. No, said the tightening of his fists, this was the quietness of someone who wished they could have gotten a few more blows in.

"Why'd you do that, buddy?" Frank asked gently. His eyes traced Sam's skin, searching for injuries. Other than his split knuckles, he didn't look like he'd been roughed up much at all.

"He said Mom and I are stupid for wanting to bake." He kicked his feet in a faster rhythm. "I think he's mad 'cause his mom can't bake anymore."

"Is that all?" Frank asked.

Harriet thought that was a perfectly understandable reason to get upset, but she kept her opinion to herself.

"And he threw away my brownies," Sam grumbled. "I was saving those!"

"It was mean of Peter to do that," Principal Wade acknowledged, "but you two are such good friends. I'm sure you could have sorted this out without resorting to hitting."

Sam gave a disbelieving snort. "Yeah, right. He said baking's made me a zombie. I don't want brains. I just want to bake!"

Thank goodness someone still understood, Harriet thought. She didn't know what she'd do if Sam started spewing nonsense too.

"Peter told me he was scared you'd be so busy baking you wouldn't have time to be his friend anymore," Principal Wade said. "Don't you think you should say sorry and talk things out?"

"Come on, buddy," Frank said gently. "I know you can do it."

"No!"

Sam's face contorted into an expression so angry it could have curdled cream. Whether it was at what Peter had said or the mere suggestion he should apologize, Harriet had no clue, but it was clear he had absolutely zero intention of saying sorry. Realizing she wouldn't get anywhere with him, Principal Wade sent Sam to go sit in the hallway while she spoke to his parents.

The instant Sam left the room, Principal Wade's demeanor changed. The tight smile fled her face as she massaged her temples and let out a long sigh. "He used to be such a sweet kid," she said. "Is everything okay at home? Aside from what happened to his grandpa, I mean."

"I don't know," Frank said. "Something's definitely been off ever since he and Harriet started baking together."

"That's probably because you keep getting in our way," Harriet said.

"Mrs. Dawson mentioned you were looking into homeschooling him," Principal Wade cut in sharply. "Is that right?"

"We have been trying to help him get through this," Frank said. "Homeschooling's not something we have seriously discussed though."

"Only because you won't listen to me," Harriet said.

"Babe, you and I both know why you want him to stay at home, and it has nothin' to do with his education."

"You only think you do because we haven't 'seriously discussed' it," Harriet grumbled.

"Alright, let's do it now. Besides turning him into a mini pastry chef, what good would it do to rip him away from his friends?"

"What friends? The one he beat up?"

"You're not answering the question."

"Because you wouldn't listen if I gave you an answer."

"I think I see what at least part of the problem is," Principal Wade said. She crossed her arms and stared at them as if they were two kindergartners fighting over a crayon. "You two are definitely not on the same page."

"More like not reading the same book," Harriet said acidly.

"The same cookbook, you mean."

Principal Wade sighed. "The point is, you aren't working as a team, and Sam can sense that. He won't behave himself if you two don't. From what Mrs. Dawson has told me, the poor kid has enough to worry about without you two fighting like children."

Frank stared at his hands in his lap, ashamed. "We're working on it."

"Good. Now, I'm going to have to suspend Sam for a while. Between his unwillingness to even consider apologizing and how badly Peter was hurt, I'm going to suspend him for two weeks. That, combined with Winter Break, should give you a good amount of time to get things under control."

She handed them a stack of pamphlets and business cards, all for various child psychologists and counseling programs. "I really hope you'll figure something out, and these should definitely help. If you don't..."

The unspoken threat of expulsion hung in the air like a thick cloud of smoke billowing out of an oven left far too hot for far too long.

"I bet he'll feel a whole lot better after Christmas," Frank said weakly.

Maybe Harriet would, too. This would be her first Christmas without her father, and she didn't even have her baking to help her cope. She'd have to muscle through the holiday surrounded by the smells of the baked goods she was forbidden to make.

Her hands kneaded her legs as if they were lumps of dough. She'd find a way to bake. She had to, and so did Sam.