Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits #1)(55)

“You wrote the magic words: Jacob and Tyler.”

“Hmm.” Mrs. Collins’s eyes drifted back to the file. Lines strained the skin around her eyes and she lacked her ever-present puppy enthusiasm.

“Are my brothers okay?”

She rubbed her forehead, looking suddenly exhausted. I sat on the edge of my seat. If those bastards hurt my brothers … “Mrs. Collins, are they okay?”

“Yes. Yes, your brothers are fine. Sorry.” She waved her hand over the file before closing it. “I’m a little distracted and tired. TGIF, right? Or do you kids not say that anymore?”

Mrs. Collins forced a kind smile onto her worn face, placing her hand over the four-inch thick file. That was when I caught sight of the label. It was Echo’s file. My gut twisted. Something was wrong.

“As you know, Tyler’s fifth birthday is rapidly approaching and I talked Carrie and Joe into letting you have an additional day of visitation.”

“No shit.”

A little tension eased off her face as she chuckled. “No shit, but I’d prefer you not say that around me again, or around your brothers.” She picked up a small white envelope on the edge of her desk and handed it to me. “Party invitation. The boys are making a big deal out of it. It’s an exclusive party at the visitation center with you as the only guest. Oh, and me. Maybe you could pick up some balloons for the visitation room. I’ll bring streamers. Be there or be square.”

Jacob had chicken scratched my name on the envelope. I never thought I’d see the day where I could celebrate any important event with my brothers. “How did you pull that off?”

“I told you if you concentrated on working on you, I’d take care of the situation with your brothers. When I give my word to someone, I plan on keeping it.” She rested her open palm over Echo’s file and stared down at it again. Was that the problem? Had she made a promise to Echo that she couldn’t keep?

I tried fishing. “Echo wants to remember what happened to her. Do you think you’ll be able to help?”

“I can’t discuss Echo with you, just like I won’t discuss you with her.”

Fair enough. Attempt number two. “She told me what happened with her mom. Actually, she told me what people told her what happened with her mom, which isn’t jack. To be honest, nutcase or not, I can’t imagine any decent mom hurting her kid.”

Mrs. Collins relaxed in her chair, still looking exhausted, though a spark lit her eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t. You had a very close relationship with your mother.”

Suddenly filled with the urge to beat my head against the wall, I slumped in the chair. I’d walked myself into this one. “Yeah, I did.” How the hell could I turn this back around to Echo?

Her puppy enthusiasm returned. “Jacob loves to write, but you know that already. Anyhow, Carrie and Joe let me read this endearing story about how your mom declared the first Friday of every month as family campout night. It sounded absolutely delightful. Was it fact or fiction?”

Mrs. Collins craved trust. I’d give the dog a bone. “Fact. My mom and dad started the tradition when I missed my first Tiger Scout campout because I got sick. That was Mom’s way of making me feel better.” She’d always found a way to make everything better.

“The rest of the story is also fact? The ghost stories, s’more making, everyone sleeping in the tent in the living room?” Mrs. Collins laughed. “You must have been a cool big brother.”

My grip on the invitation tightened. “Still am, but I can’t take credit. The campouts were all about my parents.”

“Then why were they upstairs instead of in the tent with your brothers the night of the fire?” Her eyes pierced through me. “I think you know why Jacob is having night terrors.”

I stood up. “I’ve got to get to work.”

“Noah, tell me about that night. Give me the opportunity to help your brother.”

“Like you’re helping Echo?”

Mrs. Collins blinked. Good—for the first time, I’d screwed with her. “That’s what I thought.”

WATER RUNNING INTO A STEEL sink mingled with the sound of banging as I walked into the classroom. The art teacher busied herself cleaning bowls while Echo sat on a stool with a wet paintbrush in hand. Several bright blue spots dotted her cheek and she created new ones when she absently tapped her index finger to her chin, causing the brush in her hand to mark her face in the same rhythm.

“May I help you?” The water turned off.

“I’m here for Echo.” Work would have to wait. If Echo had problems, I wanted to know.

Echo continued to tap her finger to her chin and created more dots on her face while she stared at the canvas. The intensity of her stare shocked me.

The art teacher stacked the bowls and walked toward the door. “She’s in the zone. Good luck getting her attention. Do me a favor. If she ends up painting her whole face, grab my camera from my desk and take a picture. I’ll add it to my collection.” She gazed at Echo and smiled. “I’ll title that one Smurf. Nice tats, by the way.”

“I’m focused, not deaf,” mumbled Echo after the teacher left. She put down the paintbrush and attempted to wipe her face with a rag.

The blue only highlighted the red in her hair. “You’re smearing it.”