‘Mr. and Mrs. Jones,’ I beamed, standing up from the folding table that had been assigned to me in the school gym. ‘Thank you so much for coming in this evening.’
‘Hardly gave us much choice, did you?’ Mr. Jones grunted. His wife, an elegant woman in a sleek dress and a necklace made of pearls, slapped him on the shoulder.
‘Now, Harold,’ she scolded. ‘Be pleasant. We’re here for Suzanne.’
He grunted again and took his seat. I smiled politely, even as my soul deflated slightly.
More of these parents, then.
‘Ah, yes, Suzy,’ I said, rifling through my stack of papers for my report on their daughter (finished last night at 11, near the bottom of my bottle of wine). ‘She’s a very accomplished student.’
‘Too right,’ Harold nodded, still scowling.
‘However,’ I hesitated. Mrs. Jones frowned at me.
‘However?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong with our daughter? What is she failing? Is it Maths? I’ve always said she’s terrible at Maths.’
‘No, no, nothing like that,’ I said quickly. ‘I’m worried about your daughter’s eyesight.’
‘Her eyes?’ Mr. Jones said.
‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘I think it might be smart to find a local child’s optometry specialist, to help with her vision.’
‘What’s wrong with her vision?’ Mrs. Jones said, horrified.
‘I’ve noticed she can rarely read off the board, Mrs. Jones,’ I explained. ‘And I checked with all of her teachers – she’s excelling in every class where she sits at the front, and failing others where she sits at the back. It’s a classic sign.’
‘What can we do?’ Mrs. Jones asked, literally clutching at her pearls.
‘It’s not a big deal,’ I quickly consoled her with a smile. ‘Just find an optometrist near the Bayside area who can help with your child’s needs.’
‘You say that like it’s easy,’ Harold interjected, crossing his arms. ‘Like you can just snap your fingers and a list will—’
I slid a piece of paper across the table to them.
‘I took the liberty of printing out a list,’ I said, with a thin smile.
He narrowed his eyes at me – then swiped it off the table.