She didn"t know what to make of Karl Debussy. There was anger there, sure—easy to see, simmering under the surface. But there was pain there as well, something she knew all too well from the kids she dealt with every day.
It took little time to walk out to the nearby streetcar stop, the light spring rain washing away the last of the snow. She glanced at her watch again, doing the hard math.
She would be up for another hour or so, working on the papers—but worth it for an evening out.
Jeni looked down the street, scowling at the lack of a streetcar.
A white pick-up truck pulled up beside her, Karl behind the wheel.
"Come on, climb in." The annoyed grunt had her smiling despite his dour expression. "Not going to have you catch cold while waiting for the damned streetcar."
She hopped up
