Charles said. “Lost track of time.” He sneezed, his habitual reaction to arriving in Pam’s classroom, where the atmosphere was filled with pottery dust and paint fumes. “Bless you,” Pam said. “No worries, we just got started.” “Hi, Mr. Marlow.” Charles sneezed again. “Bless you,” Pam repeated. “Romy and I were talking about the incident.” They were gathered for a senior-project update meeting, meant to assure all concerned parties that Bertleson, Romy Andrea, was on track. “What incident?” Charles asked, reaching into his satchel for his pen and notepad. “Romy had some trouble with one of the participants at Art Without Boundaries.” “A participant?” Oh God, he thought, please let it not be Cody. “One of the dementia patients.” Romy jumped in. “Really, the whole thing got blown way out of proportion. I mean, yes, it was upsetting, but it was just a little slap. She got frustrated, the way little kids do when they can’t find their words.” “Someone slapped you?”
