For Your Own Good Read online

  also by

  samantha downing

  My Lovely Wife

  He Started It

  BERKLEY

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2021 by Samantha Downing

  Readers Guide copyright © 2021 by Samantha Downing

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Downing, Samantha, author.

  Title: For your own good / Samantha Downing.

  Description: First Edition. | New York: Berkley, 2021.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020045190 (print) | LCCN 2020045191 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593100974 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780593100998 (ebook)

  Subjects: GSAFD: Suspense fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3604.O9457 F67 2021 (print) | LCC PS3604.O9457 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020045190

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020045191

  First Edition: July 2021

  Book design by Alison Cnockaert, adapted for ebook by Kelly Brennan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_5.7.1_c0_r0

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Also by Samantha Downing

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Part 2

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Part 3

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Acknowledgments

  Readers Guide

  About the Author

  Part

  One

  1

  ENTITLEMENT HAS A particular stench. Pungent, bitter. Almost brutal.

  Teddy smells it coming.

  The stench blows in the door with James Ward. It oozes out of his pores, infecting his suit, his polished shoes, his ridiculously white teeth.

  “I apologize for being late,” James says, offering his hand.

  “It’s fine,” Teddy says. “Not all of us can be punctual.”

  The smile on James’s face disappears. “Sometimes, it can’t be helped.”

  “Of course.”

  James sits at one of the student desks. Normally, Teddy would sit right next to a parent, but this time he sits at his own desk in the front of the class. His chair is angled slightly, giving James a clear view of the award hanging on the wall. Teddy’s Teacher of the Year plaque came in last week.

  “You said you wanted to talk about Zach,” Teddy says.

  “I want to discuss his midterm paper.”

  Zach’s paper sits on Teddy’s desk—“Daisy Buchanan from The Great Gatsby: Was She Worth It?”—along with Teddy’s rubric assessment. He glances up at James, whose expression doesn’t change. “An interesting topic.”

  “You gave him a B-plus.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  James smiles just enough. “Teddy.” Not Mr. Crutcher, as everyone else calls him, and not Theodore. Just Teddy, like they are friends. “You know how important junior year grades are for college.”

  “I do.”

  “Zach is a straight-A student.”

  “I understand that.”

  “I’ve read his paper,” James says, leaning back a little in his chair. Settling in for the long argument. “I thought it was well written, and it showed a great deal of creativity. Zach worked very hard to come up with a topic that hadn’t been done before. He really wanted a different perspective on a book that’s been written about ad infinitum.”

  Ad infinitum. The words hang in the air, swinging like a pendulum.

  “All true,” Teddy says.

  “But you still gave him a B-plus.”

  “Zach wrote a good paper, and good papers get a B. Exceptional papers get an A.” Teddy picks up the rubric and holds it out toward James. “You can see the breakdown for yourself. Grammar, structure, mechanics . . . it’s all here.”

  James has to get up to retrieve the paper, which makes Teddy smile inside. He folds his hands and watches.

  As James starts to read, his phone buzzes. He takes it out and holds up a finger, telling Teddy to wait, then gets up and walks out of the classroom to take the call.

  Teddy is left alone to think about his time, which is being wasted.

  James asked for this meeting. James specified that it had to be after hours, in the evening. This is what Teddy has to deal with from parents, and he deals with it ad infinitum.

/>   He stares at his own phone, counting the minutes as they pass. Wondering what James would do if he just got up, walked right past him, and left.

  It’s unfortunate that he can’t.

  If Teddy walks out, James will call the headmaster and complain. The headmaster will then call Teddy and remind him that parents pay the bills, including his own paycheck. Belmont isn’t a public school.

  Not that he would get fired. Just six months ago, he was named Teacher of the Year, for God’s sake. But it would be a headache, and he doesn’t need that. Not now.

  So he stays, counting the minutes. Staring at the walls.

  The room is orderly. Sparse. Teddy’s desk is clear of everything except Zach’s paper, a pen, and a laptop. No inspirational posters on the wall, no calendars. Nothing but Teddy’s recent award.

  Belmont Academy is an old school, with dark paneling, solid doors, and the original wood floors. The only modern addition is the stack of cubbyholes near the door. That’s where students have to leave their phones during class, an idea Teddy fought for until the board approved it. Now, the other teachers thank him for it.

  Before the cubbies were installed, kids used their phone throughout class. Once, several years ago, Teddy broke a student’s phone. That was an expensive lesson.

  Five minutes have passed since James walked out. Teddy starts to pick at his cuticles. It’s a habit he developed back in high school, though over the years he got rid of it. Last summer, he started doing it again. He hates himself for it but can’t seem to stop.

  Time continues to pass.

  If Teddy had a dollar for every minute he was kept waiting by James and every other parent, he wouldn’t be teaching. He wouldn’t have to do anything at all.

  Eleven minutes go by before James walks back into the room.

  “I apologize. I was waiting for that call.”

  “It’s fine,” Teddy says. “Some people just can’t disconnect.”

  “Sometimes, it’s not possible.”

  “Of course.”

  James takes his seat at the desk and says, “Let me just ask you straight out. Is there anything we can do about Zach’s paper?”

  “When you say do, Mr. Ward, are you asking me if I’ll change his grade?”

  “Well, I thought it was an A paper. A-minus, maybe, but still an A.”

  “I understand that. And I understand your concern for Zach and his future,” Teddy says. “However, can you imagine what would happen if I changed his grade? Can you appreciate how unfair that would be, not only to the other students, but also to the school? If we start basing our grades on what parents think they should be, instead of teachers, how can we possibly know if we are doing our job? We couldn’t possibly know if our students were learning the material and progressing with their education. And that, Mr. Ward, is the very foundation of Belmont.” Teddy pauses, taking great joy at the dismayed look on James’s face. Not so arrogant now. “So, no, I will not change your son’s grade and threaten the integrity of this school.”

  The silence in the room is broken only by the clock. The minute hand jumps forward with a loud click.

  James clears his throat. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to suggest anything like that.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  But James isn’t done yet. They never are.

  “Perhaps there is some extra work Zach can do. Even if he has to read a second book and write another paper?”

  Teddy thinks about this while staring down at his hands. The cuticle on his index finger already looks ragged, and it’s only the middle of the term.

  “Perhaps,” he finally says. “Let me give it some thought.”

  “That’s all I ask. I appreciate it. So does Zach.”

  Zach is a smug little bastard who has no appreciation for anything or anyone except himself. That’s why he didn’t get an A.

  His paper was good. Damn good, in fact. If Zach were a better person, he would’ve received a better grade.

  2

  TEDDY’S OLD SAAB is the only car left in the parking lot. Everyone else has cleared out, including the sports teams and the other teachers. Tonight, he’s the last one. He unlocks the door with his key—no electronic gizmos on this car—and sets his briefcase in the back seat.

  “Mr. Crutcher?”

  The voice makes Teddy jump. A second ago, the lot was empty, and now there’s a woman standing behind him.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says.

  She is tall and curvy, with dark hair, cut at the chin, and plum-colored lips. She wears a simple blue dress, high heels, and what looks like an expensive handbag. He’s seen enough of them to know.

  “Yes?” Teddy says.

  “I’m Pamela Ward. Zach’s mother.”

  “Oh, hello.” Teddy stands up a little straighter. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

  “No, we haven’t.” She steps forward to offer her hand, and Teddy gets a whiff of her. Gardenias.

  “I’m afraid you missed your husband,” he says, shaking her hand. “He left about twenty minutes ago.”

  “I know. He told me.”

  “Yes, we—”

  “I’m sorry I missed the meeting. I just wanted to stop by and make sure everything has been taken care of.” She looks him straight in the eye. No fear. Not of him or of being alone in a parking lot at night.

  “Taken care of?” he says.

  “That you’ll do what’s best for Zach.” It’s not a question.

  “Absolutely. I always want the best for my students.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that,” she says. “Have a good evening.”

  “And you as well. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  With a nod, she turns and walks away.

  Now, he sees her car. It’s across the lot. A black crossover, which almost disappears in the night. So does she.

  Teddy gets into his car and watches in the rearview mirror as she drives away.

  Before this evening, he had never met James or Pamela Ward. Unusual, considering Zach is a junior. Teddy makes a point of attending every orientation, parents’ night, and fundraiser, as well as every sporting event. The big games, anyway. People know Teddy Crutcher, and most have also met his wife, Allison.

  He was surprised when James emailed and said he wanted to meet. Teddy looked him up online and learned he worked in finance. Not surprising—half the Belmont parents work in finance. It made James a little less interesting, a little more pedestrian. A little more manageable.

  Now, Teddy knows even more about James, and about his wife. Not that it matters. Not unless he can use it to his advantage.

  * * *

  FROM THE FRONT, Teddy’s house looks like it could be abandoned. Broken slats on the fence, overgrown garden, sagging porch. He and his wife had bought it as a fixer-upper and started with the electricity, the plumbing, and the roof. Everything had cost more than expected and took longer than it was supposed to. He still isn’t sure which one ran out first, the money or the desire, but they’d stopped renovating years ago.

  The inside is a little better. The rooms were painted and the floors refinished before they moved in.

  He almost calls out for his wife, Allison, but stops himself.

  No reason to do that.

  The good thing about having such a large house is having more than enough space for Teddy and his wife to have their own offices. Hers faces the back and was supposed to have a view of the garden and a pond. That never happened.

  His office is in the front corner of the house. He had envisioned staring out at his lawn and a freshly painted fence around it. Instead, he keeps the drapes shut.

  His inbox is filled with messages from students asking about assignments. They want extensions, clarifications, more explicit instructions. Always something. Students tod
ay can’t just do as they’re told. They always need more. Half of Teddy’s job has become explaining things a second, third, or even fourth time.

  Tonight, he ignores the emails and pours himself a tall glass of milk. He doesn’t drink it often—dairy has always been an issue—but he likes it. This evening, it’s a treat. Something to help him think about what to do with Zach.

  3

  UPSTAIRS IN HIS room, Zach Ward works on a history paper while chatting online. A text from his father interrupts him.

  Come downstairs please.

  He didn’t even hear his dad drive up, much less enter the house. Zach types a message to his friend Lucas.

  Gotta go. I’m being summoned downstairs.

  Lucas replies with an exploding-bomb emoji.

  Zach heads down, reminding himself that, no matter what happens, it’s better to keep his mouth shut. Except when necessary. Whatever his parents have done is already over. No need to argue about it now.

  “In here,” Dad says, waving him into the living room. He’s still in his work clothes, minus the suit jacket. Mom looks exactly the same as when she left this morning, minus the shoes.

  Physically, Zach is a combination of both his parents. His thick hair, jawline, and dimples come from his dad. The eyes are his mom’s, including the long lashes. The best of Mom and Dad. A genetic jackpot, and Zach knows it.

  “Have a seat,” Dad says.

  Zach sits on the couch, while Mom and Dad sit in the chairs on either side of him. This makes him feel a little trapped.

  “I met with your English teacher this evening,” Dad says. “Your mother was stuck at work.”

  “Although I caught up with him afterward,” she says, giving Dad a pointed look. “So we both talked to him.”

  “Mr. Crutcher is an interesting man,” Dad says.

  Zach says nothing. He’s not taking that bait.

  “We had a very good talk about your paper. He showed me his rubric assessment, and I brought up some points he may have missed. He agreed with most of what I said.” Dad pauses, letting Mom pick up the story.

  “My conversation with Mr. Crutcher wasn’t very long, but he did seem amenable to rethinking his position on your paper,” she says. “I think he understands that even teachers can be fallible.”