The Green Lace Corset

by Jill G. Hall

  “Sorry!” She jumped back outside, but not before she saw him sharpening a large knife on a whetstone. She ran back to the cabin. Her idea of waiting until spring to try to get away was too far off. She needed to come up with another plan.

  26

  Anne dragged herself to work. It had been only a few days since she’d found out she was pregnant, but it felt like an eternity. Worried about the pregnancy, exhausted and queasy, she decided to do a collage lesson instead of the horseshoe project with the kiddos. She’d save that for when she felt better.

  When she arrived, a note was taped to the classroom door: See me after your class today unless I drop by first. Priscilla

  Anne’s heart revved up. They must have made a decision about the residency. Teaching would be a challenge; she’d spend the whole time wondering whether she’d been selected or not. But Priscilla had insisted Anne ramp up her lessons, so she’d better go ahead and present the horseshoe project anyway.

  She pulled off the note, unlocked the room, turned on some Enya, and covered the six tables with newspapers, then lined up the horseshoes along the counter. She dumped plastic containers of found objects onto silver trays and placed them on the middles of the tables.

  As the students began to arrive, she instructed, “Pick a horseshoe and take a seat.”

  One of the twins hit Penny on the shoulder. “Hello, Fart Face.”

  “Be nice,” Anne said.

  The twins each grabbed a horseshoe and sat down, banging them on the table as if they were Ringo Starr.

  Penny picked up a horseshoe. “This one’s too big.” She grasped another. “This one’s too small.” She must have just read “Goldilocks and the Three Bears.” She held one over her head. “And this one’s just right.”

  One of the twins snatched it from her.

  Penny howled.

  Anne put an arm around Penny and scowled at the boy. “How could you be so mean?” Anne looked over at the door, frightened that Priscilla might be watching.

  Instead, Karl stood in the doorway. What the heck was he doing here?

  He squinted his eyes at the twin and yelled, “Sit down, sir. You’ve already picked one.”

  “But . . .” the boy protested, then acquiesced. “Yes, Mr. Karl.” He handed Penny the horseshoe she’d chosen and, sulking, put his head on the table.

  Hugh, a cute, freckle-faced kid, came in and hugged Karl. “We’ve missed you.”

  “I know. Me too. I’ve come in for a meeting with Priscilla.” Karl smirked at Anne.

  Why was he smirking at her? Maybe they’d decided on the residency. But he wouldn’t have been chosen. He wasn’t even a professional artist.

  “Pick a horseshoe and sit for Anne,” he told more students as they came in.

  He looked at her. “Need help?”

  From you? Never. “No, thank you.”

  He watched while she pulled out her sample from her backpack and waited for the rest of the class—twelve students, ages six to ten, all shapes and sizes—to get settled.

  “May the best artist win!” Karl whispered in her ear, and left.

  Anne froze. She didn’t think she had gotten the residency, but the thought of his getting it stuck in her craw. However, Anne knew firsthand how charming he could be.

  Hugh tugged on the bottom of Anne’s sweatshirt. “What are we doing?”

  As the cacophony of voices overpowered her, she turned off the music and clapped her hands three times. Penny and her tablemate Cindy echoed Anne’s gesture. She clapped again until all her students copied her and fell silent. She’d learned this simple trick online. It worked like magic.

  She held up her sample. “This is a lucky horseshoe. Yours aren’t lucky yet, but they will be after you mosaic them.”

  Penny raised her hand. “Really? Will they really be lucky?”

  “Of course not, dingbat,” one of the twins scoffed.

  “Don’t name-call,” Anne continued, and put her hand on Penny’s shoulder. “Yes! It’ll be lucky if you put your heart into making it and if you believe. Mine brought me luck big-time.”

  The twins rolled their eyes at each other.

  Anne ignored them and continued, “Hold up your horseshoes like this.” She demonstrated. “Now, turn them that way. Make sure you have the points at the top. If you make it this way, all the luck will fall out.” She tilted her horseshoe over.

  “Carefully put yours down in front of you, facing the lucky way.” She passed out paper plates to each of the students. “Choose found objects from the trays on the table that appeal to you, and put them on your plates.”

  Anne turned on Enya again.

  “Can’t we listen to something else?” Hugh asked.

  Anne switched to Bruno Mars.

  Heads down, the students started digging through the trays. Hugh chose a purple earring, Cindy a tiny plastic snake, and the twins picked up handfuls of objects and tossed them on their plates.

  Anne placed a glue bottle next to each student. When all the plates were filled, she put on her sunglasses, waved her hands in the air, and sang the lyrics to “Uptown Funk” with a pouty expression on her face. At the end of the song, she turned off the music and posed, her arms across her chest. The students applauded, even the twins.

  Anne bowed. “Now, spread glue on your horseshoes. It comes out white but turns invisible when it dries. Then go over to the counter, scoop up seed beads, and sprinkle them over your horseshoes. When you finish, leave them here on their plates to dry,” she instructed, and turned Bruno Mars back on.

  The students began to glue objects to their horseshoes. Penny, Hugh, Cindy, and many of the others seemed lost in deep concentration. Anne felt her spirits lift; she was grateful she had decided to go ahead and do this lesson today. The twins finished their horseshoes right away and left them on the counter. Back at their seats, they covered their palms with glue. Anne shrugged. At least they were sitting nicely. All the other students besides Penny lined up and took turns sprinkling seed beads.

  Anne put her hand on Penny’s shoulder. “You’d better get a wiggle on and finish up. It will be time to go soon.”

  “Okay. I just can’t decide on this one or that one.” Penny held up a white button and a red one. “What do you think?”

  “Which color do you like best?”

  “Pink. But you don’t have any pink buttons.”

  “What’s your next-favorite color?” Anne asked.

  “Red.”

  “Go for it!” Anne suggested.

  Penny glued on the red one, and Anne escorted her to the counter. Penny began to sprinkle seed beads on her piece, but then she dropped the whole container. As the beads flew across the floor, she started crying.

  Anne put her hand on Penny’s shoulder. “Don’t worry—accidents happen.”

  “Yes, doofus.” One of the twins laughed. The boys were holding their hands up, letting the glue dry.

  “Can’t I take mine home now?” Penny whined.

  Anne stooped and put her arms around Penny. “They’ll have more magic if we give them a week.”

  Something hit Anne on the head, and she jumped up.

  The twins were flinging faux pearls at Penny.

  Anne couldn’t believe her eyes. “You guys, stop!”

  Priscilla swept into the room with a shriek: “Sit down!”

  The students obliged quickly.

  Priscilla continued, “Fold your hands, and there’ll be one minute of silence before you go.” She set the timer on her phone. “Anne, turn off that atrocious music.”

  Anne did as she was told, then sat impulsively in an empty seat and folded her hands too. She’d never been so embarrassed in all her life. She wouldn’t keep her job now, let alone get the residency.

  Priscilla’s timer went off. “Okay, you are dismissed,” she said. “Walk single-file out the door.”

  The little artists followed Priscilla’s directions. The twins kept their hands, now stuck together with glue, folded.
>
  “Bye, everyone. See you next week,” Anne called after them.

  The room looked like a cyclone had hit it: beads and pearls all over the floor, found objects strewn about, glue stuck to the tables. She’d recently read an article about the positive correlation between creativity and messy studios. Chaos was part of the creative process, but Priscilla probably didn’t understand that.

  Priscilla eyed Anne. “Clean up, and I’ll see you in my office.”

  Half an hour later, as Anne walked down the hallway, Karl came toward her. Why was he still here? He shot her a big grin as he passed her but didn’t say a word. He must have gotten the residency.

  Priscilla’s door was open when she arrived. Anne knocked on the doorjamb, her heart beating against her chest.

  Priscilla tapped her pen on the edge of her desk. “About the residency.”

  Here it was. Karl got it.

  “The panel wasn’t able to come to a consensus. We’re going to do second interviews. It’s down to you and Karl. Come back Monday at one o’clock, and bring student work samples with you.”

  27

  Early June roses bloomed, and a blue jay fluttered in the birdbath as Anne pulled Tweety into Bay Breeze’s circular drive. What was Fay going to say when Anne told her she was pregnant too? Fay would probably at least try to convince her to find out who the father was. Maybe she should tell Fay only about the one-night stand. In that case, she might be more supportive if Anne decided to have an abortion. Fay wouldn’t want her to be connected to someone that gross for the rest of her days.

  Anne opened the car door, hiked up the mansion’s steps, and paused to take in the sparkling bay view below. Lucky barked a greeting behind the door. George opened it, holding back the beagle-basset.

  “Hi, George.” Anne leaned down and pulled a bacon bit from her pocket. The odor made her queasy. “Lucky, how you’ve grown. Sit,” she commanded the dog.

  Lucky put down his behind. Anne opened her hand, and he gobbled the treat.

  “Good boy.” She stroked him behind the ears and stood up.

  George grinned. “You’ve sure got that covered. Come on in.”

  She stepped inside. “Congratulations on the baby.”

  He rubbed his bald head. “Geriatric parents.”

  Anne laughed.

  “You haven’t been over in ages.”

  “I know; it’s great to be here.” She paused in the foyer. The crystal chandelier still sparkled overhead, and the marble floors still shone below her feet, but she sensed a change and held back tears. Even though it had been a few years since Sylvia’s passing, Anne missed the gardenia scent that had accompanied her friend’s every move in this house.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked. Usually the whole gang met her at the door.

  “Paul’s still asleep. We recently had to move him to the downstairs bedroom. The stairs were getting to be too much for him.”

  “What about that knee surgery?” Anne asked.

  “He still refuses to have it.”

  At least he’d agreed to cataract surgery. She thought about Sylvia’s husband and how much he’d aged since her passing. They walked through the kitchen and peeked in at Paul, still asleep. How sad—it was nearly ten o’clock. He used to be such an early riser. One of his favorite sayings had been “The early bird catches the caterpillar.”

  George closed the door and whispered, “Ever since Sylvia’s been gone, he’s lost his stamina. You can’t blame him. Losing a soul mate must be devastating.”

  Anne sighed.

  “May I get you a drink? Lemonade? Iced tea?” George kept his voice low.

  “No, thanks. Where’s Fay?”

  “Upstairs. Go on up.”

  Anne hurried up the steps two at a time and found Fay sitting up in the canopy bed in the master bedroom with an open laptop.

  Fay honked. “Hello, mate.”

  Anne hugged her. “Why are you in bed? Is the baby okay?”

  “Everything’s hunky-dory. I’m just having a bit of a lie-in is all.”

  “You’ve moved into Sylvia’s room?” Anne’s eyes clouded over. She remembered the many times she’d been up here, helping Sylvia. The sunlit room hadn’t changed at all: same hydrangea wallpaper, same antique dresser and vanity, same brocade curtains.

  “Paul insisted. He said with the baby on the way, we’d need the larger space.” Fay touched the pink velvet turban on her head. She had on a colorful silk blouse too.

  “You’re awful fancy. Let me see.”

  Fay closed her computer, put it on the nightstand, and stood up to model her outfit. “They’re by Jennafer Grace, a designer out of San Diego. Paglamas—glamorous pajamas.”

  Anne smiled. “They sure are.”

  “Won’t fit me much longer.” Fay pulled out the elastic waistband to show the inch she had left and climbed back into bed. “Fortunately Jennafer makes kimonos too. What’s up? Did you get the residency?”

  “Not really.” Anne explained the situation. “At least by Monday, the horseshoes should be dry and I’ll be able to show those as samples.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get it.

  “Now, I have an important question to ask.” Fay reached out and took Anne’s hand. “Will you be the godmother?”

  “You know I’m not religious.”

  “Neither are we. It would be nice to know you’re someone special to our daughter and part of the family.”

  That was so sweet. “How about if I’m her arts godmother?”

  “Bloody good idea.” Fay continued, “We’re making that room next to us into a nursery.” She pulled paint chips from her purse and spread them on the table. “I’m thinking of going with this color for the walls.” She pointed to a bright square and handed it to Anne.

  Anne studied the swatch and read the name: “Fiery Fuchsia. That’s not very calming for a nursery.”

  She ran her finger down toward the pale hues and read, “Satin Ribbon, Fairy Wings, Piglet. I always pick one with a good name.”

  “Fairy Wings it is.” Fay drew a smiley face by the square.

  “Paint large patches on the wall to make sure before you decide.”

  “I hope you’ll create a mural for us.”

  This was all too much. Anne had better get it over with. She took a step back. “Fay, I’m pregnant.”

  “Blimey.” Fay looked Anne up and down. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Anne forced a smile. “No.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had a new boyfriend?”

  “I don’t.” Anne shrugged.

  “You’re back with Sergio, then?”

  Anne swallowed. “Not really.”

  “Come on, spill it. Who’s the father? It’s not Sergio?”

  Anne paused, embarrassed to share the sordid details of the situation. “I’m not sure.”

  Fay raised her voice. “What do you mean?”

  “I had a one-night fling.”

  “With who?” Fay lifted her arms.

  Anne couldn’t even look at Fay as words tumbled out. “I met him at Rhinestone Ruby’s. Howard knew him. I believed if I had sex with someone else, it would help me get over Sergio. The guy was a really good dancer, and I thought he was a hottie. I’d had a lot to drink.”

  Mouth agape, Fay listened.

  Anne sheepishly looked at her friend and shrugged. “I know that’s no excuse, but I went home with him, and, to make a long, awful story short, the next morning I realized he wasn’t as charming as I thought. My whole plan backfired on me.”

  “How?” Fay prompted.

  “It made me miss Sergio all the more. Two days later, he came to town, and, well . . .” She paused. “You know.”

  Fay guffawed. “You tart, you!”

  “It’s not funny,” Anne said, and began to cry.

  “I’m sorry. Come here.” Fay handed her a tissue, opened her arms, and put them around Anne while she sobbed.

  Finally, Anne pulled away and dried her eyes. “Wha
t am I going to do?”

  “How far along are you?”

  “Almost eight weeks.”

  “This is marvelous. Our babies will be like cousins.”

  “But I haven’t decided whether I’m keeping it or not,” Anne blurted out.

  “Don’t be daft. Of course you’re keeping it.” Fay scrunched up her lips.

  Anne blubbered, “But my life was just getting back on track.”

  “Maybe this is part of that track?” Fay’s voice was soft as she handed Anne another tissue. “Have you been to the doctor yet?”

  “I have an appointment at Planned Parenthood tomorrow, after my interview.” Anne blew her nose.

  “Good. I’m ordering you a book.” Fay grabbed her computer and started typing. “I’d loan you mine, but it’s my bible. What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Next step is to find out who the father is.”

  “But I can’t learn that for another seven months. Don’t I need to wait until the baby’s born?”

  Fay paused her typing and looked at Anne. “Not anymore. I’ve heard there’s new technology that makes it possible to find out in utero. Come sit here.” Fay patted the bed beside her.

  Anne sat next to Fay and looked at the screen while she typed, How early can you get a paternity test?

  Several articles popped up.

  Anne pointed at the screen. “Let’s see that TIME article.”

  Fay clicked it and read aloud: “It’s from 2011. ‘DDC, a privately held company, now offers various genetic tests and has the exclusive US license to market the clunkily named noninvasive prenatal paternity test, which analyzes what’s known as circulating cell-free fetal DNA in the mother’s blood to suss out Daddy’s identity.’”

  “It doesn’t really say that.” Anne leaned over. “‘Suss out’?”

  Fay continued, “Yes, it does. DDC says it receives ‘four hundred thousand calls annually from people inquiring about paternity tests. Until now, only amniocentesis or chorionic villus sampling could determine paternity in utero, and both carry a slight risk of miscarriage.’ Blimey, that’s all hard to pronounce.

  “‘Barring those options, couples had to wait until a baby was born. The new test is able to separate fetal DNA from that of the mother and father.’ Who knew?”