Reading on, I learned that Bumblebee was advocating for a democratic parent/teacher organization where everyone split the duties equally. Cheerleader was opposed: “Take our town. I’ve run our organization for years, working hard for the school and students seven days a week, but people still complain. Someone recently went behind my back to the principal, complaining I had shut out her loser daughter.”
Lee’s words replayed in my mind: “There’s no way mah Collette would spend even fahve minutes with her loser daughter.” Not only had she said exactly that, Amy had described being “shut out” from some afterschool program. And Cheerleader was in charge of a parent organization.
I searched through other chats. She’d recently advised a mom who’d lost a promotion to a colleague: “If someone threatens me or mine, I get even.”
That was creepy. Was “Cheerleader” Lee? The postings sounded like her.
After bookmarking the chat room and conversation, I brushed my teeth and went straight to bed.
The next morning I woke up before the alarm. I recalled what I had seen at the hotel and read in the chat room, but managed to push Lee out of my mind.
I was still concerned about Rachel. Even though she’d become friendly with Maya and was doing well academically, our problems were far from resolved. Private school wasn’t an option, homeschooling wouldn’t work, given my full-time job and lack of background in education, and seeing the teacher hadn’t helped.
I told myself there was a chance that once my daughter got through the rest of the school year, there’d be a larger peer group in the fall; maybe then the dynamics would improve, even with Lee and Collette still in the mix. In half a year Rachel would be in middle school, changing rooms, taking classes with different kids. That was only six more months.
Six months. That sounded like a prison sentence.
Fifteen
Dead Ends
Two things happened in the week that followed the school meeting and assignation at the hotel. Rachel solidified her friendship with Maya, and I finally stole away for a quiet escape with Jim.
It all began that Monday. I had just gotten in, and was thrilled to see that for the first time in a few months, my kid wasn’t sitting home alone. “Thank you for having me over.” Maya spoke softly, just like that day in the cafeteria. I was about to tell her she was welcome anytime, but Rachel’s phone pinged.
“Look, I got another one,” she said, showing her friend the screen. I saw over their shoulders that they were looking at Instachat. “He commented again. Just, ‘hi,’ like last time. He’s friends with someone’s camp friend,” she confided to Maya.
I didn’t want to interrupt. “You guys seem like you’re having fun. I’m going to go downstairs. I bought some cookies if you want.” They looked at one another and giggled. “Thank you, Dr. Bryant,” Maya called, as I went into the hallway.
With Rachel smiling more, finally secure in a friendship with someone from her class, I worried less about the girl clique and their snotty moms, and could finally breathe a little, although there was a new source of concern. Rachel had received online comments from some unknown kid, a boy she’d met through a classmate, someone’s camp friend. I recalled hearing patients describe how their teenagers met people online. Followers of the same account routinely chatted with one another. It was commonplace, and concerning. I’d have to speak to her about it.
I decided that a child should come with an owner’s manual, like an IKEA wall unit, with explicit directions for start-up, use, and maintenance. This shit was hard.
At least Rachel seemed to have made a friend. Hopefully Lee, Jess, and their daughters would start to have less power over us.
Jim was laughing, probably at the excitement in my voice. We were on our usual good night phone call. “I’ve been thinking that you were right,” I said. “We should have time alone and go away somewhere. Maybe I can try Maya’s mom, see if she’ll take Rachel for a couple of nights so we can we get away?”
“I’d love to.” His response was immediate. “I know a mountain resort not too far upstate. Very private, comfortable, there’s a spa and lots of hiking trails. It’s quiet off-season, so there will be no one around,” he added.
Hope there’s a fireplace. “That’s perfect,” I said, my happiness and excitement rising. “Oh, and Jim?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t expect to do too much hiking.”
I told Rachel that I was going away with Jim and that she’d be staying with Maya. She barely looked up from her phone, so I said to let me know if she had any questions. Moments later she texted from the room next door—that killed me—to ask who would be bringing her to basketball. Apparently my plans had registered.
With Rachel’s sort-of blessing, Jim and I left at eleven that Friday morning. The man at the registration desk gave us an early check-in, and by lunchtime, we were walking into our room. Jim dealt with the bellman as I texted Rachel, and then silenced the ringer. I went to look out the window at the rugged terrain below. It was mid-December and winter was in full force, the gray sky melting into hills and mountains in the distance. Jim came to stand behind me, guiding me backward slowly, until I was folded into the contours of his body.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. Then I forgot about the mountains as he kissed the back of my neck. We never bothered to order a meal; we were too busy getting reacquainted. Jim’s lovemaking was steady and strong. At moments, he looked straight at me, and I felt happy and a little shy. At other times, we were moving in sync, and I wasn’t aware of anything but the warmth of his body.
A couple of hours later, we sat on the loveseat by the crackling fireplace. I’d gotten my wish, actually several of my wishes, and then we talked. I felt relaxed, like I didn’t have a bone in my body, and was wondering whether to share this fascinating fact, when Jim spoke first.
“I’m really glad we’re here,” he said.
“Me too. This is so nice. I was hoping we could have a fire. It’s chilly up here. I’m so happy being with you, away from everything else.”
“That’s good to hear. I brought my ex here once—I hope that’s not a bad thing to say—and it was a disaster. She hated everything: the drive up, remote location, and the outdoor activities. We fought the whole time, which was par for the course.”
I squeezed his hand. “Rachel has shown me what it’s like to have deep bond over many years.” I smiled. “But now getting to know you, I know there’s a whole different level of closeness that can be possible.”
He grabbed my hand. “I feel exactly the same way.”
We held each other and enjoyed the silence. Finally he raised a question. “You told me you lost your parents, but didn’t elaborate. Is there some reason you didn’t say more? You don’t have to, but . . . .”
I spoke more openly this time. “It was a car accident, a drunk driver careening down a one-way street.” Seeing how Jim’s eyes widened, I recalled how much I hated discussing the accident. People always felt sorry for me, a sentiment I wanted to avoid with him. I’d nip it in the bud. “About my parents and Rachel growing up without a dad . . . please don’t pity us.”
The look on his face was tender. “Oh, Victoria. No pity, but I am sorry.” He cupped my face and kissed me. “You’ve had to deal with being on your own for a long time. It’s a lot.”
“Yes, I had to grieve at a young age. People hadn’t . . . stayed around.” As my eyes filled with tears, Jim looked like he wanted to say something. Instead he pulled me closer.
“But I’m happy now,” I said.
“Enough talking for the next, um, six weeks?” I laughed and leaned in to kiss him. His chest felt like home.
The rest of the time flew by. We didn’t bother to leave the suite. We just kept putting the room service trays outside the door, not needing more excitement than each other’s company, until Rachel texted on Sunday morning. She was at her team’s basketball game, which had been rescheduled from the day before—writing during half tim
e. As soon as I started reading, I knew it was time to leave our quiet idyll.
She was at her team’s basketball game, writing during halftime: “Collette just texted Lexi: ‘How come you get to sit there and I’m stuck with Rachel. She’s weird!’ I can see her phone.’”
I instantly felt angry—why couldn’t that kid just leave Rachel alone already?—then guilty. I’d been having the time of my life while my daughter was being picked on. “Sit with Maya!” I wrote.
“Not allowed to change seats,” she responded.
“Did you have fun at her house?” I held my breath after I’d hit “send.”
“Yes. Gotta go. Biii.” she wrote.
As soon as Jim went down to check out, I texted Rachel again: “Be home soon. Please thank Maya’s mom for letting you stay, taking you to the zoo and the game, and all the other stuff. Love you.”
I went over to the window and snapped a photo of the scenery. It was so beautiful. I’d have to get someone on the staff to take one of Jim and me, which reminded me of the other hotel photo: Lee and Peter. They were the last people I wanted to think about.
Jim came back into the room with the bellman, and I shoved the other thought to the side. “It’s beautiful outside, though chilly,” he said. “Next time we have to hike.”
“Deal,” I said.
I wondered whether he’d heard about Rachel’s basketball game and my dustup with Lee? I’d been waiting for him to bring it up, but he failed to mention it.
On the car ride home, we spoke about our favorite travel destinations. My list was short, but Jim had traveled a lot, and told me about visiting Australia, how beautiful the shoreline was, and how nice everyone had been.
Since he was in the mood to chat, I decided to broach a topic that had been on my mind, “I’ve been wondering, did you ever want kids?”
Jim thought for a minute. I wasn’t sure if I’d put him on the spot, or if he was choosing his words carefully. “I had a lot of things I wanted to do by the time I turned forty: make the leap from teacher to admin; get promoted on that level; see the world because my dad worked and worked, and played golf on Sundays, but he always told me he regretted never traveling anywhere exotic. That stayed with me. I took the chance to see other continents, broaden my perspective. And my ex wasn’t the right person. After the divorce I dated some, but nothing ever clicked.” Jim sounded comfortable, matter-of-fact.
We rode together, my hand in his, comfortable in the shared quiet.
“There’s something I haven’t told you,” he finally said. “I met my ex-wife, Tonya, years ago, while I was living in the city. I was finishing my first master’s, trying to get certified in teaching. We lived together for a couple of years and she broke it off, hoping to meet someone more high-powered, I think.”
That was the Tonya that Lee had mentioned. Despite Lee’s best efforts at causing tension, Jim was discussing the past on his terms. I squeezed his hand.
“I moved out and moved on, teaching, trying to figure out my life. A bunch of years later, I went back for a second master’s and had to take on debt.” Jim breathed. “One day, Tonya called. She said she regretted breaking up and wanted us to try again.” He laughed. “I later figured out, she was turning thirty and freaking out about being single. But at the time, I followed the path of least resistance and moved back into her apartment. She paid the bills while I finished up my practicum and got licensed.”
I listened, digesting it all. We were almost at my house, on a slow-moving back road. Jim cleared his throat.
“I had my doubts, but agreed to marry her.” He paused, gathering steam. “She paid off my student loans too.” For a second, I thought he was going to cry.
“Jim, spouses pay off one another’s debts. It’s not like you did anything to be ashamed of.”
“I haven’t gotten to the worst of it. We didn’t have the best relationship. We argued constantly. I finally told her we needed to split up.”
“I’m sorry; that must have been difficult,” I said. “But you tried. Things didn’t work out. It happens.”
“Not according to Tonya. She accused me of using her for financial gain, and threatened to take me to the cleaners. It turns out, in New York when a degree is financed by a spouse, it becomes ‘property of the marriage.’” He shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. “The judge ruled that Tonya was entitled to 50 percent of my wages.” He continued to grip the wheel tightly.
I pulled one of his hands toward me and held on with all my might. “I’m glad you told me about all that. Is this what you alluded to, the story you didn’t want to get into?” He nodded and clenched his jaw. “Well, I want you to know, the money stuff, it isn’t that important to me.”
We were at a red light. Jim looked over and held my gaze, and then he leaned in and kissed me until the traffic light turned green and the drivers behind us started blaring their horns.
We drove quietly for a few moments. Noticing that he looked completely drained, I decided it was time to lighten the mood. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about the photos in your apartment. You traveled alone?”
“Sometimes. Or with friends. I once accompanied a group of students on a tour through Europe. I’ll tell you about that sometime, but let’s just say: never again.”
We laughed.
He reached for my hand. “Vic, I’m glad I told you about my divorce.” He paused and I leaned over to kiss him again. “You know,” he said, “I can really see us together.”
I held on tightly. “Me too.”
Sixteen
Thin Ice
When I got back from the resort, Rachel asked if I could take her ice-skating during the half-day the school had scheduled toward the end of the week. When the day arrived, I switched a few patients around, and Rachel and I went to a local rink to skate and drink hot chocolate. For the rest of the afternoon, she lounged around in her sweats, reading, watching preteen Disney, and giggling, back to her old self. On days like this, I wondered if her quiet and lonely persona had been a mirage? When she wasn’t in the classroom fending off the cliques, and now that she’d made a friend, she seemed like a happy and well-adjusted girl.
The next morning my daughter was back in class, and I was in the Mayfair office, finishing up with a couple I’d been seeing for the past few months. The hours flew by and I marveled at my stress-free reentry.
Then Amy strolled in, ranting about how she’d run for office in the PTA, but had been turned down. “How can they reject someone like me for a volunteer position? I have years of legal experience, great organizational skills. I swear there’s something wrong with these people. All they do is follow their preteen children around and go to PTA meetings. Their worlds are so small.” I’d asked her to say more about the woman or tell me what she imagined, but she’d changed the subject. Twice.
What wasn’t she sharing?
I’d been wondering when all the boundary issues would come to a head. I assumed it wouldn’t be long now until all my problems with Lee bled into the sessions with my patients from town.
Amy was two steps ahead: “I heard someone faced off with the PTA uber-bitch at a rec game a few weeks ago. Gave her a dirty look and insinuated she needed to get a life. My husband caught the tail end of it before Lucy’s game started, but he wasn’t sure who the woman was.”
I was about to tell her that I lived in Mayfair and had a child at Barnum, before working my way up to the scene in the gym, but she cut me off. “I ran into a woman at the supermarket who was in tears, sobbing in the frozen food aisle about how her kid, Francesca, is being bullied and has started cutting herself. I didn’t catch the whole story, but apparently Francesca got into it with Collette, and after that, Fran was done. The kids targeted her, sending texts, posting on Instachat, leaving her out. The mom, Emily, was beside herself—not that I blame her. I gave her your number. Maybe you can make a referral.”
My head was pounding. The last thing I needed was another Barnum mom calling to confide a
bout Lee. I nodded as the hour ended and texted Julie asking if she could give me another hour of peer supervision. I also filed away the story about a fifth grader who’d started cutting. That was upsetting.
Once Amy had left, I called Jim. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hi.” I loved the rich tenor of his voice. “Glad you called.” I wasn’t about to mention patient problems and went with a lighter touch. “How are things with you?”
“Well with this wind and rain, no one can get around, or make it here for their interviews, and everyone is panicking. Other than that, work is a laugh-riot.”
Jim sounded stressed, and I was glad I hadn’t started off with a complaint. “Sounds like you need another shoulder rub. If only I were there to relieve some of the pressure.”
He sighed loudly into the phone. “That would be nice . . . .”
I was worried he’d heard that Lee and I had argued at the rec game. Since he viewed her as “harmless,” I wasn’t sure he’d believe my side of things, though I knew what I had seen. When he failed to mention anything, I left it.
We hung up, promising to speak later in the evening. Then Rachel texted telling me she’d been hoping to move up a reading group, but it hadn’t happened. She was still with Collette, who’d been ignoring her. Despite the patient conflicts, Lee situation, and Rachel’s difficulties, I managed to put one foot in front of the other and go into work.
The following morning I was at the Westchester office where I started the day on Tuesdays, working until noon before heading into New York, and seeing my city patients into the evening. The red light was blinking on my answering machine. There were two messages asking me to reschedule.
Having sworn that at the next cancellation, I’d run over to Jim’s school, I texted: Can we meet midday? If I jiggered everything in the right way, I’d have a block of free time and could stop and see him on my way into the city. He sent a “thumbs up,” and said he’d see me at noon.
Barbarians at the PTA Page 15