by Lynne Gentry
I take Aria’s hand. “This will only take a second.”
The gym floor is twenty bleacher rows below us. Five 1A State Basketball Championship banners hang from the exposed metal rafters. A new coat of wax on the hardwood court can’t conceal the faint odor of socks, popcorn, and fierce competition. I close my eyes and hear the throb of the crowd during the 1992 playoff game between Addisonville and Leakey. Caroline’s a senior. I’m a sophomore, shy and awkwardly chewing my nails on the very top bleacher plank. Our team is down two points with only a minute left to play. A time out is called. Bo’s the team captain. He leads our players to the bench to regroup. Caroline rushes to the end of the court.
Without asking anyone’s permission, my big sister raises her hands above her head. She claps twice, then begins to do cartwheels. Her form is as perfect as it is mesmerizing as she flips the entire length of the gym. Her pleated cheerleading skirt is a roulette wheel that spins the crowd into a frenzy. I’m cheering for her, more than anyone. My sister. The brave one. The bold one. The one who didn’t give a rat’s behind about what anyone thought of her. She was something special. More than I could or will ever be.
“Ouch, Mom.” Aria tugs her hand from my vise grip. “We’re going to the lunchroom.”
I can’t let my eyes meet Momma’s as we exit the gym. She was there the night my sister led the charge that rallied the home-team win. How I wish Caroline was here to cheer us on now. I’ve been doing emotional backflips for the last two years, but our little team refuses to gel. Winning seems impossible.
Nothing Wilma has pointed out on the way to the lunchroom has changed the hard set of Aria’s expressions. “If you’re a reader, Aria, you’ll love the library.”
“May I see the music room, please?” Aria’s use of the manners I’ve drilled into over the years is some consolation.
“Of course.” Wilma heads for the auditorium. “How about I show you the grand piano first?” Wilma chatters about the impressive test scores and college scholarships twelve of last year’s twenty graduating seniors received.
“She’s gained weight,” Momma whispers to me as we follow the slight waddle of Wilma’s behind.
I give Momma the signal to zip her lip, but I notice Aria’s wearing a small smile for the first time since we pulled into the parking lot.
“Here we are.” Wilma leads us inside a dark auditorium where we’re quickly enveloped with the smell of dusty curtains and dry oak stage decking.
My heart sinks. If this is the extent of the music department, nothing has changed since I picked around on the school’s only decent piano.
“Stay here until I find the lights.” Wilma slips behind the stage curtain. A loud crash is followed by a curse and an “I’m okay.” Stage lights flicker on. The same glossy black grand piano I used to play takes up nearly half the stage.
Aria doesn’t say a word. She simply hoists herself up on the stage, walks to the piano, pulls out the bench, and starts to play Chopin’s Nocturne. Momma and I slip into the front row’s wooden seats.
The buzzing lights create a halo atop Aria’s head.
“She plays like an angel.” Wilma drops into the seat beside me. “That piano hasn’t sounded this good since you left, Charlotte.”
I don’t want anyone to know how much I’m itching to sit at that piano. Not to play so much, but to recapture the intoxication of pursuing dreams instead of obligations. “That was a long time ago.”
“I remember how your playing would fill these halls in the summer. I enjoyed having my fourth-grade classroom so close. Your music made the drudgery of cutting out construction paper bunnies go so much faster.”
I laugh and smile again when I see that even Momma found the humor in that unknowing confession.
Wilma’s brows knit. “Did I say something funny?”
Momma deserves this moment of gloating, but I don’t want her to say anything that will cause a fight so I change the subject. “I can’t wait for Aria to meet Maida Kirk.”
“We’re currently in search of a new music teacher.”
Momma leans around me. “You don’t have a music teacher, Wilma?”
“Not right now, Sara,” Mrs. Rayburn says. “And I won’t be hiring a music teacher specifically. If I could even find someone to fill the position, budget cuts will require this new teacher to handle the entire fine arts department. Theater, chorus, band, plus social studies.”
“There’s no music teacher?” Aria has stopped playing. “What happened to Mrs. Kirk? Mom says she’s wonderful.”
“She was, but she retired five years ago and moved to California to be near her children,” Wilma’s glance Momma’s way implies Momma should have done the same.
Aria strides to the edge of the stage with her fists balled on her hips. “Geez, Mom. Why don’t you just drop me on a deserted island?”
My people-pleasing brain is scrambling for a solution. Private lessons? Where? I was counting on Mrs. Kirk. Now, we’ll probably have to drive clear to Austin or San Antonio. Both are over two hours away.
I rush to the stage like I’m afraid my daughter will make a run for it. “We’ll think of something, Ari.”
“Will you be practicing law in Texas, Charlotte?”
I wheel and flash her a that’s-none-of-your-business look.
Wilma shrugs. “I Googled you.”
Momma joins me at the stage and, for once, it’s three against one...almost like we’re a Slocum team or something. “What does it matter to you what my daughter does for a living?”
I stay mother’s hand. Curious as to where this conversation is going, I ask, “Why?”
Wilma puts her hands on her knees. They pop as she stands, the first sign that she, too, is aging. “Have you heard of the Texas emergency teacher certification program, Charlotte?”
“No.”
“Again, why are you badgering my daughter?” Mother asks.
Wilma ignores Momma and looks directly at me. “Now that you’re home, Charlotte, I was wondering if you might consider becoming our fine arts instructor?”
“Me?”
“You’re more than qualified.”
“How do you know?”
“You doubled-majored in law and music, did you not?”
I owe Momma an apology. Sadistic is a very accurate description of this woman. Offering me a job in front of a woman she’d fired is just plain cruel.
“Mrs. Rayburn, I’m not a teacher.”
Wilma’s gaze slides toward Momma. “That’s never stopped some of us from trying.”
“My daughter will never work for a sadist.” Momma holds up her hand and indicates Aria should jump from the stage. “Let’s go, Aria. Homeschooling is a far superior option.”
Chapter 12
SARA
According to Benjamin, I shouldn’t be able to remember what I had for lunch. But after our visit with the school principal, I’m convinced my furry-faced doctor friend must have misdiagnosed me. I will never forget Wilma Rayburn’s Cheshire-Cat smile when she offered my Charlotte a job.
A job! At the very school that fired me...by the very woman who made it her mission in life to end my forty-year teaching career in disgrace.
The nerve of that sadistic woman. She can’t have my Charlotte. If it hadn’t been for Aria’s impressionable presence, I wouldn’t have stood by as long as I did while that woman tried to sink her fangs into my daughter. I should have chopped off that viper’s head the moment she poked it out of the office I was meant to occupy.
“Please tell me you’re not going to take the job, Mom.” Aria leans between the seats.
Charlotte suddenly has to check the positions of every mirror in the car. “You were begging me to teach you this morning.”
“That’s different...it’d be weird having my mom at school.”
“I grew up with my mother at school.” Charlotte clicks in her seat belt.
“That’s different.” Aria argues.
“How so?”
&
nbsp; “Nana’s cool.”
“Fasten your seat belt, Ari.” Charlotte’s such a pleaser she’d teach dog sledding in the Texas heat if she thought it would make somebody happy. “I don’t have to decide today.”
“If you’re going to quit law to teach,”—Aria continues with a tenacity I haven’t seen since Caroline— “then spare me the humiliation and homeschool me.”
“Homeschooling doesn’t pay.” Charlotte jabs the key into the ignition.
“So?” Aria asks.
“So, we need the money.”
Finally, the truth.
Aria pounces on the admission as fast as a cat after a ball of yarn. “Since when do we need money?”
“Since your father...”
Charlotte’s unfinished accusation dangles as big and foreboding as the bunch of carrots Wilma has just offered. Same vacation and holiday calendar as your daughter. Small class size. Only one school-wide talent show a year. And best of all, Master’s level teacher’s pay. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to interpret Charlotte’s biting tone...James McCandless has done something underhanded...again. Charlotte’s desperation, no matter how unsettling, is a pinprick to my anger.
Suddenly too tired to fight but still unwilling to concede, I slump against the Escort’s warm fake-leather upholstery. “Wilma Rayburn cannot be trusted. Promise me you’ll at least listen to my side.”
“Momma, it’s been a long morning.” Charlotte cranks the car. “I promise we’ll talk about this when we get home.” She throws the car into gear and the belt’s screeching starts immediately. “We’ve still got to swing back by the drugstore and stop at Bo’s station.”
I’ve worked up a pretty good mad by the time we arrive at the drugstore.
Gert Penny sticks her head through the drive-thru window. “I need another ten minutes to package up all the pills Benjamin prescribed. You might want to come inside and cool off.”
Charlotte lets out a long, exhausted sigh. “This is the day that is never going to end.”
“Somewhere it’s ending for someone.” I shrug off Charlotte’s disapproval of my maudlin mood. “That’s how it goes. Even the best of days eventually come to an end.” I climb out of the car and follow the last remaining proof that I’d ever had good days.
Ancient ceiling fans stir the medicinal-tinged air of the pharmacy.
“I need some...mascara,” Aria announces, phone in one hand, neck craning to take in the contents of the drugstore.
“Don’t go far,” Charlotte warns.
“How far could I go in this store...or this town?” Aria disappears down one of the narrow aisles, her nose now glued to her phone.
Charlotte takes my elbow. “Let me buy you a drink at the soda counter, Momma.”
I sense she’s trying to make peace, to smooth the feathers this day has ruffled. “Can you afford it?”
“If I take your old boss up on her offer, I’ll be flush with cash.” Her attempt at humor is not funny.
“Judas probably thought the same thing.” I carefully hoist a hip onto a swivel bar stool.
“Good one, Momma.” Charlotte parks herself on the stool beside me and clears her throat to get the attention of the girl behind the counter. “Excuse me.”
Ember Miller, of the you-don’t-ever-want-a-Miller-in-your-class Miller family, turns to face us with a wary look on her face and an ice cream scoop in her hand. “Can I help you, ladies?” Last time I saw Ember, she was a first grader with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and two missing front teeth. Time had ripened her to a beautiful peach.
“A couple of root beer floats, please,” Charlotte says.
Further study of the striking brunette scooping ice cream and pulling soda levers reveals that Ember has the same slow burn I’d seen in her older brother’s beady eyes when he was in my third-grade class. Evan is probably a sophomore by now. Addisonville ISD is so small I’d hate to think of my sweet Aria crossing paths with that little devil. Unfortunately, if Evan is a sophomore, that means Ember, who I remember to be a couple of years younger than her brother, is probably close to Aria’s age. The girls might have some classes together.
I search the pharmacy. No boxes are stacked in front of the back exit. I’m about to hop off my stool, grab my granddaughter, and slip out before she’s exposed to another Miller when Charlotte pokes me.
“Momma?”
I jump. “What?”
“The clerk’s asking you a question.”
I catch a glimpse of a face in the huge mirror behind the counter. It’s the blank, confused face of an old woman I don’t know. What was I thinking about? I can’t remember.
“Two scoops or one?” Ember repeats patiently. “Mrs. Slocum?”
Her manners are a surprise, especially in comparison to the spiteful way her mother Corina dealt with us this morning. “Excuse me?”
“Do you want one scoop of vanilla ice cream or two in your float?” Charlotte peels the paper from her straw and slides it into the frosty glass before her. “You used to always get two.”
Did I? I can’t even remember liking root beer floats. “One is plenty.”
While Charlotte is slurping ice cream and moaning about how much she’s missed Penny Pharmacy floats, Ember whips up another frothy drink. She places it on the napkin she’s set before me. “Enjoy, Mrs. Slocum.” Then, like the very capable soda jerk that she is, Ember turns to the sink and quietly rinses ice cream scoops.
With the surprise of an unexpected summer storm, my previous thoughts on the Miller children blow in. I feel a little foolish assuming Ember’s like her brother. It’s not fair. I know better. My girls are nothing alike. Were. The pain is a kick to my chest I don’t think I’ll ever get used to.
“Where do we checkout?” Aria hefts an armload of bottles and workbooks onto the soda counter. “They don’t have ginkgo biloba.”
“What?” I ask, confused once again.
“A supplement that...” Aria notices Ember staring at us and clams up.
Ember peers at Aria’s selections. “We have so many old...uh...elderly people around here that we can’t keep that stuff in stock. You’ll have to order ginkgo online.” She holds out a frosty float glass to Aria the same way children hold out the offer of friendship on the playground. “Want one?”
“One what?” Aria’s discreetly trying to scoop up the items she’s dumped on the counter, but bottles of Vitamin D and E fall to the floor.
Charlotte launches into her typical save-the-day mode and scrambles after the vitamins.
“A root beer float.” Ember’s remarkable poise isn’t fazed a bit. She acts like she’s used to people purchasing things they don’t want anyone to see...and so she doesn’t.
Aria stops scooping and relaxes a little. “I’ve never had one.”
“Then I guess this is your lucky day,” Ember smiles. “Root beer floats and ginkgo are about as exciting as it gets around here.”
“I’m Aria.” My granddaughter juggles her load to one arm then thrusts her hand across the counter.
Ember looks at me. “Slocum?”
“McCandless,” Aria and Charlotte say at the same time.
Ember drags her wet hand over her apron, then clasps Aria’s hand. “Ember Miller. My friends call me Em.”
“Do you go to Addisonville’s one-room school?” Aria asks.
“Yep.” Ember’s lack of excitement is so disappointingly Miller-like. “Haven’t seen you before.”
Aria shrugs. “I’m new.”
“Too bad.”
The girls exchange understanding smiles and shake their heads.
“Sweet Moses, do something Charlotte,” I mutter to my daughter.
Good as Ember obviously is since she has a job at thirteen and can conduct herself in such a professional manner, she’s not completely clear of her heritage. Since Charlotte’s sitting there with a pleased grin on her face, I feel the need to step in here, to steer Aria away from the bond I see forming. Years of watching good child
ren take up with bad influences has left me with a sixth sense. Colluding with Millers is not the direction I want my granddaughter to go.
“What’s all this?” I thump one the crossword books in Aria’s overloaded arms.
“Ummm, just a little something to get me ready for school,” Aria’s lying, which is not like her and totally congruent with my theory of how easily bad influences can corrupt good morals. “I’m going to take it to the checkout. Nice meeting you, Em. Mom, I think I heard the pharmacist say our prescriptions are ready.”
Once we’re back in the car and screeching down Main toward Bo’s gas station, I’m the one, not Aria’s mother, who musters the courage to ask about the elephant in the car. “Vitamins. Sudoku books and crossword puzzles. Ginkgo.” I swivel in my shoulder harness and glare at Aria’s mound of white shopping bags. “Who are those things for?”
“This sack is for LaVera.”
“I know that. I’m asking if you felt the need to stock up on vitamins and brain games for my sake?”
Aria squirms, but only for a second. “I know that crazy doctor gave you a buttload of meds, Nana, but will it hurt to try some natural methods?”
“How did you know what to buy?” Charlotte asks as she wheels the car across a long black hose that dings the bell inside Bo’s station.
“I Googled it.”
I swivel back in my seat and cross my arms. “School will be a good distraction from that phone of yours.” I’m not sure if I should be angry or grateful for Aria’s worry. It’s not every day someone goes to such lengths for me. “Promise me you’ll stay away from the Millers.”
“Momma!” Charlotte pulls up to the station’s open repair bay. A multi-colored VW bug is suspended high on the rack. “We want Aria to have friends, right?”
“Someone has to monitor her choice of friends.”
“Momma!”
Bo Tucker’s loud rap on Charlotte’s window stops my daughter from knocking my head off. She silences me with a daggered stare and growls, “We’ll settle this later, Momma.” Then she plasters on the Slocum everything’s-fine smile, turns to the handsome face outside her door, and cranks the window lever hard. “Hey, Bo.”