Between Now and Forever

by Margaret Duarte

  My skin prickled. Was Ethan hearing Maya too? “Which sister?”

  “Ms. Mask.”

  “Oh,” I said, relieved. My students must have made quite an impression on my tight-lipped sister for her to share such personal news.

  “Well?” Codi asked, a wary glint in her eyes, a pulling back, a suspicion that I’d forget them in June.

  “We may be getting married at St. Mary’s by-the-Sea Episcopal Church in Pacific Grove. Where Maya used to sing in the choir.” And where we held her funeral.

  “You could get married on the moon, and I’d be there,” Tessa said.

  These kids touched me in a way I would never have thought possible. Had Veronica felt the same? “I promise to send you all an invitation.”

  Luke cleared his throat. “Umm, back to Spring Faire. Our parents are coming tomorrow to help us set up.”

  ***

  Next afternoon, a BMW, an SUV, and two pickup trucks—one vintage red, the other a black king-cab towing a U-Haul trailer—pulled into the parking lot east of our classroom. A few teachers with rooms nearby used this area to park. Otherwise, it remained secluded from prying eyes. Ron Ardis dodged the bar sidestep of the king-cab on his way out the door. Luke’s mom, however, planted both feet on the SUV’s running board as though about to descend a steep mountain. I didn’t recognize the two women getting out of the Beamer or the one driving the vintage truck.

  “They’re here!” Tessa dashed out the rear classroom door with five classmates in tow. I watched through the window to match parent with child. Codi ran to the vintage truck and pulled down the tailgate, ignoring the woman sliding from the driver’s seat—a woman in sweats and running shoes, her brown hair twisted into a sloppy ponytail like someone waylaid after a workout at the gym. She walked to the back of the truck in slow, measured steps as if traversing a slippery slope instead of level blacktop.

  Tessa and Ethan approached the two women leaning against the BMW. The petite blonde held up a set of keys. Tessa grabbed them and sprinted to the back of the car. The tall brunette frowned as Ethan followed Tessa without a backwards glance.

  Ron waved me over when I approached the parking lot. I made a wide circle around the busy kids on my way to his side. Luke’s mother rushed up and gave me a hug. “They’re so excited.”

  “They’ve found a mission, that’s for sure,” I said into a mass of red hair.

  Ron directed me toward the two women staring at me as if I were a celebrity. The brunette was taller than I’d estimated, had at least three inches on me. I found it hard not to cower under her intense brown-eyed stare. “This is Judge Stein, Ethan’s mom,” Ron said. “Your honor, meet Marjorie.”

  “Hello,” I said.

  Judge Stein reached for my hand and squeezed, conveying a positive message: I’m on your side. “Although my husband and I don’t always agree with your methods, Ethan’s attitude has improved beyond our expectations since enrolling in your class.”

  I smiled, cringing inside. Was she the one fueling Ethan’s protests against discussing anything even hinting of God in the classroom?

  The blonde I’d considered petite compared to Judge Stein, appeared about average in height when standing next to me. She wore jeans, a white T-shirt, and a turquoise windbreaker, neat and crisp, but nothing to write home about. In fact, none of the women were dressed to impress. “My name’s Lisa,” she said. “Tessa adores your class.”

  Barely had I responded with a “Nice to meet you,” when Ron nudged me toward the woman in sweats and running shoes. “I’d like you to meet Blanche, Codi’s mom.”

  Blanche? I didn’t think women bore names like that anymore. Okay, so the name meant fair and white, but Blanche Baad? I opened my mouth to form a polite greeting but was spared from coming up with more than a simple “Hello” when Jenny drew our attention back to the kids. “They’re really pumped up about Spring Faire.”

  “They’re doing some serious hauling,” Ron said. “Looks like the makings of a rummage sale.”

  I nodded on both counts. Tessa and Codi foraged materials from the BMW and red pickup like worker bees, while Ethan, Jason, and Shawn stood waiting for instructions, calling to mind drones kicked out of the hive. How had they accumulated all this stuff in two weeks? And how had they convinced their parents to lug it all over?

  Ron read my face and laughed. “Worried?”

  I wrapped my arms around myself to control a shiver. What if these kids—still fragile, still emerging—were mocked or, even worse, ignored?

  “Oh, come on, teach. What’ve they got to lose?”

  I raised my eyebrows, as I often did with his son—Wolf child, King of Hearts.

  “They’re already accustomed to being ridiculed by their classmates,” he reasoned. “So even if this project falls a bit flat, it won’t be the end of their world.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in, then added, “Anyway, seeing them this excited counts for something.”

  Ron’s persuasive argument brought to mind one given by Granny Max during our cookie-baking therapy session. “You’re helping me express and utilize my energies in altruistic love and service.”

  Shouldn’t I help my students do the same?

  Judge Stein murmured something that sounded like agreement; Jenny and Lisa voiced their unwavering enthusiasm for the Spring Fair projects; Blanche only blinked, apparently oblivious to the electricity in the air. Maybe her name fit after all.

  “This is the kind of excitement I experience on making a new discovery in the cosmos,” Ron said, his gaze wistful.

  I found it hard to reconcile this man to the one Jason had described during our telepathic conversation in the nature area. Was this a case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, or just plain misunderstanding?

  “It would be nice to experience that kind of excitement again,” Lisa added, no doubt reliving some of her own fond memories of middle school.

  “I have refreshments in the kitchen next to our classroom, if anyone’s interested.” Though I directed my offer to Blanche, she didn’t meet my eyes or otherwise acknowledge my presence. Instead, she headed toward the building as if intuiting where comfort lay.

  I glanced at the others for confirmation that something was off, but their expressions gave nothing away. “I assume you’ll all be coming back tomorrow to witness the big event.”

  Judge Stein grimaced and put her hand to her hair. “Sorry. I have another commitment. Ethan assured me it’s okay.”

  Don’t even think about faulting her, I told myself, though I felt like giving her a good shake. Of course, Ethan wants you to come. What can be more important than your child?

  “We’ll be there,” Lisa and Jenny said in unison, then broke into giggles.

  I glanced at Ron. He winked. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “What about Blanche?” I tried to keep my voice neutral, but Ethan and Codi were about to be left out in the cold.

  “I doubt it,” Lisa said.

  I shrugged before heading to the kitchen.

  Halfway there, I heard the slap of sneakers on blacktop and turned to find Codi jogging to catch up with me. She wore a black T-shirt under her trench coat today, featuring a skull with a princess crown. I pictured my sister Veronica at her age, just as strong, just as brave, just as troubled, carrying a weight no child should be forced to bear. “I thought you should know,” she said, sounding a bit breathless. “My mother’s an alcoholic.” She zeroed in on the open weave of my brown sweater, the kind of sweater one’s grandmother would knit, the kind that makes you feel as though you’re bundled in a chunky blanket. “I can get into people’s heads and mess with their minds, but I can’t help my own mother. Why’s that?”

  I thought of how Maya had chosen love over life, and there hadn’t been a damn thing I could do about it. Followed by a reminder from Tessa next to James Lick’s grave. “Maya’s life wasn’t yours to live.”

  “She walks her own path, Codi. All you
can do is love and forgive her.”

  “Even when she hurts me?”

  “Especially when she hurts you.”

  “Like Mr. Lacoste hurts you?”

  And Cliff and my adoptive mother and the man who stole Maya from me. “When we hold back forgiveness, we block the flow of good in our lives.”

  She bit her lip.

  “Uh, Codi. My dad quit drinking after Maya died.”

  “Does someone have to die first?”

  I flinched. “Sometimes it takes something less drastic.”

  “Like what?”

  Codi wasn’t wiping her tears, so why should I wipe mine? I wish I knew. “Every case is different, so…”

  Shawn walked by and waved, a reminder that no one was here for him either. “Codi, are Shawn’s folks out of town?”

  “I don’t know…” Her forehead twitched. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  She had me there, but I preferred prying the information out of her rather than going directly to the source.

  A knowing smile lit Codi’s tear-streaked face. “Considering he reads your mind all the time.”

  The thought of him reading my mind still bothered me, but I returned Codi’s smile. If she could find humor in the situation, so could I.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “He won’t share.” A wink. “But if he did, I bet he’d have some great stories to tell.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  TALK ABOUT HAVING STORIES to tell. The kids outdid themselves. Luke’s idea of adding a carnival-like atmosphere, via calliope music— “Colonel Bogey,” “That old Gang of Mine,” “In the Good Old Summertime” —with syncing lights and a rented aroma machine to give off a popcorn smell, brought in a crowd. “Being considered a bit weird can work to your advantage when it comes to carnival,” he said, displaying his shrewd market savvy. “The peculiar attracts. Look at how many kids are showing up and buying our stuff, when usually they won’t give us the time of day.” He’d even talked Granny Max into the role of carnival barker, which she took to like a pro, tailoring her pitch to individual passers-by.

  Soon students swarmed all six exhibits, not one booth more popular than the next. Lines formed, tapered off, and formed again, customers coming back a second time and a third, as if fearing they would miss out on the unusual items for sale—thereby increasing their value.

  “We won’t be selling products,” Luke had said during one of their brainstorming sessions, “but solutions to problems people don’t even know they have.”

  My throat hurt from holding back the tears, my chest from holding in the joy.

  “I’m making a small fortune,” Ethan whispered when I stopped by his display, consisting of two burlap-covered tables, four honey-scented candles, and piles of plastic pill pouches filled with mini ceramic buffaloes. “My totems are selling like… Well, you know.”

  “I get the point. Save one for me.” I didn’t mention my missing stone mouse. Not here. Not now.

  He handed me a buffalo. “Better take one while they last.”

  I wondered if that meant I wasn’t getting my mouse totem back. “Thanks, kiddo. You’re doing an awesome job.”

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I know.”

  Moving on to Luke’s booth, I noticed he’d almost run out of slogan buttons. “I should’ve made more,” he said, counting out change. “They’re practically biting my hands off to buy the ones I’ve got left. But no worries, I’ll do rain checks.” He’d gotten quite creative with his setup, using a small wooden storage shed spray painted with graffiti-type messages and slogans—Grass and gas, not a laughing matter; Do dope, lose hope; Cope without Dope—with multi-colored, bubble lettering of amazing quality.

  I laughed when I got to Jason’s black pop-up tent. With Joni Mitchell singing in the background about being stardust and an LED star ball projecting bright white beams on the inner walls, he was relating the story of man’s origin. “Just think,” he said to his spellbound audience, “we’re all formed from stardust. Everything around us is crystallized mathematics.”

  Granny Max, aka Carnival Barker, who happened to be passing by, caught Jason’s last words and smiled as if to say, Math is God’s language.

  On seeing me, Jason frowned. “I thought I’d ordered plenty of stardust but had to send Dad out for more.” He was wearing white high-topped sneakers, white jeans, a white ribbed shirt, and a thin white headband. On anyone else, this getup would have looked ridiculous, but on Jason, well, he looked like a magician.

  “Um, Jason. What’s in those capsules?”

  “Silicon dioxide.” At my look of confusion, he added, “Everything in the physical universe is formed from stardust, Ms. V.” He checked for eavesdroppers before whispering, “Which includes sand with some glitter mixed in.”

  Smiling as if I’d discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I moved on to Tessa’s booth. Fortune cookies gone, she’d resorted to writing messages—interspersed with tattoo-like symbols—on students’ hands with fluorescent markers. I suspected each of her customers also received the benefit of her healing touch.

  Codi, oh Codi. Her Medicine Wheel dream catchers were delicate yet sturdy like spider webs. Tiny colored beads and animal totems marked the four directions. I ran my fingers over a wheel decorated with faux buffalo skins and blew out my breath. “Codi, you’ve outdone yourself.”

  “They’re a bit pricy, which hurts sales, but I doubt there’ll be any left by the end of the day.”

  Each time someone stopped to inspect one of her Medicine Wheels, she stilled. Calm as a clam, I thought, and moved on.

  Shawn’s cards were selling like valuable pieces of art. I stepped in closer to inspect the ones displayed on a pegboard turntable. “I had to eliminate some of the cards I made as inappropriate for kids our age,” he said. “The artist in me got carried away.”

  Maybe encouraging him to craft oracle-like cards hadn’t been such a good idea. Like many works of art, they were open to interpretation. Depending on the viewer’s state of mind, the free-flowing works could be seen as invitations to self-discovery or vessels of evil. What a relief he’d had the foresight to eliminate the ones he deemed inappropriate. It seemed everything I did with and for these kids involved risk and invited trouble.

  “The ones I laminated sold right away,” Shawn said. “As bookmarks and coasters.”

  I would have given a hearty whistle had I known how. “Good going, Shawn. Any luck with explaining about Indigos?”

  “No time.”

  “I think they may be getting the idea.”

  Shawn picked up a card illustrating a man with his eyes closed and hands held out in front of him, palms up. It was hard telling if the sketched figure meant to draw in or ward off, invite or repel. “Most of the vibes I’m picking up are positive, Ms. Veil. But there’s some bad energy floating around that’s hard to shake off. Granny Max led a couple of rowdies out of here. The one she called ‘Wyatt Earp’ looked like he could cause some serious trouble. She gave him a hug and told him to shape up or there’d be more where that came from. Being cuddled by an old lady in front of a crowd probably spooked him more than threats of suspension.”

  Go Granny! I wondered if Shawn was reading his customers’ minds.

  “No time for that either,” he said, his tone confidential. “The cards are a huge distraction to my original mission.”

  Kids pressed in like a crowd at a post-holiday sale. I met Shawn’s gaze. “Are you okay with this?”

  He nodded. “Good for business.”

  Throughout the day, I’d noticed teachers from other classes grudgingly checking out the Indigo’s exhibits, but, so far, no sign of Charles Lacoste or Dr. Matt. I tried not to let this bother me. Dr. Matt, for one, had other duties on a day such as this; but darn it, offering these kids extra support had been his idea. So, where was he?

  Shawn glanced over my shoulder and stilled. I turned to see the subject of my
thoughts headed our way. And just like that, warmth crept into my heart. About time.

  “I heard complaints about you stealing the show,” he said.

  My reaction, two thumbs up and a grin.

  “Hi, Uncle Matt,” Shawn called out. He looked like a kid who’d just hit a home run and wanted to share his victory with someone who cared.

  Dr. Matt waved and gave him a tight smile.

  Shawn’s eyes lost their brilliance.

  I wanted to grab Dr. Matt by the shoulders and tell him to shape up. His whole attitude was counterproductive to what he’d claimed he wanted to achieve with these kids. Try putting yourself in his shoes, I told myself. What could be causing his change of heart? I concentrated hard, but all I came up with was an image of Charles Lacoste. Oh, please, don’t let it be something as petty as gossip from a fellow teacher.

  Keeping Dr. Matt in my sights, I took a deep breath and relaxed my mind. The result, a new picture, one of Angelina, smiling as if she knew something I didn’t. Next came an image of Ethan. Ethan? I turned toward his booth and caught his eye. He looked worried—no, terrified. What was up?

  Dr. Matt checked his watch— “I’ll meet up with you later” —then walked away without a second glance at the exhibits the students had so painstakingly put together. Shawn followed his uncle’s retreat with the blank expression of someone accustomed to such neglect.

  “For crying out loud,” Codi said from the booth next to Shawn’s.

  Yeah, I felt like doing just that. After experiencing what I had today, I realized for the second time that Dr. Matt had been right in hiring me. Too bad, on encountering a fork in the road, he’d taken a wrong turn. How long before he found his way back? For Shawn and the rest of the Indigos, I hoped it would be soon. For me, it hardly mattered. I’d lit a flame within my students, which wasn’t about to be snuffed out by the likes of Charles Lacoste and Dr. Matt.

  “Clean up time,” I said.

  Luke yelped. “We hit pay dirt.”