by Sally John
“All right!” Britte shouted above the clamor, shoving her way between tightly packed bodies. “Get inside.” There were groans of disappointment. “Now! Fight’s over.”
She reached the center of the circle. Well, the fight wasn’t over. “Break it up!” she yelled.
Two boys writhed on the ground, totally ignoring her.
“I said break it up!”
In response, Drew Sutton straddled Benny Coles and pulled back his right arm, fist clutched.
Britte grabbed his wrist. “Knock it off, Drew!”
Too late she realized the normally cheerful, compliant boy was out of control. He jerked his arm away, throwing her off balance and allowing Benny to squirm out from under him. Immediately the boys crouched, poised to lunge toward each other again. In the split second before they sprang, Britte shoved Drew down to the frozen grass, rammed her knee into his back, yanked his arm in an iron grip, and twisted it back and up.
“Andrew Sutton, stop it! Benny! Back off!”
The other boy complied, sitting back on his haunches and wiping perspiration from his face. Drew remained tense, straining against her.
“Andrew, calm down now. Just calm down.” She heard his heavy breathing.
He was a lot bigger than she was. He had Alec’s breadth of shoulders and Anne’s long legs, though his height had passed up his mother and Britte long ago.
“Calm down!” she repeated with emphasis. “Everybody else, get out of here! Benny, you stay put.”
Some of the crowd moved off. Drew relaxed slightly, but she didn’t loosen her hold.
“Drew, this is Britte. Talk to me.”
“You’re hurting my arm,” he grunted.
“Good. Inflicting pain on students is my favorite Monday morning activity. It’s tons more fun than preparing for geometry. Are you about done?”
He went limp.
“You can’t pull that one on me anymore, bud. Do you promise?”
“Yeah.”
“What?”
“Yes, I promise.”
Britte sensed the crowd dispersing. She glanced up. “Ah, reinforcements. Your coach and principal are rushing this direction. I’m letting you up, okay?”
“Okay.” His resignation was clear.
“Everybody,” Mr. Kingsley roared as he ran across the lawn, tie flapping, “get to class! Now!”
Britte stood, straightening her turtleneck sweater and brushing off her slacks, grateful she hadn’t put on a skirt this morning. Her right knee was damp from where it had sunk into the frosty grass. Drew and Benny picked up their jackets and backpacks from the ground. Both of them were disheveled, their faces forlorn. Drew’s lip was bleeding. Benny’s flannel shirt was torn.
As a bell rang, she greeted Mr. Kingsley and Coach Woodson. “Morning, gentlemen. I’ll let you take over from here.” She turned to leave.
“Wait up, Miss O.”
The glowering General summons. Her back to him, she wrinkled her nose and waited.
“Coach Woodson, please escort these boys to my office. I’ll be right there.” He fell into step beside her, and they walked briskly toward the building.
She noticed now how cold it was and crossed her arms. Their breath iced the air. “I’ve lost track of time. Was that the final bell?”
“Britte.” His voice was a low growl.
In five months, if he had directly addressed her as “Britte,” she didn’t remember it. That he did so now in such a tone wasn’t a good sign.
As always, though, his demeanor was calm. Only the slightest increase in his volume indicated there was a storm brewing. “What in the…world did you think you were doing?”
“Breaking up a fight. The same thing you would have done if you’d gotten there first.”
“You could have been hurt! What if they’d had weapons?”
“There wasn’t time to assess the what-ifs. I just reacted.” They neared the building. Her sliding glass door still stood open. Swell. Now the room will feel ice-cold all morning. She caught sight of students ducking away.
He stopped outside her door, hands on his hips. “You just didn’t think, did you? You could have gotten punched or kicked! You could have been seriously injured!”
Britte quickly slid shut the door so her first-hour class wouldn’t overhear their conversation. “You’re right. I didn’t think, but I sensed what was going on. It was Drew and Benny. They’re top-notch kids. Athletes, high honor roll. This behavior was highly uncharacteristic for them. I know Drew. I used to be his sitter. I’ve known him since he was a baby.”
“Babies grow up and hurt people.”
Exasperated, she held out her arms. “Mr. Kingsley, I am not hurt!”
“Why is it you always have to prove how macho you are?”
Her jaw dropped. “I don’t have to because I’m not in a macho contest! I simply prevented them from further hurting each other. Why is it you’re offended that I can do what you can do?”
He looked away, pressing his lips together. His breath curled vapor around his face.
“Of course,” she went on, “you might have gone after Benny. I did think enough to realize I had a better chance with Drew because Benny’s a wrestler. I would have had to use a full nelson on him, and I haven’t practiced that one in a long while.”
His shoulders sagged. The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Mr. Kingsley, will you excuse me? I’m freezing out here.”
He turned back toward her. “Britte, please don’t do that again. I don’t want to have to tell your brother that you’re in the hospital because I didn’t get there fast enough.”
Her teeth were chattering by now. “I can’t imagine you ever slacking in your duty. I’m sure you’d get there in time.” She slid open the door and stepped inside.
He walked away.
“Mr. Kingsley! It’s shorter this way.”
“What? Oh, right.” He turned back and entered her classroom.
The students were sitting quietly at their desks. As Mr. Kingsley walked silently across the front of her room, one of the boys called out, “Who won?”
Mr. Kingsley stopped at the hall door and exchanged a glance with Britte, his brows raised. He cleared his throat. “Well, Shawn, I’d have to say that Miss O won. But then, women always win. They don’t always play fair, but they always win.”
The girls protested loudly while the boys applauded.
And Mr. Kingsley threw her a very nice smile.
Fourteen
Anne sat in the kitchen. Her favorite Bible lay open on the table before her, but she stared straight ahead, seeing nothing, seeing everything.
There was Drew’s cut lip, the purple spreading beneath his left eye, the evasive answers.
There was Sunday’s atypical mood, precipitated by Alec’s nitpicking everyone and by her teasing him that finally erupted—in front of the children!—in her rather nonsubmissive comment, “Who died and made you president?”
She knew the two incidents were related.
Lord, I’m sorry.
Ever since Alec didn’t get the promotion, he had been needling Drew about basketball and grades. She had no idea what Drew and Benny’s problem had been yesterday, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her son’s behavior had to do with his parents.
There was Drew’s two-day, in-school suspension. He would sit again today in a small back room with an adult monitor and Benny and two pot-smoking, confused boys. He would do class work and practice basketball after school, but he would receive credit for neither. He would fall behind in chemistry and English. He would sit out two of the week’s three games. Black and white.
Why can’t you make it all black and white, Father?
The phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Anne? This is Jody with Riverside Staffing.” Her smile was an audible thing resonating through the line. “I’ve got a job for you.”
Two hours later Anne pushed open the glass door of
Manning’s Gallery and Art Supply. A tiny wind chime stirred on its handle. Its delicate music tinkled, a jarring contrast to the dull, rhythmic thud of her heartbeat. She took a deep breath. The pungent scent of oils filled her nostrils. Briefly, she shut her eyes. She felt as if she’d come home.
The room was bright and airy and chock-full of art supplies. She turned slowly in a full circle. Oil paints, water color paints, brushes, easels, canvases, pencils, charcoal, paper, sketch pads, frames. In all conceivable shapes, sizes, amounts, and colors.
“May I help you?”
She turned.
An unprepossessing man stood before her. Tall, lean, almost gaunt. His beard more silver than reddish brown, as was the longish hair.
“I was just remembering,” she said, “the last time I was in here. My son was a year old.” She laughed. “He’s 16 now.”
He smiled. “My dear woman, where have you been?”
“Are you Mr. Manning?”
“I’m Charlie. My last name’s Manning.”
She held out her hand. “I’m Anne Sutton.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Anne.” His hand engulfed hers. “Come into the office.”
Unbuttoning her wool coat, she followed him between shelves to a counter along the left side of the store. He was dressed casually in jeans and a green-plaid flannel shirt.Behind the counter was an open door through which they walked.
“Have a seat.” He pointed to a chair the other side of the desk as he sat. The space was a long, narrow, cluttered room with two desks. Charlie nodded toward another open door, opposite the one they had just entered. “The gallery is on that side. You’ve probably noticed, we have two front doors, leading separately to the gallery and the shop. Of course, if you haven’t been here for 15 years, perhaps you haven’t noticed.” He smiled again, his heavy-lidded eyes almost squinting shut.
“No, I hadn’t noticed.”
“Ah.” His brows went up.
“Kids.”
“That explains that. Jody tells me you majored in art.”
“Long, long time ago.”
“But it’s in your soul.”
She shrugged, wincing in a self-deprecating way.
“I saw it on your face the moment you stepped inside. Did Jody tell you the hours?”
“Days, which works for me because I coach basketball. My evenings are booked solid for the next six weeks.”
“Art and basketball? Hmm.” His voice was soft, whispery, as if he did not want his words to be an intrusion. “Well, my daytime help just had a baby last night, supposedly prematurely, but he weighed in at seven pounds. The college kids come in at four and work the evening shift. What are your Saturdays like?”
“They differ, week to week.”
“How about this Sunday?”
“Sunday?” She couldn’t keep the dismay from her voice. Saturday would be hard enough.
“I know. We may as well call it X-mas. We’ve taken Christ right out of the entire matter. Business is brisk, and I succumbed for this month. I’m open from one to four. The college kids are going home for the holidays. Since my wife left, that’s the only help I’ve got. I need you nine to four, Monday through Friday. We’ll talk about the weekend. Are you interested?”
“But what do I do?”
A slow grin spread across his face. “Just be you, madam. Just be you.”
“Meaning?”
“Talk art supplies.”
What? No computer? No conflict with basketball? And a premature baby just happening to be born now?
It all seemed pretty black and white to her. She smiled. “Okay. When do I start?”
“Where did Charlie Manning’s wife go?” Alec helped himself to another serving of lasagna.
“I don’t know.” Anne passed the salad bowl to him. “We didn’t get very personal. He wears a wedding band. Maybe she just quit working with him.”
“I think,” Amy said, putting a hand over her heart, “that she died and he can’t bear to say the word.”
Mandy burst into laughter. Drew rolled his eyes and shoved a piece of garlic bread into his mouth.
The Suttons were eating a late dinner, atypically all five of them together. Drew’s game ended early enough and, given the fact that he was grounded for life, he was present rather than with the guys at the Pizza Parlor.
From the store, Anne had called her mother, who was available to pick up the girls after school. They often walked home, but Mandy would be carrying a large science project. Anne arrived home just in time to change into warm-ups and make it to practice. The boys games began right after that. They attended, as usual, even though Drew sat on the bench, Anne with Val, Alec with Kevin.
Alec raised his milk glass. “To Mom, for bringing home the bacon.”
“Daddy,” Mandy said, “this is lasagna!”
He ruffled her hair. “It’s an old saying. So, sweetheart, what did you do?”
“I talked art supplies.” She grinned. “I felt like I was 18 years old again. It was great! The store kept pretty busy. Charlie was in the gallery most of the time. He sells local artists’ paintings and sculptures in there.”
“And how much do you make?”
She told him. “Not a lot of bacon, but more than minimum at least. And, I get a big discount on supplies. Mandy, they even have crayons and markers, every color under the sun.”
Her little girl’s eyes lit up.
By the time they finished dinner, it was after Mandy’s bedtime. Anne shooed her upstairs. Amy and Drew tried to follow, but Alec stood in their path.
“Mom needs more help now. You two clear the table.”
Amy protested, claiming she had homework. Drew remained wisely quiet and cooperative. They made short work of their chore and immediately dashed upstairs.
“Alec, you put food away, and I’ll load the dishwasher. Hey.” Hands dripping wet, she sidled up to him and whispered, “Maybe we’ll find extra alone time.”
“In the kitchen?” He barked a laugh. “Right. Where does this go?” He held up the salad bowl.
“Common sense works well in the kitchen, mister.”
“Umm. Leftovers go in a plastic bag. Bag goes in the fridge. I give you the bowl.”
“And you get a gold star.” She turned back to the sink. He had hugged her when she gave him the news at the game, but they hadn’t really talked yet. “So, what do you think? Will it help?”
He came from behind and wrapped his arms around her. “It’ll help, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”
“But it’s not much. Part-time and temporary.”
He nuzzled her hair. “Maybe it’s the idea more than the paycheck. I suddenly feel less pressured.” He kissed her cheek.
Black and white.
In the end, Anne alone wiped down the counters, swept the floor, and turned off the lights. Alec had gone up to settle down the kids and never returned. As she climbed the staircase, her mind raced. She had to get better organized. At least she had thought to forewarn Lia at the pharmacy. That hadn’t been a problem because the pharmacist had taken on a new employee. Anne should make a list of daily and weekly chores, assign them to others, post it on the fridge…write more legible notes on the calendar so everyone knew where everyone else was at any given moment. A new phone list was needed. There were some PTA secretarial duties to be delegated. She’d better get on the phone tomorrow. When tomorrow? There was a game after work.
A shade of gray crept into her thinking, smudging those lines of black and white.
Fifteen
Britte felt Anne touch her elbow and then imperceptibly squeeze it as they stood in the commons facing Mr. Hughes. Same time, same channel, just a different day.
Anne said, “Gordon, we need to give Coach a chance here. She’s got to do some experimenting, find the right combinations. We’re not even halfway through—”
“The season’s only—”
She held out a palm, effectively halting his words. “I know, end of January is it. But we’
ve got the tournament over Christmas break. That’ll give us a lot of games.”
The man sputtered in Britte’s direction. “Didn’t Joel speak to you? I met with him this afternoon.”
“No. I haven’t seen him today.”
“Britte, I demand that you start Jordan on Saturday.”
Again, Anne’s gentle pressure, keeping her still. “I don’t think we should interfere.” Her voice had taken on that steely edge. “We only make things worse when we tell the coach what to do.”
Britte scanned the crowd, blocking out the man’s barely concealed tirade. Mr. Kingsley wasn’t in sight. Coward. He’d been in the stands. Why hadn’t he told her about the meeting? Oh, no… She caught sight of Jordan and her mother at a distance, their faces red. Lord, please don’t let me take this out on that girl. The dad’s voice was a dull roar now. Please don’t let him take it out on her either.
“Gordon,” Anne’s tone was final now, “no matter her age or her experience, Miss Olafsson is the coach. The girls are undefeated. Not everyone gets equal playing time on winning teams. Excuse us.”
“Mr. Hughes,” Britte said. “Jordan gives 100 percent. It’s not her fault.” She let Anne pull her away.
She stuck close to Britte, escorting her out to the parking lot even before the concession stand closed up. “Thanks, Annie.”
“You’re welcome. That man…” She blew out a breath. “Listen, honey, just for the record, you’re not running the show like you did in previous years. And that’s fine. That’s your prerogative. But parents like Gordon Hughes who counted on a ‘low-key, everybody play, have a good time’ season are going to be disappointed.”
“I don’t see it that way, Anne.”
“No problem. That’s just my two cents. It’s impossible to keep all of them happy anyway.”
Britte agreed. “Something would be wrong if no one complained.”
Anne laughed. “True. Now I’ve got to go. I’m a working girl, you know! You can’t tease me about that anymore.”
“I never meant it seriously when I said you didn’t do anything because you’re a stay-at-home mom.”