by Kim Mckade
“I’m planning on it. He’s already helping me with some of my classes when he can. I’ll ask him to come to the auditorium. one day soon and watch a rehearsal. Come to think of it, I might ask him to drill the boys on their lines when they come over to sit with him.”
“He’d love it. How’s that working out?”
“Pretty well, actually. The students hate it, of course. He makes them work. They’re learning as much from their visits as they do in my class. His mind is still sharp most of the time. One day last week he kept trying to give me his laundry to do, though. He thought I was the cleaning lady.”
“What did you do?”
Corinne shrugged. “I did his laundry. I was there anyway, and he was helping me. He remembered Hamlet, if he didn’t remember me all too well. No harm done.”
Becca looked at the clock above Corinne’s head. “I need to turn these lesson plans in. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with on the play. What’s wrong?” she asked as she looked back down at Corinne.
Corinne stared at an envelope in her hand, hidden among the rest of her mail.
It was a letter from a network affiliate in Atlanta, Georgia. Corinne had a friend there who had talked to her last year about moving to Atlanta and starting a local talk show. Before she was shot, the talk show was what she’d hoped for, fell asleep at night thinking about. It had been her dream She’d believed that if she succeeded at that, she’d finally feel worthy. She’d finally earn her mother’s notice...and love.
Together, she and her friend had envisioned a new kind of show, geared toward solutions, hope and fixing problems rather than just airing them. Instead of simply showing pregnant teenagers or feuding families, they would match them with organizations that could help them. They would focus on people who were making a difference—normal, everyday people who went out of their way to lend a hand when it was needed. They’d bring actual help, not just publicity, to different problems Instead of just saying, “someone should do something,” they would be doing it. And then her mother would see that her sacrifices had all been worth it.
Corinne stared at the logo on the envelope. She had been so excited when they were planning the show. Even Don had welcomed the thought of moving to Atlanta. There was talk of going network if things went well.
“What is it, Corinne?” Becca leaned forward over the desk. “You’re as pale as a sheet.”
Corinne shook her head and shuffled the envelope back into the stack. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not about...about that shooting, is it?”
“No.” Corinne stood and smiled, somewhat halfheartedly. “It’s okay, it’s just a friend from a long time ago.” She tapped the envelopes together and bit her bottom lip. She could trust Becca.
“We were in the process of starting a new show when I got shot. I just...I haven’t thought of all that in a while. That whole business.”
“Are they going ahead with the show?”
Corinne gave a jittery laugh. “I don’t know. I’m afraid to open the envelope.”
“Don’t worry, Corinne. When the time comes, you’ll make the right decision.”
Corinne gave a thoroughly unladylike snort. “I haven’t made any of the right decisions so far.”
“You made the decisions you were supposed to make.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people—” Corinne began, then broke off. So much for maintaining a polite distance.
Becca smiled. “One of those people who believe everything happens for a reason? Yes, I am.”
“I believe everything happens for a reason, too. But sometimes that reason is because someone was sick or crazy or violent or just plain stupid.”
Becca sat on the edge of Corinne’s desk and swung her foot. “I believe that things happen to teach us something. Events take place so we can learn the lessons we need to learn.”
“Yeah?” Corinne asked, her chin set stubbornly. “And what lesson was I supposed to learn from getting shot? Don’t do my job? Don’t get involved? All I did was care very much about what happened to one man.”
“Sorry.” Becca gave her a sympathetic smile. “You have to figure that one out for yourself.”
“Big help you are,” Corinne said as she leaned back in her chair.
“Just tell me this,” Becca asked. “What would it have taken to get you back to Aloma?”
Corinne gave a short, sharp laugh. “Getting shot in the head.”
“There, you see.” Becca smiled, spreading her hands in demonstration.
“You sound like Toby.” Corinne peered closely at the envelope. “Like it was my destiny to be here with him.”
“I don’t know if Toby has anything to do with your destiny or not. But you’re here for some reason God has a plan for everyone.”
Corinne held the envelope up to the light and squinted at it “I never really believed in fate and destiny and all that. I believe you make your own destiny.”
“Sure you do,” Becca agreed. “Everyone makes their own decisions. But life puts you into certain situations where you learn what you need to learn, before you go to the next step.”
“Maybe this letter is destiny’s way of saying I need to get out of Aloma,” Corinne said. “Why else would it come now?”
Becca shrugged as Corinne held the envelope up to the light again “You know, that’s yours. You can open it.”
“I know,” Corinne said, looking at the envelope as if she expected it to do something besides lay silently on her desk. With a fortifying breath, she tore off the end and slid the letter out into her palm.
Becca was patient for a few seconds. But only a few.
“No fair. What does it say? Are they going ahead with the show?”
Corinne stared at the letter. She nodded
“Do they want you to do it?”
“Yes,” Corinne said remotely. “Yes, they do.”
Corinne thrummed her fingers on the desk and tapped her foot. With a sigh, she opened her bottom desk drawer and took out the letter, staring at it without reading it.
Three days of staring at it hadn’t given her a clue as to what to do.
I know you planned on getting out of the business, and I don’t blame you But you must consider taking this horrible event and making some good out of it. You’ve become a symbol to the country, Corinne, a symbol of the ravages of racism and violence. You can bring attention and help in one of the most racially torn cities in this country I know this is low, but I’m not too proud to play on your sympathies. I need you. I need your vision. You’re the perfect one for the job. Remember, this was our dream.
Words that filled her mind, occupied her thoughts. And just five days ago, other words whispered in darkness. You’re mine, Corinne. I’ll always take care of you.
They were all words with the power of a magnet, drawing her thoughts to them again and again. Except magnets sometimes attracted, and sometimes repelled. It all depended on what was held against it. It all depended on her.
In front of her, a throat cleared noisily.
Corinne jerked her head up to see Jeremy Huckaby standing in front of her desk, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his bangs in his eyes.
“Jeremy!” She dropped the letter on the desk, then picked it up and folded it closed, her fingers running again and again over the creases. “What can I do for you?”
He scowled and wrinkled his nose, then finally said, “They said I had to get an entry form from you for the contest.”
“The essay contest? You don’t have to enter, Jeremy—”
“I know I don’t have to enter,” he said slowly, as if to a dimwit. “They said I had to come to you, though, if I wanted to enter.”
Oh. Corinne hid her pleased surprise and opened her desk drawer. She dropped the letter in it and took out an entry form. “You realize that the deadline is in two weeks?”
He mumbled something she took to be assent.
“I’ll need you to fill this out here, and
I’ll assign you a number. Put the number on your story. Don’t put your name anywhere on it, or you’ll be disqualified.”
“I bet I would,” he muttered as he took the form.
“Do you understand that this is a Christmas story contest? It must have a Christmas theme.”
“I get it.”
“I won’t be judging the contest”
“I said I get it. No gross stuff.” He slumped into a desk and began filling out the form.
“Exactly. No gross stuff.” Yesterday afternoon she’d read his latest story submitted for class—one in which a teacher was kidnapped from a Halloween hayride, held captive in the woods, and tortured by one of her students. Amazingly, and happily, she’d been more amused than upset. She didn’t believe for a minute that Jeremy was the one who had hauled her over the side of that trailer, because whoever had done it weighed a good thirty pounds more than Jeremy did.
He’d tried to claim the rock through her window with the same method—by writing a detailed essay of the event and why he’d done it Corinne hadn’t believed that one, either, because of all the people who were furious the night of the homecoming game—and they were numerous—Jeremy had the least reason to be upset with her. In fact, she got the feeling he was happy she’d endorsed the football players’ suspensions.
Jeremy chewed on the end of his pen now and studied the form with great concentration. He finished filling in the blanks, and sat staring at it, turning his pen around and around in his hand and chewing his lower lip.
“Who’s judging?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why? You afraid I’ll get mad at whoever it is and throw a brick through her window or something?”
Corinne lifted her chin and met his defiant gaze with a stronger one of her own. “Yes. Something like that.”
He looked away and fidgeted some more “So, you think they’re looking for some mushy, hokey, happily-ever-after kind of thing?”
Corinne stood and walked around the desk, then leaned back on it. “They’re looking for a good story, period. I’m sure a happy ending would be nice, though it’s not mandatory. But I’m telling you, Jeremy, if you turn in something bloody and gruesome—say, have Santa Claus break into my house and slash my throat, there will be trouble”
He snorted a short laugh before he resumed his bored and unimpressed expression again. “I don’t care.”
“The administration will see it, and I won’t be able to protect you.”
He rose from the desk. “I never asked you to protect me. I never asked you for anything.”
“I know. Let’s just say, I’m probably the only one around here who can take a joke.”
He snorted again in derision. “Yeah, you and your boyfriend. You’re both a real riot. The happy do-gooders.”
He glowered at the form and finally dropped it on the desk beside her. “Don’t do me any favors.”
He slunk out the door with his hands stuffed back in his pockets.
“They’re very bad, aren’t they?”
Corinne choked on her coffee and looked at Mr. Davis. He watched their Christmas play rehearsal, and she was hoping he could help them to improve. If she’d been looking for some encouragement, however, evidently she’d come to the wrong person.
“Actually, this is a good day. Yesterday half the curtain refused to open, and Josh fell off the back of his throne. We have some time left to iron out the kinks. Do you think we have a prayer?”
Mr. Davis shook his head, his mouth grim. He stood and clapped his hands, signaling them to stop.
“No, no, this is horrible. You all act like a bunch of dimwits slogging through the motions. This is a disgrace.”
Corinne pursed her lips to keep from smiling.
“We’re all going to stay here until I’m satisfied each of you has grasped the right attitude for your character.” Mr. Davis paced in front of the stage, his hand to his chin. “Now, if you want to be the one to cause your classmates to miss their dinner, be the one to continue to act like a slog. Now, elves, get in your places up front And stand up! Elves are full of pep and energy, they don’t droop. Now, where is young Mr. Steinbeck? We’ll start with the opening speech of the town crier....”
Corinne frowned and rose to stand beside Mr. Davis. She’d noticed lately that his periods of confusion were becoming more frequent. She’d hoped, though, that they could get through an hour rehearsal without him forgetting things. But there was no Mr. Steinbeck in their class
She placed a hand on Mr. Davis’s arm and was about to ask him if he’d like to go home, when Jeremy stepped forward, his face red. “Right here,” he mumbled.
Corinne looked at Jeremy in confusion.
“Very good. Now, do as I told you Monday. Your speech is short, but the entire play hinges on it. It sets the mood for the rest to follow. The rest of you, what are you doing standing around? If you’re not in this scene, get back! Get off the stage.”
The rest of the cast scrambled off the stage. Corinne looked at Jeremy, her head cocked. Steinbeck? Had Jeremy told Mr. Davis that was his name? Jeremy shrugged and took his mark.
“I know very well that the boy’s name is not Steinbeck, Miss Maxwell,” Mr. Davis said, his eyes focused squarely on Jeremy. “I call him that because that’s who I think of when I see him. And I can’t remember his real name.”
Corinne shook her head and tried to hide her amazement. “Steinbeck?”
“Yes. The young man’s writing has many of Steinbeck’s qualities, the way he can capture the plight of the common man. Now hush, he’s about to give his speech.”
Corinne hushed obediently. She turned to face Jeremy, who stood at the front right of the stage, his script curled tightly in his hand. “Well, are the elves gonna sing or not?” he asked.
Corinne cued the elves to sing. They warbled painfully off-key for three lines. Then Jeremy took a deep breath, looked at Mr. Davis, lifted his chin, and spoke his lines.
There were only five of them, but until this moment, he’d mumbled them with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his hair hanging in his eyes. Now he stood stiffly, his shoulders back, his eyes focused on the back of the auditorium. His voice was clear and firm, a quiet sense of dignity playing through his words. His lines came out clearly, in the perfect tone for the town crier. Corinne’s jaw dropped in astonishment.
Mr. Davis perfunctorily nodded his approval, and Jeremy stepped back into the wings. Corinne could see the faint tinge of pink still showing at his ears.
“Now, crowd, mill about the stage and set the scene. Remember, it is two days before Christmas and everyone is in a rush, a happy holiday rush...”
Corinne watched in amazement as the play unfolded slowly. Whereas she’d felt as if she were banging her head against a brick wall with the students, they obviously felt nothing but respect for the old man. Maybe it was his age, or the fact that Mr. Davis was practically an institution in Aloma, but whatever it was, he got them to respond. They were by no means ready for Broadway, but at least they might be ready for Christmas week.
Toward the end of the hour, she noticed Mr. Davis had grown quiet, and was looking around the empty auditorium. “Do you need something, Mr. Davis?”
He shook his head, frowning. “I left it here, I’m sure.” He dropped his voice and mumbled to himself, then moved back a few rows and crouched down.
Corinne followed him back and whispered, “What are you looking for?”
“It was right here—my file. And my grade book. I need my grade book, I have to do semester averages tonight. I had it right here.”
His brow furrowed and he made a fist in agitation. “I’ll wager one of those little heathens took it. They try to change their grades, you know But I remember each one of them. They can’t fool me.”
“I think it’s up front, Mr. Davis. You wait here and I’ll go get it.”
Corinne hurried up the side steps of the stage and found Jeremy, slumped in a chair backstage, watching the play
.
“Jeremy, Mr. Davis needs to go home. Can you take him?”
“I don’t have a car. It’s too cold for him to be out walking.”
“You can take mine.” Corinne pulled her keys out of her pocket. “Just come back here, and I’ll drive you home after rehearsal.”
Jeremy stared at the keys in her hand in mixed astonishment and wanness. “You’re letting me drive your car?”
“Yes, and please hurry.”
Jeremy shrugged, his pride keeping him from saying anything else about the car. He picked up his textbooks and they edged silently back to the auditorium.
“Did he take his medicine?” Jeremy asked quietly when they got to the seats.
“I don’t know. But he’s starting to forget where he is. I don’t want the rest of the students to see him like that.”
Jeremy nodded. “Mr. D., we’re done here. Let’s go home.”
Mr. Davis was quiet now, his face grim and defeated. He followed Jeremy down the aisle. “I need my grade book,” he mumbled.
“I’ve got it,” Jeremy said easily, patting his stack of schoolbooks. He opened the door for the older man and stepped back to let him through. “We can work on it when we get home.”
Toby was climbing into his Jeep when he saw Jeremy dnve by in Corinne’s car. Mr. Davis was in the passenger seat. With a scowl he headed after them.
He pulled up at Mr. Davis’s house as they were going up the walk. Toby fell into step behind them.
“Good evening, Mr. D., Huckaby.”
Jeremy turned and gave him a quick grimace. “Before you even get started, she told me to take the car. I’m going back to pick her up after play rehearsal.”
Toby lifted an eyebrow but didn’t comment. When they got inside, Jeremy went directly to the kitchen table and picked up a small pillbox. With a frown he took out a pill and drew a glass of water.
“Here, Mr. D. Time to take the pill.”
“What’s that?” Toby asked, taking the glass from Jeremy.