Aunt Micki leaned over and kissed Bernie’s cheek. “Beautiful. Just beautiful.”
I handed Bernie a mirror. She stared at herself, shifting her head slightly to the right and left.
Her total lack of emotion made me nervous. “Do you like it?”
Silence. And then I experienced the rare thing known as an approving smile from Bernie. “I look fabulous,” she said. “Let’s take a photo so you can re-create it for my wedding.”
Micki plucked a gown from the racks. “First let’s get you all dressed up, so we can get the whole effect.”
“I haven’t chosen a dress yet,” Bernie said, instantly panicked. “It won’t be right.”
Micki took Bernie’s hand. “Let’s just try this one. No obligation. A pretty girl needs a pretty dress. Radha will get some shoes and a veil. You’ll look perfect.”
Bernie reluctantly took the dress from Micki and trudged to the dressing room.
Before we followed, I pulled Micki to the side. “I’m sure she’ll live to be a hundred and ten, but when is Bernie getting married?”
“Oh, hon,” Aunt Micki said. She gave my arm a squeeze. “Bernie isn’t getting married. She’s been coming here to make wedding plans for the past three years.”
“But what about Reggie?”
“Maybe he existed at some point, but I don’t think so. From what I know, Bernie lives alone and has always lived alone. She’s got a niece in Vancouver, but other than her, I don’t think there’s anyone but some of the ladies she knows from volunteering at the library, and maybe a few neighbors.”
“There’s you,” I said, surprised to find myself getting choked up. “Radha and Sandy.”
“Yes,” Micki said softly. “We’ve got her back.”
“Mom! Ally!” Radha called, “Come quick!”
I was vaguely aware that brides wore white to signify purity, and though I’m sure it meant something completely different in the days of old, it was absolutely true for Bernie—there was a simple purity to her beauty. She was resplendent in the long-sleeve sheath dress, the white satin matching her snow-capped head and bringing a subtle glow to her skin. Her makeup only served to highlight her finely drawn features.
The vision of her stole my breath.
“You’re gorgeous,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “Utterly stunning.” I took out my phone and got a quick photo. I wanted to remember this particular kind of beauty, made all the more poignant now that I knew Bernie’s situation.
“Like, you should seriously be on the top of a cake,” Radha said, awed. “Or at least on our Instagram page.”
“What do you think?” Micki asked Bernie.
She turned to admire herself in the mirror, smiling at her image, turning back and forth. “It’s . . . almost perfect. We’ll get there. Let’s keep trying.”
On stage, we were lined up like Jeopardy contestants, Cassie, Sawyer . . . and me, the one the audience could dismiss at first glance. Cassie wore a business suit and a confident smile. Sawyer looked like he’d just stepped out of a Lifetime Christmas movie. I wore a black tunic with black leggings, the uniform I’d created for working at the bridal shop. I hadn’t had time to change.
“Five minutes to start!” Vera called. She’d upped her baseball hat game—this one was bedazzled with orange and black rhinestones for the season.
As if trying to get their conversations in before the debate started, the crowd grew even louder. Bree Nguyen and the Cassie crew took over the entire first two rows. They wore matching T-shirts and matching expressions of superiority. A skinny bespectacled boy held tightly onto a leash that prevented Riker from taking out someone’s carotid artery. From the way he looked up at Cassie—with a mixture of pride and excitement—I assumed he was her son.
My crew stretched out over the back row—Heather, Micki, Sandy, still partially dressed as a zombie, Radha, in a bright crimson-and-gold sari, and even Bernie, who’d insisted on coming. She still wore her newly made-up face proudly.
I suffered a stab of guilt. I hadn’t told my mom about the debate, partially because she was fully immersed in transforming Kylie’s room and partially because I had enormous potential to embarrass myself, and I didn’t want her to witness it. The need to make her proud had grown stronger with age instead of fading. I wondered how much being adopted influenced this. Was some small messed-up part of me desperate to prove I was worth the trouble?
I shook off that depressing thought, choosing instead to be grateful that, with Micki there, I hadn’t invited my mother. The room quieted a bit as Vera attempted to climb up on the stage. She got stuck, and Sawyer reached a hand out to pull her up. A hundred women sighed. I nearly puked in my mouth.
“I’ll have someone turn the mics on in a few moments,” Vera said to us. “So be careful what you say after that. Answer the questions as best you can, but if you get carried away and start hogging everyone’s time, I’ll tug on the brim of my baseball hat to let you know it’s time to shut up. We’ve got an hour and a half before they need this room for bingo, so let’s stay on topic, okay?”
We nodded, and she edged herself carefully from the stage, shooing off Sawyer’s offer of help.
“I’m a little nervous,” Sawyer admitted. “I’m not the best public speaker.”
“I’m not either,” I said. “But it’s not like we’re professionals, right?”
“I am,” Cassie said. “My profession requires it. Just answer everything with confidence, even if you aren’t sure of what you’re talking about. People will give you the benefit of the doubt.”
I wondered if that was true, but I had to admit that Cassie was being gracious in trying to help us out. “Thanks for the tip,” I said, and Sawyer nodded in appreciation.
“Two minutes!” Vera yelled. The crowd’s buzzing resumed as people finished up their conversations before the big show.
We three candidates stopped speaking to each other, content to stare at the crowd, and—in my case—freak myself out a little further.
I watched the door open at the back of the room. My blood stilled in my veins. Matt, Kylie, and my mom filed in, taking seats in the row opposite the Willow Falls group.
Fuuuuudge. Matt must have told them about it. For sure Kylie would notice Micki and the gang—it was only a matter of time.
One thought punched at my brain. How do I make this okay?
Micki and Mom sat mere feet away from each other. Oblivious. I caught Mom’s eye, and she gave me a little nod.
Maybe the “client” ruse would hold. Maybe Kylie wouldn’t notice them, and it wouldn’t be an issue at all.
I kind of wanted to cry.
Sawyer nudged me. “You okay?”
I couldn’t answer him because I was busy trying to construct a wall between my mom and Micki using only my brainwaves. It wasn’t working.
“Picture them naked,” Sawyer whispered. “It’s supposed to work.”
I was the one who felt naked and exposed. Why had I been so stupid? I should have told my mother.
I watched my potential nightmare play out in slow motion. Kylie jumped up and down in her seat, calling out to Micki. My mom glanced over to see the object of Kylie’s attention, and then, puzzled, took in the eclectic group. Radha heartily returned Kylie’s greeting, smiling and waving back. Mom waved half-heartedly, probably wondering how in the world she knew these people.
Micki stared at Mom, openmouthed. Mom noticed and leaned toward Matt, cranking her neck to whisper in his ear.
Shit.
“Let’s begin,” Vera announced, slapping at her podium until the crowd shushed. “This debate is in preparation for the election for school board member number eight. The three candidates are Cassie Flores, Sawyer McMurphy, and Ally . . . Ackerman.”
“Anderson,” I said into the mic.
“Anderson,” Vera repeated, not missing a beat. “I have a few questions to begin, and then I’m going to open it to the floor. Keep it respectful. And if anyone revisits the topic o
f going all keto in the cafeteria, I’m cutting off your mic.”
Micki said something to Sandy, and he put his arm protectively around her shoulders. She looked troubled.
Oh, I was a bad daughter. And a bad niece.
“Ms.—er—Anderson?”
“What?” Startled, I banged my knee against the podium, and the hollow sound rang out through the gym.
Vera glared at me. “I said we’d start with you. The first topic relates to student safety. The unfortunate reality is that every school needs to prepare in the event of an active shooter. Our district currently has a very limited plan in place—student drills and visitors must be buzzed into the building. What do you think could improve our policies?”
The only enemies I’d ever considered were the kid who’d brought a peanut butter cup to school and the bully who made fun of Kylie’s hives. An active shooter? The thought chilled my body so much that my brain froze.
“Ms. Anderson?”
“I . . . uh . . . I think we should be more vigilant?”
“How so?”
How? How the hell did I know? Desperate, I went with the first half-decent idea that popped into my brain. “I went to drop my daughter’s medication once at the school, and got buzzed in before I said my name or why I was there. Maybe we should be more careful when screening who comes in the school?”
Silence.
A woman in the front row, wearing a shirt emblazoned with Cassie’s name, sent me dagger looks. It took a second before I recognized her. Barb . . . Barb Something . . . how did I know her?
Yes! She worked at the school.
Behind the front desk.
And I’d just thrown her under the school bus. The first few rows of women growled at me.
“Can I step in?” Cassie interjected smoothly. “There are currently special alarm systems that are easily installed and only activate when a shooter is in the school. The PA system alerts the teachers, who can then usher children into their classrooms and hopefully out of harm’s way.”
The ladies in the first few rows puffed up like they wanted to burst into applause. I watched Matt, who sat expressionless, which must have taken a great deal of effort. Cassie was good.
“Well, that’s a mighty nice idea,” Sawyer said. Had he suddenly developed a drawl? “I have one question—how much does it cost, and where will we get the funds?”
“That’s two questions,” Cassie said, smiling tightly. “I’m sure if we analyze the budget, we’d figure out a way to pay for something of such vital importance.”
“Surely,” Sawyer said, his voice dripping with honey.
“Moving on,” Vera said.
We moved on through teacher evaluations and hiring practices and curriculum changes and meeting state standards. Cassie had an answer for everything. Sawyer had a question for all of her answers, but curiously no answers to any of the questions. I managed to squeak in a few passable points.
Until Vera opened up questions to the floor . . .
Cole Flounders popped his hand up. “I have a question. How do you feel your job experience will contribute to your performance on the school board?”
Oh, you little weasel, I thought. You’re a plant. A Cassie Flores plant.
“I’ll take this one first,” Cassie said, with a confidence so strong it deflated mine. “My work as a lawyer requires exceptional problem-solving skills and a talent for public speaking. I excel in interpersonal communication and conflict resolution. I also have full faith in my ability to be a team player.”
“Where did you go to school?” Cole asked.
Cassie paused. “Georgetown.”
“Fantastic,” Cole said. “I have no more questions at the moment.”
“This isn’t a trial,” Vera said. “Sawyer and Ally? You’ll need to answer the same question.”
“I’ll take it next,” Sawyer said.
What did he do for a living? Every woman in the place leaned in.
“My job is in a nursery . . .”
That was all he needed to say. The thunderous sigh nearly took off the roof.
“Well,” he continued, “I work with plants and trees.”
Oh, that kind of nursery. Huh.
Sawyer cleared his throat. “I . . . move trees around. Put them into cars. I can explain how to care for the root system. Trees take a while to get settled, you know, just like most people.”
That didn’t get a laugh. The women were still trying to reframe their fantasy of Sawyer cradling a baby in his muscular arms.
“Ally?” Vera sounded bored.
“I’m a hairdresser.” Someone snickered.
Really?
I didn’t know what else to say. Why did I think I was qualified to do this? Unable to think, my eyes zipped over the audience, landing on Kylie. She was wide-eyed, nodding slightly, confident I was going to say something to redeem myself.
“My job requires that I listen to people,” I began. “If I don’t, I could really mess up, which would affect someone’s self-esteem.”
They looked unconvinced. Kylie kept bobbing her head, encouraging me to go on. “Well, it might not seem like much, but I put myself through beauty school, earning the money by waitressing at night, so I know what hoops working parents must go through. Some of us work so hard we don’t have the time to go to meetings or pay attention to email chains or Facebook pages. We have to trust the members of the school board to make decisions for the health and well-being of our kids. I know I’m not the most knowledgeable candidate, but I do know that I’ll earn your trust by making decisions that will make things better, not worse.”
Cassie Flores might have had a crew, but so did I. Micki, Radha, and Sandy whooped it up for me. My mom eyed them warily. Shit.
Vera pounded on the podium. “All right, all right. Anyone else got a question?”
Parent after parent took the mic and asked us questions ranging from mild to almost offensive. Someone asked about after-school care, and I gave a silent thank-you to Radha for suggesting I think about it. Another parent asked about the allergy table, and I was able to make a case for it, so maybe it still had a chance, even if I lost. After about twenty minutes of this back and forth, Vera announced that we were done. “Elections take place the first week of November. Best of luck to the candidates!”
Cassie’s followers stormed the stage, twittering with excitement. She’d done a good job. Sawyer hadn’t answered many questions, but he did have a lot of them, which some people might interpret as intelligence. I was proud of how I answered the allergy question, but it was apparent I had a lot to learn.
So learn it, I told myself. Step up.
I scanned the crowd, looking for my family. Mom and Matt stood in the corner, locked in a discussion so intense it made my stomach clench. Were they discussing the right shade of lavender for Kylie’s room, or had she picked up on something? Kylie was talking to Bernie, with the rest of the crew casually drawing closer to my mom. I needed to do something—to facilitate, or deflect, or maybe try to build that wall again using my body—I wasn’t sure what.
“We’re likely going to lose,” Sawyer said, interrupting my thoughts. “And we probably deserve to, but I’m in for the whole show. You?”
“Yep,” I said, distracted, as I watched my two worlds begin to clash. “I am.”
“Good,” Sawyer said, before hopping off the stage with grace. Unlike Vera, he didn’t need any help.
The crowd swirled around the other two candidates, obscuring my view of my mom. I struggled to spot Kylie, but when I did, what I saw stopped my heart.
Her hands circled her neck, our code for an allergic reaction. She was talking to Micki, who glanced around frantically.
Without pausing to think, I jumped off the stage, scattering Cassie’s followers. I sprinted for my purse, feeling like I was moving through wet sand. I pushed people to the side, deflecting rude remarks. It didn’t matter. I grabbed my bag and barreled through to Kylie, whose face was now the color of borsc
ht.
“My throat feels tight,” she said, panic seizing her voice. “And too itchy. Mom, I’m scared.”
“I gave her some candy,” Bernie wailed. “I thought it was fine.”
“I didn’t notice!” Micki said. “What can we do?”
“Call 911!” I shrieked, while rifling through my purse. “Matt! Matt!”
My hands shook violently as I readied the pen. “Matt!” I yelled again, my voice rasping. Images flooded my brain—Kylie at the ballpark, dying, dying . . .
Matt appeared, took one look at Kylie, and drew her to him, sinking to the floor, whispering comfort in her ear.
I shot her with the EpiPen, holding it in place. “Let’s count slowly, okay? One, two . . .”
There was a chorus for the rest. Six worried faces stared down at us.
Kylie watched the Epi sticking out of her leg with a kind of fascinated terror.
Please work, please work, please work . . .
“You’re going to be fine,” I choked out. “When the ambulance gets here, they’ll take you to the hospital where they’ll make sure everything is okay.”
“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Kylie said, tearful. She bolted upright, the adrenaline in the medication rocketing through her small body. “Please! I don’t want to go.”
Matt kissed her head. “We won’t be there long.”
I eyed the door. Where the hell was the ambulance? The Epi only worked for fifteen minutes. If they took longer than that, and Kylie continued to react . . . would I Epi her again? I thought about the girl I’d read about who still died after three shots, and my heart thudded against my chest.
“Where the hell are they?” my mom said from behind me. I hadn’t realized her hand was on my shoulder. It calmed me as much as I was able to be calmed.
“Can you stand outside? Steer them in the right direction?” I shared a look of understanding with her. She knew every minute counted.
“On it,” she said.
Micki stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.”
My mom gave her an odd look. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.” She walked off, but not before winking at Kylie.
“I’m better,” Kylie said. “I don’t need to go to the emergency room.” She started to cry. “Don’t make me go. I’m scared.”
The Other Family Page 17