Saving Phoebe Murrow: A Novel

by Herta Feely

  The email renewed Isabel’s vow to keep the girls apart. Nothing good could come of hanging around with the daughter of someone so lacking in judgment. It occurred to her to have a word with Alison Kendall about it; perhaps that could change the outcome of the meeting, the thought of which made her stomach flutter slightly. Stuck at the back of her mind was the possibility that Alison might ask her and Amanda to step down as room parents, an embarrassing blow to say the least.

  Isabel’s fingers were poised above the keyboard as she contemplated how to respond. Remove my name from your list, she typed, hesitated for a moment as the memory of Sandy on the sofa beside Ron coiled back into her mind, then added, slut. Isabel knew the dangers of writing such things, even in jest, and clicked the delete bar four times, removing the word “slut,” then typing in “please” before striking the “send” button.

  Isabel briefly reviewed her calendar. Nothing but meetings. One with the man who’d misused campaign funds. Oh, joy, she thought, borrowing one of Phoebe’s expressions. But the appointment with Alison weighed on her. She prayed she could turn it into an opportunity to let the headmistress know what sort of parents she and Ron were – the responsible good kind. On her way out the door she grabbed the extra copy of Sandy’s e-mail.

  Afraid she might be late, Isabel sped breathlessly into the reception area of the headmistress’s office and greeted Ms. Kendall’s secretary, Mrs. Watson. The prim elderly woman looked up and acknowledged her. “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll let her know you’re both here,” she said politely.

  Both? Isabel glanced around. There in a corner chair, watching her like a predatory feline, sat Miss Slenderella herself. Even though she thought Sandy might be invited, the sight of her startled her. As usual she was dressed in a shape-hugging outfit. Her skin-tight pale green sweater simultaneously lifted and revealed her breasts. And though she was sitting down, if her pants fit any tighter she might just faint from lack of oxygen. How could she wear such an outfit to a meeting with the headmistress? She seemed to lack not only good judgment, but also common sense.

  “Hello, Sandy. How are you?”

  “Just fine and dandy,” she retorted coolly. “And you?”

  “Perfect,” Isabel said with only a hint of sarcasm, and a faint smile.

  Isabel had intended to ignore Sandy without appearing to, but her plan was foiled when Sandy asked, “Could we talk a minute before we go in?”

  Isabel hoped her dislike wasn’t apparent and seated herself a little nervously in a leather wing chair perpendicular to Sandy’s. A small, round, highly glossed mahogany table occupied the space between them. Several beautifully designed Academy magazines lay there, waiting for someone to browse through. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Well, I might as well come straight out with it. No point in—” she fixed Isabel with a hardened stare, “—pussyfooting around. Can you explain why you don’t want Phoebe hanging out with Jess? I mean, she didn’t do anything wrong, no different than your daughter.”

  Of course there were a million reasons, she wanted to say, not the least of which was that Phoebe had admitted both Jessie and Emma had smoked, but what could she say without betraying Phoebe’s confidence? She straightened her back. “Well, I’m not sure exactly who did what on Friday, so without getting into all that, I just think it’s better they all take a break from each other, don’t you agree?” Using her courtroom skills, Isabel hoped to confuse Sandy, but she just shook her head.

  “Maybe you’d better spell it out for me.”

  “Well,” Isabel said, leaning in toward Sandy and lowering her voice, “I don’t know who was smoking and who wasn’t, but from my standpoint, and Ron’s,” she added pointedly, “they were moving down a path that could lead to trouble, big trouble, and Phoebe’s never been in trouble like that before.”

  Sandy’s eyes narrowed. “Well, neither has Jessie, so why do you think she’s a bad influence?”

  “I didn’t say that and I don’t mean that.” Though of course she meant exactly that. Isabel paused for a moment, evaluating what to say next. “Look, I’m not trying to incriminate Jessie, it’s just that, what if the situation had been slightly different and they’d gotten caught by the police instead of Sam’s mother?” She noticed Mrs. Watson stopped typing.

  “Incriminate Jessie?” Sandy asked, looking annoyed. “Could you just speak plain English?”

  For heaven’s sake, this woman didn’t know the meaning of incriminate? Cop shows had to be a staple of her TV diet. “You mean you want me to define incriminate?”

  “Of course not,” Sandy said sharply, a flash of fury in her eyes.

  Before Isabel could further clarify, the door to Alison Kendall’s office popped open and the straitlaced headmistress stepped into the reception area. “Won’t you come in?”

  Isabel got up hurriedly, and with several long strides made it into Alison’s conservatively appointed office ahead of Sandy.

  Alison invited Isabel and Sandy to sit at the small antique conference table in her office. Nearby, Isabel noticed two straight-backed chairs opposite her desk and understood the politics of seating. For stern lectures and disciplinary measures, she imagined students sitting there, and for more relaxed, informal situations, she would seat them here in the upholstered chairs. Likewise with parents. She prayed this was the case today.

  “I had hoped Emma’s mother could join us, but she had a conflict, so it’s just the three of us. I’m having a separate meeting with the mothers of the boys.”

  After her conversation with Lorraine, it didn’t surprise Isabel that she was a no-show, though she did find it interesting she was speaking to Amanda and the other boys’ mothers separately. Perhaps smaller groups were more manageable.

  “Would you two like some coffee?” Alison asked, interrupting Isabel’s thoughts.

  They both nodded. “I’ll take two sugars and some cream if you have it,” Sandy said with an eager-to-please smile.

  Two sugars? Isabel thought of the Slenderella ad as she said, “I’ll have mine black, thank you.”

  “I won’t keep you long,” Alison said, “I’m sure you’re both busy. I just wanted to touch base on this issue with the mothers of the girls closest to—” she hesitated, obviously choosing her words carefully, “—to the incident last Friday. Because it happened off campus, it’s really beyond the purview of the school, but since it involved seven of our eighty freshman students, I thought I’d try to understand if you think we have a larger problem?”

  Alison’s approach surprised Isabel. And relieved her, at least for now.

  Noting Sandy’s perplexed expression, Isabel took the opportunity to speak up. “First, I assume by problem you mean drugs?” She waited for Alison to nod before continuing. “That’s a good question. From my perspective, though, it’s too soon to say. I’m simply unfamiliar with many of the students. However, I can say with relative certainty that, prior to Friday, Phoebe had never been around drugs, or alcohol for that matter,” her gaze briefly settled on Sandy, “and we’re taking steps to make sure it stays that way.”

  Alison then turned to Sandy, who still seemed at a loss for words, and asked if she would like to add anything. Isabel had never seen her so reluctant to speak and had a hunch that formal settings intimidated her. Somehow this was vaguely pleasing.

  Sandy finally managed to utter, “Jessie’s always been a good girl,” then paused, as if gathering her thoughts. “I think kids just get into trouble sometimes, but they’re not bad kids.” She ended the sentence with a small shrug.

  “No one’s suggesting they are,” Alison said. “I just hoped you might be candid with me. Do you think we have a problem, Mrs. Littleton?”

  “Please call me Sandy. Well, as Isabel said, it’s a little soon to tell, but I hope not.”

  A sense of smugness wrapped itself around Isabel. If this was the best she could do to articulate her thoughts, how could she possibly communicate important life lessons to her daughter? And wh
at sort of influence did that make Jessie?

  Alison Kendall spent a moment staring out the window. Isabel followed her gaze to the boxwood hedges, the two stately evergreens, an ancient oak blazing with color, and towers of gray-white cumulus clouds that would have been the envy of any Hollywood director. A typical fall day in Washington. She could almost taste its crispness.

  “Can you share the girls’ explanations about what happened?” Alison said.

  Isabel turned abruptly. Suddenly she felt like one of the parents on the Dr. Phil show. His prodding not dissimilar from Alison’s probing. Calming herself with a deep inhalation, Isabel decided the truth, up to a point, was probably best. “Well, according to Phoebe they went to meet several boys at Five Guys for a soda in Adams Morgan. After that, she was planning to go to a secondhand shop.” She inspected Alison’s face, but could discern neither belief nor disbelief. “Phoebe has this thing about used clothing stores. She buys clothes and then refashions them.”

  “Hmm, how interesting. I’ll have to ask her about that. I’m all thumbs when it comes to sewing.” She took a sip of coffee before adding, “So how did they end up at Sam’s, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Again, Isabel was quick to answer. “I don’t want to incriminate anyone, and obviously I’m relying on Phoebe’s version, but she said the boys mentioned going to Sam’s, and once there someone pulled out some marijuana and the kids smoked it. She insisted that she did not smoke, but she also felt she couldn’t just leave. I imagine that after last year – she had a difficult time at Woodmont,” she said, briefly looking off, “well, she didn’t want to be the oddball.”

  Isabel again searched Alison’s face, but as before she observed only neutrality.

  “Is there anything you’d like to add?” she asked Sandy.

  “Well, you know, they’re fourteen, or most of them are, and I think the boy-girl thing is kicking in, if you know what I mean,” she said, her demeanor slightly more comfortable than before. “They went with the boys maybe hoping they’d ask them to the fall dance.”

  “I see,” Alison said with a faint smile. She waited a moment, perhaps to see if either of them had anything more to say, then added, “Well, I imagine this is a bit personal, but I wonder what steps, as you mentioned earlier, Isabel, you’ve taken to handle this?” She looked at Isabel, then Sandy without saying more.

  Isabel felt thrown off guard; clearly the headmistress had lulled them into feeling relaxed and now this zinger. But she rose to the occasion. In fact, she relished the opportunity to illustrate the difference between her method of parenting and Sandy’s. When Ron had returned after his meeting with Bill, he’d tried to shame her by describing the Littleton’s light-handed approach to discipline. Now she could tell him about this.

  In a matter of a few sentences, each woman described the punishment she’d meted out to her daughter: Phoebe’s four weeks of being grounded; Jessie’s a single weekend. As much as she tried, Isabel could not detect a bias in Alison one way or the other. What was she thinking?

  “On our end, I’ve met with Phoebe, Jessica and Emma, and we’re taking steps to provide more drug-related education and counseling to the class. We’ve also made it clear that we observe a zero-tolerance policy for drug use. I don’t know if you’re aware that Sam’s mother has withdrawn him from our school?”

  Both Sandy and Isabel shook their heads, though Isabel thought it for the best and made a mental note to ask Phoebe about meeting with Alison.

  Alison glanced at her watch and asked if they’d stay in touch with her.

  Afraid her chance would disappear Isabel spoke up, asking for a private moment. She cast an apologetic look at Sandy, then said, “Good to see you.”

  “Yeah, you too,” Sandy said in an obviously disingenuous tone. Turning to Alison, she added, “Thanks for inviting me, Ms. Kendall. So nice to see you.” The words sounded as if they’d come straight out of a book on etiquette.

  Isabel felt vaguely guilty for witnessing Sandy’s discomfort with such pleasure, but after Friday night, she simply couldn’t help it. Isabel waited until the door closed before producing a copy of the Slenderella e-mail and handing it to Alison. “I’d like your input before acting on this, as a room parent, that is. I don’t think it’s appropriate to use the parents’ e-mail list to solicit business.” Isabel watched Alison scan the page, then added, “I’m unaware of any school policy so I thought I’d check with you.”

  A smile crept onto Alison’s face. “Slenderella. How amusing.” She looked up at Isabel. “But I get your point. Thanks for raising it. I’ll have Mrs. Watson send out a notice clarifying usage of the e-mail list. Anything else?”

  Isabel had thought this exchange might help her gain some intimacy with Alison; at a minimum she had hoped the e-mail would be an entrée to a deeper discussion about Phoebe, maybe even broach what had transpired the previous year, but she could tell when a conversation was over. So, despite her disappointment, she smiled and thanked Alison. “If Amanda or I hear anything more from any of the parents we’ll let you know. We hope to keep an open dialogue.”

  At the door, Alison gazed into Isabel’s eyes and said in a faintly reproachful tone, “Don’t worry about Phoebe. She appears to be a good student, someone who cares about others. She has character, and that counts for a lot in life.”

  Unlike her usual measured responses, Isabel was quick to react. “But I do worry about her. I’m her mother. If I don’t worry, who will?” The startled look on Alison’s face made Isabel regret her tone and she tried to make up for the lapse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound harsh. Perhaps another time we can have a more in-depth conversation about Phoebe. There are some things you may not be aware of.” Somewhat wearily, she added, “I know you’re too busy now and I have to get back to my office. So perhaps another time?”

  “I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds,” Alison said. “I didn’t mean to. Yes, certainly. I’d love to get to know Phoebe better, and you as well. It’s just that in our meeting she was so disappointed about not being able to attend the dance.”

  Isabel’s eyes widened; she felt pierced. She wanted to say something to explain herself, but could think of nothing. “Like I said, there are things I doubt you are aware of, but thanks for telling me. I appreciate it, I really do.”

  On her way back to the office in the back of a cab, an unsettled Isabel wondered exactly what Phoebe had revealed to Alison. As the cabbie angled through traffic inside the canyon of buildings on K Street, the comment that really nagged at Isabel was Alison’s subtle suggestion that she allow Phoebe to attend the dance.

  That evening when Isabel came home, she called for Phoebe. “Honey, come down here a minute, I want to talk to you.” She thought she heard her daughter’s music two floors up. Using the intercom system, she added, “It’s important, Feebs.”

  She considered what she was about to do. The issue she faced was about consistency. All the books said that children needed consistency and clear boundaries. But wasn’t there also a role for compromise? Compromise in legal situations often presented themselves unexpectedly. And it was up to a clever lawyer to take advantage of such moments. So maybe this was one such moment. Just then a sullen, sulky-faced Phoebe entered the kitchen.

  “Come here, honey,” Isabel said, outstretching her hands. Phoebe stood her ground. Isabel moved toward her and placed her hands on her daughter’s arms. Gazing into her beautiful honey-colored eyes, she said softly, “I’ve come to the conclusion that I was wrong, that I reacted precipitously. You can go to the dance, darling.”

  Phoebe looked at her with disbelief. “I can? Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Phoebe screamed and hurled herself at her mother, clutching her about the neck and hugging her. “Oh, Mommy, thank you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Thursday, October 9, 2008

  In the hopes of avoiding Jessie without being obvious about it, Phoebe ducked into the girls’ bathroom and waite
d in one of the stalls for the morning buzzer to sound. She felt terrible about it, but once Jessie knew she could go to the dance she’d be badgering her to come spend the night afterward. And that was the one thing she couldn’t do. Well, her mother had left it up to her, but she’d decided to reward her mother’s kindness by steering clear of Jessie, at least until after the dance.

  She sought out Noah right after English class and, smiling sweetly, told him the news. Instead of grinning back at her, happy at this turn of events, he cocked his head to one side and looked at her strangely. Oh, God, now he doesn’t want to go with me? A bad feeling swarmed through her insides.

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe, but I can’t go. With you, I mean.”

  Each word felt like a karate kick to her gut. She wanted to wilt to the floor and disappear. She found it difficult to meet his uncomfortable gaze, and though she didn’t want to sound wimpy or whiny, her voice sounded weak when she asked, “Did I do something?”

  “No, it’s just that I got another date,” he said, quick to add, “because you couldn’t go. It got set up last night.”

  “Really?” Phoebe’s eyes fixed on the waxed wooden floor at her feet. “Who? Who are you going with?” She looked up at him, eyes wide.

  It seemed as though he didn’t want to tell her.

  “Oh, man, this is awkward. It seemed like a good idea last night,” he said. “And I figured you knew.” He stood there staring at her.

  “Noah, just tell me. Who is it?”

  “Jessie.”

  “Jessie?”

  “She said you wouldn’t mind since you guys are best friends and you couldn’t go. You know?”

  “No, I don’t.” Phoebe was flabbergasted. But this time, hot, steamy anger, not tears, threatened to contort her face. She wished he’d say he would break the date, but he didn’t. Why hadn’t Jessie said anything to her? She could at least have texted, asking if it was okay. Why hadn’t she? About something so important.