Identity Issues (The Samantha Series)

by Whitsitt, Claudia

  "I’ll tell her that we’ll try it. I’ll say that I have some concerns that the environment might be too relaxed for Joey to perform well. I’ll do it for two sessions and then we’ll evaluate our success or failure. How does that sound?" Di asked.

  I nodded. "You’ll have a way out if you feel uncomfortable. Who knows? It could be fine, right? At least you like Joey. When will you start?"

  "Tomorrow." Her dark eyes registered timid resignation.

  "That’s awfully soon." I felt breakfast surging up from my stomach.

  "It’s during the daylight hours, at least."

  The first bell of the day rang. My students had a test, and the accommodations required that I read it to them. The tests weren’t designed for Special Education students, so I rephrased the lingo. Since five class hours made up the day, I read the test five times. An imperfect system. A migraine and exhaustion were my reward at the end of a very long day.

  I couldn’t find Diane in her classroom or the office, so I headed home without touching base with her. I hurried to pick up the kids at the bus stop so that we could head out to the park for an hour before going home to start dinner and homework. The day was uncommonly warm and sunny, and breathing fresh air and feeling the sun on my back would do me good. I hoped it would clear my head, too.

  Our quaint little turn of the century town was filled with antique stores and housed two main restaurants at the town square across from the Daily Grind. Salt Park was situated at the north end of town. The river running through its center provided a soothing rush of water and the play structure occupied the boys while the girls explored the woods.

  The sun revived me. Physically and emotionally. Parenting and working full–time took a toll on me. As I sat on the wooden park bench, I looked back at the years and wondered how I did it. No matter how hard Jon tried, his overseas trips occurred frequently. I knew how much better it was to see him face to face. His colleagues obviously wanted the same contact.

  We drove home around six. Not in the mood to cook, I resorted to macaroni and cheese, then whipped up a quick salad for myself. Nutrition for me, junk for the kids. Some days, it was the only way to manage. Homework time continued with relatively painless problems. I felt grateful. The kids looked happy, having had time outdoors and comfort food.

  Diane called about 8:30 p.m.

  "What’s up?" I asked.

  "I’m nervous about going to the Stitsill’s," she confessed.

  "Why? What are you worried about?"

  "I don’t know, but you know me. If I let my mind wander, everything I come up with produces a full–blown anxiety attack."

  I laughed. "You’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Just go and do your thing with Joey. Nothing will happen. Look at it as an opportunity."

  "An opportunity for what, to get myself killed?"

  "Relax. It’s a chance to scope out the house. Be an observer. Get Joey started on his work, then sit back and take in your surroundings. Check for signs of his dad. You know, check for family photos. See if he’s in any of them." I thought fast. "Maybe they know he’s alive, and they’re covering for him. On the other hand, he could be visiting after they’re asleep without them even knowing. You can be a spy," I told her.

  Finally, Di laughed. She couldn’t help herself. "Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll just go in and case the joint."

  "Exactly."

  "Did you tell Jon about seeing Stitsill yet?" she asked.

  "No. I haven’t talked to him since he left. Besides, I can’t tell him over the phone. He’s in Korea this week, home for two days, and then out to L.A. for four. He can’t catch his breath as it is."

  "I totally understand." Di let that one ride. "Hey, did I tell you I’m going out with Maria’s brother again?"

  "That’s great! What’s his name?" I asked.

  "Chris."

  "You guys really hit it off when you went for coffee. Do you think there’s something there?"

  "You’re going to think I’m weird, but yes. I felt it right away. We talked on the phone over the weekend. In fact, we yakked for three hours. You know, the getting–to–know–you chitchat. It was fun. My stomach had butterflies the whole time. He’s great looking and an amazing listener."

  "The most unlikely of combinations. You sure he’s a guy?" I laughed before asking, "When are you going out?"

  "Dinner. Saturday night."

  "Does he look like Maria?" I was going out on a limb here.

  "Yes and no. You can certainly see the resemblance. But he’s much cuter." Diane giggled.

  "That’s good news!"

  "He’s dreamy. Tall and broad. Looks like a linebacker, but with a great face. Some of those football guys look like they’ve had their faces pushed in. Chris, on the other hand, is one of those good–looking, cares about clothes and appearance kind of guys. He smells good, spends time on himself, but in a good way, if you know what I mean."

  "He’s a metro sexual who meets your high standards," I supplied. Di scared me sometimes.

  "Exactly. Anyway, I think there are possibilities with this one. I’m trying not to get my hopes up too much. I don’t want to be disappointed again," she admitted.

  "I can relate. Be sure and let me know how it goes. Where are you going to dinner?"

  "Mexican Village."

  "Sounds great. I’m envious," I said.

  "Why? What’s your weekend like?"

  "Jon will be gone until a week from Tuesday, so I’ll be shuffling kids around and playing single mom for yet another weekend." I heard my own sadness.

  "I’m sorry. Doesn’t sound like much fun. Don’t you get lonely?"

  "Yeah, and I hate it," I admitted. "Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. You know me, I’m ‘Miss Roll with the Punches.’"

  "I should let you go. After all, we do have to get up early."

  "Ain’t that the truth?"

  "I’ll talk to you tomorrow."

  "Have a good night, Di."

  Chapter Eleven

  DIANE HEADED TO Joey’s house at 4:00 p.m. on Tuesday. I didn’t hear from her that night. It killed me not to call her, but I thought it best to play it cool.

  "Hey," I said when I saw her early Wednesday morning.

  "Hi," she said, averting her eyes.

  Immediately, my heart began to race. "How’d it go?"

  "We need to talk. Can you come down to my room?"

  Diane’s room sat right across the hall from the Cafeteria, where mustard yellow cinder block lined the walls while horrid maroon linoleum lined its floors.

  "Sure."

  "I need to stop at the lounge first and drop off my lunch," she whispered, and then distracted me with mundane chatter. "I would have gotten in touch last night, but Chris called and we got talking. He’s a chatty boy, that one. We were on the phone until ten."

  "No problem," I assured her.

  I helped Di haul her bags to her room. The halls remained quiet and empty. Her door was locked, and she didn’t have her keys, so I used the master key I’d acquired some time ago. Possession of a master key, totally on the hush–hush, made me the envy of the staff.

  "So, how was it?" I asked.

  Di shook her head. "Rosita looks like shit. Her hair’s thinning, and she has this gray pallor that doesn’t even look human. She can barely lift her head off the couch."

  "She was on the sofa?"

  "Uh huh. Joey greeted me at the door with that big grin that he always wears. He looked so glad to see me."

  "You’re a stable force in his life right now. I’m sure the poor kid is frantic. His thinks his dad is dead, his mom has cancer. Imagine."

  "I know." Di nodded sadly. "Anyway, we studied at the kitchen table. The house is as neat as a pin. Kind of like mine." She chuckled. "A place for everything and everything in its place."

  "Are her refrigerator shelves lined with paper towels?" I joked.

  "Will I ever live that down?"

  "Not if I can help it."

  Di rolled her eyes and conti
nued. "Rosita called to me from the family room. I found her flat on her back on the couch. I almost didn’t recognize her. She looks about eighty years old. Six weeks ago, she looked healthy, the picture of health, in fact. Now she’s just skin and bones, and her hair is so fine, you can see her scalp."

  "The poor thing."

  Di nodded.

  "What did she want?" I asked.

  "Just to say ‘hello’ and thank me for coming. I did what you suggested and looked around. I tried to think of it as taking inventory, just checking." Di’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling as she recalled the space. "The family room is modest. The house is tiny, the furniture not new, but not worn either. There’s an Early American floral sofa in there."

  "I bet that made your skin crawl."

  "Not my style. But I did like the white–glove cleanliness of the place."

  "I’m sure you did. C’mon, don’t keep me in suspense. What else?"

  "Just the couch and a matching chair in the family room. One of those three–tiered pine bookcases against the opposite wall. A 21–inch television set on a little stand in one of the corners. The kitchen table’s a round honey maple with ladder back chairs. Four of them. It’s a very plain home. Just the basics. Nothing extra."

  "You sound like Sherlock Holmes. What about photographs?" I asked.

  "She has 8" x 10" framed photographs of the boys on the wall in the entry way. Other than that, there was just one of her and the boys that was taken when they were little."

  I nodded. "Do they look happy in the photo?"

  "The boys do, but she has that deeply wounded look in her eyes that touches your soul. I think I’d be sad in her situation, too."

  "She always looks sad. I can’t imagine. Were there any snapshots of him? Evidence of him being around?"

  Di’s lips formed a thin line as she shook her head. "Not that I could see."

  The bell rang, catching both of us off guard. We both flinched.

  "It’s late."

  "I’m surprised the kids aren’t barging in here already," I said, glancing at her classroom door.

  "They know not to come inside if the door is closed."

  "You’ve trained them well. I’d better get down to my room before the final bell."

  "See you at lunch." Di smiled.

  The busses lined the back lot, and their doors opened simultaneously. By 7:50 a.m., the halls resembled a main thoroughfare in Tokyo.

  My morning plans included co–teaching in Jack’s class.

  "Today, ladies and gentlemen, we will be learning about refliprocals," Jack told them, taking center stage like a circus announcer.

  "A refliprocal, or reciprocal, as it’s called in the mathematics world, is simply a fraction that we flip upside down. For example…" He wrote on the board as he taught, animated as he engaged his students.

  So darned quick about everything, Jack deserved the title of ‘multi–tasking master’. I loved to watch him. He taught in a whirlwind reminiscent of Pigpen. Unlike Pigpen, Jack accomplished big things. His desk was piled high with papers. Behind his teacher’s chair, heaps of worksheets towered like mismatched plates teetering on the edge of disaster. But Jack could find everything. And he entertained.

  The kids, enraptured by Jack and the lesson, wrote numbers feverishly. My Special Education students loved him, too. They even understood today’s lesson, which made my day. Jack didn’t differentiate between my students and his, and I thanked God for him.

  After class, I told him about Diane tutoring Joey at home.

  "Like the two of you don’t have enough going on with that family. I tell you, Stitsill, you’re making me nervous."

  "Come on. You know me. I won’t get into any trouble." I tried to sound blasé.

  "That’s the problem. I do know you. You’re like a ditzy blonde," he teased. "You don’t know when to quit."

  "Why, sir, I have no idea what you mean!"

  "I’ll tell you what I mean. You don’t have the brains to see the hole you’re digging, Stitsill. You work with the kids nobody wants to admit exist, and you like it, for God’s sake! I swear, you’re a trouble magnet." Jack rolled his eyes. "You have guts, I’ll give you that."

  I shrugged. "Keeps life interesting. Know what I mean?"

  "Life is interesting. Watch some baseball. Play some tennis. Just watch your step. I don’t want to hear something wicked has happened to you."

  "Nothing bad is going to happen."

  "Easy for you to say. How’s Jon, by the way?"

  "He’s in Korea."

  "Again? He might as well take up permanent residence there. Any calls from Botswana?"

  "Not in a long time," I said.

  "Well, at least there’s that."

  Chapter Twelve

  AS LUCK WOULD have it, I would only have three kids for the weekend. Jon’s kids were scheduled to visit with the Dragon, A.K.A. his ex–wife, and mine stayed home with me.

  My brother Tom called late Thursday. "Want to meet me at the Frozen Margarita Saturday night? Mark’s band is playing."

  Annie could handle just Nick and Lizzie if I needed to get out. I hesitated for exactly three seconds. "Jon’s in Korea. I could sure use the break."

  "Excellent," Tom said.

  "Okay, I’ll be there by eight, so get there when you can."

  "I can’t leave the kids alone too late, but I can stay for a few hours."

  "See you then."

  The Frozen Margarita, a beer and burger joint from my youth, used to be called the Flamingo. I noticed the changes as soon as I walked into the place. The walls still wore the same cotton candy pink, but the décor had been modernized with chairs upholstered in lime green and orange flame stitching. The main wall behind the staging area displayed a vibrant mural of senoritas in long flowing skirts, dancing with suited men in sequined sombreros.

  Geometric prints hung on the vividly painted plaster. Lighting glowed low, and each seat offered a view of the dance floor and band. A mariachi band’s CD blared over the loudspeakers as patrons waited for the band to begin playing its first set.

  I spotted Tom at the table closest to the stage. No surprise. I remembered his M.O. from our college years.

  Mark had played the guitar since age eight. The only thing he truly loved and the only thing that kept his interests for more than a couple of months; his commitment still resonated, his muse chosen like a bride. Women had come and gone, but his lady guitar was his mate for life. An interesting guy, my brother. I loved him dearly.

  Tom’s personality, on the other hand, shouted people person. He towered a foot above me. With the same raw good looks that Mark possessed, his baby blues and a muscular build drew all kinds of attention.

  "Hey, Sis." He stood and kissed my cheek as I joined him.

  "You realize that once I sit down at this table, I’m ruining your chances of meeting a girl tonight."

  "Girls, schmirls," he said. "I’ve sworn off ‘em for the rest of my life. Who needs the aggravation?"

  "It’ll get better." I gave his arm a comforting squeeze.

  "Sure it will." His gaze followed a waitress sauntering towards the bar. "What’d you want to drink?"

  "To tell you the truth, I’d love something slimy. Potent, too."

  "Then you came to the right place." Tom ambled over to the bar.

  Mark and the band plugged in their equipment, and I nodded to him when I caught his eye. Next, I perused the place. A total meat market, the men fashionably dressed in business casual, the women in their best bar wear. It had been a long time since I had frequented such an establishment. So much for the married mother of five.

  It didn’t take long for a rode hard guy to show up and sit down without an invitation. No manners. So, this is how it’s done these days, I thought.

  "I’m waiting for my brother to return from the bar," I said, hoping I sounded polite.

  "Your brother, huh. That’s a new one."

  Oh, goodie. A jackass right off the bat. Lucky for me, he wa
s pretty drunk, too.

  "Hey, Joe, you’re not bothering this pretty lady, are you?" asked a voice behind me.

  I turned and looked up. Not bad. The guy wore a tweed sports coat, had broad shoulders, a solid body, and general good looks. I might be married, but I’m not dead.

  "Hell, no, I’m not bothering her."

  "Joe, it’s time to call you a cab." He gave his buddy a friendly slap on the back. To me, he said, "Sorry, ma’am. It’s been a long afternoon for Joe. Afraid he’s been here too long for his own good."

  He put his hand under Joe’s arm, guiding him away from my table. I appreciated the rescue.

  Tom arrived with my drink just as Joe’s friend escorted him outside.

  "What was that all about?"

  "Don’t ask. I lucked out when his friend showed up."

  "You’ve still got it goin’ on, ya’ know? Just because you’re married and have kids doesn’t mean you’re not noticed."

  "Thanks, Tom. I needed that. I can’t figure out why I draw the gross ones, though."

  The music started as I sipped my drink. Cuervo Gold nuzzled in the bottom of my frozen Margarita. A soft mushy feeling enveloped me. I closed my eyes, swaying as I listened to Mark’s melodic tune. My brother. My fabulous musician brother. When he played guitar, it took me places. Even as kids, his music transported me to another world. Heaven, maybe.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw Tom headed across the room to a table of women. I smothered a smile. Asks me to meet him at the bar and then leaves me high and dry so he can pursue some chick. I couldn’t blame him. He enjoyed being young and single, and I savored the kid–less solitude.

  "Mind if I join you?" Joe’s friend again.

  "You can join me, but I’m going to tell you right off the bat, I’m happily married, got a trainload of kids at home, and I’m enjoying a time–out from motherhood."

  He laughed. His ready smile made his blue eyes sparkle. And he had dimples. I love dimples.

  "Point well taken, ma’am." He sat down across from me.

  The band’s volume reached the maximum decibel range. We’d hear each other only if we screamed. Maybe. Evidently he figured that out too, because as soon as he had planted himself, he scooted over into the chair next to mine. Hmmm, I thought. Cute and smart.