by Kai Strand
“Miss Renaldi?” a judge asks from the front row.
When I make eye contact, I feel a sudden sheen of tears in my eyes and see the confusion on the judge’s face. I blink away the offending weakness and clear my throat before swallowing the largest lump I’ve ever had to force down my throat.
“A community…” As soon as I say the word community, I picture Rod and I working side by side on the construction site and the rest of the sentence dies on my tongue. I swallow again and force myself to start over. And more importantly to finish. “A community can be made up of doctors and lawyers, successful businesses, thriving restaurants, but if their weakest members are not being served, it isn’t a community at all.”
From there, my tongue seems to work on muscle memory. It has worked to form the words often enough it just knows what to say from that point to the end. Unfortunately, my mind never truly engages in the presentation and I know, even without consciously listening to myself, that my delivery is flat. It lacks the passion needed to persuade an audience to take up my cause.
Polite applause accompanies me off stage. I know I won’t be adding a win to my college application. I stop at my seat only to grab my purse.
Miss Bell sounds falsely chipper. “Flawless delivery, Lola.”
We’ve spent enough time in speech classes evaluating one another’s work that I know she’s focusing on the positive. I ignore her generous assessment. “I’ll be in the bathroom.”
“Oh, would you like me to accompany you?”
“No.” The answer comes out sounding harsh, so I try to soften it with, “Thank you, though.”
In the end, she comes and finds me. Luckily, it’s after I’ve splashed cold water on my face and wiped the running mascara away.
“Dear, it wasn’t that bad,” Miss Bell pats my back awkwardly as I dry my hands with a scratchy paper towel. “You’ll see when you review the video.”
I flash her a panicked look.
“Well, maybe we’ll skip the video review this time. This isn’t part of your class grade after all. Not really.”
“That isn’t what I’m upset about, anyway.” I toss the wadded paper into the trashcan and face her, hoping I’ve gathered my composure together. “I am sorry I let it affect my presentation though, but some things can’t be helped, right?”
I pull the bathroom door open and say over my shoulder. “Shall we go watch the rest of the speeches? I believe visual should be up soon and I really enjoy those.”
Miss Bell scurries down the hall behind me, like my short legs are somehow out pacing hers. “Are you sure you’re up for it? If something has happened, Lola, we can head home now.”
I stop and spin to face her. She almost runs into me but sidesteps at the last minute. “We could do that? I know you like to stay to support the other contestants.”
Miss Bell’s pinched up face relaxes into an expression of sympathy. “Lola, I’ve never seen you so much as purse your lips before. Something has upset you. I think we can break my self-made rule this once.”
I let out a huge breath. “I’d really appreciate that, Miss Bell.”
“But if you place, you won’t be here to accept your ribbon and certificate.”
I laugh humorlessly. “Am I really going to place, Miss Bell?”
“Well, um…the others.”
I cut her off before she has to make something up. “Let’s go.” I offer the kindest smile I can manage and even that hurts my bruised psyche, but I still have to endure the three-hour drive home and I hope to do it with dignity.
Chapter 21
“You must be…Lola, is it?”
I swing my gaze away from the shrine of pictures to see a woman about my mom’s age smiling politely at me. “Yes.”
“I’m Clara. Todd’s daughter.”
At first, I think she’s somehow mistaken me for another Lola. I don’t know who Todd is. Then I look down at the brochure in my hand with a picture of a younger Mr. Whitman on the front and see his name underneath. Todd Whitman. “I forgot…I just…I only ever knew him as Mr. Whitman.”
Clara’s smile becomes a little more genuine, though I see a lot of tiredness in it, which must make it hard to generate in the first place. “He talked about you a lot.”
“He did?” Tears fill my eyes (again) as a smile splits my face. I’m surprised by the polarizing reactions I have to the news.
“He said the first thing that caught his attention was your hair. So much like mother’s.”
I look back to the display of pictures I’d been studying. I’m still surprised to see the younger Gladys, with hair the same color as mine, though stick straight and cut to shoulder length in most of the photos. “I hadn’t realized. He never mentioned that.”
Clara remains silent, studying the pictures beside me.
“I think he told me everything else about her though. I think I love your mom as much as I loved your dad, even though I never met her.”
Clara’s lips quiver, but the smile remains. “It’s an easy thing to do when you see her through Dad’s eyes.”
“You’re incredibly blessed. To have the parents you have. Kind. Open. Generous of spirit. Eternally in love.”
“I’m luckier than you know.” Clara’s distant expression seems to be reliving a memory, perhaps many.
“He only just told me about Meribel. And Electrical Engineering.” I look at Clara to see if she has a reaction, but the only thing that has changed is that she’s focused on me and what I’m saying, having left her memories behind. “For some reason, the story knocked me sideways. It made me question everything I’d ever known. Doubt everything. But then…” My throat is suddenly blocked with a ball of emotion and I have to swallow before I can continue. “Then I caught my boyfriend with another girl and his defense was that we’d never defined our relationship as exclusive.”
Clara frowns and cocks her head. I offer a wan smile.
“I know. Random thing to admit to someone I just met. I only mean to illustrate a big personality flaw I’ve discovered too late. It seems I don’t ask enough questions in my life. I feel like at some point during the last two years I should have asked Mr. Whitman about his life before Gladys. It feels like it was somehow ignorant for me not to. Or selfish.”
A chuckle of sorts escapes Clara. She cups my hand in both of hers, patting it gently. “Ah. I can assure you Dad never considered you either of those. He always bragged about how smart you are. How you’ll solve big problems one day and make life better.”
“Really?” A slide show of images of my visits with Mr. Whitman flash before my eyes. I can’t begin to imagine how he would have drawn that conclusion from me carrying his plate, bringing him coffee, and listening to his stories.
“He was the best judge of character I’ve ever known, Lola. Trust me when I say, you’ll go on to make a difference in this world.” Clara pats my hand one last time just as a woman steps up beside her and wraps an arm around her.
“How you doing, hon?”
“I’m good right now.” Clara looks between the two of us. “This is Lola. Lola, this is my wife, Eve.”
Eve captures my hand as Clara drops it. “How wonderful of you to come today. We’ve heard so much about you.”
A tidal wave of emotion swamps me, and I clutch Eve’s hand as I slump forward trying to hold in the sobs pulsing inside me.
Clara grips my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head, but then change it to a nod because nothing that is wrong with me is her burden. I gulp like a fish out of water before I find my voice. “I’m just now realizing how absolutely wonderful your father was.”
Clara slips her arm around my shoulder and pats it. “You never knew I was gay, did you?”
“No. Your dad talked about you and your brother all the time. Your lives. Your families. Your careers.” I stop because I don’t know how to express what I’m feeling without sounding like the jerk Mr. Whitman wasn’t.
Eve saves me. “Todd nev
er thought twice about Clara and me. Gladys either. They raised their kids to be kind and generous and loving people, which they are. That was all they ever wanted.”
I sigh heavily. Clara’s arm drops away from my shoulders, but that weight of grief remains. “I’m going to miss him. I wish I’d known him better.”
“There certainly aren’t many like him out there,” Clara says. “I’m so glad you came today. You are every bit as generous and strong as my dad said you were.”
Something swells within me. A feeling of pride maybe, but also of hope. Maybe even a bit of a challenge to live up to the image Mr. Whitman seemed to have painted. “It was a beautiful service. Thank you for introducing yourself.”
“Thank you for everything you did for Dad.” Clara rubs my shoulder. “I remember when he first told me he was going to the soup kitchen. I actually scolded him. Why would a wealthy man take a meal out of the mouths of people who needed it more? But then he started sharing stories of his time there. Of the people he met. The lives he changed. And those who changed his.” She nods at me as if to include me in with the last group. “I stopped bothering him.”
“Your dad was wealthy?” I think of the old clothes he wore, realizing they were old, but not threadbare.
“Yep. Wealthy enough at least. He made regular donations to the kitchen to offset their costs of feeding him and then some. But he also paid for the surgery of a young boy, covered the fees for kids to participate in sports at their schools, bought a prom dress for a girl whose family couldn’t afford it, all sorts of things big and small.”
“Anonymously.” I’m so breathless, I’m surprised when Clara hears me and nods.
I’d heard of the countless miracles over the years. Like Clara said, some were small like an annual bus pass, so a person could get to and from work, others were big like paying for the books of a student who got into college on scholarship.
“He was always so grumpy. He never talked to anybody. How did he even know?”
Eve chuckles, obviously understanding the grumpy observation.
Clara rolls her eyes. “I don’t know why he liked to put on that gruff exterior. That really only developed after we lost Mom. But I think he’d use the lack of conversation to listen to those around him. He’d always know the story behind the expense he was covering, so he was most definitely listening.”
My head was spinning with unformed questions, but Clara probably wouldn’t know the answers even if I could figure out what I wanted to know. I smile and shake my head. “Your dad was a bigger mystery than I knew. I really need to start asking more questions in life.”
Clara’s grin is the happiest I’ve seen yet. “He’d be so happy to know that he’d inadvertently taught you a lesson.”
“I’ve learned more from your dad than I can even quantify. Thanks again, Clara, for introducing yourself. It was very nice to meet both of you.”
I scan the display of pictures one last time, my gaze hovering over Gladys’s strawberry blond hair and then I leave the funeral home, hoping that one day soon my mind will be able to sort out everything I just learned about the man, that up until recently, I thought I knew well.
Chapter 22
I let my forehead fall onto Cyn’s shoulder. “I miss you so much!”
She slams her locker and turns to put her arms around me in a motherly hug. Patting my back, she says, “You obviously miss my fashion advice.”
I make an irritated sound, even though I know she’s right. With the exception of the speech contest, I’ve been wearing black since Mr. Whitman died. I don’t even know why. I just can’t bring myself to put on color in the morning. Since I don’t have a lot of black clothing, I’ve basically recycled the same five items over and over again.
“I miss you too, Loles.” Cyn keeps an arm wrapped around me and drags me down the hall toward our next class. “Is there anything in particular you need from me? Have you changed your mind about letting me whoop Bennett’s ass?”
I smile despite how completely bad it would be for Cyn to get violent while she’s on probation. “No, haven’t changed my mind.”
“Is he still texting you?”
“Yes. Still talking in pictures. His frowning face. A creepy sad clown. And puppy dog’s eyes, which I think are supposed to represent how sorry he is, though it was just a cute puppy to me.” A feeling of loss bogs my emotions when I think of Rome’s frowning face picture. I really thought I meant more to him than to be one of his girlfriends. Then anger replaces the feeling and I clench my teeth. I hate the roller coaster emotions most of all.
“Don’t give in.” Cyn raises her arm in the air as if she’s charging the Citadel. “Boys who can’t be straight about who they date, can’t be trusted.”
“Very profound and almost rhyme-y.” I let my head fall lightly against hers as we continue down the hall, her arm still secured around my shoulder. Her personality makes her feel a foot taller than me. “Thanks for the pep talk. Do you need one? I’ve been working on a We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Parents talk. Wanna hear it?”
Cyn shakes her head and thrusts her fist into the air again. “I’m so over my parents that I don’t even need the Don’t Need speech.”
“I’ve got the most amazing best friend.”
Cyn’s false bravado falls away. “I’ve been a sucky friend. I’m banned from life and I can barely be there for you. I know I brought this on myself, but the punishment seems unnecessarily harsh—and long. Especially coming from an absentee mother.”
“Still away all the time?”
Cyn nods. She stops outside her classroom, squeezing my shoulder before she removes her arm. “I’m working on my nanny. Trying to talk her into at least letting you come over, but she’s amazingly strict for someone who’s only a few years older than me. And hot.”
I scrunch up my face and shake my head. It’s still weird to me that her mom hired a nanny for her eighteen-year-old daughter.
“I get to help middle aged women play dress up all week.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Cyn says. “It’s Fashion Week.”
“My mom’s already making a big deal over the fact that it’s our last Viva show until after college.”
“She really thinks you’ll come right back from college, so you can join in the festivities again?”
I sigh. “Yep. I think she stills sees her head-in-the-clouds twelve year old whose eyes sparkled as much as the gaudy sequins the women were wearing.”
Cyn snorts as she looks at her watch and then squeaks. “Can’t be late!”
I wave as I back down the hall. “See you after fifth.”
“I’ll count the moments,” Cyn calls too loudly.
I’m grinning when I turn into my classroom just two doors down.
“Great article, Lola,” Mercedes says.
I furrow my brow as I try to remember what article I wrote for the class. I shake my head. I’ve never written an article for any of my math classes. “Huh?”
“In the paper.” Mercedes points to her tablet. Then she turns a serious expression to me. “Say, I’ve always wanted to volunteer at the hospital. You know, be a candy striper. Have you ever done that?”
I stare at Mercedes too long before I finally step closer and try to see her tablet. “Jay wrote the volunteering article?”
“Yeah. You haven’t seen it? I’ll email you the link.”
After about four touches on her screen my tablet buzzes in my bag indicating a new email. “Thanks. Oh, and I’ve never volunteered at the hospital, but they have a great page on their website that explains all the opportunities they offer and what you have to do.”
“Cool. I’ll check it out.”
I sink into my seat further back in the room, pull out my tablet, and swipe the email notification. It opens the email from Mercedes and I tap the link. My stomach clenches a bit wondering if Jay’s anger shows in the article. I’m encouraged by Mercedes positive review, but nervous nonetheless.
There’s a real
ly good action shot of me installing flooring that I hadn’t even known Jay took. I’m kneeling on a section of flooring that has already been laid, a strip of flooring in my hands to add to an incomplete row. My kneepads and tool belt make me look official. My hair is pulled into a ponytail that falls forward over my shoulder. I’m laughing at something that someone off camera said. I look so happy. Yearning wells up inside me. I want to transport to the worksite immediately. I want to be at every volunteer sight I work at simultaneously and just soak in the good feelings. Longing tugs within me as I drag my eyes lower to read.
I bite my lip while I scan the article but relax when I realize it’s professional and really well written. I start reading again from the beginning, more thoroughly this time. My eyebrows arch when the article mentions that I won the chance to compete at state with a speech I wrote about volunteerism. I actually yelp aloud when Jay includes a quote from the speech, one of the more emotional reasons for getting involved in the community. How did he get that? Jay weaves his volunteer experiences with mine throughout the story. Turns out he’s volunteered at the humane society since, impressive since their application process is one of the toughest. When I finish the article I sit and stare, amazed at how compelling it is. Jay did a great job. I thought he was too angry with me to be able to put that aside to write the article, but I was most definitely wrong.
The class laughing collectively pulls my attention away from my tablet. The teacher has somehow made the students laugh at the math example he’s writing on the board. I squint at the problem and realize it looks like a foreign language. Guess I’d better turn my attention to the lecture.
I look at the byline of the article seeing Jay’s face in my mind instead of his name. Then I study the picture one last time before opening the notes app. I don’t really relish talking to Jay, but I can’t let this go by without saying something. Like thank you, maybe.
Chapter 23