Evelyn Preston looked at her husband as if both amused and annoyed.
"Oh, come on, honey, I think they'd get a kick out of it," Fred said.
Evelyn threw up her hands in resignation.
"Well, now you have to tell us, Dad," Angela said.
Fred smiled at his daughter.
"It's nothing earth-shattering," Fred said. "It's more a testament to the power of persistence and bringing the right attitude to the right situation."
"This sounds interesting," Michelle said.
"It is. At least I think it is," Fred said. "Evelyn was quite a prize when we met as counselors at a church summer camp near Mount Hood. It was right after we had both graduated from high school. I was a fresh-faced buck from Vancouver and she was the beauty queen from Unionville, an engaged beauty queen."
"Engaged?" Angela asked. She looked at her mother and put her hands on her hips. "You were engaged to someone else? How come I never heard this story?"
"I suppose because I thought it was none of your business," Evelyn said with a smile that no doubt masked growing irritation.
"As I was saying," Fred said, turning toward Michelle, "Evelyn was quite a beauty and very much out of my league. She had the attention of every boy in camp, not to mention her betrothed. Her fiancé was the son of a prominent attorney here and a sophomore at Stanford."
"A junior," Evelyn said.
"I stand corrected. He was a junior and a very nice-looking man. He looked a lot like a young Gary Cooper," Fred said. "But he was not at the camp that summer, and I was."
"Let me guess," Freddie said. He grinned as he extended his arm around Carolyn. "You hit on Mom every day until you finally wore her down."
"You could say that," Fred said. He laughed. "The point is that I wore her down the right way. Every morning I left a humorous poem on the door of her cabin and every Saturday, when we were allowed to go into Hood River, the nearest town, I humbly professed my love with flowers and ice cream. I must have spent every dime I made that summer, but, looking back, I can see it was the best investment I ever made. By the time camp was over in August, she was engaged to someone else."
"That's a beautiful story," Michelle said.
Michelle already knew the gist of the tale, where her poor but dashing father saved her debutante mother from a life of riches. Grandma Preston had filled her in one Christmas in junior high when she had complained about the futility of pursuing "seriously good-looking boys." Nothing, Nana had told her, was impossible if you put your mind to it.
"It's one I don't tell often enough. Evelyn's a very beautiful woman," Fred said.
Evelyn rolled her eyes and shook her head.
"I think you've had too much wine, Fred."
Freddie laughed and lifted his glass.
"He's right, though, Mom. You are a beautiful woman."
"Thank you, honey."
"Of course, at this table, I seem to be surrounded by beautiful women. I must say, Michelle, that you bear a striking resemblance to my mother. It's astonishing. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you two were identical twins," Freddie said.
Several at the table chuckled at an observation that they themselves had surely made.
"Join the club, Freddie," Shelly said matter-of-factly as she played with her peas. "When I first saw Miss Jennings at school, I thought Mom was stalking me."
More laughter.
"I'm serious, though," Freddie said. "The resemblance is remarkable. Even your name is familiar. Did my folks tell you that I had an aunt named Michelle Jennings?"
"No. They did not," Michelle said. "But Shelly has told me a few things about her. I understand she was a very accomplished woman and a remarkable skier."
"She was one of the best skiers in the world when she died," Evelyn said. "If you are interested, I'd be happy to show you some memorabilia from her career. I've compiled a few things that I keep in our den."
Michelle contained a smile as she thought about the understatement of the century. The invitation reminded her that the Olympic flame still burned brightly in her mother's mind and also that she needed to return a certain birth certificate to the Eastern Oregon Historical Society.
"Thank you for the offer, Evelyn. I'd love to see them."
CHAPTER 27: MICHELLE
Thursday, November 22, 1979
Michelle didn't wait for a guided tour. When the dishes were done and most of the family drifted to the living room to see the Cowboys play the Oilers, she walked down the hall and through an open door to revisit a memorial to the patron saint of downhill skiers.
Evelyn's shrine was as impressive as she had remembered it. Medals and ribbons shared space with plaques, trophies, and photographs, including one of Michelle Jennings with President Eisenhower. Three notebooks sitting atop a small pine desk contained newspaper articles reporting the particulars of the skier's extraordinary life and her tragic, untimely death. Michelle's namesake aunt had, indeed, been an amazing woman.
"Freddie's right."
Michelle turned around. Evelyn stood a few feet away with a sleeping girl in her arms.
"The resemblance is remarkable. We could be sisters."
Michelle started to reply but decided to let the comment go unanswered. She had no idea if there was anything more behind it than a simple, honest observation. She opened a notebook and commented about a woman who seemed to jump off the pages.
"Your sister had an incredible life."
Evelyn smiled at Michelle but said nothing. She instead walked past her guest to the notebook and thumbed through several pages to a yellowing newspaper article from August 1949. A grainy photograph next to the story showed Michelle Jennings, then eighteen, receiving a citizenship award from the mayor.
"Most people who remember my sister remember her only as a skier, but, as you can see, she was so much more. She was a role model and an advocate for causes and the kindest person I have ever known. She was my best friend. She made every room she entered a better place."
"I believe that," Michelle said.
"She would have been forty-eight this year, about the same as us. I imagine she would have been as lovely as ever. She would have looked a lot like you."
Michelle frowned.
"I hope my presence here hasn't caused you discomfort," she said. "I got the impression that you were less enthusiastic than your husband and daughter about having me for dinner."
"You're very perceptive, Michelle," Evelyn said. "I admit I didn't know what to make of you. I still don't. I barely know you. I know only that my daughter worships you."
"Don't you think you are overstating things?" Michelle said.
"No. I don't. Shelly has told me quite a bit about you, including your talk the other day."
"The one in the classroom?"
"Yes."
"I was just trying to help. I didn't mean to interfere or take your place."
"There's no need to justify your actions," Evelyn said. "You accomplished in a few minutes what I have been unable to do in eighteen years."
"You're being too hard on yourself."
"I'm being truthful. I'm sure Shelly has told you many things, like how domineering I can be and how we never communicate and how I meddle in her life. I've heard it all a thousand times and I must admit that most of it is true. But it's the way I was raised, Miss Jennings. It's what I know. It's the way I have mothered my four children."
Michelle took a hard look at the woman who had birthed her and raised her, the woman with whom she had had an extraordinarily difficult relationship. For the first time in years, she looked at Evelyn Preston empathetically. She was not a control freak who wanted to dictate her daughter's every move but rather a concerned and loving parent who simply lacked the skills she needed to guide a particular young woman through adolescence. Michelle resisted the temptation to give her mother a hug that was decades overdue.
"Shelly means a lot to me," Michelle said. "When I met her in September, I knew right away that this was a girl w
ho could go places if only given the proper encouragement. You have an incredible daughter, Evelyn. You and Fred have done an exemplary job in raising her. I want only to be her friend and to help guide her through a difficult year. I remember how tough it can be to be eighteen."
Evelyn started to speak but stopped when Tina woke up. The toddler yawned, looked at her grandmother, turned away, and extended an arm toward Michelle. Evelyn laughed as she tried to keep the girl from spilling out of her arms.
"It seems that you have won over my granddaughter as well. Would you like to hold her?"
"I'd love to," Michelle said.
The time traveler took the sleepy child from Evelyn and held her high with outstretched arms before bringing her to her chest. The last time Michelle had seen Tina Preston she had been a multimillionaire's wife and Tina had been a cap-and-gown-wearing graduate of Arizona State University. She cherished the moment, a moment she had never had as a mother.
"Do you have any children?" Evelyn asked.
"No. Scott and I were unable to have any."
Michelle kissed her niece's head as the child nestled into her shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I long ago accepted that my role in this world was not to be a mother but rather to be a loving aunt and a mentor to promising young people like your daughter. I would love nothing more than to be an important part of her life."
Michelle watched Evelyn Preston digest the comment. She knew that it must have been excruciatingly painful for her to concede that a stranger had a greater role in the life of her daughter than she did. She knew that Evelyn was a proud woman. But she also knew that her mother was not one to let her ego get in the way of the welfare of her children.
"Very well," Evelyn said. "If that's what you want, I won't stand in your way. Shelly thinks the world of you. So do my husband and half the students at the high school."
Evelyn turned away as moisture formed in the corners of her eyes. She walked to a window and stared blankly at the street beyond. A light wind pushed snowflakes against the glass.
"You have a gift, Michelle, one that I do not have, one that I have rarely seen," she said. Evelyn turned to face her guest. "Use it."
CHAPTER 28: MICHELLE
Wednesday, December 12, 1979
Marsha Zimmerman had her talents. She could type eighty words per minute, multitask like no one on the planet, and bake heavenly peach pies. She could also play an organ at church for more than an hour without missing a key and give Tony-worthy performances on the community stage. But even with five years of practice and ample encouragement, she could not roll a bowling ball in a straight line.
Michelle frowned as she watched her colleague throw her ninth gutter ball in nine frames.
"It has to be the surface, Marsha," she said. "I swear to God I saw one of the staff oiling the lanes before we started. He might as well have covered the wood with soap."
Marsha fired flaming arrows at her teammate with her beady brown eyes.
"You're being kind."
Michelle laughed as she watched Marsha return to her seat and waited for her own ball to pop out of a chute and settle onto a U-shaped rack. She wasn't much better, but she didn't care. She looked at bowling as a release and not as a competition. It was a carefree approach that had paid dividends. In twelve weeks Michelle had markedly improved her average and helped the Schoolmarms escape last place in the Wednesday women's league at Holiday Lanes. She rolled two strikes to finish the evening with a score of 145.
"You're getting better," Marsha said. "That's more than I can say. I think I need a break from this."
"Maybe Christmas vacation will do us good," Michelle said, wondering for the third time that week where she would spend the holidays. "Do you mind if I grab something to drink before we head home? I'm getting thirsty."
"Take your time," Marsha said. "I'm going to sit and sulk for a while."
"OK. I'll see you in a few minutes."
Michelle put her scuffed black ball away and walked up to the counter, where she gave her bowling shoes to an attendant, ordered a small root beer, and walked toward six polyethylene tables that overlooked twenty-four lanes. Brian Johnson, nursing a soft drink, sat at one.
"Hi, Brian," Michelle said as she drew close. "Do you mind if I join you?"
He half-heartedly threw out a hand.
"Have a seat."
Michelle put her drink atop the table and surveyed the premises before sitting down. She saw customers in constant motion. Departing bowlers left the pits for the parking lot. Others walked from the lobby to the lanes. Many of the rest explored the arcade, darting from pinball machines and foosball tables to video games like Asteroids, Space Invaders, and Night Driver.
"This is a busy place. Are you just hanging out?"
"No. I'm working tonight. I'm taking a break now."
"Doesn't Shelly usually work here on Wednesdays?"
"She does. But we traded shifts," Brian said. "She said she needed some time to herself."
"Is everything OK? I haven't seen her in a few days."
"She's fine, I guess."
Michelle tilted her head and looked at Brian closely. He wore a pair of Levis and a yellow "Here Comes the Sun" T-shirt. But his disposition seemed anything but sunny. He conspicuously avoided her eyes and looked instead at the recently cleaned carpet to his side.
"I'm not sure I follow."
"She's out with Scott. They're having problems again and she wanted the night off to work on their relationship. It's a daily thing with those two."
Michelle zeroed in on the melancholy man in front of her. In all the years she had known Brian Johnson, she had never seen him this unhappy.
"You like Shelly, don't you?"
Brian lifted his eyes from the floor to the lady sharing his table and looked at her like she had just asked the stupidest question in the world. He took a pull on the clear plastic straw that protruded from his paper cup and smiled sadly at his inquisitive acquaintance.
"I do. I always have. But it doesn't matter. She's way out of my league, and we're already friends. Once you're friends you're always friends. That's all we'll ever be."
Just when Michelle thought her heart couldn't ache for yet another person, it did. She had known Brian since infancy and grown up with him – at school, at church, and even at work. But she had always known him as a friend, the boy next door, the de facto brother who took the place of Freddie and Eddie when they flew the coop. She had never thought of him as anything else. The notion that he thought of her as more than a friend was unsettling and heartbreaking.
"Have you told her how you feel?"
"No."
"You should. It couldn't hurt."
"Yeah, it could. We're still good friends and I don't want to ruin that. I just think she deserves better than Scott. He treats her like garbage half the time."
Michelle winced at the observation. Brian, it seemed, had a better fix on Shelly's social life than she had had at age eighteen. She was reminded again of how blind love could be, or at least what passed for love in high school. She wondered how she could have missed so many signs coming from several directions as she navigated her way through her senior year.
"Are there any other girls you like?"
"I like a few, but they're all out of my league too."
"I think you're selling yourself short, Brian. There are probably a lot of girls who would go out with you if you just gave them the chance."
"That hasn't been my experience, Miss Jennings, but thanks for the vote of confidence."
Michelle smiled as she looked at her past and present friend and pondered the cold realities of teenage society. Girls may have openly lamented the lack of good guys to date, but it was the bad boys they sought. Even nice-looking nerds like Brian Johnson had as much a chance with homecoming queens and cheerleaders as did the dopers and slackers. It wasn't fair, but it's the way high school worked.
"What about April? I heard that you two had a
pretty good time at Sadie Hawkins. Have you thought about asking her out?"
Brian laughed.
"Are you a matchmaker now?"
"It's one of my many talents!"
Brian smiled.
"I like April too, but it's different with her. She's like a crazy sister who keeps me in line. We've been friends for a long time and I want to keep it that way."
"But you want more with Shelly."
"That's one way of putting it."
"I'm not sure I understand."
Brian frowned and sighed. He glanced again at the freshly washed rug. When he finally returned to Michelle, he looked defeated and lost.
"The problem's real simple, Miss Jennings," he said. "I don't just like Shelly, I love her."
CHAPTER 29: SHELLY
Friday, December 21, 1979
The Benson apartment complex had two distinguishing characteristics. The first was its color. Bright red paint better suited for fingernails covered the lion's share of its twenty units. The second was its asymmetrical shape. The east wing had two stories, the west just one.
Shelly Preston thought of these peculiarities as she left a two-bedroom apartment and walked across a small parking lot to a single-story studio. The residences, like their occupants, were as different as night and day. They were different on the outside and different on the inside. But both had value and each was connected, the former by a stretch of pavement and the latter by a young woman who knew and appreciated the value of friendship.
Shelly thought of friendship as she shook the snow off of her boots and knocked on the door of Apartment A-6. Five inches of powder had fallen since school had closed at noon and more was on the way. She started to flip up the collar of a new ski jacket as a defense against a biting wind when the occupant of the unit opened the door.
"Shelly, what a surprise. Please come in," Michelle said.
Michelle took Shelly's coat and led her to a square table in what amounted to a dining room in the tiny abode. The incapacitating smell of oatmeal cookies filled the room.
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