“Sir—”
“Why can’t you do things like Shelly?” He stood staring down at me smugly, as though he were the sheriff and I merely a lowly prisoner about to receive an indictment.
“I’m not Shelly.”
“No, you certainly are not. THAT is apparent.” He stalked out of my line of sight, knocking a stack of papers off my desk as he strode away. I felt tears spring to my eyes, which only served to make me angrier. The last thing I wanted to do was appear weak.
“I’m sorry,” I heard a voice behind me whisper. I turned to see petite platinum-blonde Shelly, face white and eyes large.
“It’s not your fault,” I managed to murmur, probably not sounding very reassuring.
“Yes, it is. I wrote the message.”
Ugh, my face is getting hot just thinking about it! Katie is definitely right. Kyle is better than you know who.
“So, how do you think ‘you know who’ is doing in his new job, anyway?” I ask.
Katie shakes her finger at me. “Uh-uh-uh, he of whom we no longer speak. We made a pact, remember?”
“You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I hear Katie giggle faintly as I turn back to my graphs. I’ve been doing these things so long now that I don’t really have to think that much, which seems like a good thing, since I have so many other subjects to occupy my mind. In fact, I should start compiling a list right now, to be sure I don’t miss anything.
1. Choose special outfit for second date with Benjamin.First impressions are really important, but second impressions are what really hooks a man. This is my theory, anyway, and lately I’ve been attempting to put it into practice.
2. Buy book by Camdyn Taylor.
3. Actually read a book.Benji might ~ shudder ~ ask me a question about Martha Washington. Terrifying.
4. Employ use of the nickname Benji.I kind of think it’s sweet. Mental note—feel it out to see if he likes it.
Why isn’t this graph working? My numbers must be off. “Katie, what do you have for the monthly projections?”
She’s rustling through the papers on her desk.
Benjamin Westlake.
Benji Westlake.
Madeline Westlake.
“You want to tell me something?” Katie’s giving me a stern look. Her numbers must be off, too. Maybe her projections are missing. Well, she must have misplaced them, because I distinctly remember giving them to her early last week. When I handed them to her, she told me that she liked my nail polish, which was funny because I had just been thinking that the color was all wrong for me.
“You don’t have the numbers?” I ask. She stares at me blankly, and then begins tapping her finger on my desk. “It’s okay, I’ll just get them from Kyle.” She doesn’t say a word, just keeps tapping. Tap, tap, tap. I look down at her finger. Did she get a manicure that I didn’t notice? Maybe she got a new ring? Why else would she possibly want me to sit here staring at her finger tapping on my list of things to…
Oh, heavens.
“Benji?” Katie questions.
“Don’t tell anybody. I’m just trying it out.”
She winks and stops tapping. “Of course not. Number one—the green dress with the drape sleeves. That looks great on you.”
“Thanks.” That dress does look great on me. Number one accomplished.
Katie hands me the projections and heads back to her chair. I transposed one of my numbers, so I make that quick change and the graphs are done well before the 1:00 deadline.
You’re welcome, Kyle.
Settling down at the dinner table later that evening, I help myself to a sleeve of buttery crackers and a scoop of peanut butter. If I’m going to impress Benji, I probably shouldn’t eat like this, but I haven’t exactly decided that he’s worth impressing yet. Just because I can’t find something wrong with him doesn’t mean there isn’t something wrong with him, after all.
The urge to talk to Josh is killing me, but I fight it by dialing the number for my parents’ house. I almost hit the end button as soon as I hear the first ring, but the other side picks up rather quickly.
“Hello?” There’s a weird rumbling noise in the background that I can’t place.
“Hi, Dad. I can barely hear you.”
“Sorry, the lawnmower’s running and I just came in to get a drink. Talk to your mother.” I hear the screen door slam, and the noise begins to fade.
“Hello? Mom, are you there?”
“Hello? Oh, Madeline, I’m so glad you called. You will not believe who just called me.” Pause. “Oh, come on, you’re not even going to guess? It was Brittany. Lance would have called me himself, but he’s on a business trip, tying up some loose ends on some deal he’s working on.”
Lance is my brother, and Brittany is my sister-in-law.
“Brittany kept trying to tell me something, but Marilyn was in the background saying, ‘Let me talk to Grandma. Come on, let me tell her. Let me!’”
“Uh huh…” Come on, Mom, get to the point.
“Well, finally Brittany handed the phone over, and Marilyn says, ‘Grandma, we’re coming to live where you are!’ When Brittany finally came back on she said it was true. They’re moving back home. They’ve got a house not five minutes from ours. We’ll be able to see them every day! Won’t that be terrific?!”
“Yeah, terrific.” Like that moment when the creepy music begins in a horror movie.
“It will be so great to have them here when the baby comes. I told her it’s about time we have another baby in the family! And they’ll be living so close, I’ll be able to see this one all the time. Brittany and Lance always have the prettiest babies! I’m so proud!”
Oomph—Mom always has a way of sucking all the air out of me like a deflating balloon.
“I tried to get your dad’s attention, but you know how he is about that lawnmower. He’s been tinkering with that thing all afternoon, and now that he’s finally got it running, he won’t let anything deter him. Oh, I wonder what he’ll think about all this! Can you believe it’s been six years since they moved away? I didn’t think they would ever come back, but now they are, and it’s going to be so wonderful.”
“When are they moving?” I ask, even though I’m not interested. Not in the least.
“Should be about a month from now. They sold their house, so all they have to do is pack up. I told Brittany I don’t want her lifting anything in her condition. Wouldn’t want anything to harm that precious little one. I am just so excited! But now what did you call about, dear? Did you need something?”
Yes, actually. An interesting life that doesn’t pale in comparison to Brittany’s.
“No, I was just calling to say hi. I’m expecting my boyfriend to call any minute, so I better go.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Mom asks skeptically. “What’s his name?”
“Benji Westlake.”
“Benji?” she wonders with an audible gasp. “Like a dog? Oh, Brittany’s going to love this. I’m going to call her and tell her right now. Do take care, honey, and don’t go so long between calls next time.”
Click.
Mom?
I can’t believe Brittany, always stealing my thunder. Well, my mild rumblings, anyway. I don’t usually have much thunder to steal.
She actually got appendicitis during Jess and Levi’s wedding. Right in the middle of the lovely ceremony, where I was standing confidently next to Jess in my pale yellow dress, the preacher asked for the rings, and this strange whimpering noise started coming from a few rows back. Who let a dog in the church? I thought, only it wasn’t a dog. When I turned around, Brittany was on the floor in the aisle clutching her stomach. Who can concentrate on the blushing bride, much less on the beautiful maid of honor, when there’s a scene like that? If she had any courtesy, she would have at least gone to the foyer.
Oh, and there was also my college graduation. I looked so distinguished in my gown, sitting in the midst of a sea of flattened caps. The keynote speaker was saying s
omething about changing the world for the better, and I knew that I would. I was thinking about all the important things I wanted to do with my life when I heard a commotion start in the stands behind me. I casually turned my head to see what was happening, and immediately wished I hadn’t.
“Madeline!” my mother yelled. “Brittany’s water broke. She’s having the baby! We’re going to the hospital.”
My true importance was ultimately revealed in that instant. The notable, stately college graduate, upstaged by amniotic fluid and a slightly inappropriate mother. The worst part was that they hadn’t announced our names yet. When they came to me, I heard a rumble of snickers throughout the stands. That must be the girl, they were thinking, laughing as they whispered about my inevitable embarrassment.
And I can’t forget the time she stole my Mother’s Day gift idea. She and Lance hadn’t been married very long; in fact, I was still in high school. She happened upon me as I was putting the finishing touches on my gift—an old photo of Lance and me sitting in the garden. Not having much money, I used a simple wooden frame and painted our names on the sides. She looked at the picture thoughtfully and told me she was still trying to choose the perfect gift.
Imagine my surprise when I woke up on Mother’s Day to find Mom in the kitchen hanging up a copy of the garden picture that was twice as big as mine and in a classy silver frame. Brittany and Lance were sitting at the table, laughing and drinking orange juice. Mom glanced over at me, standing stupidly in the doorway holding my painted wooden frame.
“Oh, how funny!” she exclaimed. “Madeline gave me the very same picture!”
Brittany only sat smugly at the table, staring at me.
“That is funny,” Lance agreed. “Great minds think alike, huh Maddie?”
No, Lance. Great minds have great ideas, and lesser minds steal them.
“I wish we would have known,” Brittany cooed. “We would have let you go in on our gift.”
I fought back the urge to lunge at her and pull her hair out by the roots.
“I’m surprised you didn’t know, since you watched me make the gift.”
“Oh, is that what you were doing?” she asked, never skipping a beat. “I was wondering about those finger paints. I thought you were working on a school project.”
Mom and Lance chortled, and I stood like a statue in the doorway, silently smoldering.
“I’m going for a walk,” I announce to no one in my quaint little house on Wonder Lane.
Correction—Josh’s quaint little house.
Managing to get as far as the front step, I lower myself to the concrete and stare at Mrs. Willows across the street watering her flowers. She’s a woman on her own, just like me. It occurs to me that I should probably know more about her, but I’ve never bothered to ask. Was Mrs. Willows once a career girl who had been passed over time and again for promotions? Did she go on countless dates with men who didn’t quite measure up to her expectations? Did her family run roughshod over her like she was a doormat?
Will I be in a house alone later in life, watering my flowers while another young woman sits across from me feeling sorry for me?
Shaking myself out of my stupor, I rise and walk undeterred, like a woman on a mission. It has been a long six years, but Brittany is not going to get the better of me. I am going to have my time in the sun, and she can sit in the shadows and sulk. I will persevere. I am determined to take back my thunder.
Or at least make a little.
Chapter Three
I’ve always thought First Avenue Community Church looked like a page out of history, an old-fashioned little country church somehow misplaced on a city street. In fact, I’ve often imagined the first parishioners sitting calmly in their pews as the whole building was caught up in a tornado, like in The Wizard of Oz, swirling around and around in the air until they were suddenly planted where the church currently rested. They would walk out, survey their surroundings, and someone would inevitably say, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”
I never can fully remove the flying cow from my vision, though, which totally ruins the whole picture. And then there’s the creepy green lady flying past the window… Well, you get the point.
It’s difficult to imagine anything today, however, except a path to the door through the rain coming down in sheets. While I’m debating how to get out of my car and throw open the umbrella in one swift movement, I see someone with their own umbrella quickly approaching.
“You shouldn’t be out in the rain,” I chide as Hazel Mason holds the umbrella above my car door. She simply smiles. “You look nice today.”
“Oh, shush. I look like an old lady next to you.” She puts her arm around me and pulls me close.
Since we have been best friends so long, Jessica’s parents have taken me under their wings. I got in the habit of going to church with them, and now it’s our Sunday morning ritual.
Hazel pauses under the awning to shake the excess water from her umbrella. “Mercy, can you believe this rain? God knows we need it, but it doesn’t seem necessary for it to come down with such force!”
“Hi-ya, kiddo,” I hear as I receive a pat on the back. I’ve been around long enough that I’m actually beginning to understand Jessica’s father, Tucker. He’s a man of few words, but he winks at me before he heads to his seat.
Isn’t it funny the way people always seem to sit in the same seats, week after week after week? The first time I came to church with Jess, I started to sit down in the third pew on the right and she said, “No, that’s where the Andersons sit.” I thought, wow, the Andersons must be really important. Turns out they’re just your average, ordinary family. The Masons know where the Andersons sit, and the Andersons know where the Carters sit, and the Carters know where the Plineys sit. It’s not assigned seats, just assumed seats.
We’re in the fifth pew on the left, right behind Lily Jacobs and in front of the Gardwins with their three kids. The Gardwins happen to be neighbors to my own parents. One of those Gardwins “accidentally” pulls my hair all the time, but I just sit there and let it happen. It’s hard to talk about such things in church, after all.
Tucker and Hazel slide into the pew next to me, and the music starts, so it saves me from having to talk about Josh. He still hasn’t spoken to me, and I don’t want to have to explain that to his parents.
Ouch, there goes the hair pulling. It’s starting really early today. I should remember to wear my hair up next time so the culprit won’t have any ammunition. Never mind, though—I am an adult, and such petty childish things don’t bother me.
The congregation launches into a second verse, and behind me I hear Jenny Gardwin singing sweetly. She’s probably ten years old, with blue eyes and long blonde hair. Someday maybe I’ll have a little girl like her. Except I doubt Benji would have a blonde child, so…
Ouch! Again with the hair! Gardwins, are you people not watching your kids at all? I’m really suffering here! How can I concentrate on praising and all that when I’m being attacked from the rear?
I hear Lily Jacobs in front of me warbling along with the music. Lily never reads the words. She doesn’t have to, because she knows every song by heart. She used to come to church with her husband, but since he passed away, she sits by herself.
Ouch! Okay, that was the last time, whichever one of you is pulling my hair…
I turn around and see Billy Gardwin directly behind me.
“What?” he mouths, a smirk on his face. I give him a look of distaste and turn to face the front again. Too bad there isn’t some type of activity to keep kids like Billy busy during the service – something constructive, and preferably something that doesn’t involve driving me crazy. I’m sure when Josh was a little boy he never pulled anyone’s hair in the pew in front of him. Tucker would have knocked him silly.
I never attended a church service before attending with Jess and Josh. My parents aren’t really the church-going type. Most Sundays, my mom prepares a very late breakfast
and my dad spends most of his time tinkering in his “workshop,” which is actually a small storage shed behind the house. I’m not sure what he does in there, because he never manages to permanently fix anything that is broken, and most of his projects go unfinished. Mom’s not sure what he does, either, because every time she goes near he tells her she’s bothering him.
“There’s no rule that says you have to go to church,” my mom used to say. “Believe in God, and that’s it. It says so in the Bible.” Although we had a Bible in our house, I never actually saw anyone pick it up, so I doubt that she ever attempted to see whether her opinion was correct. The only time I ever saw my family step through the doors of a church building was for my grandfather’s funeral, which I don’t remember very well. I was only six or seven at the time.
The Masons, however, are active members and never miss a service. Tucker acts as the resident handyman, fixing anything that needs repair and taking care of general maintenance on the building, and I’m sure Hazel has made dinner for each family at one time or another. If the least on Earth shall be the greatest in heaven, I’m sure the Masons will wind up on the list. They are humble people, but very revered in this little crowd.
I asked Hazel once why she made a point of getting to know every single member of the congregation. She focused those same gray-green eyes that Josh and Jess possessed on me before answering wisely.
“Even the smallest act of kindness can change a person’s life forever. God can do extraordinary things through ordinary people who are willing to trust Him.”
I hope she’s right, because there’s certainly nothing extraordinary about me. In fact, I…
Ouch! Not the hair again.
This could be a very long service.
Sunday afternoon finds me cross-legged on the couch watching a baseball game with a giant pile of nachos resting before me. Sliding a loaded chip into my mouth, I can’t help but wonder what Benji would think of my snack. It is fairly disgusting, after all. Nothing like tiramisu and frou-frou flavored coffees.
Simply Mad (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 1) Page 2