Girl Meets Class

by Karin Gillespie

Now what? Carl didn’t do Facebook, Twitter, or even Tumblr. He did have an email account, but he and I never emailed each other so I didn’t know his address. Doc surely had it, but it’s not like I was in a position to ask him. Then I remembered I’d recently received a group email from Doc. He was one of those people who was always sending out alarming warnings about computer viruses, phone scams, and other questionable information. Maybe Carl’s email was on that list. Unless, of course, Doc had blind copied everyone.

  I sat on my couch with my laptop and opened Doc’s latest email. It cautioned against street gangs who were depositing a mixture of LSD and strychnine on elevator buttons. Unfortunately, the recipients were not disclosed. I also noticed I’d gotten an email from Harriet Hall High School, which wasn’t unusual. The new secretary periodically sent out school news to everyone on faculty and staff. The subject line read: “Miss Harriet Hall contestants announced.”

  I frowned at the mention of the pageant; it, after all, was the primary cause of Carl’s troubles. I scrolled through the list, not recognizing any of the names, until I got to the last one. Rose Wyld. That didn’t make sense. I knew she didn’t have the grades to be in the pageant, so why was she listed?

  My doorbell rang, and when I peered out the peephole I had to squint to make sure I wasn’t seeing a mirage. Joelle stood behind the door. I hadn’t heard from her since the night of the Spinsters’ Ball, even though she told me she’d call. I guessed Trey had ordered her not to.

  I opened the door and could tell immediately that something was wrong. Her face was the color of eggshells, and she looked frail, as if the mildest of squalls could topple her over.

  “Thanks for letting me in. If I were you, I’d have sicced my Doberman Pinscher on me.”

  “Lucky for you I don’t have a Doberman Pinscher. Just a fake ficus, and it’s pretty tame.”

  I ushered her into my living room. Neither of us spoke as we sat across from each other.

  Joelle, eyes hazy with tears, broke the silence. “You were right. I should have listened to you.”

  She was inviting me to gloat, but I had no desire to do so. I was just relieved she’d come to her senses.

  “It’s over, I take it?”

  Joelle nodded, shaky with tears. She fumbled in her purse for a tissue. “It all started when he refused to go to my family’s for New Year’s Eve.”

  The Posey family New Year’s dinner was an annual holiday tradition, and up until this year, I was always invited. Joelle’s brothers and cousins attended, and the table was covered with every Southern dish imaginable from collards to Johnny cakes to fried catfish. In the corner of the kitchen, a pony keg of PBR was set up, and old-school country music stars like George Jones and Loretta Lynn crooned from a scratchy seventies-era stereo. I looked forward to it every year.

  “Trey’s never liked my family,” Joelle said. “I’d listen to him badmouth them and never said a word in their defense. Talk about being brainwashed.”

  More tears came, and she sniffed into a wad of tissue.

  “He wanted me to go to his parents’ house and have oyster stew and champagne. I probably would have blown off my family, except Jimbo and his wife were bringing their new baby. Well, I just had to see little Calvin.”

  “Of course.” Joelle was mad for children; she’d make a great mother one day.

  “I kept nagging Trey, saying we only had to stay for half an hour or so, and I guess he got tired of me asking, because he hit me.” She gingerly lifted her sweater to reveal a lurid blue bruise on her belly.

  “Oh my God.”

  She shuddered. “That’s not the worst of it. Trey’s used me for a punching bag before. No one knew. He pummeled me in places where the bruises wouldn’t show. Afterwards he’d always apologize and buy me something. You saw all that jewelry I was getting. Well, my hide paid for every damn piece.”

  “I can’t believe this,” I said. But I could. Hadn’t I gotten a taste of Trey’s brutal nature?

  “I kept hoping he’d stop after we were married or when he opened the new business in Atlanta and was feeling less stressed out. That’s why I’ve been dodging you. I knew you’d figure out something was wrong, and I wasn’t ready to let him go.”

  I remembered how stiff she’d been the day of our lunch. That jerk! I could kill him.

  “I didn’t tell anyone what was happening. Most times he’d just knock the wind out of me. Occasionally I’d have to lie down afterwards. Honestly I started getting used to the pain.” Her eyes glazed over; her chin trembled. “But this last time was different. This time was the worst.”

  “Why?” I said, dreading the answer. Had he done some kind of permanent damage?

  “I was pregnant. And I lost the baby.”

  I was so stunned for a moment I couldn’t speak. “Oh, Joelle,” I said finally. “I am so sorry. So very, very sorry.” I hugged her fiercely.

  She was crying. “It’s my fault. I should have left him before it happened, but I didn’t.”

  “It’s okay,” I kept repeating, but I knew it wouldn’t be okay. Not for a long while.

  Joelle spent the night with me in my bed and spoke of the baby she’d lost. She hadn’t known the gender, but she’d felt certain that the child had been a girl.

  “I dreamt about her,” she whispered, hugging a pillow to her chest. “She had long, dark ringlets, and she wanted to be a ballet dancer. Her favorite color was orange.”

  I knew without asking that her name would be Lacey; Joelle had loved that name as long as I could remember.

  “I’d already bought her something,” Joelle said in a faltering voice. “Pink marabou slippers only a little bigger than my thumb, and zebra jammies.”

  Joelle continued with her story. After Trey hit her, she’d had a miscarriage within the hour. As soon as Joelle was able, she’d called the police and he’d been arrested. Unfortunately he was already out on bail.

  “Do you think he’ll try to retaliate in some way?” I said.

  “Not if my brothers have anything to do with it. They had a come-to-Jesus chat with Trey. I don’t think he’ll be bothering me anymore.”

  Joelle’s brothers would beat up anyone who looked at their sister cross-eyed. Trey was lucky he wasn’t at the bottom of the Savannah River, communing with the catfish.

  She kept apologizing for uninviting me to the wedding, for abandoning me at the Spinsters’ Ball, and neglecting to check on me afterward.

  “The only thing I cared about was being Ms. Trey Winston. Can you ever forgive me? I don’t blame you if you can’t.”

  It was easy to forgive her. Not just because I loved her but also because we had so much in common. Up until a few days ago, I, too, had been obsessed with one thing: a five million dollar payday.

  “Of course I forgive you.”

  I proceeded to tell her all of the events that had been going on in my life for the last few weeks, including my aunt’s offer and how I’d been fired and wouldn’t receive my inheritance. We also discussed my upset over Carl’s predicament. There was something else I wanted to tell her—a secret I’d been harboring for a few days—but I decided it could wait for another time.

  The next morning I woke up, feeling the warmth of another body snuggled up to me. For a millisecond I thought Carl was beside me in my bed. Then I heard Joelle’s distinctive snore.

  I left the bed and tiptoed around in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. Joelle came out of the bedroom cursing, which wasn’t a cause for concern. That’s the way she generally woke up, and I took it as a good sign. If she had a few f-words in her, she couldn’t be too bad off. Still, I knew she had plenty of healing time ahead of her.

  For Christmas Aunt Cornelia had given me a book on grief. It first spoke of the various stages a person had to suffer through before they healed from a loss. It was a r
oundabout journey. You might think you’ve conquered denial and graduated to anger, only to find yourself shoved back into shock. It seemed unfair, like a game of Sorry when someone landed on your space and made you start all over again.

  Joelle slumped at the breakfast nook, and I presented her with a copy of the Rose Hill Courier, a cup of black coffee, and a short stack of buttermilk pancakes.

  “I expect you to eat every bite, young lady. You’re a stick.”

  She probed a pancake with her fork. “When did IHOP start delivering?”

  “They don’t. I made those pancakes.”

  “You cooked something? With your own two hands?”

  “You bet.”

  Since I couldn’t afford to eat out all the time and because Carl’s cooking was often suspect, I’d learned how to make a few select dishes. I wouldn’t be tackling paella or whipping up a béchamel sauce anytime soon. But with the help of Bisquick and Aunt Jemima, I could serve up a few flapjacks.

  Joelle ventured a small bite. “Not half bad. Never thought I’d see the day.” She took an even larger bite. “What are you up to today, now that you’re not working?”

  “Something very important.”

  I’d been obsessing over Rose Wyld, wondering how she’d been chosen as a candidate for Miss Harriet Hall. Dr. Lipton had final say on who got into the pageant. In light of Carl’s arrest, it was possible the principal had decided not to count the F grade on Rose’s transcript, but I suspected he may have done something even worse.

  I planned to visit Rose and pressure her to change her mind about Carl. I didn’t know if I could sway her, but I was going to give it my all. Over breakfast, I told Joelle what I intended to do.

  “You shouldn’t go by yourself,” Joelle said. “I’ll come with you.”

  Thirty

  I’d gotten Rose Wyld’s address from the Harriet Hall database. She lived a few blocks away from the school in an elderly bungalow with dingy yellow siding and crooked shutters. Burglar bars striped the front windows and a “Beware of Dog” sign was planted in the tiny yard. Joelle parked across the street, and we approached the house, frozen grass crunching beneath our feet. A cold front had blown into town overnight, and the temperature was only thirty degrees. The sun was out, but it might as well have been Jupiter for all the warmth it gave.

  When I rang the doorbell, a dog let out a couple of deep-throated barks and heavy footsteps approached. The front door flung open and the smell of bacon drifted out. Inside, a scowling woman with several nose piercings loomed. Her teddy-bear patterned medical smock looked at odds with her ominous glare.

  “Who are you?”

  “May I speak with Rose for a moment, please?”

  The scowl got darker. Hands planted on hips wide as a Volkswagen Beetle’s bumper. “What for?”

  “I’m an acquaintance of hers.”

  She gave me and Joelle a onceover. “Rose don’t know any white folk. You people need to leave her be.”

  Sounded as if I wasn’t the first to try and talk Rose out of her accusations. I wondered who else might have been around.

  “Is she inside?” I inched toward the door. “It’ll only take a sec.”

  “Didn’t you hear me?” The woman was so close to me I could smell a cool blast of peppermint on her breath. “She doesn’t want to talk to you or anyone else.”

  “Please. It’s a life-and-death matter.”

  “No.” She shoved me so strenuously I nearly lost my footing. Then she slammed the door.

  Joelle rushed to my side. “You okay?”

  “Fine. Let’s go back to the car.”

  When we reached Joelle’s Toyota Corolla, I said, “Drive up a few yards away and let’s wait a bit.”

  “What for?”

  “That woman was wearing a medical smock. I have a feeling she’s about to leave for work.”

  “Maybe she just got home. Hospital people keep odd hours. We could be sitting here until the streetlights come on.”

  “I don’t think so. She looked too fresh for having just come off a shift. And I smelled toothpaste on her breath.”

  Joelle moved the car, and we waited inside with the heater blasting over our laps. We didn’t talk much. My friend had been quiet most of the morning, and whenever she did speak she was short, which was understandable after all she’d been through. The fogged-up window squeaked as I wrote Carl’s name in the condensation with my finger.

  We spotted Rose’s sister, bundled up in a yellow down jacket that made her look like Big Bird. She lumbered out the door and headed in the direction of the bus stop. When she was out of sight, I got out of the car.

  Joelle cut off the engine. “How are you going to get Rose to answer the door?”

  In the past I might have tried to bribe her by waving a twenty-dollar bill in front of the peephole, saying, “Andrew Jackson would like to have a word with you.” If Andrew didn’t sway her, I’d enlist the help of Benjamin Franklin. That sort of tactic now seemed cheesy and just plain wrong.

  “I’m going to talk to her. I don’t know exactly what I’ll say but—”

  “That’s a terrible plan. Sounds like you haven’t thought it through.”

  “Will you just trust me for once?” I said.

  Joelle looked skeptical, but she didn’t protest.

  When we left the car the street was quiet except for a nearby train clacking across the rails. No one was out and about. It was too damn cold.

  We returned to Rose’s house. I knocked on the door, the wood frigid against my bare knuckles. There was the sound of footsteps, followed by a high, childlike voice: “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “It’ll only take a minute,” I shouted through the door.

  I told her who I was, and why I was there. I asked if we could please talk about the situation for a minute. No pressure, just a little confab.

  I heard the locks turning and gave Joelle a triumphant thumbs-up. I hadn’t expected such an easy victory. The door swung open and a leggy, spotted shorthaired dog bounded out. It knocked me to the ground and pounced on my chest, snarling and spewing doggie breath, hot and rancid, into my face. I fully expected it to rip into my jugular, but at the last moment, its owner yanked the beast away.

  Joelle rushed over to me and knelt beside me. “Are you all right?” She glanced up at Rose as she helped me up off the ground. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Take that beast inside. She’s pregnant, for God’s sake!”

  A shameful look crossed Rose’s face. “I’m really sorry. I only meant for Brutus to scare her.”

  Brutus was still growling and snapping at the air inches away from my leg. Rose guided the dog inside, murmuring softly to it. When she closed the door, claws frantically scratched at the wood, and the creature let out a forlorn howl.

  I shot Joelle an incredulous look. “How did you know?”

  “The half-dozen pregnancy tests in the trash can were my first clue. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure how you’d take it after everything that’s happened.”

  Joelle refused to look at me.

  “You’re upset, aren’t you? I was afraid of that. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s fine. You have to do what’s best for you, but I hope you understand that I refuse to go with you.”

  “Go where?”

  “You know where.” She lowered her voice. “The clinic.”

  “What clinic? Wait. Did you think I was…? Good God, no. I’m keeping the baby.”

  Joelle’s eyes brightened. “You are? I just thought…I mean, you’ve never shown even the tiniest interest in kids, and you and Carl aren’t together anymore, so I figured—”

  It was true I’d briefly considered other options and for all the reasons
Joelle mentioned, but I knew I’d regret it always. It was time for me to take responsibility for my actions.

  “I want this baby. More than anything.”

  Joelle reached out to touch my still-flat belly. “I’ll be damned.”

  “So you’re not upset?”

  “Are you nuts? I’m thrilled. I can’t believe it. I’m going to be a…” Her forehead bunched. “What am I going to be?”

  “A godmother!”

  She squealed and gave me a hug. “When are you going to tell Carl?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I was waffling over whether to tell him or not. He was a man of integrity, and would insist on owning up to his responsibility. Not that he’d marry me, but he’d definitely want to be involved and pay child support. That would mess things up with Deena, and I only wanted Carl to be happy. Having a baby with a woman he didn’t love would make him miserable, and I’d already made him miserable enough.

  “One baby lost but another baby found,” Joelle said, thoughtfully. “Sounds weird but it’s almost like the universe is correcting itself…And, of course, you’re going to need my help every step of the way.”

  The front door opened, and Rose came out carrying a mug, which was a shock. I assumed she was done with us.

  “I brought you some herbal tea. My sister drinks it when she’s feeling poorly. I hope the baby’s okay.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the warm mug.

  “Who’s the daddy?” she asked. Rose’s voluptuous body was squeezed into a tight acrylic sweater and jeans. The combination of her womanly curves and her world-weary eyes made her look years older than sixteen. The only thing that gave her youth away was a soft pad of puppy fat clinging to her chin.

  “Carl. I mean, Mr. Rutherford, but that’s our secret.” It was safe telling Rose. I couldn’t imagine she’d be having any further conversations with Carl.

  She pushed up the sleeve of her sweater and scratched a dry patch on her elbow. “That’s too bad.”