by Reid, Don
“Well, Mamma, yes, I’m missing classes. And you might as well know now I’m not planning on going back either.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m not planning on going back.”
“You’re not planning on going back … you’re not planning on going back. And just when did this major decision become yours to make, young lady?”
“I don’t know. College is not like I thought it would be, and I don’t want to be there. I’ll go back for the second semester the first of the year, but I need a break.”
“A break! A break from what?”
“From school. I’ve been going to school for fourteen years. First preschool. Then kindergarten. Then first grade and middle school and high school, and I just need some time to myself before I take on college. Is that such a sin?”
“And what makes you so special?” her mother asked. “Isn’t this what everybody does? They go to college. That’s what they do. Didn’t I do this and your father do this? Doesn’t everyone you know do this? Are any of your other friends taking a ‘break’?”
“I’m not everybody else.” Angela looked at her father, who was still standing at the counter with the mayonnaise jar in his hand. “Make her understand, Daddy.”
“Yeah, make me understand, Daddy,” her mother said with fire in her voice and eyes.
“All right, girls. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but let’s not lose it.” J. D. said this to neither one in particular but turned his attention then to Angela. “You told me yesterday you wanted to stay at school. I was willing to let you come home for the weekend, but you said you wanted to stay at school. Is this about the girl getting attacked on campus?”
“No.”
“Is it because you just don’t like the school?”
“No.”
“Then give me something here, Angela. There’s got to be some reason why you’re sitting here in our kitchen in the middle of the week only three weeks into the first semester. Are you scared?”
“Don’t help her out, J. D. She’ll come up with enough reasons on her own. Don’t offer any.”
J. D. turned his frustrations on his wife. “I wasn’t offering anything. I’m just trying to find out what’s going on.”
An awkward silence fell over the room, and for a few moments no one said anything. J. D. and Karlie exchanged eye contact with very little message in it while Angela stared at the tiles on the floor as if counting the blocks in her mind. She was the first to speak.
“I haven’t made any friends.”
“What about Jenna, the girl who brought you home? Isn’t she a new friend?” Karlie asked.
“I paid her ten dollars to give me a ride. She doesn’t even know my last name.”
There was another silence while J. D. and Karlie absorbed this and Angela found her voice again.
“It’s not at all the way I always thought it would be. The way the brochures and the teachers and the guidance counselors said it would be. Everybody painted this bright and pretty picture and said how wonderful it was going to be to have new friends and roommates and how there would be parties, special events, and concerts and all that stuff. Well, I haven’t seen any of that. And it’s not the work. I don’t mind the classes. I don’t like them, but I don’t mind them. And I never wanted to admit this, but I miss being at home. I miss my room. I miss Amy and Megan and Laura May. I miss Tommy, too. But not all that much. And I miss the both of you. I’m nineteen years old, but down there I feel like I’m thirteen. Remember the first night when you all left? It was a Sunday, and we had just unloaded all my stuff, and I stood on the parking lot and waved as you were pulling out. Well, I left there and went straight to my room. None of my suitemates were there, so I walked over to the cafeteria to get something to eat, and the place was almost empty. Seven o’clock on a Sunday night, and the ones who were there were paired off and laughing and having a good time—and then I spotted this one girl sitting by herself, reading a book. I went over and said, “Is it okay if I sit down here?” And she just kinda looked at me and said, ‘Yeah.’ So I did and tried to talk to her, and she was friendly enough, I guess. And then here comes this boy, and when she sees him she gets her book and stands up and says to me, ‘See you later.’ And as they were walking off she was telling him something, and they both laughed real big like I was some sort of goofus. I never felt more alone in my life. I wanted to call you right then and tell you to come back and get me.”
Karlie started to say something, but J. D. held up his hand to stop her, and Angela continued staring at the floor tiles.
“I tried for the next couple of weeks, but it just didn’t happen for me,” Angela continued. “I saw other girls making friends, but it was like there was something about them that I just didn’t want to be around. I called Megan and Amy a lot, but then they got to where they seemed busy and had to go every time I called. And then that thing Sunday night in front of the library. The girl got away, but they say she was beat up pretty bad. And I made up the thing about the mixer this weekend. There’s going to be one, but I never planned to go.”
“So what do you plan to do, honey?” Karlie asked with equal amounts of sternness and love in her voice.
“I want to stay here till next semester. Get a job. Maybe I could work in one of the restaurants the way I did in high school. Just let me have some time, and I’ll work it out. Maybe even another school.”
“What about the tuition we’ve already paid?”
“Oh, I knew money would enter into it somehow.”
“Angela, be reasonable. You make a good argument, but your mother makes a good point.”
“You both care more about the money than you do about me.”
“Angela,” Karlie scolded, “that’s not true, and it’s not fair to say that.”
Angela grabbed her purse and slung it over her arm and headed for the door. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll go see Grandma. She’ll understand. She cares how I feel.”
As she stormed toward the door, Karlie warned, “Angela, don’t you bother your grandmother with all this. And don’t you ask her for any money.”
But the door slammed before her last sentence ever reached Angela’s ears.
“Let her go. She’ll cool down and Mom will be glad to see her, and we’ll all sleep on it and work it out tomorrow.” J. D. and Karlie both knew he was soft where his daughter was concerned and often gave in too soon and too often. But such are fathers and daughters. Karlie stood in the middle of her kitchen with her palms on her cheeks in exasperation. She sighed heavily and then turned and went up the steps toward the bedroom. J. D. threw what was still a half-made sandwich into the trashcan under the sink and walked across to the phone.
Pushing all the events of the day out of his mind momentarily, he clicked the button to retrieve the message indicated by the red light. “Mr. Wickman, this is Lavern Justice. Let’s have coffee at your west-end restaurant real soon. I look forward to hearing from you.”
Chapter Twelve
Angela didn’t mind the atmosphere of Maple Manor as much as others her age did. She never dreaded visiting her grandmother the way her parents thought she would. Truth be known, she minded it a lot less than her dad did. She found a certain sense of comfort in the safety it provided and the available medical attention her grandmother never had when she was living in that big, old house of hers all alone. Going through the glass front doors and seeing the residents roaming the lobby in various stages of health was never a deterrent for her coming to see Grandma. The thought crossed her mind that maybe she should consider the nursing field. And maybe she would. There was time for that, too.
Angela walked through the lobby and twenty feet down the hall to the right and pushed the button for the smallest elevator she had ever been on. When the doors opened, she hoped it would empty all riders and that no one else would gather behind her while she waited for its descent. More than two on this shaky ride was a crowd. The doors parted almost immediately, and t
he car was mercifully empty. She stepped in and pushed the button marked “2,” and after what seemed like at least a minute, the doors opened again and she was on her grandmother’s floor. The second door on her right was marked “Beatrice M. Wickman.” It was open, and the sounds of General Hospital were drifting into the hallway. As Angela entered the room, her grandmother reached for the remote control, switched off the set, reached out her arms, and said, “Baby.”
After they hugged and cried a little, Angela sat on the side of her bed, held her hand, and said, “Well, aren’t you going to ask me?”
“Ask you what, sweetheart? Why you cut your hair? I figured you just got tired of those pesky little bangs and just chopped ’em off!”
“No, Grandma,” Angela said, nearly laughing. “Not my bangs. Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing home?”
“But you’re not at home. You’re here visiting me. But if you want, I’ll ask. What are you doing home, Angela?”
After nineteen years Angela still couldn’t tell when Miss Beatrice, as she affectionately referred to her to other members of the family, was putting her on. She couldn’t tell if her grandmother knew exactly what she was talking about and playing dumb, or if she just always saw the simple side of everything—or if she was still talking down to her as she did when she was a little girl. And Angela wasn’t sure her dad knew either. Everyone, her aunts and cousins and her dad included, would just shake their heads at Beatrice’s slightly askew take on life and say, “That’s your grandma.”
“I’ve quit school.”
“Really?” Her grandmother looked genuinely puzzled and then added, “To do what?”
“What?” Now it was Angela’s turn to be puzzled.
“You’ve quit school to do what? You must have had a plan.”
“Yeah. I guess.” Angela should have known better. She was expecting her to ask why she had quit school. But, “That’s your grandma.”
“I just want to get a job. Maybe work in one of the restaurants and then go back to school next semester. I’m just not ready to be in school again. I’ve been there all my life.” She squeezed Beatrice’s hand and looked her directly in the eye. “Are you going to tell me how silly I am too?”
“Is that what your father and mother told you?”
“In so many words, yes. They got pretty hot. Mamma more so than Dad, but both of them were pretty upset.”
“They wanted a reason, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, they did. And that’s the hardest part. It’s hard to explain. It’s like … did you ever ride a bicycle, Grandma?”
“Yes, dearie. Believe it or not, they had bicycles back in the ice age when I was growing up.”
“Then you know that feeling the first time you take off the training wheels? You’re not scared. You’re not frightened. Not really, anyway. But you’ve got this uneasy feeling in your stomach because you know you’re going to eventually fall, and it’s going to hurt. And you’re just real shaky. It’s that feeling in your stomach. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes, I think I do. It’s like walking into a room of people who all have been there and socializing before you. For a moment or two you’re an outsider. It’s like the first time you pray out loud in public. Or like what I felt that first night here at the Manor.”
“You get it, Grandma. You always get it. That’s what I’m feeling, and in three weeks it hasn’t gone away and I don’t think it is going to, because I just don’t think the timing is right. I need the next couple of months to clear my head and get my mind ready. All I’m asking for is to just put it off till January.”
“And your father and your mother are concerned about the money already spent that’s not recoupable.” This was more of a statement than a question, as if she already knew it to be true.
“You’re exactly right! The money. That’s what’s bothering them.” Angela’s confidence was growing as she felt the family matriarch’s support. But her grandmother’s next response surprised her.
“And shouldn’t it?”
“Huh?”
“Shouldn’t it, sweetheart? It’s not the first thing that’s bothering them, I’m sure, but do you have any idea how much they have laid out for your first semester that they may never get back?”
“I have some idea.”
“Do you really?”
“No. Not really.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Angela’s eyes scanned nervously around the room while Beatrice watched her. After a moment or two, her grandmother spoke again. “Your parents were here yesterday morning. You dad is terribly worried about something.”
“About what?”
“I’m not sure. But he has something weighing on his mind. I can always tell with him. When he’s worried, his eyes droop. Whenever he gets tired or concerned, you can see it in his eyes. Have you ever noticed that?”
“I don’t think so,” Angela admitted.
“It’s probably just a mother’s instinct. ‘Just a mother thing.’ Isn’t that what you all say?”
“Do you think he’s sick?” Now her grandmother had her worried.
“No, he’s not sick. Maybe heartsick in some way. Certainly worried and fretting over something. I’m not sure what, but I am sure it’s something. I wish so often your daddy was a little more spiritual.”
There was a pang in Angela’s stomach that almost made her retch. What if it was she who was causing him to worry so much? Was she being selfish in not having thought about how this might bear on his mind? Just the thought that her actions might cause her father distress was more than she could bear. Was her grandmother seeing something she herself should have seen? Beatrice’s voice brought her out of her reverie and back to Maple Manor.
“Don’t be too hard on them, sweetie, until you’ve got all the facts. And while we’re talking about all the facts, there are other things you don’t know. Do you know that your father came home on his first Thanksgiving break from college and announced the very same thing to his father and me that you announced to him today?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Said he wanted to quit school and start all over the next year. He wasn’t even considering the next semester. He wanted to quit until the next September.”
“Why?” Angela was suddenly intrigued with this piece of family history she had never heard before.
“I’m not sure you’re ready to hear why.”
“Come on, Grandma. Quit teasing. Either tell me or not. And I prefer that you tell me because this is all news to me.”
“Your daddy wanted to quit school and come home for a year so that.… No. I think I’d better not.”
“Grandma, quit playing games. Please. Tell me.”
“If I tell you, will you promise …?”
“Not to tell anyone?” Angela interrupted. “I promise not to tell a soul.”
“No, that’s not what I was going to say. If I tell you, will you promise to let those bangs grow out when you go back to school next week?”
Angela looked at her sweet face for a long moment before she realized how she was being manipulated. But how can you lie to a grandma this cute?
“I’ll consider it,” she promised. “Now tell me, please.”
“Your father came home that first Thanksgiving and announced to the entire household, your aunts included, that he was not going back. When we pressed him for an answer, he fessed up pretty quickly with the truth. Your mother was, at the time, a senior in high school, and he was in love with her and wanted to wait on her so they could start college together.”
“I never knew that. Why hasn’t someone told me that story before? What happened? Did you make him go back, or did he quit?”
“That’s not the point, honey. You want to know how it turned out so you can use the answer to your advantage. I’m telling you about this so that you will realize that someone, your father in particular, is aware of what you’re feeling. Oh, you may not be in love with some young man you want
to wait on, but your father understands that queasy feeling in your stomach. He had it too. So did I. Mine went away in a few days, and I stayed and endured it. So did your grandfather and your aunt Alice and your aunt Becky. Your daddy knows what you’re feeling. We all do. Now, what you’re going to do about it shouldn’t be based on what he did about it. If I told you he waited, that doesn’t mean you should do the same, and if I told you he went back to school after Thanksgiving, that doesn’t mean you have to. All it says is that you’re not the first to want to quit. You live with that much for a day or two, and then let’s talk again.”
The room was warm and cozy with the afternoon sun streaming in through the curtained window by the rolltop desk she used to color on in her grandfather’s study. She was four or five in her earliest memory of her grandmother standing behind her and teaching her how to stay inside the lines with her crayons. There was a soft, familiar smell in the air—the signature sachet that Miss Beatrice still used. The hand Angela was holding was holding hers even tighter now.
Their eyes met and held for more than a second, and Beatrice Wickman looked lovingly at her granddaughter and said, “Do you ever watch any of the soaps in the afternoon at college?”
Angela had to laugh. “Yeah, actually I do. Just about every afternoon between classes.”
“Let’s watch one together,” Grandma said. “We haven’t done that for years.”
“Do we wait dinner on her?”
“Not necessarily. She’s with your mother. That’ll be good for her. I say we let things be until tomorrow. Don’t push it. She’ll be home after while.”
“I could call her on her cell.”
“J. D., I just said I think we should let things take their course.”
“Okay. You’re probably right. It’s nearly four thirty. I think I’ll go back to the restaurant and see what the temperature is like there, and then I’ll lock up tonight. Don’t look for me till late.”