by EJ Valson
I smiled thinking of Mary. Among her many great qualities was her willingness to watch her granddaughter at the drop of a hat. She never seemed too busy to baby-sit when we used to come into town for visits, and she often let John and I slip away for coffee or just a walk. I loved that about her, and I was looking forward to many more Mommy and Daddy-only outings in the future. Maybe moving back here would prove to be better than I thought.
I sipped my glass of uber-fruity wine, and peeked across the room again. At that moment, I noticed the youngest of Elizabeth’s boys telling an elaborate story using both hands. His arms were flailing wildly as he gestured this way and that with wide eyes and an animated manner. In the process, his left elbow caught one of the many empty wine glasses at the table and sent it reeling toward the floor.
Elizabeth, still taking in his intense tale, caught the incident out of the corner of her eye. With no effort at all, her arm shot to her right and caught the glass. It was so fast, I wasn’t entirely sure it had happened at all. She had leaned ever so slightly to her right, stretched out her arm gracefully, and caught the tumbling glassware just before it hit the floor – returning it delicately to the table. All this happened before the boy had even blinked.
Before I had blinked, for that matter.
I was sure that I was the only one who had seen it, and therefore couldn’t decide what to make of it. No human could possibly move that quickly. When I replayed the tiny moment in my mind, I was sure I’d seen a blur where her arm had been. The young boy had stopped talking when he realized he had knocked the glass over, but didn’t have any time to await the impending doom of broken glass before it was back in front of him. He had taken a quick breath and leapt right back into his story.
Elizabeth shifted her weight in her seat and leaned back into her son’s saga. She smiled at him and swiftly scanned the room, probably wondering if anyone had seen her. I hadn’t realized I was still watching them when she caught my gaze.
Feeling embarrassed that I was staring at her didn’t even have time to register in my brain before a new sensation was upon me. Fear.
Her hard chocolate eyes were suddenly on fire with rage. Those perfectly trimmed brows were now bearing down on her small nose in an expression that could be nothing but anger. I felt like I was burning from the inside out, and was motionless in my seat. I’d never really been afraid of anyone before, but in this moment I was terrified of Elizabeth Asch. Not sure what to do, I turned back to my party.
I went quickly through another glass of wine before I had the courage to look in the direction of her table again. When I did, she was gone.
FIVE
I yawned and stretched deeply. It wasn’t like my body to be so tense in the morning; maybe I had slept really well and hadn’t moved all night. But for sleeping all night, I was amazingly tired. I felt like I needed to brush my teeth, as I could still taste the remains of dinner and one too many glasses of wine. I pulled up slowly and sat up on the bed.
It was awfully dark to be morning, it must be really early. But as I rustled around in the sheets, trying to swing my legs over the bed, I noticed that I was still wearing my clothes from the night before.
Wow, I must’ve had more to drink than I thought.
At that moment, my brain sloshed a bit inside my skull, and I had the strange feeling I should lay back down. Just then John walked into the bedroom, carrying a mug of coffee.
“What are you still doing here?” I asked sleepily.
“Still? I’m getting ready for bed,” he answered.
Ummmmm. What?
“It’s eleven thirty. At night.” He answered the question I hadn’t spoken aloud and meandered over with his steaming mug to run his free hand through my hair. “You fell asleep on the way home from the restaurant. We picked up Vy while you slept, and drove home. You were awake when we came inside, but you said you were going to turn in early and threw yourself on the bed.” He smiled. “It was so cute.”
His expression was bemused, like he enjoyed the thought of his wife being mildly intoxicated and falling asleep in the car.
“I covered you up and put Vy to bed, got a cup of coffee, and sent a few emails to my supervisor. And now I’m coming to bed.”
“Ughhgh,” I let myself fall back onto the bed. I recalled that I only had a few glasses of wine at dinner— only two, I was sure. It was so delicious...everything was delicious there. Then again, it only takes a few glasses; a little goes a long way I suppose.
John sighed as though he was entertained and handed me his coffee. He was the only person I knew who could drink a full cup of coffee at eleven thirty and still sleep soundly all night. If I took more than a few drinks of it, I would be up with the jitters until the next morning. I sat up a little and sipped it gently, unable to open my eyes all the way.
“How about a quick shower before bed?” He asked.
“Mmm-hmmm,” I mumbled, still sleeping. It actually sounded like heaven.
He pulled me up and helped me get undressed. I wasn’t so much woozy as I was utterly exhausted. I’d had a long day full of emotional uproar, and I was ready to melt it all away in the shower.
After John checked on Violet, who was still sleeping soundly in her bed, he crawled into the steamy goodness with me. I’d had time to wash my hair quickly before he joined me, and I was already feeling a little better. A little more awake, at least. He stepped in, threw two towels over the top, and drew me into his chest. He hugged me lightly, but full of love.
“I love you,” he whispered, letting the hot water beat down on my back while he remained dry. “I hope you had a good time tonight.”
“I did,” I lied. I pressed my eyes together and took a deep breath. Visions of Elizabeth’s icy face were starting to slowly creep up on me. “Tell Kate thanks so much.”
“Sure.” John pulled my soggy mess of hair around with one hand and draped it over my shoulder. The water could now work its magic on my neck, and I was certain that this was where I wanted to spend forever . . . leaning heavily on his chest, somewhere between sleep and awake, watching the droplets cling to his arms and shoulders.
It was nine forty-five before Violet crawled into my bed and flipped on the TV on Tuesday morning. She snuggled down under the covers and her cold feet immediately found my side. I shivered and rolled over, with an inaudible hmph. This would probably be my official favorite part of every day. Feeling the warmth of Violet’s tiny body curled up next to my back while I dozed in and out of consciousness, listening to the cheerfulness of morning cartoons. Not a care in the world.
The phone next to the bed rang on its lowest ring. John must have turned it down last night so that it wouldn’t disturb me this morning. What a thinker. As tired as I was last night, I certainly would have been miffed this morning if someone called and woke me up before I was ready. As it was now, I could barely hear it. I reached over with one eye open and grabbed the handset off of the base.
“Hello?” I managed to choke out, half drooling on myself. Hope they understood that, whoever it was.
“Hey, hon. It’s Charlotte.”
“Mmph.”
“Girl, are you in bed?!”
“No, I’m up.” I cleared my throat to sound more convincing.
“Liar,” she accused playfully.
I propped myself up on two pillows and stretched. That felt like a good night’s sleep stretch. Sore and stiff, like I’d been in the same position all night. It was a welcome ache.
“Okay, now I’m up.” I leaned over and kissed Violet on the head and ruffled her hair.
“You’re so funny. Are you going to be alright with being at the school at seven thirty every morning?” she teased.
“Yes, boss. Now what did you call for?” It was her turn to clear her throat, though hers was in a nervous way.
“Oh… well. I was just wondering how you liked your tour yesterday.”
“It’s honestly the most beautiful school I have ever seen. I love everything about it,�
�� I answered, rubbing my puffy eyes.
She breathed steadily for a long moment, and it seemed like she was going to take her time in getting to the real reason behind her phone call. I could tell by her uneasy silence that she hadn’t called to talk about the school grounds.
“Charlotte? Was that all you wanted?” I was secretly hopeful that she had called to fill me in on our encounter yesterday with Danna. I just remembered that I was thinking about it while I was dozing in the car last night. I’m not sure why, but the meeting between the three of us had been on my mind as I was drifting off on the way home.
I remembered, now, the connection I had made between Charlotte’s face in the hallway and Elizabeth’s at dinner. They both had an air of secrecy – enveloped in malice.
“Actually, no. That’s not why I called.”
I waited, completely alert now, stroking Violet’s hair. Feeling as though I was about to be in trouble.
“I just wanted to say… don’t be concerned about Danna.”
Okay. That’s it?
After another long pause, she added; “Danna’s a wonderful girl—and you will love her once you get to know her. She’s a great asset to our staff.”
With every word, she was sounding more curt and professional, like she didn’t want to discuss anything further.
“Will I be working with her often?” I asked. I was trying to be casual, but still keep the conversation going.
“Yes, you’ll get to know everyone very quickly. Claire is great, too. You’ll adore her, she’s Danna’s homeroom helper this year.”
“I thought homeroom mothers were chosen after school had started?” My reply was automatic, a sort of hurt response. I wasn’t meaning to veer the conversation away from Danna, but I was hoping to be that mother for Violet’s classroom this year. I felt suddenly shortchanged.
“They are, but Danna and Claire go way back. And Claire’s son is in her class this year. She’s just playing favorites I guess.”
Yet another pregnant pause. At least thirty seconds passed before I spoke again.
“So . . .” I prompted, racking my non-functional morning brain for some way to refocus the conversation on Danna. Unable to find an avenue, I added the next best thing. “I saw Elizabeth Asch at dinner last night.”
“Yes, we chatted earlier this morning. She mentioned that she had seen you.”
“Did she say anything else?” I continued casually, remembering her hardened face.
“No, she said you two didn’t speak. She was going to come over to your table and say hello to your family, but something came up and she had to leave,” she lied. Charlotte had many talents, but lying was not one of them.
“I see,” I said flatly.
“Elizabeth is a very influential member of our school, Erin.” She spoke slowly, not allowing me to take the matter further. “Keep on good terms with her, she has proven to be very useful.”
What was that supposed to mean?
Obviously I would be getting no clear answers from Charlotte. Maybe I could get close to this Claire she had mentioned earlier. Maybe we would hit it off and she would give me more of the insight I was after. There had to be some reason that everyone I’d met so far seemed to be on edge around me. Yes, Claire, I would start there.
“So, I’ll see you on Thursday?” Charlotte asked rhetorically.
“Thursday.”
“Now get out of bed.”
“Right, boss,” I teased.
“And stop calling me boss, I’m your best friend.”
SIX
I couldn’t believe the last week and a half had gone by so quickly. I had gotten all of Violet’s school supplies purchased, checked the list a hundred times at least, and was now getting ready for her first day of Kindergarten.
I kept myself busy these last ten days by unpacking what I could of the boxes that were strewn around the house. As a matter of fact, the place looked just about livable now. I was able to gather up the remaining “stuff boxes” and stack them cleverly in the spare bedroom. These were the boxes that were filled with odds and ends that I really had no idea what to do with. I’m sort of a pack rat, and have a horrible time throwing away anything that was handmade or sentimental. I even filled a whole box with scraps of paper that Violet had doodled on; the first time she drew a happy face, her first picture of a sun, and my favorite . . . a crude crayon outline of a person with too many fingers on each hand.
“It’s Mommy,” she had mused when it was complete, which brought tears to my eyes. How could I throw that out?
I could probably wallpaper a room with all of her clippings and scribbles. Maybe I would do that when she went to college. Get out everything she ever made and hang it up so I could stare at it.
College.
My heart ached and my eyes puddled again.
I was having a hard time controlling my emotions lately. I had been bursting into tears all week – every time Violet mentioned proudly that she was a “big girl now”, going to school with all the other big kids. She amazed me. She didn’t even seem afraid of the unknown, simply excited at the new adventure. I wished I could say the same.
The coffee pot clicked off on the kitchen counter and I poured a hefty glass, though I didn’t really need it. There was an electric sort of vibe running through me this morning and I’d gotten up with ease before my alarm. No caffeine necessary to kick-start my brain. This strange feeling was a mixture of excitement, nerves, and the uncontrollable need to be prepared— along with a whole slew of other emotions that I couldn’t quite place.
I was so buzzed on energy this morning that I had even beaten John up. I was squeaky clean and dressed already, and he was only just showering. Surely I would regret getting up quite so early later this afternoon when the excitement wore down, but I simply couldn’t stop moving.
All of Violet’s school things were lined up by the door, ready to go, and I was up to my elbows in pancake batter. I promised Vy a special breakfast on the first day of school and decided on pancakes, which were a snap even for me. As a twist, I added some red food coloring, and “First Day of School Pink Pancakes” were well on their way to becoming a tradition.
I heated the maple syrup in the microwave, humming to myself. As I was setting the last of the pancakes onto three large plates, John emerged from upstairs.
“That was a quick shower,” I greeted, without looking his way.
“I brought you something,” he replied, his voice thick and cheerful in the early hour.
I piled the hot pan and spatula into the sink and turned around, wiping my hands on a dish towel. Cradled in his arms, barely recognizable due to her traditional morning mess of tangles, was our kindergartener. Still in her pajamas, and more than halfway asleep, she was sprawled awkwardly in John’s grasp. Her legs and arms poked out in every direction and I was pretty sure I heard her snoring.
John propped her gently into a kitchen chair and sat her upright as best as he could. She grumbled something incoherently and pawed at her eyes. I sauntered over proudly and pecked her on the head. With a big I’ve been working on this all morning smile, I set the short stack of Pink Pancakes on the table in front of her.
She eyed them sleepily and groaned, “I’m not hungry.” And though a tiny part of me – the part of me still covered in batter – had hoped for a song and dance, I just smiled and sat down to my own warm stack of pancakes. She had actually responded to all my hard work better than I thought she would. I wholly expected her to fall asleep at the table and end up wearing most of her breakfast to school. I’m not hungry was certainly a step up from that.