The Newport Ladies Book Club: Daisy

by Kilpack, Josi S.

  Amy wasn’t in my same situation, however. She had an adoring husband and a solid career, and if her lifelong dream of motherhood was just out of reach, it still wasn’t impossible. There was hope for her; she was not at a dead end, but that didn’t mean it didn’t feel that way for her right now.

  Finally, once she wasn’t clinging to me so tightly and could take a full breath, I pulled back and wiped a few strands of hair from her wet face. “What on earth are you doing in the office today?”

  Amy looked at her desk; folders and paperwork covered almost every surface. “The Trodin account is past due, and Lenny needed me to train him on the new umbrella package and . . .” She wasn’t convinced by her own excuses and let out a staggered breath. “I didn’t want to be home alone.” Her chin quivered but she tried to straighten in her chair. She looked up at me and asked, “Why doesn’t God want me to be a mother?”

  “Oh, sweetie,” I said, smoothing her hair again. “This isn’t about God.”

  “Then why doesn’t my uterus want me to be a mother?”

  I thought about that, and suddenly had a mental image of a cartoon uterus running down the street, pushing a stroller. I cracked a smile, and apparently Amy must have been desperate for a laugh because she smiled too. Before we knew it, we were both laughing, but pretty soon the laughter had turned to crying all over again.

  “Mick knows, right?” I finally asked when we got control of ourselves for the second time. Why had he let her come in today?

  She looked away, and it all made a little more sense.

  “Amy, you need to tell him,” I said sternly.

  “I can’t,” she said, a definite whine in her voice. “He’ll be so . . . sad. I’ve already had to tell him this three times before. Three. I can’t even imagine forming the words.” New tears rose in her eyes as she began grabbing handfuls of Mick’s disappointment to add to her own.

  “Do you want me to do it?” I asked. I knew it was presumptuous, but my sisters and I used to quit jobs for each other over the phone when we were in high school because we couldn’t stand hearing someone else’s disappointment toward us. This was kind of like that, right?

  Amy’s eyes went wide with hope. “Would you?” She scrambled for her purse. She pulled out her purple cell phone, toggled to a dial pad, and pressed speed dial two.

  I accepted the phone and stepped out into the hall. Mick answered with a “Hello, sugar-bottom.”

  “It’s Daisy,” I said. “From Amy’s office.”

  “Oh,” he said, and though I couldn’t see it, I knew his cheeks were bright red. “Is . . . everything okay?”

  “Not really.” I relayed to him what had happened. He was silent. Then he cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry, Mick.” Though I didn’t know him well, I knew he was heavily invested in the pursuit of children. “Amy couldn’t bring herself to tell you; she’s having a really hard time.”

  “Thank you for being there,” Mick said. “Can I talk to her?”

  I opened the door to Amy’s office and covered the mouthpiece. Amy was trying to work on the computer, but I could see that her head and her heart weren’t in it. She wiped at her eyes when she turned to me.

  “Mick wants to talk to you,” I said.

  “Okay,” Amy said quietly. “Thanks for breaking the news.”

  “You bet,” I said as I handed her the phone. I was tempted to tell her to go home, but it wasn’t my place. Amy was a big girl. Instead I let myself out of her office, making a mental note to check in with her in half an hour.

  As I headed back to my office, I saw Lenny walking toward me. “Are you on your way to talk to Amy, by chance?” I asked; Amy’s office was the only one past mine.

  “Yeah,” he said with a nod. Lenny was twenty-two if he was a day, tall, thin, and ill at ease in a suit. He was the newest member of the sales staff and was trying to act and look the part, but it didn’t fit just yet. I wasn’t worried; none of us fit the part when we started. He’d grow into it.

  “I’d give her a little time, if I were you,” I said.

  “Why?” he asked, looking toward her office. I could read the anxiety on his face of not being able to get the training he’d been planning on.

  “Girl stuff,” I said.

  His head snapped back to face me, his expression fearful. “Really?” His feet started moving him back to his cubical likely before he realized what he was doing.

  Before I stepped into my office, I looked over my shoulder toward Amy’s office and hoped she’d be okay. I wanted to give her all kinds of comfort and assure her that one of these days, one of the procedures would work. But how did I know? I’d always felt embarrassed and guilty that I’d found myself unexpectedly in “the family way” twice whereas good, centered women like Amy had to work so hard for what came so easy to me. But then, while infertility might not have been my cross to bear, I’d had my fair share of other Goliaths.

  I settled in at my desk and turned to my computer before I remembered that I’d left the Clark addendum, and the questions I had wanted to ask, in Amy’s office. That, coupled with the unsettled feeling in my stomach likely triggered by my own nostalgic memories, had me feeling eager for distraction. I glanced at my door before going to Amazon.com. I hadn’t managed to get to the bookstore to pick up a copy of the book for next month’s book group—The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver—and there were four holds ahead of me at the library. Amazon to the rescue.

  I’d never read the book, but Athena, the Greek goddess with those beautiful eyes, had recently bought it, and Ruby had read it several years ago. The landing page came up on Amazon’s website and I skimmed the contents. “Five hundred and forty-six pages?” I read. “Seriously?”

  I took a breath—I couldn’t remember the last book I’d read that was that long. I’d even resorted to CDs from the library for the last couple Harry Potter books. “I can do this,” I told myself. But I would need the book sooner than next week. I closed Amazon and looked up the Barnes and Noble where I’d met Ruby a couple of weeks ago. They had two copies in stock and agreed to hold one for me until six o’clock. I thanked them and hung up. Five hundred and forty-six pages? Beyond the ability to finish it, I hoped I would like it. I didn’t have enough reading time to waste it frivolously. But then, Athena and Ruby were both poised and educated women. If they could make time for it, so could I.

  Amy walked past my office a few minutes later, her purse and jacket over her arm as she looked at the floor. I was glad she was going home. After retrieving my paperwork from her now-empty office, I was back to work proofreading the latest policy when my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello, this is Daisy,” I said, holding the phone against my shoulder while I corrected an error on the page.

  “This is Mary Dean, one of the secretaries from Lake Forest High.”

  “Hello,” I said, finishing up my correction as I tried to think of what this call could be about. Had I ever had a call from the high school? I marked where I’d stopped reading on the document and gave Mary Dean my full attention.

  “Vice Principal Keets would like to set up a meeting with you.”

  “Okay,” I said carefully. “In regards to what?”

  “I don’t really know,” Mary Dean said, sounding a little sheepish. “I just schedule his appointments. He’s got a ten thirty spot open tomorrow morning. Could you come in at that time?”

  Right smack-dab in the middle of the workday. How convenient. “Yes,” I said, scrambling for a pen so I could write down the meeting in my planner. I knew my morning was free because I always set aside Wednesday mornings to catch up on policy changes and overall file organization, but I didn’t have too much of that to work on tomorrow. In that sense, the timing was good. That said, it was never good to have a meeting with your child’s vice principal.

  “Excellent,” Mary Dean said. “I’ve got you down. Just come to the main office.”

  I finished the call and stared at t
he note in my planner as I tapped my pen. Stormy wasn’t a troublemaker. She got decent grades. So why would the vice principal want to meet with me? The unsettled feeling in my stomach got worse. I did not have time for this! And yet, I was Mom—hooray, hooray—which meant I would have to make time.

  I put down my pen and went back to my corrections, but my mind was rolling over possible reasons for the meeting. Truancy? Talking back to teachers? Failing classes? These were the parts of motherhood that no one had told Amy about—the moments when you felt like you’d failed somewhere but didn’t know how, which meant you’d probably keep on making the same mistake. Ignorance really was bliss. I knew Amy’s heart was broken, but I couldn’t help wondering if she’d be quite so devastated if she knew about the not-so-bright-and-shiny moments of motherhood.

  Chapter 6

  Stormy acted completely ignorant about why the vice principal would want to talk to me, which meant that when I sat down on the red plastic chair in the main office of the high school the next morning I had nothing to work with. Though Stormy had assured me she didn’t know what the meeting was about, she had looked nervous when I told her about it. Scared even, and she had spent most of the evening hidden in her room. Unfortunately, that wasn’t all that strange either. Since the car brouhaha of Saturday afternoon, she’d given me the cold shoulder. It probably should have bothered me more than it did, but it was easier to be mad at her and keep my own distance when she was acting bratty.

  “Mrs. Herriford?” Vice Principal Keets asked.

  “Mrs. Atkins,” I corrected him as I came to my feet. Herriford was Jared and Stormy’s name, but not mine anymore. I’d chosen to wear my red shirt and white capris with my white sandals—a striking outfit I hoped would show the entire office that I was not a deadbeat parent, but someone who took pride in my appearance. I wasn’t really sure why that should have mattered, but I always got fastidious about how I looked when I was nervous, and I was very nervous. “I’ve remarried.”

  “My apologies. I should have reviewed the file better.”

  I smiled my forgiveness. He was wearing a short-sleeved, button-up shirt that strained against his stomach, exposing two little triangles of a white T-shirt. I’d be willing to bet a chocolate cream pie that the students had all kinds of names for him behind his back. I could never work with thousands of teenagers. “I’m Vice Principal Keets. Thanks for coming in.”

  We shook hands, and he showed me into his office, where I sat in a plush-covered chair. He settled rather uncomfortably into his chair across the desk and gave me what I assumed was supposed to be a comforting smile.

  “Do you know why you’ve been called in?”

  That irritated me, but I tried to hide it by shaking my head. If they’d have told me yesterday, then I would know.

  He took a breath that seemed to say “They never do” and then pulled open the drawer of his desk. He removed a manila folder and passed it across the desk to me. I regarded it for a moment, not really wanting to open it, and looked up at him with a question plainly written on my face.

  “I sent a note home with your daughter last week for you to give me a call. Did you get that note?”

  “No,” I said flatly, and my stomach dropped a little further.

  “I didn’t think so.” He nodded at the folder, which I took as permission for me to open it, so I did. Inside were several papers. I thumbed through them, noting the 100% written at the top of each one.

  “I’m assuming I haven’t been called here because of my daughter’s proficiency on these assignments.” I sounded calm but I was starting to panic. Why was I here?

  “We instituted a policy last year stating that in order to participate in the school play, all participants needed to have a C grade or better in all of their classes.”

  I looked back at the papers. They were all history assignments. Stormy hated history and had always barely skated through it. This year she was taking an American government class and had whined about it constantly for the first couple weeks of school. I hadn’t heard much about it since then, though.

  Mr. Keets continued. “Mr. Thornston, Stormy’s teacher, brought these to my attention last week. I called Stormy in, and she said you’d been helping her with her homework. I don’t mean to doubt your abilities, but it’s very rare that we see a student go from failing to all As in a matter of weeks. It’s even more concerning when that happens shortly after the grade requirements are passed out to all those interested in trying out for the school play.”

  I felt my jaw tensing, but worried that Mr. Keets could tell so I forced myself to relax. That included unclenching my hands, which I had balled into fists in my lap. Mr. Keets was looking at me, and I felt obligated to say something. “I see,” I said, the most neutral thing I could think of.

  “Cheating is a serious situation, Mrs. Herriford.”

  “Atkins,” I corrected without thinking. I felt my cheeks heat up. “I’m sorry. Continue.”

  “But seeing as how this is Stormy’s first offense, we chose to go to you rather than suspend her as we did the others.”

  “Others?”

  “We had six other students involved,” Mr. Keets explained. “We’re not sure how, but someone either got the answers, or found someone who knew them on their own, and shared the love, so to speak. We were able to identify six students who had the exact same answers to every question on the last few assignments, one of which was a quiz. We’re still looking into it, but two of the students have had issues with this kind of thing before. They’ve been suspended. We’d rather this not go on Stormy’s record, which is why we’ve called you in. It’s our hope that with you involved, we can be assured this won’t happen again.”

  I nodded, feeling about two inches high. “I’ll be sure to talk to her. It won’t happen again.”

  “I certainly hope not. If it did, we’d have no choice but to act more aggressively. As it is, Stormy will be asked to do some make-up assignments, and she’s precluded from being a part of the school play.”

  Oh, she was going to be so upset. “Has she been informed of this yet?” Even through my embarrassment and anger, I was sad that she’d screwed up the one extracurricular activity she was involved in.

  “Not yet. We wanted to be sure we had your support before we let her know where we stood. We’d like you to talk to her tonight, and then we’ll officially meet with her tomorrow.”

  I would have preferred to have the sequence of events happen in the reverse order—let me mop up rather than swinging the ax. But I was the mother and this was my job. “I understand.”

  Ten minutes later I was in the car, the file folder on the passenger seat, gritting my teeth. I hated—hated—this part of motherhood—the part where everything my kids did reflected on me. I knew I wasn’t a perfect parent, but I worked hard to teach my kids the difference between right and wrong, and I’d done most of it myself. Why couldn’t that be reflected back once in a while?

  A glimmering reminder that Stormy hadn’t done anything like this before shimmered across my mind, but I still felt betrayed and stupid. Mothers should know when their kids are doing things like this. When was the last time I sat down to help her with her homework? When was the last time I asked her how American government class was going? When was the last time I talked to her about cheating and why it was wrong?

  Unbidden tears rose in my eyes, and I wiped them away, angry at my emotional reaction. Angrier still that I was reacting at all. Why did this have to be about me anyway? I hadn’t cheated. Stormy knew what was expected of her. She knew what was right and had chosen against it. What did that have to do with me?

  Taking the morning off for the meeting meant that I had a lot to do once I reached my office—thank goodness—and I quickly lost myself in my work. Amy wasn’t in today so I sent her a quick e-mail of support, but it was also a relief not to be her shoulder today. I was feeling too sorry for myself to be of much use to anyone else. I was safe, surrounded by my policies, alone
in my determination to protect my clients from liabilities that could undo all their hard work. I even stayed late, not locking my office door until after six.

  After a quick stop at the bookstore, it was almost seven before I got home. Paul was cooking salmon, and my stomach rolled when I stepped into the kitchen from the garage. I usually loved fish—especially when I didn’t have to cook it—but apparently not when I was angry with my child.

  “Is Stormy here?” I asked after sharing a quick hello kiss with my sweetheart.

  “I’ve only been home half an hour. Haven’t seen her,” Paul said as he squeezed a lemon over the beautifully blackened fillet sizzling in the pan.

  I put my purse down on the kitchen chair with a deep sigh.

  He looked up. “Everything okay?”

  “No,” I said, sitting down heavily in the other chair. I proceeded to tell him about the meeting. He kept his back to me for most of the explanation, and the more I got into it, the more frustration colored my tone. He added spinach to the pan. My stomach was as excited about spinach as it was about salmon. Great—Stormy had spoiled my dinner too.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked, sliding the salmon and spinach onto a platter.

  “Sell her to China,” I said, leaning my head against the back of the chair. “You never hear about those child laborers cheating in history class in order to be in school plays.”

  He chuckled. “No, really—what are you going to do?”

  “Talk to her,” I said with a shrug, closing my eyes as though that would help me relax. “Probably yell a little, make sure she knows what a big deal it is. Maybe I’ll take away her cell phone. I don’t know.”

  “If you approached her calmly, she might fess up to how it all came together.”

  I didn’t really care how it came together. And calmly wouldn’t exorcise my demons. I also hated it when people told me what to do, even Paul. “I’m not sure I can do calmly.”

  “You could try.”

  I opened my eyes, a wave of irritation washing over me. “Thanks,” I said sarcastically as I got to my feet.