Cold River

by Liz Adair

  Jake, standing on the running board of the truck with the door open, waved to show he got the message. Then he was in and the lights came on, and they drove off into the night.

  Leesie threw herself down on the couch. “What a day!” She leaned her head back against the cushions and grinned.

  “For someone who just parted from someone who–– how did you put it? makes you weak in the knees?–– you seem to have got over him in a hurry.”

  “Don’t you believe it,” Leesie said. “Jake is sweet, and I love him already but like a brother.”

  “I don’t know that he wants to be your brother,” Mandy replied dryly.

  “He will as he gets to know me better. Right now I’m someone new and different. Pretty soon I’ll be an old shoe, and we’ll be great friends, I know.”

  “He forgot his guitar.”

  “He meant to leave it.” Leesie popped up from the couch and picked it up. “He’s loaning it to me. I’m going to learn to play it. Listen.” Leesie played a C scale and looked up for approval.

  “Very nice,” Mandy said. “Did you just learn that today? I’m impressed.”

  “That’s what we were doing while Jake’s dad was tuning the piano. At least, that’s what Jake and I were doing.”

  Mandy rubbed her arms. “So, what’s with Willow?”

  Leesie set the guitar back in the corner. “I don’t know. She dresses all Gothic, all in black and with those high-heeled boots— they’re manmade materials, mind you, but hardly easy on the feet. I imagine if someone tried to force those on some dumb animal she’d haul them in for cruelty.”

  “You mustn’t tease her,” Mandy admonished. “It’s a cause she believes in, and she’s brave about standing up for it. Are you cold?”

  “A bit. But what about the shield bugs?” Leesie sat down. “Aren’t they animals? Well, I guess they’re really not, so it’s okay to sacrifice them.”

  Mandy looked up from lighting the stove. “What are you talking about?”

  “I can’t believe she wasn’t involved in that little trick. It’s the only time she smiled all evening.”

  “I didn’t notice that. What I did notice was how you and Rael tried to shush Jake when he said they were called stinkbugs. What was that all about?”

  “Well…” Leesie looked at the floor and grimaced.

  “Go on.”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Try me.”

  Leesie flopped back again. “Ooh, this is just too painful! So, I get to school and I register, right? And my name is Leesie Wheeler, and at first no one knows I’m your sister. But I don’t make a secret of it, and it isn’t too long before people start to know who I am and how I’m related to you. And I find out that they’ve started calling you Dr. Stinkbug. Oh, I knew I shouldn’t tell you! No, don’t cry, Mandy.”

  “I’m not crying,” Mandy said, but she sat with shoulders hunched and elbows on her thighs and couldn’t keep the tears from running down her face. “I don’t care what they call me.”

  Leesie moved over and put an arm around her sister. “Well, I care! You’re not a stinkbug! You’re a sweetiebug. Dr. Sweetiebug— that’s what I’ll call you.”

  Somehow that ridiculous epithet loosed the floodgates. Mandy leaned her head against her sister’s shoulder and sobbed.

  Leesie pressed her cheek against Mandy’s dark curls. “I’ve never seen you cry, Sweetiebug. You’ve always been so capable and self-assured. Never mind. You go ahead and cry.” Leesie held her close and rocked her gently, and presently Mandy stopped crying.

  “I’ve got to blow my nose,” she said and went to get a napkin off the table. “I feel so ridiculous.”

  “Don’t,” Leesie said. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s play. The only thing that will make you feel better than a good cry is a good song.” She opened her cello case and took out her instrument. “We haven’t played together in a long time.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Leesie.” Mandy wiped her eyes.

  Leesie dragged a straight-back chair to the piano and sat down. “Let’s tune.”

  Mandy sighed and drifted over, obediently playing the tones for her sister. “I don’t think I have any music,” she said apathetically. “There’s nothing in the piano bench.”

  “I have music for both of us. Here.”

  Mandy spread the pages out and studied them as Leesie unfolded her music stand. “This is one of my favorite pieces.”

  “Mine too. Ready?”

  Mandy took a deep breath and began to play the opening bars of Schubert’s “Serenade.” The cello came in at measure five, full-throated and rich as melted butter and honey. As muscle memory carried Mandy’s fingers over the familiar phrases, her spirits rose with the sound. The sour humiliation of being the butt of a teenage prank was forgotten in the sweetness of the melody. When the last full measure had been played, Mandy smiled, leaned over, and gave her sister an awkward hug.

  “Thank you, Leesie. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “I am too, Dr. Sweetiebug.” Leesie kissed her sister on the cheek. “What an adventure this is going to be!”

  “YEAH, THIS IS an adventure, all right.” Mandy stirred the pot of oatmeal the next morning and looked out at a gray, drizzly day. “Welcome to Washington,” she greeted as Leesie came out of her room with her school things.

  “Isn’t this beautiful?” Leesie set her backpack down by the door and stood gazing out the front window.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. I think it’s totally gorgeous. Look at the way the mist is lying low on the trees across the river. And the colors are all muted, like an English impressionist painting. Is there such a thing as an English impressionist painter?”

  “I have no idea.” Mandy spooned oatmeal into a bowl and handed it to her.

  “Me neither. Do we have any raisins?”

  Mandy joined her sister at the table. “Uh-uh. We’d better get a shopping list started. It’s a forty-minute drive to the market, so we don’t want to forget anything. Eat fast because your ride will be here in about five minutes.”

  Leesie obliged and they ate in silence, looking out over the pastel landscape. Leesie finished first and carried her dishes to the sink. “What are you doing today?”

  “I’m going on a tour of all the elementary schools in the district.”

  “Oh? How many are there?”

  “Four. One is in Trillium, one in Cedar Springs, one in Birch Falls, and the one here in town.”

  “It’s not a very big district, is it?”

  “Not in numbers, but some of the kids ride thirty miles one way to come in to high school.”

  “Wow!”

  Mandy sighed. “I’m wrestling with next year’s budget, and the cost of transportation is a huge slice of that pie.”

  Leesie slipped a book inside her backpack and zipped it shut. “I believe it. You should see the number of busses lined up at the high school.”

  “Which reminds me, Leesie. You mentioned maybe trying to be a student helper first period?”

  “Jake wanted me to, and I thought I might.”

  “Would you be willing to work at the bus garage? I need someone to plow through about ten years of filing.”

  “There’s my ride.” Leesie gathered her things. “I’ll think about it. Maybe I can talk Jake into doing it with me. That would be fun.”

  Before Mandy could remind her to wear a coat, she was out the door, running down the steps and piling into the waiting pickup.

  Mandy sighed and finished her breakfast. Then she put on her suit jacket and looked at herself in the downstairs mirror. Forcing an artificial smile, she said through gritted teeth, “It’s an adventure, Dr. Stinkbug. Chin up!”

  She picked up her purse, and as she dashed out the door and over to her car through the rain, she was grateful she wouldn’t have to face Grange Timberlain today. If he had spent the previous morning at the high school, he probably knew what the kids were calling
the new superintendent.

  There was no light in his window as she drove around the district office, but taking no chances, she had arranged for Mo to wait for her on the porch. He was there, looking ineffectual with his rounded shoulders barely filling out his blue nylon rain jacket. A few damp strands of hair were combed over his bald spot, and his skinny moustache followed the drooping curve of his mouth. He held a briefcase in front of him with both hands and looked nervously over his shoulder. When he spied Mandy, he scuttled down the stairs and climbed into the car. Closing the door, he balanced the satchel on his knees.

  “Buckle up,” she instructed as she drove away.

  She had just pulled onto the road when Mo, obediently dragging out the shoulder strap, turned to slip it into the receiver. At that moment, the case slid off his knees and knocked the car out of gear. Mo dove for the satchel, but in the cramped cockpit of the Miata, as he hauled it back on his lap, he inadvertently grabbed Mandy’s jacket, too, and jerked her sideways. Surprised, she looked over to see what was going on, and while she tussled with Mo, trying to get him to let go her jacket, the car veered into the other lane. It was only when an opposing driver sounded his horn that she realized their peril and corrected course.

  “That was Grange,” Mo said, turning around to look behind.

  “I know who it was,” she said between clenched teeth. “If you’ll let go of my jacket, I may be able to keep from hitting anyone else.” She pulled over and slowed enough so that Mo could disentangle himself. When he was finally free, she asked, “Are you buckled?”

  “Oh. No.” He dragged out the shoulder harness again.

  “I’ll stop until you’re strapped in.”

  While he fiddled with the latch, she looked in her rearview mirror and noticed that Grange had stopped in the parking lot driveway and was apparently watching them. When she saw his backup lights go on, she threw the car into first and let out the clutch, causing Mo to scramble yet again with his briefcase.

  “I wasn’t buckled yet.” He pulled the strap away from his Adam’s apple.

  “Give me the latch,” she commanded, holding out her hand but keeping one eye on the rearview mirror. When she saw Grange drive into the parking lot, she finally looked down and clicked the buckle home.

  “Thanks.” Mo’s voice was subdued.

  “Sorry to be so brusque,” Mandy said. “I was afraid Grange was going to come back to see if something was wrong. I just wanted to get out of there.”

  “No problem.”

  Silence.

  Finally she said, “So, we’ll go up to Trillium first. On the way I want to know all about their budget. I want to know what we’re spending money on, and I want to know what we’re getting for that money. How much is federal money, and how much is from the state? I want to know about the demographics of the community and what the test scores are. Anything that can be measured, I want to know.”

  Mo nodded and unlatched his case. Pulling out a file folder, he said, “I’ve come prepared. I think I can address all the issues.” He began to speak, and all the clumsiness and awkwardness disappeared as he entered his comfort zone of numbers and statistics. Mandy listened intently, nodding as he made statements and substantiated them with figures. If she didn’t understand or didn’t agree with his conclusions, she asked questions until his logic was clear.

  As she toured the school, she decided it had been a good political move to have Mo accompany her, for the staff at Trillium Elementary School was politely, though guardedly, welcoming. She spent half an hour talking to the resource room teacher, and then she and Mo sat down with the principal for the better part of an hour before they returned to the Miata.

  Before they got in, Mandy opened the trunk. “Get your folder for Cedar Springs Elementary. We’ll stow your case here.”

  Mo laughed and agreed, and soon he was briefing her as they headed down the road. They visited the school, talked to the resource room teacher and principal, and then went on to the next school. They repeated each procedure until the afternoon was spent and they were done.

  When they left the last school, Mo said, “That was really something. I can’t believe how you got those principals to open up. They told you about problems I’ve never heard of, and some great solutions, too.”

  “I’ve got a lot better idea what I’m dealing with, now,” Mandy said. “Thanks for all your hard work, Mr. Smith.”

  “Call me Mo. Was it really a help?”

  “Certainly it was. You have a gift for making numbers mean something. The district is lucky to have you.”

  “Oh, uh… really?”

  “Yes, really.” She pulled into the parking lot and stopped by his car. “Let me ask you something. Do you remember that first night, when I slept on the couch in the waiting room?”

  He looked down at the folder in his hands. He nodded and cleared his throat.

  “You came in to get something— a briefcase.”

  He nodded again.

  “What was in the briefcase? I saw you give it to Vince.”

  Mo looked out the window. “It was his.”

  “What was his?”

  “The briefcase.”

  “But what was in it?” Mandy persisted. “You said Vince wanted it, and I wasn’t to tell Grange that you had come and got it.”

  Mo cleared his throat again. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He tried again. “Vince wanted me to check some figures. He thought someone might be cooking the books, and he wanted me to check.”

  “And was someone cooking the books? And why not tell Grange you’d been there?”

  Mo finally looked at Mandy. The color had drained out of his face, making his moustache a dark pencil line. “I don’t want to… It’s not worth… You don’t understand. Grange brings lots of money to the district. Lots of money. He practically funds the whole music program.”

  She frowned. “But what’s that got to do with Vince and cooking the books?”

  Mo opened the door. “I’m not going to be the one to explain it to you.” He scrambled out. “I need to get going. Will you open the trunk?”

  She pulled the lever to pop it open and waited for him to retrieve his briefcase. She rolled down the window and called. “Thank you for coming, Mo. It was a most educational day.”

  He closed the trunk and bent down to look in. A light, misty rain beaded up on his bare scalp. “You’re welcome, Dr. Steenburg.”

  “Call me Mandy, please.”

  He stepped away. “I don’t know if I can.” He waved his free arm in farewell and turned to go.

  She paused only a moment before putting the car in gear and pulling away.

  As she drove, she took her planner out of her purse and laid it on the passenger seat, open to the list she had made before she went to bed last night. But her mind wouldn’t focus on the tasks she had set for herself. It kept returning to Mo’s cryptic comments: Grange brings lots of money to the district. Lots of money. I’m not going to be the one to explain it you.

  “Explain what?” she asked aloud. She pictured Grange in her mind, with that sinister, frozen half of his face distorting every expression. “Where would he get that much money? And is that why the school board is so anxious to hold on to him? Is it really his sterling leadership abilities?”

  Mandy had an uncomfortable ride home. She squirmed in her seat, trying to get rid of the crawly feeling up her back. Something wasn’t right, and she was afraid she was going to end up in the middle of it and perhaps be tarred by association.

  When she pulled up in front of her house, she turned off the key and made herself focus on the list in her planner. She had marked everything off except three tasks: Call Granny Timberlain. Talk to Tammy Wilcox. Make appointment to rotate tires. She looked at her watch and decided she could probably still do them all, so she stuffed her planner back in her purse and got out of the car.

  As Mandy reached the top of the porch steps, she noticed a shoebox sitting in front of the door. She stopped
mid-stride and looked at it. “Oh no,” she said, picking it up. “You’re not going to catch me twice.”

  She set her purse by the door, descended the steps, and walked purposefully around to where the garbage can was sitting by the back deck. Opening the lid, she set the unopened box on top of the stack of plastic-bagged refuse and slammed the lid down with a satisfactory bang. She dusted off her hands and went back around to unlock the front door.

  Leesie had said she was staying after school for some sort of practice, so Mandy didn’t expect her for at least another hour. She climbed the stairs to her bedroom and hung up her jacket, then sat on the bed to make her phone calls. Granny Timberlain didn’t answer, but Tammy sounded glad to get the call and said tomorrow afternoon would be a good time to talk.

  Stevie Joe at Limestone Garage said he could rotate Mandy’s tires if she would come by after work the coming Monday. She got directions to the garage and wrote them down on Monday’s page, then closed her planner with a snap and carried it down to put in her purse.

  She was halfway down the stairs when she saw Fran pull up in her pickup. Mandy waved at her through the window and went to open the door. “Hi Fran,” she called as her friend got out with a can of paint in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for helping my sister get settled.”

  Fran came in and took her shoes off, setting them neatly by the door. “She said you didn’t know she was coming. Were you surprised?”

  “Was I ever!”

  “I didn’t have any idea you were Conroy Wheeler’s daughter,” Fran said, looking around.

  “Stepdaughter, actually. Isn’t that something that your sister worked for him? What are you looking for?”

  “Something to set this paint can on that will protect the countertop. A piece of cardboard or something?”

  “Out on the back deck.” The phone rang, and as Mandy ran up the stairs, she called, “Go ahead and look around out there. I’m sure there’s something.” She caught the phone on the third ring. It was Tammy calling with directions to her house. Mandy thanked her for remembering she was new in town, then hung up and hurried down the stairs to write the directions in her planner before she forgot them.