All the Best People

by Sonja Yoerg

He stared at the list like it was written in Chinese. “How come? That’s Mom’s job.”

  Alison wanted to tell him about the Change of Life, just to see if he knew about it, but if it made her father anxious to talk about and made Janine laugh, it probably wasn’t a safe topic with Warren.

  “She’s not feeling well. She had a nightmare.”

  “A nightmare? What is she, four?”

  A hot bolt of anger shot through her. He would never notice anything was wrong with their mother until he wanted something from her. “Don’t be such a jerk.”

  He jabbed a finger into her shoulder. “What’d you call me?”

  She ducked past him, ran upstairs and stopped halfway. “A jerk!”

  Warren twitched like he was coming after her, so she bolted. She got to the top, turned the corner and peered over the railing. He’d disappeared. Good riddance.

  • • •

  The next day in school her class presented the poems they’d written. Alison got the idea for hers from the newspaper and had worked on it in her room all yesterday afternoon, hiding from her family.

  Caroline went first. Hers was about her dog and how he’d almost died. She was worried about rhyming “Waffles” with “awful,” but Mr. Bayliss said it was fine because it was close.

  He called on Alison next and she got up. She hadn’t been nervous until now. She glanced up from her paper and Mr. Bayliss smiled at her. He couldn’t wait to hear her poem.

  “It’s called: ‘Obituary for a Star.’ It doesn’t rhyme. Did it have to rhyme?”

  “No,” Mr. Bayliss said.

  “Okay. ‘Obituary for a Star.’”

  Unknown Star went out ages ago

  after a long illness.

  Before its light went out,

  it was surrounded, at a distance,

  by other Stars,

  all belonging to a constellation

  no one could find.

  Unknown Star was well-known

  in its galaxy

  for shining on its planets,

  and a few orbiting moons,

  during their days.

  One might have life on it.

  Unknown Star is survived

  by its own light.

  No one said a word. Alison shuffled her feet, not daring to look at anyone’s face. The ticking of the clock on the wall sounded like a bomb about to go off.

  “Alison,” Mr. Bayliss said.

  She raised her head.

  “It’s beautiful. Sad, but beautiful.” He looked at her a couple of seconds more, then called on Susie Waterman. Alison sat down, holding the piece of paper lightly between her fingertips as if the beauty he had seen in her words might grow wings and fly off.

  After all the kids had read their poems, they lined up for PE.

  Delaney was next to her. “Yours was really good. I’m serious. You should enter it in a contest or something.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, you should.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Just think.” Delaney cocked her head to the side, her eyes twinkling. A caterpillar of dread crept along Alison’s neck. “If you win, you could dedicate your prize to Mr. Bayliss.”

  Alison wanted to look around to see if anyone was listening but didn’t dare. Her face felt as if she’d stuck it in a bonfire.

  Delaney’s eyebrows shot up. “You have such a crush on him, Alison LaPorte.”

  The kids around them were covering their mouths, trying to swallow their laughs.

  Alison whispered, “Do not.”

  Delaney said, “It’s not a crush?” A girl behind them giggled. “What is it, then? True loooove?”

  A bunch of kids snickered. Davey Weiner imitated Delaney saying “true loooove.”

  Principal Kawolski was standing near the trophy case. “No chatting in the halls, now. This is a place of learning.”

  Alison kept her eyes straight ahead. Someone poked her, but she ignored it. Delaney marched along, proud of herself, like she’d made some great discovery. What did Delaney know about her, or Mr. Bayliss? What, as a matter of fact, did Delaney Dalrymple know about anything, other than her stupid horse?

  On the bus ride home, Alison stared out the window and thought about Mr. Bayliss. She didn’t have a crush on him, but she often thought about being with him outside of school. They would have lunch together, maybe by the river if the weather was nice, or they’d go fishing. They would read, sometimes the same books, sometimes different ones. There’d be so much to talk about then. They might go on a trip together, to a city, Boston or New York, and visit an art museum. She didn’t know anything about art, but it was a grown-up thing she was interested in learning about, and Mr. Bayliss probably had been to all sorts of museums. While they were in the city they could go out to dinner. Nothing fancy, but they’d be hungry after seeing all the parks and museums. Sometimes the next thing Alison thought about was where they would stay overnight, because it was too far to Boston or New York to come back the same day. Her ideas petered out there, like a straight road her eyes could follow into the distance, perfectly clearly, before it disappeared over a hill or the edge of the earth. When she got to that point, she’d start nearer the beginning again, at the part where Mr. Bayliss tells her during lunch at the river that he wanted to take her to see the Metropolitan Museum in New York. Alison felt deliciously warm and sweet inside as the conversation ran in her head.

  • • •

  Alison got off the bus and ran into the house, dropped her book bag at the bottom of the stairs and opened the back door to let Sally in. Her cat had been waiting and dove inside like she’d been shot from a cannon. Alison made a bologna and pickle sandwich and accidentally on purpose dropped a slice of bologna. Sally gobbled it up and together they went to the living room to watch Dark Shadows. Alison had already seen this episode but didn’t want to get up to change the channel because Sally had just gotten comfortable on her lap. The poor thing had been stuck outside in the cold all day.

  Halfway through the show, her mother appeared in the doorway. She pointed to the far side of the television stand. “Alison, would you mind handing me my glasses?”

  Alison stared at her, confused. The glasses were next to the television, about five feet from where her mom was standing.

  “Alison, did you hear me?”

  “Yeah, but you’re right there.”

  Her mom was twisting her fingers like she wanted to unscrew them. She’d been doing that a lot. “The television is on.”

  “So?”

  “It was bad enough when they could only hear.”

  “Who?”

  Her mom scrunched her shoulders in. “Please.” She drew it out like a kid begging for ice cream.

  Before Alison could ask another question, she heard the door from the office to the kitchen open. Her dad’s voice boomed. “Carole! Where on God’s green earth are you? The Stouts are waiting!”

  Her mother’s eyes shot wide open. Alison wasn’t used to hearing her father raise his voice. She scooped Sally off her lap, got up and gave the glasses to her mom. Without a word, her mother hurried out to the office, muttering under her breath.

  Alison went back to the couch, picked up Sally and hugged her tightly. She thought about what had happened, trying to make sense of her mom, wondering how the Change of Life could make a person into something totally different, the way Barnabas Collins changed into a bat. She had to talk to her dad again, even if it made him nervous. Her mother was getting worse, and Alison needed to know what the Change of Life really was and whether it included being afraid the people on television could actually see you. She wondered if the Change of Life was what her grandmother had, if it made her think crazy things, if that was why she was locked up in Underhill. Maybe her mom would end up there, too.

  She flicked off the
television and went to her room. Feeling sick to her stomach and dizzy, she lay down on her bed and curled onto her side.

  If only she could march downstairs and tell her father about her mother and the television, and about all the other things her mother had said and done that up until now she’d pushed into a corner of her mind where they couldn’t amount to anything, where they couldn’t add up. She wanted to tell him, and she wanted her mother to hear her tell him, so nobody could make excuses or pretend there was nothing wrong. But Alison knew how it would go. Her mother would deny it, say Alison had heard wrong. Her father would side with her mother, because he didn’t want to believe anything was wrong with her: she’s always right as rain. If Alison was going to help her mother—and she was desperate to—she’d have to do it herself.

  She stared at the pile of books next to the bed. The spine of the witchcraft book, near the bottom, caught her eye. She glanced at the blue box on the dresser, where she’d stashed the pearl. The soapstone was at the back of the top drawer, inside a bobby sock.

  She sat up, pulled out the book and flipped to the section on healing spells. She knew she had power, and the universe had been sending her signs. Maybe this was why. She’d pulled a giant fish from the murky river and plucked a pearl from its belly. Obviously she was supposed to use it to help her mom. And she’d drawn a Satan’s circle with the soapstone (and almost drowned her brother) so she’d understand its power and use it now. Maybe the blue box was part of it, too. The book would help her figure it out, and she’d listen to her inner voice, like the High Priestess card said she should.

  She pored over the book for more than an hour. Some of the spells used stuff she could find or substitute, but the words that went with them didn’t seem right for her mother’s problems. To her relief, at the end of the section, it said: “You will find it advantageous to devise your own incantations, as the majority of witches do.” Timing the spell was important, too, according to an old witch verse:

  Pray to the moon when she is round

  Luck with you will then abound

  What you seek for shall be found

  In sea or sky or solid ground.

  A full moon was best. Alison looked out the window at the night sky but couldn’t see the moon. Remembering she’d used the Sunday paper to get ideas for her poem, she dug it out from a pile of clothes at the foot of her bed and found the weather page.

  Her heart fluttered. Another sign. The moon had been half-full on Sunday and was waxing, getting bigger. So this coming weekend it would be full.

  Alison went to the dresser and opened the blue box. The pearl shone its pure light, just like the moon.

  30

  Janine

  Three days had passed since she’d seen April Honeycutt hanging all over Greg at the movies, and Janine still wanted to gouge the little hussy’s eyes out. She’d picked up the phone two dozen times, dialed Greg’s number, itching to let him know exactly what was on her mind—how she would not put up with him two-timing her, even if it was the era of free love—then hung up before it could ring. She didn’t believe in that crap. There was nothing free about love and never would be. Venereal disease, now that was free.

  Two things stopped her from confronting Greg about April. First, she had her pride. What was she going to do? Make a scene and beg him to stop playing the field and commit to her? She wanted that commitment, she would get that ring, but not by begging. She might get on her knees in front of Greg, but not to plead. She was in control. Second, Greg might not have gotten April into the sack yet. Janine had driven by his house too many times to count—and by April’s, too—and hadn’t once seen the other’s car at either place at a suspicious hour. April was naive, no doubt about it, but she didn’t scream “easy.” In fact, Janine had her pegged as a prude. April would expect a gradual progression of dates from Greg, to be led around the bases. Janine would do her damnedest to make sure Greg and April didn’t score, or at least that they would chalk up as few runs as possible.

  She kept things with Greg light and professional at school and was as sweet as maple candy to April. Thursday night she called Greg “just to catch up” and he proposed they get together the next night. Luckily she was prepared. She’d gone to a lingerie shop in Burlington and splurged on a naughty red teddy. Paired with her red spiked heels, she’d leave that poor little rich boy so speechless it would be all he could do to remember to thank her afterward.

  Over the phone, Greg suggested they grab a bite at a beer-and-burger place in Greenville, but when Janine said she was dying to cook for him again, he didn’t argue. “I’ll bring wine and an appetite.”

  Friday night they chatted and drank, and the conversation flowed the way it always had between them. Midway through the pineapple chicken, Greg put down his fork. His expression became serious.

  “Can I ask you something personal, Janine?”

  “Sure.” She wasn’t sure at all. “I’m an open book.”

  “You were married for quite a while, right?”

  “Nearly ten years.”

  “But you never had kids.”

  “No.” She hesitated at the entrance to this minefield, not sure of the answer he was looking for. Plenty of teachers had had enough with riding herd on a classroom of kids all day without wanting any of their own. Greg had made it nearly to thirty without starting a family, so he couldn’t have been that gung-ho on the idea. Certainly she wasn’t going to admit she didn’t want to be responsible for more than, say, a reasonably independent house cat. Once she and Greg were married, there were lots of ways around the issue of children. A partial truth would do for now. She cast her eyes downward. “We couldn’t. I mean, he couldn’t. And it was fine.” She met Greg’s attentive, caring gaze. “I’d promised to love him and that’s what mattered most.” She pushed on before he could tease her words apart. “As for me and having kids, well, right person, right time, don’t you think, Greg?”

  “Absolutely. That’s exactly how I feel. Some days I think twenty-five is plenty.”

  She laughed. “I can imagine.” She slipped off her shoe and ran her foot up his leg. “I haven’t mentioned it—I mean, I assumed you knew I’d take care of it—but I’m on the pill.”

  “I should’ve asked, but, yeah, I figured.”

  “I’d never trap a guy that way.”

  He smiled, a bit warily though, as if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him. “That’s a little dated as a strategy, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised. It might be 1972, but lots of women are still searching for a shining knight and a house full of babies.” Janine slid her foot into his crotch and widened her eyes at him.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He reached across the table and played with the bangle on her wrist. A smile teased at the corners of his mouth. “What about you, Janine? What do you want?”

  She took a long sip of wine, got up from the table and slowly unzipped the front of her dress, selected for precisely this moment. Her eyes never left his, not even as the dress fell to the floor. Greg broke her gaze, swept his eyes over her body and the red teddy that did not cover it, and exhaled in joyful resignation.

  Janine stretched her hand out to him. “You.”

  • • •

  By candlelight, she studied him in his sleep, admiring the way his sandy hair fell across his forehead, skimming his cheekbone. One of his arms was draped across her hip, the other angled beneath hers, their fingers entwined. His lips, slightly parted, invited her kiss, but she would not disturb him. He was absolutely perfect just like this. A man with some boy showing through, full of ideals and laughter and lust. The ideals she couldn’t relate to, but they looked good on him, lending him a special shine. He was handsome and privileged, but the pampered life he’d enjoyed hadn’t ruined him. Early on, she’d searched for and hoped to find some ugliness within him, just a smear of something dark. Now she acc
epted his goodness, not as a fault, but as a trait she hoped to be able to live with. Learn from? Never. Live with. Admire a little, as one might a child kneeling by their bed, head bent in prayer. You didn’t have to believe in God, or anything really, to find it sweet.

  She pulled the quilt over his bare shoulder. He sighed and settled once more. A surge of protectiveness moved through her, with jealous righteousness right behind it. There was simply no way she would share this man with anyone, certainly not a bland mouse like April Honeycutt. That girl-child would drag him into normalcy. He’d be pinning diapers and driving a station wagon before you could say “picket fence.” No, Greg Bayliss needed someone stronger, someone with teeth. He needed a woman who wasn’t afraid to give his butt a hard slap when he was about to come, and generally show him a better time than he knew to ask for. Janine was also prepared to give Greg a quick tutorial on how to spend his money.

  But first she needed to get rid of April. Greg could not be relied upon to simply choose Janine over an adorable special ed teacher with a heart of gold. He didn’t even realize he had to choose. It wasn’t his fault and she certainly didn’t blame him. If Janine were a man, she’d do precisely what Greg was doing. Actually, she’d be a complete prick. Women didn’t have that luxury, so instead she’d have to simplify things for Greg. The real work would start next week at school. For now, she snuggled close to him and allowed herself to doze. If he stirred, she’d be there, ready to satisfy him (and herself, of course) in every way he could imagine, and a few more besides.

  • • •

  Gossip was a sport for those with no imagination, and Janine hadn’t cared enough about what the teachers and staff did to bother. But in her quest for Greg she made an exception. A few exceptions, though she was careful not to appear to be the origin of any of the rumors that spread like the flu. Ruth Singletary couldn’t keep her mouth shut about anything, and if Janine let slip that she’d overheard a teacher say April Honeycutt had given up a child for adoption because the father was a black man, Janine only did so to emphasize how wrong others had been to repeat such obvious nonsense. She also made sure the elderly Mrs. Penney witnessed her tearing a note into small pieces. When the woman raised her eyebrows, Janine blushed and said Miss Honeycutt had accidentally left an intimate note on the office counter. Janine was destroying it to avoid an embarrassing situation. Of course, Mrs. Penney was nearly deaf, so Janine had to practically shout, and whoever was in the teacher’s lounge just might have heard.