Imaginary Things

by Andrea Lochen

  Duffy raised her eyebrow and cleared my plate away. “A panther isn’t scary enough to warrant its own fear?”

  “I know. It’s really freaky.” I grabbed my purse from the counter. “Well, I better get going. Thanks for whipping our butts into shape this morning. You’re a lifesaver.”

  “You’re welcome, snickerdoodle. That’s what I’m here for.” She started to run hot water over the breakfast dishes in the sink. “I know you’re headed out now, but I need to talk to you later, so remind me, okay? I want to talk to you about David’s birthday and what you want to do for it. Do you want to have a party, and if so, should we do it that Saturday or Sunday? What kind of cake should we get? Does David have any little friends he wants to invite, or should we keep it to family? Your mom called the other day and—”

  I cut her off. “You flatter yourself and us if you think my mom gives a damn about David or his birthday.”

  Duffy turned off the tap and faced me. “Listen to me, Anna. She disguises her feelings just as well as you do. She told me you stopped by a few weeks ago and said how pretty and professional you looked. She’s proud of you, honey. She just doesn’t know how to show it. And I bet if we invited her to David’s birthday, she would love to—”

  “I can’t think about this right now. I need to go.” I swung my purse over my arm and left the kitchen. Pretty and professional? That was her takeaway from my visit? Never mind the accusations we’d let fly about Leah Nola and my mom’s child molester of a boyfriend.

  “That’s fine. We’ll talk about it later. I just wanted to make sure it was on your radar.”

  Ha. Sure, it was on my radar. I imagined a neon green circle and several blinking missiles converging on me all at once. Dealing with the large black cat menacing my son seemed just a tad more important than planning a birthday party right now. David would be turning five in what—two weeks, now? Oh my god. Only two weeks. And even if I blacklisted my mom, I knew the Gills would still want to see David and bring over gifts. Maybe I could arrange something separate with them at a restaurant the following week?

  Last year we’d met them at Chuck E. Cheese for a couple of hours, and they’d given him an overabundance of expensive outfits and toys, including his remote-controlled dinosaur, but it didn’t seem like Abigail would be satisfied with that same kind of arrangement this year. She wanted quality time with her grandson, and in another month, when my injunction against Patrick expired, she’d want me to let them try supervised visits again. The thought made the rhythm of my heart stutter. The timing couldn’t have been worse. David certainly wasn’t ready to “meet” his father right now, when he was already in such a fragile state, dreaming up dinosaurs to protect him, cowering from a panther under his bed, and I doubted Patrick, with his flagrant indifference to the restraining order last month and his agitated behavior, was truly ready either.

  The real estate office was blissfully slow. Brandon was out showing houses, and Janet and Gisele were tucked away in the back room on a four-hour conference call. Every so often, a phone call would trickle in, and I would e-mail the message to the respective agent. That left me ample time to deal with my own personal crises.

  I called Dr. Rosen’s office to get a referral for a child therapist. Even the psychiatrist’s name, Oscar Da Costa, sounded impressive and expensive, and I could already imagine the jokes he probably made to his fellow doctors at medical conferences: “Of course, I can help you, but it’s going Da Cost-ya.” Har-har. The soonest he could squeeze David in was next Friday, but I jumped at the appointment, even though my new health insurance wouldn’t be kicking in until next month, because a) I didn’t think David and I could wait any longer to be rid of the panther and b) I doubted my meager health insurance would cover a luxury like child psychiatry anyway.

  I had no sooner ended my call with the clinic when my cell phone started ringing. By this point of the day, Winston normally had David home from school, and I’d trained Duffy to relay a brief report to me. But it was a phone number I didn’t recognize. I glanced over my shoulder at the conference room, but the door was still shut.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Anna Jennings?”

  The high-pitched, chirpy voice was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “Yes.”

  “This is Lindsey Hanna, your son’s kindergarten teacher.”

  I sank back heavily in my wheeled receptionist chair, and it rolled at least a foot backwards. I smushed my ear against the cell phone. “Is everything okay?” I hoped against hope that she wouldn’t say “your son has been mauled by a panther” or “your son attacked another child and is blaming it on a dinosaur.” I pictured David, bruised hollows under his eyes, arms around his knees, rocking himself in the corner next to the play car while the black panther paced circles around him. Had the panther finally followed him to school then?

  “Ye-es,” she said, stretching the word out into two syllables, as if unsure of it herself. “I was just hoping you could come in for a chat sometime this week to talk about David.”

  I twitched the computer mouse to dispel my screensaver and read the time on the monitor. “How about now? I could come in on my lunch break.”

  David’s teacher laughed. I could hear her shuffling papers in the background. Perhaps she had a whole list of students to call, and she’d forgotten which one was David. What else could explain her levity? “That’s nice of you to offer, Ms. Jennings, but afternoon kindergarten starts in a few minutes. If today’s a good day for you, we could meet at 3:30 or 4:00. Otherwise any afternoon this week would be—”

  “I can come at four today,” I said.

  “Wonderful. I’ll be looking forward to it.” How could she be so nonchalant about David’s very serious problems? Maybe it was a technique they taught all education majors: when contacting parents about bad news, make sure you sound your perkiest so you can lure them in, and then BAM—hit them with the announcement when they’re least expecting it.

  I hurriedly called Duffy to let her know I’d be home a little later because of a meeting with David’s teacher. Duffy didn’t seem to think there was any cause for alarm and suggested the meeting was a routine introduction, a kind of get-to-know-you for all parents. She put David on the phone, who informed me they’d gotten to play The Farmer in the Dell at kindy-garden that day, and he’d been chosen as the dog. He demonstrated his very convincing bark for me and didn’t seem distressed in the slightest.

  Despite this, I still couldn’t stop myself from pondering a slew of terrible scenarios of what Miss Hanna wanted to communicate to me. Between his uncombed hair today, his sleepy eyes Monday, and the Hawaiian shirt on his very first day, maybe she suspected I was a negligent, unfit mother. Or maybe David or King Rex had scratched another child? Or maybe the other kids were picking on him because he didn’t know how to interact with anyone other than imaginary beings? When Janet and Gisele finally finished their phone conference, they had a whirl of requests for me, and I was grateful to keep my mind off my 4:00 meeting at Port Ambrose Elementary.

  When I arrived at the school, the parking lot was practically empty except for a few teachers’ cars. A handful of students carrying what looked like violins and trumpets in black plastic cases were being picked up by their parents. After-school music lessons. I wondered if I should be signing David up for something like that or if it was still too early. My mom had never signed me up for any extracurricular lessons—no ballet, no gymnastics, no soccer—no matter how much I’d pleaded, and I’d always been so jealous of my friends who tossed their hair and complained about how boring their piano lessons were. It was a good thing Jamie and I had broken up, so I could dwell on these kinds of important questions.

  Miss Hanna looked up from sorting through a plastic tub of hand puppets as I entered the room. “Well, hello. Thanks again for coming to see me on such short notice.” Blunt bangs were cut in her strawberry-blond hair, and she was wearing a bright yellow cardigan with a red belt around her narrow waist. “W
hy don’t we have a seat over here?”

  She shepherded me over to her desk, where two adult-sized chairs and two child-sized chairs were arranged. I selected one of the adult-sized chairs and nervously sat down. I had so many questions to ask that I felt like I would burst, but I knew I should let her do the talking first since she was the one who had asked me here.

  “How does David like kindergarten so far?” she asked.

  Was this a trick question? I crossed my legs and wiggled one of my feet. “He seems to like it very much,” I finally said. “Every day he comes home with a new song or fact to teach us.”

  “Excellent.” She grinned, and I could see that despite her otherwise classically pretty looks, her upper teeth were crowded and trying to hide behind each other. “I’m very glad to hear that.” She rifled through one of her desk drawers and slid a manila folder over to me. “These are some of David’s drawings that I thought you might like to see.”

  Oh no. I gripped the folder, reluctant to open it and see what was inside. A gruesome drawing of the panther dismembering someone? A pack of dinosaurs with teeth and claws as sharp as steak knives? Or maybe a sad, confused family portrait? Your son seems very disturbed, Miss Hanna would say.

  I folded the file’s cover back and breezed quickly through my son’s illustrations, relieved to see there was nothing too out of the ordinary. They were the same type of crayon drawings he did every day: red tractors and fire trucks, a self-portrait of David kicking a pink soccer ball, a green dinosaur (Weeple), and then several pictures of the black panther. More than I would have hoped for. I stared down at the last drawing in the bunch, another of the panther, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu sweep over me. Clearly, it was the panther I had seen the night before and the night before that. So why the bizarre feeling of a deeper recognition? David’s sketched version looked almost cartoonish, and that seemed more right to me somehow than the furry, muscular cat that was currently living in the upstairs of our house.

  I was reluctant to look back up. I felt like a witness being asked to okay the sketch artist’s composite drawing of the perpetrator. Yes, ma’am, this is the panther that’s been terrorizing my son. But when I looked back up, Miss Hanna wasn’t casting me a practiced, teacherly look of concern; she was practically pulsating with eagerness. She reached out for the folder, and I returned it to her.

  “Ms. Jennings, to be quite frank, these are some of the best drawings I’ve ever seen a four- or five-year-old do.” She paused dramatically, as if allowing the news to sink in, before continuing on. “I don’t know how familiar you are with the artistic ability of children David’s age, but let’s just say it’s nowhere near as advanced or creative as this.”

  I crossed my legs in the other direction and waited. Was this some strange way of easing me into a conversation about how poorly he was doing in another aspect of kindergarten? Buttering me up with his strengths before dropping his weaknesses on me? His teacher was staring at me expectantly, so I said, “Thank you. David’s always been very imaginative and good at drawing. I’m very proud of him.”

  “You should be.” Miss Hanna nodded emphatically and pulled out another file from her desk drawer. “He’s a very bright student in other ways as well. We always do an initial assessment of the incoming kindergarteners, and he scored very highly. I’d like to talk to you about getting David set up in our gifted and talented program. It meets twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, during recess.”

  She continued to describe the “enrichment curriculum” that my son would be exposed to, and I continued to stare at her crooked teeth in a daze. It was like getting called into your boss’s office, sure you’re going to get canned, only to discover you’re being given a promotion and a fat raise. David, a gifted and talented student? I’d always known that he was a very creative and sensitive little boy, but, of course, I was a little biased. And then there was the fact that when he was interested in something like dinosaurs or tractors, he could soak up every detail like a sponge. Maybe that wasn’t so typical for a four, going on five-year-old.

  “So can we sign him up?” she asked hopefully.

  “Sure.” I read over and signed all the paperwork she passed to me. Even though I knew I should have been feeling a mix of relief and pride, I still couldn’t help feeling a bit anxious in that classroom. The cheerful colors and smiley posters didn’t match the foreboding vibe I was getting on the other side of Miss Hanna’s desk. “So besides his drawing ability and high test scores, how is David doing?” I asked.

  Miss Hanna scribbled something on the form in front of her, looked up at me, and blinked.

  “Does he get along with the other kids?” I prodded her. “Does he seem shy or withdrawn?”

  She shook her head. “David plays well with others, shares toys, takes turns. He’s made marvelous friends with the identical twins in the class: Maddox and Mason. They’re like the Three Musketeers.”

  “So no problems then? No unusual changes in behavior?” I asked, the tightness in my chest finally loosening. “That you’ve noticed,” I added.

  She considered. “Well, now that you mention it, David did seem a little spooked when he came in from recess today.”

  “Spooked?” That was an odd word but probably a fitting word to describe a child being haunted by a black panther. I cast a glance at the low bank of windows that overlooked the playground and woods.

  “At first, he sat kind of apart from the others on the storytime rug and didn’t seem to be paying much attention. But then Maddox encouraged him to join them, and he seemed fine after that. I thought maybe there had been a tussle on the playground.” Before I could ask her, she supplied, “It wasn’t my day for recess duty, so I can’t be sure.”

  I peered at the color-blocked storytime rug and then out the window again, at the orange plastic slide. A scuffle with another kid certainly could have happened out there, but I suspected his spooked mood had more to do with the panther. I would definitely have to ask David about it.

  Miss Hanna returned the folders to their drawer, flashing me her cluttered-tooth smile. “Nothing to worry about, I think. They seemed to resolve it fine on their own.” She stood up then and offered me her hand across the desk. “It was so nice seeing you again, Ms. Jennings. I really appreciate your coming in and talking to me about David. I think he’s going to have a very bright future ahead of him.”

  On the drive home, I listened to a voicemail message that had been left during my meeting with Miss Hanna. Not Jamie, as I’d briefly (and naïvely) allowed myself to hope, but Stacy. “Hi, Anna, just hoping to catch you. We’re loving our new house and would love to have you and David visit sometime. Maybe for Thanksgiving unless you’re planning to spend it with your grandparents? Oh, and Breanne said something strange the other day, and I just wanted to run it by you. I really miss having you guys close by. Call me to let me know how you’re doing, okay? Ba-bye!”

  I knew it would be a marathon phone call, so I added it to the bottom of my steadily growing to-do list. As I piloted the Caravan to Salsburg, I tried to hold onto Miss Hanna’s words like a talisman: He’s going to have a very bright future ahead of him. Please, please, please, I prayed silently. Let her be right. Let David have a bright future free of fear. And bad cats.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The September evening air was surprisingly brisk, so I’d nabbed one of Winston’s old hooded sweatshirts from the coat closet as Duffy and I headed outside to monitor David playing. The sweatshirt smelled a little like alfalfa and my grandfather’s musky cologne, and I had to roll up the sleeves three times for my hands to peek out. Duffy had politely withheld her questions about my meeting with Miss Hanna all through dinner, but I could tell she was close to exploding with curiosity. Now, as we settled side by side into the deck chairs and I relayed the news about the gifted and talented program, my grandmother’s eyes shone with the unadulterated pride and excitement I knew I should have been feeling.

  “Our Davey’s a geniu
s.” Duffy clapped her hands. “I always knew it. Just wait until I tell Edna.” She hopped up from her chair, nearly tipping it over, and hastened to the door.

  “Where are you going? You’re not seriously going to call Edna to gloat, are you? Duffy, please don’t—”

  She shook her head, held up one finger, and disappeared inside. Wonderful. Just what their already overwrought friendship needed. I wondered if Gunner would be in the program too; for David’s sake, I certainly hoped not.

  David was winging a frisbee from one end of the yard to the other, as if in hopes of his dinosaurs’ fetching and returning it to him. I didn’t know if it was because they lacked the knowhow, the desire, or the physical strength, but each time they didn’t, he blew out an exasperated sigh and chased after the frisbee himself. I doubted anyone would suspect him of being a genius now. King Rex was pacing along the tree line in a very fierce “king of the dinosaurs” way, but Weeple was sticking close to David. He lumbered after him like a faithful, oversized Saint Bernard every time David set off in a different direction. I thought about joining him in his game of frisbee, but just then Duffy reappeared with an uncorked bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  “Champagne?” I gaped. “Honestly, I think you’re making a bit too much of this.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Duffy poured a fizzy glass and handed it to me. “I bought this for our thirty-eighth anniversary back in May, and then we forgot to drink it. You know your grandfather and I aren’t big drinkers. And this seems like something to celebrate.” She set the bottle on the table and raised her glass. “Here’s to our little boy growing up and starting off his school days so brilliantly. And here’s to you, dumpling, for choosing a job close to us, so we can be a part of your lives.” She winked at me as we touched glasses.