By Any Other Name

by Theresa Jenner Garrido

  Grams and Gramps and Aunt Terri and the boys were already outside as we pulled up to the sprawling farmhouse. My eyes drank in the picturesque structure that had been built in the early 1900’s by my great-grandfather. I knew every niche and cubbyhole. In the past, various artists traveling through the area had begged permission to paint what they called a ‘striking exterior.’ Gramps always acquiesced with pride. I didn’t blame him. I was proud of the place, too.

  I leaped from the car and ran headfirst into the welcoming arms of my grandmother. “Grams!” I cried. “Merry Christmas. I’m starving. What’s there to eat?”

  Amid the laughter and non-stop questions, the family went into the house to be bombarded by delectable smells wafting in from the large kitchen. Grams had prepared fried chicken—I knew she would—with mashed potatoes and milk gravy, carrots glazed with brown sugar, and homemade applesauce. Freshly baked biscuits were heaped on the table, along with several dishes of homemade jams and jellies.

  “Good grief, Mom,” Dad laughed. “Were you expecting an army? Or don’t you think my wife feeds me?”

  “Now don’t you waste your clever words on me, John Anthony Merrick,” Grams sniffed. “I haven’t forgotten how you used to eat us out of house and home when you were a boy. Wash up, everybody. Dinner’s ready now, and I mean now,” she said to one and all.

  Mom and I handed our coats to Gramps and rushed over to the big ceramic sink to wash. Dad and Aunt Terri bantered back and forth while she put Davey in his playpen, and Dad helped settle Peter onto his booster seat. In less than a minute we were seated at the big pine table watching with mouths watering as Grams placed the last of the steaming bowls in front of us.

  “Where’s Uncle Matt?” I asked as I helped myself to a warm biscuit.

  “I’m right here, Snickerdoodle,” a voice came from behind me. I turned in my chair and grinned up at my uncle as he tossed his coat onto a bench.

  “Sit down. Everything’s getting cold. You’re late, Matthew,” Grams scolded.

  “Sorry, I had trouble convincing Mildred to get into her pen,” Uncle Matt chuckled as he shook hands with Dad, kissed Mom, and tweaked his wife’s nose.

  “Mildred? Who’s Mildred?” I asked around a mouthful of biscuit smeared with homemade blueberry jam.

  “Mildred’s a sow who just gave birth to six grunters,” my uncle grinned. “She and I were having a little disagreement. No problem. I won.”

  “Humph,” Grams snorted.

  “Kind of an odd time for a litter, isn’t it?” Dad remarked with a slight frown.

  My uncle laughed and made a face. “Well, that’s a long story,” he said as he sat.

  “One I’m sure you’ll tell me, ad nauseam,” Dad groaned.

  “Let’s bow our heads and ask the Lord’s blessing before this here food gets too cold, and before Kate here eats it all.” Gramps winked at me.

  I swallowed the remaining bite of biscuit, mumbling, “Sorry.” and bowed my head for grace. Gramps kept it short and ended with a loud “Amen!” Then everybody began talking at once. Our voices filled the large kitchen, weaving in and out among the high rafters like a flowering vine wrapping itself up and around a trellis. Again, an effervescent bubbling swelled up in my heart as I looked at each of the faces around me. My whole family was awesome.

  Friendly banter and teasing carried us through the meal and well past bedtime. I was totally worn out by the time I climbed the stairs to the bedroom set aside especially for my visits. I loved my tiny bedroom in the farmhouse almost as much as my room at home. It was filled with handmade dainties, lovingly stitched by my grandmother and her grandmother before her. The curtains were blue and white checked and there was a matching quilt on the bed. The small blue throw rugs were handmade, too, and added just the right touch to the little corner room with the slanted ceiling. Yeah, I loved the farm and everything that went with it.

  FOURTEEN

  Winter break was over. I couldn’t believe how quickly the days passed. Bright and early on a frosty January morning, I climbed the steps to the school bus. I couldn’t wait to see Nancy and grinned from ear to ear when I boarded the bus and saw her, sitting in our seat still struggling with her book bag, purse, and gym bag. She flashed me one of her best model-in-the-making smiles, and shuffled her legs so I could get past and settle in by the window with a loud sigh.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, back. Here we are again. I am so not ready for this.”

  I made a face. “Yeah. I can’t believe we’re back in school already. Didn’t the days just fly? Did you have a good holiday?”

  Nancy sighed. “Oh, yeah. We had a great time. We flew to New York to visit my mother’s maid of honor—they’re still friends, if you can believe that.”

  “New York? Awesome. Did you get to shop or see any plays?”

  “No plays, but I got to shop for a few hours. Not enough for me, but I had fun. I bought this.” Nancy pushed up her sleeve to display a dainty gold bracelet.

  “Wow!” I was duly impressed. “Should you be wearing it to school? I mean, gosh, what if you lose it, or something?”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t,” Nancy sniffed. “Wait ’til that snooty Lisa Lynn gets her baby blues on this bauble. It’ll like kill her.”

  I laughed. “Oh, yeah. She’ll be green with envy.”

  “It’ll show her she’s not the only pert blonde out there.”

  Chattering about our holidays, I lost my train of thought and paused mid-sentence when the bus came to a groaning stop. Nancy looked at me with eyebrows in a knot. Giving her a nervous glance, I shifted my attention to the two people stumbling up the bus steps. Rose Coughlin and Jimmy-John took their places. Mr. Benedict let the door close behind them with a dull click. I chewed on my lip. Nancy poked me with her elbow.

  “Kate! For god’s sake, what’s gotten into you? You’re not listening to a word I say.”

  I blinked. “I-I’m sorry, Nancy, it’s just that, well, Rose and—”

  “God, Kate! Why are you like so consumed with this Rose thing? Jeez, girl, it’s got to stop. You’re getting to be a real drag, and I mean it.” Nancy turned in her seat, away from me. It didn’t take a Ph.D. to see she was angry. She refused to talk the rest of the trip to school. Twice I started a conversation only to have her shrug and continue to stare out the windows on the far side of the bus.

  I seethed all the way into the building. I was totally mental. Why was I being so stupid? I was consumed with the subject of Rose, and now that I was back at school, the monster was rearing its ugly head again. Over the holidays it had been easy to put Rose out of my mind, and, for the most part, I’d been successful. Now it was time to take a stand. Would I try to be friends with Rose Coughlin or continue to ignore her and keep my place with the “in” crowd?

  The moment of truth came sooner than expected. I’d hoped to put if off a little longer—maybe talk it over with my mother some more—weigh the pros and cons. No such luck. I came up against the monster like a bug hitting the windshield. It happened in Ms. Wayne’s class, of all places.

  The English lit teacher gave the class a group project. Students were to get together—two or three to a group—and create a visually pleasing interpretation of a poem of our choice. It was to be presented before the class the following Monday. Ms. Wayne told the class to pick their partners. Of course there was a mad scramble as students paired up with friends. Charlie Kramer linked with Paul Davidson since Paul was an “A” student and Charlie didn’t know a couplet from a hole in the wall. Several others were doing the same thing—choosing partners whom they knew would help them get the desired grade. Of my group, Donna and Cindy got together and Jenny grabbed Molly. That left Julia, Nancy, and me. We ducked in a huddle to plan our project.

  Julia began leafing through the lit book to find just the right poem, while Nancy joined Donna and Cindy as they collaborated. I stayed seated and remained silent. My eyes swept the room for Rose. She sat alone at her desk, not part of any gro
up. A wave of heat washed over me. This was it. It was time to make a move. I had to decide what action to take, but it was the hardest thing I’d ever been asked to do—even if I was the one doing the asking. Closing my eyes for a second, I sucked in a deep breath, stood and approached the others.

  “Hey, guys…” I’d interrupted Nancy and she made a face. “Sorry, Nance, but uh, I don’t, uh, think Rose has a partner.”

  Nancy rocked back on her heels and shot me a dark look. “I beg your pardon?” Cold.

  I swallowed. “Uh, Rose doesn’t have a partner—for the project…”

  “So that’s news for the New York Times? What of it. We already have three in our group.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But nothing. Ms. Wayne said no more than three to a group. We have three in our group, so let her worry about it. What’s with you, Kate?” Nancy said through clenched teeth.

  I looked down at my shoes for a minute before speaking again. Summoning the last fragment of courage I had, I faced my friends. “Come on, guys. We can’t leave her by herself.”

  “For god’s sake, why not? I couldn’t take it having her work with us. I’d gag. She stinks, Kate, and you know it. She needs help. I’ll admit that. But not the kind of help you’re suggesting. God, she makes me positively ill just looking at her.”

  I looked at each of my friends in turn, but their faces remained immobile—hunks of plaster, frozen in time. I had to say something. I glanced over my shoulder at the girl sitting at the back of the room and, as luck would have it, caught her eye. The look Rose gave me was so pitiful that I felt a tremor ripple down my back. I clenched my fists. “Okay,” I wheezed. “Okay. Then I guess I’ll go pair off with Rose.”

  Nancy bit her lip. “You are making a big mistake, Kate Merrick.”

  “It won’t be the first time,” I tried to smile.

  “Oh, Kate,” Molly moaned. “Don’t be silly. You can’t work with the likes of her and you know it. Think about your grade, if nothing else.”

  “She can’t work alone. I have to unless one of you can come up with a better way to include her.”

  Cindy, Molly, and Donna shook their heads. Jenny pursed her lips. “Oh, god, Kate, don’t. Don’t do this. You’ll get branded for life. I know my mother will never allow me to go to your house ever again if a Coughlin is there. God, think of the germs. Rose probably has a disease that nice people don’t talk about… You know, something disgusting and perverted.”

  I winced but shook my head. “No…I have to. She can’t be alone.”

  “Please, Kate, don’t,” Nancy grabbed my hand and squeezed. “Please don’t throw everything away for the likes of her. Please! You’re my best friend.”

  “I have to, Nance. Can’t you see that? I have to.”

  “Fine.” Nancy turned her back on me. It was as if she’d slammed a door in my face.

  Julia, who’d been silent throughout the tirade, looked up from the book she’d been poring through and offered a diplomatic smile. “Okay, Kate,” she said with forced brightness, “you go ahead. Nan and I will be a team, and you and, uh, Rose can work together. No problem. After all, it is your life.”

  With a lump in my throat the size of Mt. McKinley, I turned and walked over to the miserable wretch that had just cost me my reputation as well as my whole life here at Louis and Clark High. Rose glanced up when I sat in the desk opposite her.

  “Hi, Rose,” I grunted. “So, do you want to work together on the project?”

  Rose looked at me for an eon then nodded, a pink flush spreading across her face. “Yes.”

  I took a deep breath. “Great. So, uh, can you maybe come to my house after school this Friday to work on it? I have lots of poster board and stuff at home.” I looked at the homely girl across from me. It was all I could do not to wrinkle my nose at the definite aura permeating from her. She wasn’t wearing deodorant—that was for sure. And her clothes hadn’t been washed lately. I was so tempted to stand up and bolt—get out of there and hide—but I stayed. What had I gotten myself into? Why was I acting like some heroine from an Elizabethan play? I had thrown away my whole high school career for this. How dumb is that?

  Dumb? Numb was more like it. Sizing up the miserable creature that was now my partner in a project to be presented in front of the entire class, I sat there, really too stunned to move. What had I done? Could I somehow undo it? How would I go to my classes from now on without feeling like a pariah? Would I ever have another friend again my whole life? Maybe I would have to move—go live with my grandparents or aunt and uncle or someone. My grades would suffer, and I wouldn’t make it into a good college. I’d end up a bag lady on the streets.

  Rose sat, staring stupidly at her hands. I sighed in annoyance. “Well, can you? Come to my house, after school?” I asked again.

  Rose shook her head. “No, I-I can’t.”

  “Why not? For crying out loud, Rose. We have to work together on this thing if we want a good grade. And I want a good grade.” My patience had evaporated. I mentally hit myself over the head. Totally clear. I was a fool. The biggest fool for falling for this. I’d given up my very best friends in the world—not to mention my life—for this dimwit.

  “I can’t leave Jimmy-John home alone,” Rose explained tersely, breaking through my mental chastisement of myself.

  “What? Oh.” I bit my lip. “Yeah, I forgot about him. Your mom isn’t home in the afternoons?”

  “No. She works until eleven at night.”

  “Oh. And, uh, your dad?”

  Rose seemed to pale at the mention of her father. Weird. I waited for her to say something but the only thing she said was, “No.”

  I thought a moment, wrestling with my conscience and pride then suggested something I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d ever do. “Well, could you, uh, come over if you brought him with you?”

  Rose looked at me like I’d given her a ticket to Bermuda. A smile flitted across her face, lighting up her blue eyes. “Yes. Yes, I could.”

  FIFTEEN

  The following afternoon, I sat in my seat beside Nancy, but we didn’t say a word to one another. She pretended to be absorbed in her history book, and I just sat, looking out the window. Rose Coughlin and Jimmy-John were not getting off at their stop but were remaining on the bus. They were coming to my house this afternoon. My house. Rose Coughlin and the scrawny, snot-nosed little Jimmy-John. Both were coming to my house, and I had invited them without batting an eye. And if you’re buying that, I know a nice little marsh somewhere in Florida you can have for a few bucks. As if the situation wasn’t bad enough, when Rose murmured something to Mr. Benedict about where they were getting off, the old bus driver stared, speechless, at her for a full minute before clearing his throat.

  “Mmm. I guess this tops it all,” he barked loud enough for the entire bus to hear. “Do wonders never cease.” He looked in his rearview mirror at me, the “Merrick girl,” and shook his head in wonderment. In nineteen years of driving this bus I suppose he’d never witnessed anything as bizarre. For the remainder of the trip home, he kept looking at me in his rearview mirror. Or, at least, it seemed he did.

  The horror show had begun.

  When the bus ground to a halt at my stop, I got up and hurried down the aisle. I waited, shifting from one foot to the other, as Rose and Jimmy-John stumbled out ahead of me. One of the boys getting off with us snickered and said something crude under his breath. I chose to ignore him. What else could I do? I half agreed with him.

  “Come on, Rose. My house is that brick one over there.” I pointed up the street.

  Rose just did that silly nod thing and grabbed her little brother’s hand. Jimmy-John followed, obedient as usual. As soon as we were on the front porch, I opened the door and waved them in. No point in attracting more attention than we already had.

  Mom heard us. “Hi, hon. In the kitchen.”

  I led the way with the Coughlins, trailing behind. Mom had been in a baking frenzy again. A p
late stacked high with homemade doughnuts waited on the counter.

  “Well, hello, Rose. And Jimmy-John. I’m so glad you could come.” Mom smiled her warmest at the little boy who stood fidgeting behind his sister. “Why don’t you guys wash up and have a doughnut before you start on your project. How’s that sound?”

  I gave my mother a stabbing look that tried to tell her volumes, but she either didn’t get it or chose not to. I wondered whether she could smell Rose, and what she thought about having the Coughlins in her immaculate kitchen. Either she didn’t care, or she was a better actress than I thought. She continued to smile and hum as she washed out a baking pan. With a shrug, I beckoned Rose and her brother to follow me to the downstairs bathroom. Chewing on my thumbnail, I waited, while they went in together. Through the closed door I overheard Jimmy-John’s piping voice.

  “Rosie, this is the prettiest.” I wondered what he was referring to. I mean, it was a nice enough bathroom, but “prettiest” was an extravagant word in the extreme.

  I leaned closer to the door and strained to hear Rose’s reply, but only a low murmuring voice, too soft to be heard through the closed door, answered. I stepped back when the knob suddenly turned. Rose appeared with her brother in tow and followed me back into the kitchen. Mom was doing her smiling thing again and offered to take Rose’s sweater. The girl looked startled, as if she were afraid my mother wouldn’t give it back. As if.

  “It’s awfully warm in here, honey. I’ll just put your sweater on the back of this chair. Okay?” Mom coaxed Rose out of that horrible orange and magenta garment and actually touched it as though it were a normal person’s coat. Major obvious Rose was reluctant, but she obeyed. Since Jimmy-John only had on a long sleeved flannel shirt over a cotton T-shirt to begin with, Mom said nothing. Instead she helped the little boy up to the table. He sat there, so low in the chair that only his upper face was visible.

  “Here, sweetheart,” Mom chuckled, “let’s get you to sit on this.” She picked up the thick telephone directory from a nearby table and placed it under him. Now he was able to see over the table and handle the glass of milk I’d poured him.