“That might be good.”
“Isn’t it great about Andrew?” she asked airily. She pulled the Chardonnay that he liked from the fridge.
“It is,” Henry agreed. “But, Julia, we have to talk about what happened with the cast list.” He felt a familiar anxiety pulse from his chest down through his arms. He’d have to finesse this just right to get her to cooperate.
Julia shook her head. “It was a big misunderstanding. I got caught up in the hallway on my way to check the cast list, and there were all of these kids. . . .” She trailed off, her free hand making circles in the air, fingers extended.
“I got a call from Martin Young,” Henry said, stopping her.
“Martin?” Julia frowned.
“Martin said that his daughter, Melissa, was badly hurt. He told me that—and this is hard for me to imagine—you assaulted her in the midst of a crowd of kids.”
“Assault?” Julia blinked. She pushed Henry’s wineglass toward him across the counter, her Tiffany bangle scraping the granite. He’d been there when her mother had given her that bracelet at a fancy dinner after their college graduation. She’d worn it nearly every day since even though he’d gifted her much nicer things.
“What happened, Julia?”
She shook her head. “No one would answer my texts, and I was so eager to see what part Andrew got. . . .”
“And?” he prodded.
Julia raised her glass to her lips and glanced at the ceiling as she sipped. “Assault?” she said again once she’d swallowed.
“Yes,” said Henry, controlled, but barely. He’d been able to see her point when his sister brought that Target-quality Yule log to the first Christmas dinner after his mom had died, and he again acknowledged her concern at parent-teacher conferences when a single arbitrary B+ marred Tracy’s report card. But punching a kid? In front of a crowd? This had crossed even Henry’s generously thick line. “Martin Young said you elbowed Melissa hard in the gut.” He reached a hand over to hers and held it. “Martin used the word ‘assault.’”
She blinked again. “I just can’t imagine anyone characterizing it that way.”
“Well,” said Henry, his patience fraying, “that’s how Martin Young characterized it.” A sheen formed over Julia’s blue eyes then, her first sign of emotion. She pulled her hand away. More softly, he said, “Could you please tell me what happened?”
“No one was texting me back about the cast list, so I decided to just sneak into the school right at two thirty when it was posted and take a peek while the students were still in class. But the bell rang, and suddenly there were kids everywhere.” She looked past him, thinking. “I just wanted to see . . .”
“You couldn’t wait until Andrew came home?” Henry himself anticipated no problem waiting until dinnertime to hear the news about Andrew’s part. It would have been fun, actually, to hear it straight from him, to watch his face light up as he made the announcement.
“No!” She slapped her hand against her yoga pants, her mood intensifying as it always did. “He’s worked so hard, Henry!” She looked at him finally. “He really deserved that inspector part. I just wanted to see it. I wanted to see it for myself.” She turned back toward the stove.
Henry exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. Heat escaped the oven as Julia cracked it to check on the mac and cheese. “And you ran into Melissa Young?” he prompted.
“There was a circle of kids. I just wanted to get a little glimpse of the list, so I excused my way through the crowd. I must have bumped into her right as I was leaving.”
“Dad?” It was Tracy’s voice from the stairwell.
Henry feared they’d lose momentum. “Can you give us a few minutes, Trace?”
“Dad.” She came toward him with her phone outstretched in front of her. “You should probably see the video.”
“There’s a video?” As Henry took the iPhone, the back door crashed open.
A red-faced Andrew emerged from the mudroom, his untied shoelaces clicking against the wood floor as he walked. He looked up at the family, all three staring at him, and zeroed in on Julia. “Mom,” he said darkly, “I can’t fucking believe you.”
“Andrew!” Julia’s glass clattered as she set it down hard on the counter.
“Andrew!” Henry shouted simultaneously. “Language!”
“But did you see it?” their son yelled, one hand migrating to his sweaty brow. “Did you see the video?”
“I just gave it to him.” Tracy pointed at the phone in Henry’s hand.
“Well, watch it!” Andrew fumed. “It has more than a thousand views.”
Henry pressed the play arrow, dread spreading from his belly. After he saw it the first time, he blinked hard and hit PLAY again. The video was more damning than he’d imagined. When Martin Young had described the incident, Henry assumed it was a jostling, the kind of elbow one might catch while maneuvering through a crowded grocery store. But this was a full-on hit, Julia’s elbow driving into the center of Melissa’s stomach, the girl’s mouth flying open in shock and pain as she doubled over. Julia stood in the center of the frame, the sole adult in a swarm of teenagers. Nobody else’s parents were even there, he thought.
Without speaking, Henry walked toward Julia and placed the phone on the counter in front of her. He played the recording again, and her eyes widened. Her hand covered her mouth as it finished.
“Well?” prompted Andrew. Tears caught in his throat, and Henry’s shoulders felt weak under the weight of pity and responsibility for his son. He looked alternately at each of them—Andrew and Julia. What was the right move here? Defend Julia’s irrational behavior? Side with his son while his wife looked on? The moment required the negotiation skills he’d honed over years of working with city government. He turned to Andrew. “We understand why you’re upset.”
Fresh color flooded Andrew’s face and spread to his neck. “I don’t think you do! The entire school is watching a video of Mom having a fucking fit in front of the cast list!” Henry saw Julia wince at this, but neither of them said anything. “And I have to go to rehearsal tomorrow”—Andrew pointed at his mother—“with Melissa Young!”
“Take a deep breath,” Henry said, stepping toward him.
“Dad! I know you understand this.” Andrew staggered back. “I know you do!” His body appeared to spasm in rage.
“You’re right.” Henry reached a hand out to touch Andrew’s arm. Standing face-to-face with him, he realized his boy had finally equaled him in height. A flash of pride broke through the tension. “Let’s go for a drive,” he said, thinking fast.
“A drive isn’t going to fix anything,” Andrew said, glaring at Julia.
“Andrew,” she began as she raised a hand to her clavicle.
“Don’t even say anything!” Andrew shouted, blasting Henry’s ears with his ferocity. “Just shut up!”
“Andrew,” said Henry firmly, sure that distance from his mother would help, “let’s go.” He steered him toward the door.
JULIA ABBOTT
Julia lay on her back, a cool washcloth over her eyes, when Henry opened their bedroom door. As he entered she pushed the compress up, inhaling the lavender essential oil in the cool-air diffuser by her bed. The idea was to calm herself, although it wasn’t working well. Over dinner with Tracy, she’d cycled between fury and humiliation. What kind of child swore at his mother like that? What kind of mother allowed it? And how could she explain to Andrew what had actually happened at the drama board, despite what it looked like in that damn video?
“I can’t believe Andrew,” Julia had said out loud to Tracy over her leftover beet salad.
Tracy picked the golden crust from the mac and cheese with her fingers. “The Instagram video has over thirteen hundred views now,” she said quietly.
Julia had poured a third glass of prosecco when Tracy excused he
rself to finish homework in her room. After she’d drained it, she closed her own bedroom door and tried the lavender.
“Well?” she asked Henry eagerly as he placed his keys and money clip on the dresser.
“Well.” He exhaled slowly through his nose. “I think things are going to be okay.”
Julia’s head felt immediately clearer. She swung her legs over the bed, the washcloth limp in her hand, and said, “Oh, good. I’ll go—”
“No.” Henry kicked off his loafers and lay down beside her. “Give him some space.” He opened his arms and gestured for her to rest her head on his chest. Julia hesitated. She wanted to talk to Andrew, both to allow him to apologize for using the f-word and also to assure him that she’d solve this problem, just as she had all the others.
“Trust me,” Henry said. She felt irritated by his authority, and yet she remembered Tracy’s forlorn recitation of the Instagram video stats. Was thirteen hundred viral? Surely not, and yet she placed the damp washcloth on the floor beside the bed and lowered her body to rest against her husband’s. He held her loosely.
“What did Andrew say?” Julia asked.
Henry’s chest rose and fell. Several seconds passed before he answered. “He’s not happy you went to school, and he’s especially upset about the video.”
Julia felt a familiar panic, the flutter at the back of her esophagus that accompanied the helpless feeling of not being understood. She’d simply tried to make sure Andrew got the part he deserved, the recognition they’d all worked for. “But I was just seeing that everything turned out the way we planned.” Her voice rose, and she tried to sit.
Henry tightened his grip, and she gave up. “We both know that,” he said, his voice low and his eyes closed. “But Andrew doesn’t see it that way.”
She waited through several more of his breaths. “That’s why I need to go talk to him,” she said. “To explain what actually happened.” Her voice caught on her final word, and she felt tears rising. “I just don’t know how everything got so mixed up.”
Henry’s grip remained firm over her biceps. “Julia,” he said, “neither do I.”
They were both quiet for a moment, and Julia felt tears crest her eyelids and soak into Henry’s blue Oxford button-down beneath her. “God,” she said finally, “I just wanted Andrew to have this lead role. Now he has it, and he’s not even speaking to me. And that video!”
Henry nodded his chin into the top of her head.
“Is thirteen hundred views considered viral, do you think?”
“Andrew said seventeen hundred at dinner,” Henry said. “Try not to think about it.”
Try not to think about it? Henry could be so inane sometimes. “Can we delete it?” she asked, her tears drying. “And also, did I tell you? Wayne Wallace scheduled a meeting at seven thirty tomorrow morning to talk about”—she paused—“to talk about the incident?”
“You mentioned that before Andrew came in.” Henry reached for the phone in his back pocket. He tapped it several times and then said, “I’ll go with you.” She nodded into his chest. As much as she resented it, the principal always seemed to take her more seriously when Henry accompanied her.
“Do you have to reschedule something?” she asked, guilty.
“A meeting with Brenda about the Tuolomee project. We can do it at nine.”
“Will she be mad?” Julia didn’t want to add to the list of things for which she’d have to apologize. “I’m sure we can work this out. Wayne was so pleased when we gave the gift for the costume shop.”
“It’ll be fine.” Henry put his phone on his bedside table. “Before we fall asleep, let’s talk about how to play it tomorrow. We’ve got a good shot to repair things, but we have to get the tone right.” Julia felt both relieved and annoyed that Henry was immersed in the situation. He generally left everything related to the children to her, ignoring sports registrations and academic blips. The kids’ problems were hers to solve, Henry happily detached until now suddenly he wasn’t.
WAYNE WALLACE
Wayne Wallace waited for the Abbotts at his office door. The meeting would be tricky, he knew—chastising significant donors to the Liston Heights Education Fund. He burped quietly, his stomach upset. Julia and Henry appeared in the administrative hallway, dressed up and looking grim.
Calm and matter-of-fact, Wayne told himself. Let’s get this over with.
“Ah,” he said as the couple drew close. “Come in.” He shook hands first with Henry and then with Julia, his fingers grazing the white silk cuff of her blouse, and gestured toward the conference table.
“Wayne,” Julia began as the principal sat down, “I’m so sorry about this misunderstanding.”
Henry nodded at her approvingly. “We both are,” Henry said. “I talked with Martin Young last evening, and Julia and I understand the severity of the situation.”
“That’s good.” Wayne felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to recount Martin’s take on it. “As you know, safety is our first concern at Liston Heights High.”
“Obviously,” Julia agreed. “And”—she glanced at Henry before continuing her prepared speech—“I clearly let my emotions get the best of me. It was a mistake to come to school. I should have waited to hear the news from Andrew.” The lines were stilted, but on the mark. Julia smiled. “It’s just that I was so excited!” Her voice rose, and her hands came together before she remembered herself. “I was excited to see the result of his hard work, of course,” she said, staid once again.
Wayne pursed his lips and looked away. “I’m sure you were excited, Julia. And I appreciate your candor. It’s indeed possible for parents to become, ah”—he hesitated—“overly invested in the student experience.”
Julia squinted and sat up taller. Wayne could tell that “overly invested” had rankled her, but he pressed on. “I’ve talked with Martin Young, and unfortunately Melissa feels—”
“Wayne,” interrupted Henry. “Martin, to his credit, called me directly yesterday. He told me himself how Melissa feels, and we both—Julia and I—are committed to making this right.”
“I’m relieved to hear you say that.” Wayne took in Henry’s gelled hair and his paisley tie as he prepared to impart the consequences for Julia’s impulsivity. This guy, he figured, wasn’t used to being told no. “I’m afraid, though, we’re going to have to make some adjustments to the Theater Booster Board to accommodate Martin’s wishes. He’s assured me that he, his wife, Annabelle, and Melissa are opposed to pressing charges as long as the school can assure Melissa’s safety and comfort.”
“Charges?” Julia blurted. “I mean, that’s insane! I—” Henry reached over and took her hand. Wayne bit down on his molars and steeled himself.
“Just listen,” Henry said to his wife. “Wayne is saying they’re not—”
“Henry, please.” Julia shook him off. “The very idea of pressing charges for what was clearly an unfortunate accident is ridiculous. As you well know, Wayne, I have been fully dedicated to this program for two years.” Here came the litany he’d been waiting for. “I’ve donated my time, my talent, and, of course, my—our—actual money”—she gestured toward Henry—“to ensure the success of the Liston Heights Thespians. As well as their safety and comfort! I’m surprised that given my track record you’d accuse—”
“Julia,” Wayne broke in, “no one doubts your commitment to the program, and I’m sure, as you say, that this incident was an accident. However, certain compromises have become necessary.” He kept his deep voice level.
“But I don’t understand. Is Melissa Young even hurt?” Spittle appeared on Julia’s lips as she asked.
“Since you spoke with Martin,” Wayne said to Henry, “you probably know that Melissa is reporting soreness and bruising to the abdomen.” Henry nodded, solemn. “And I’m not sure if you’re aware of this”—Wayne’s eyes flicked in Julia’s direction—“b
ut Melissa seems to know about some comments you may have made about Witches over Willow Street last spring. Comments regarding her performance and her appearance. She even alluded to them in her profile yesterday on the LHHS Instagram.”
Julia pressed her lips together and squared her shoulders. “What do you have in mind regarding the Booster Board?” Henry asked.
“Ah,” said Wayne. Here it came. He leaned in and made eye contact with Julia. “I’m afraid this much is nonnegotiable. I’ve decided that you will not serve on the Theater Booster Board for the next twelve months.”
“What?” She shook off her husband’s hand. “Wayne, I understand your impulse here, but I don’t think you’ve really thought this through. For instance,” she continued, “who do you imagine will take over communications for the cast and crew on such short notice? Who will plan and execute the annual five-K? This important community event doesn’t just happen! I’ve been coordinating it for years.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Wayne broke in, “but it’s already been handled.”
“Handled?” Julia said, startled.
“Robin Bergstrom has agreed to step in,” Wayne said. “She’d be glad to serve on the board, given the difficult circumstances.” Julia’s eyes went wide, and then she fell back against her chair as if she herself had been punched in the stomach. Robin Bergstrom, Wayne knew, was something of a friend to Julia.
Or at least until today she had been.
ROBIN BERGSTROM
Robin Bergstrom didn’t have time to serve on the Theater Booster Board. She had three new freelancing clients and deadlines littering her calendar. But when Wayne Wallace had called her, she couldn’t resist. Julia had been so smug about Andrew’s potential for a lead role and at the same time so secretive about the workings of the board. “I can’t tell you everything,” she’d said when Robin asked about fund-raising and 5K plans. “We’ll ask for feedback from the masses at a specific time.”
Minor Dramas & Other Catastrophes Page 7