by Geonn Cannon
Ms. Page suddenly slapped a card down on a random student’s desk. “Shuffle...Boom! ‘I am going to the supermarket after school today’,” she said, reading from the card. “Find the adjunct. In five...four...”
The student stammered and drummed his fingers on the desk as he stared at the card. “Uh...oh...uh...”
“Three, tah-tah-two...”
“After school today?”
Ms. Page reached into the pocket of her black-and-white checkered slacks. There was the ruffling sound of a cellophane wrapper, and she dropped a pretzel stick on the student’s desk. “Key-rrect.” She continued to shuffle her flashcards and slipped to the next aisle. She didn’t bother to turn around, choosing instead to Moonwalk back towards the front of the room. Robin checked her watch and stepped completely into the room.
“Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle...” the English teacher slapped down another card on a girl’s desk. “We are enjoying this grammar lesson. Gerund.”
The girl answered before April could even begin counting. “Enjoying!”
A kid at the back of the class said, “I found the oxymoron in that sentence, Ms. Page.”
Ms. Page aimed a finger and wagged it at the loudmouth as she handed the girl a pretzel stick. “You’re absolutely correct, but Mr. Lange would do well to keep his comments to himself if he wants a pretzel when it’s his turn. I have black jellybeans, and I’m not afraid to use them.”
Robin stopped at the head of the aisle, covering her smile with a hand as Ms. Page began lifting her knees in an exaggerated march. “Shuffle, shuffle,” she chanted as she continued to sort the cards. Robin lifted her hand to touch the other teacher’s shoulder when Ms. Page suddenly spun around to attack another kid. She bumped Robin’s hand and jerked back, surprised at the obstacle. Her blue eyes opened wide, and her lips fell into a perfect “O.” She blinked a few times, and the cards fell out of her hands in a cascade of verbs and pronouns.
Robin was struck dumb by the woman’s beauty. She tightened her hand on Ms. Page’s elbow in case she lost her balance and then looked down at the mess around their feet. “Um...” They both knelt and began to gather the spilled cards as the students around them laughed.
Ms. Page tucked a blonde curl behind her ear and said, “Sorry. I should’ve been watching where I was...”
“I was going to wait until...”
“No, it’s fine,” Ms. Page said. Robin put a stack of flashcards into the other teacher’s hand. Ms. Page’s hair was hanging in her face, but even through that veil Robin could see how beautiful the other woman was. Robin’s fingers brushed Ms. Page’s as she handed the cards back. “I’m Robin Fraser. I just started teaching Algebra across the hall. I was wondering if you could keep an eye on my class while I run to the office.”
Ms. Page nodded. “Oh, sure. Sure. Uh, April Page.” She held out her hand, and Robin smiled. Robin took her hand and squeezed.
After a moment, when April still hadn’t let go, Robin shifted nervously and looked up at the kids who surrounded them on all sides. She cleared her throat and said, “Um. Ms. Page?”
April blinked. “Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
The class laughed, and April shifted self-consciously. She blushed, and Robin felt a sudden surge of attraction for the slightly clumsy, very pretty English teacher. Easy, she thought. This is real life. Not some chick flick.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
They stood and Robin gestured at the class. “You guys enjoy the rest of your game.” To April, she said, “Nice to meet you, Ms. Page.” She turned and walked back down the aisle and hurried out of the classroom.
She peeked back into her classroom and said, “Ms. Page is going to be watching you guys. Behave. I’ll be right back.” She propped the door open with a rubber wedge that she scooted into position with the edge of the shoe. When she turned, she saw April doing the same. They smiled at each other, and Robin quickly turned away.
She chided herself for being so thrilled that a girl had smiled at her. I was wrong. It’s not a chick flick, she thought as she walked down the hall. It’s third-damn-grade.
She reached down and smoothed her crimson dress against her thighs, suddenly worrying about her appearance. She was wearing a long red dress that almost touched the ground and a white blouse...what if Ms. Page thought she was some kind of hippy? Or with her olive complexion and short black hair, maybe she looked more like a gypsy in this get-up. She certainly had the nose for it. She reached up and self-consciously rubbed her nose.
Still. She dropped her hand and scratched her palm where Ms. Page had touched it and couldn’t help wondering.
April had told her about that first meeting time and again. “Sparks,” she had said, most often lying in bed with her curly blonde hair spread behind her like a wave. “Can you believe it?”
To be honest, Robin hadn’t believed it. She hadn’t felt sparks that day. She’d felt a strong attraction, she’d felt drawn to the other teacher, yes. But sparks? That only happened in the movies.
She closed her address book before the photo could make her cry. She replaced it on the dresser and walked to the window. She pushed the curtain aside and squinted into the sun before looking down at the street. For such a small town, the sidewalk seemed full, especially with the rain still trickling down. The bed-and-breakfast was only a block away from the ferry lanes, so she assumed most of the pedestrians were waiting to be taken back to the mainland.
God, what she wouldn’t give to be among them. Just run down there, hop in her rental car and let the ferry take her back across the water. Anything would be better than having to face her lover’s perfect double. Could she really take that? So soon after losing April, could she really put herself through that?
“You have to,” she told herself quietly. “For April.”
She let the curtain fall back into place and shut out the rest of the world for a while.
##
Molly rode back to the church in silence, thanked Rausch for the lift, and got back into her own car. “No,” she whispered. As if the denial mattered, as if it would change the feeling she’d gotten from the woman at the cemetery. She crossed her hands at the wrist and rested her palms against the steering wheel. She lowered her head against the pillow her hands made and took a few deep breaths.
Friend, coworker, that was all. Robin Fraser was just April’s friend. Her coworker.
Just like Nora had just been April’s classmate...
...Molly walked home from school, her backpack hanging heavy from her shoulders. She’d stayed late getting help on an essay. April had beaten her home, as usual, so Molly went in through the back door without bothering to dig for her key. She dumped her backpack on the dining room floor and headed upstairs. She was fuming, seriously pissed-off. While she’d been stuck in the hot classroom working on her essay, she’d seen April speed by in her friend Nora Bray’s car.
She knew that April had the same essay due, knew for a fact that April was having problems with the subject, too. But there she went, off to get ice cream or ride around the old dirt roads outside of town. Well, Molly was sick of it. Sick of being the responsible sister, the one who slaved to get Bs while April got straight A’s without even trying. It wasn’t fair, and she was going to do something about it.
“April! Get your butt out here,” Molly barked. She slammed open the bedroom door in time to see Nora pull her hand out of April’s jeans.
April was leaning back on the bed, propped up on her elbows with her eyes closed. Her mouth was open in a quiet gasp. Molly backed up a step, and April finally opened her eyes to see her sister. “Oh,” she said. She sat up and pulled a pillow over her chest. “Don’t you knock?”
“Sorry,” Molly said. She looked from April to Nora and backed out of the room. She pulled the door shut behind her and pounded down the stairs. She sat on the couch, clasped her hands between her knees, and stared at the wall. Nora came downstairs, glanced into the living room, and then cont
inued on to the front door.
Molly waited for over an hour, but April never came down.
By the time April finally appeared, their parents were home. Molly didn’t say anything, prompting their mother to ask if everything was all right. Molly assured her everything was fine and excused herself from the dinner table early. Molly avoided April as much as possible, considering the fact the doors to their bedrooms faced each other. She put on headphones while she did her homework so she wouldn’t hear if April knocked on the door. She waited patiently until she heard April’s voice downstairs before she darted to the bathroom for her shower. She didn’t want to think about April, wanted to be an only child for at least the rest of the night. She needed to give her mind a rest after what she’d seen.
The plan worked well until Molly had gotten dressed in her pajamas and climbed into bed. Seconds after turning out the light, there was a quiet knock on her bedroom door. She propped herself up on her elbows as the door opened and April entered without waiting for Molly to say it was okay. “Don’t you ever knock?” Molly said without emotion.
April shuffled her feet. She was wearing an oversized Dash Warren concert T-shirt as pajamas. Her long legs stretched out from the hem, and Molly noted yet another difference between the two of them: where she needed full pajamas -- buttoned blouse and pants and a robe to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night -- April was more comfortable sleeping practically naked. She put one bare foot on top of the other and leaned against the wall next to the door. “Wanna talk about it?”
Molly just stared at her sister.
“Nora and I were just–”
“I know what you were doing.”
“She’s not gay. She was just curious about it. And...well, come on, even you have to admit she’s hot.” She giggled and shuffled her feet.
Molly frowned at her sister’s choice of words. “She’s not gay?”
April shook her head. “No. Bi-curious, I guess, right?”
“You said she’s not gay,” Molly repeated. “And neither are you, right?”
April sighed and looked over her shoulder to make sure their parents weren’t coming up behind her. “Molly–”
“You’re not gay,” Molly said.
“We talked about this before. Just because I like girls doesn’t mean you...”
Molly dropped back to her mattress and rolled onto her side facing away from the door. April sighed, and Molly said, “Could you shut the door when you leave, please?”
April hesitated but finally turned and left the room. A few seconds later, Molly heard April’s bedroom door close as well. Molly pressed her face into the pillow and tried to define how she was feeling. There were tears in her eyes, but she didn’t feel sad. She was trembling, but she wasn’t scared. Maybe it wasn’t just a feeling she was having; maybe she was just breaking apart...
She sat up and stared at the brick wall of the church. There were tears on the backs of her hands, and she wiped them against her blouse. April wasn’t gay. April was rebellious and losing her virginity to a girl had just been to make their parents crazy. April wasn’t gay. April was an open-minded girl who sometimes went a little too far with her teasing.
But if April wasn’t gay, why had that woman at the cemetery looked so heartbroken? If she and April hadn’t been lovers, why would she have come all the way from Montana just to say good-bye? She and April must have been...
Molly shook her head and ignored that thought process. She started her car and pulled out of the parking spot.
“April’s not gay,” Molly whispered. “And neither am I.”
Chapter Four
The morning after the funeral, Molly stayed in the shower until her fingers turned to prunes. She’d spent the night tossing and turning, thinking about Robin Fraser. At around one in the morning, it had hit her; she couldn’t deny who Robin was or what she must have meant to April. Everything she knew pointed to one unavoidable fact: Robin and April had been lovers.
She dried her hair and, despite having been told she could have the whole weekend off, dressed and left for work. It would take her mind off the idea of April and Robin Fraser, and it certainly beat sitting around the house crying because April was gone.
She arrived and parked at the back of the restaurant, entering through the back door and already putting together a prep list in her mind. She pulled her white toque and chef’s jacket out of her locker and left the kitchen as she put them on.
Clifton was sitting at the bar reading a newspaper when she came through the kitchen door. He looked up from his toast and eggs and frowned when he saw her. “Hey,” he said. He wiped his hands on his slacks and straightened his back. “You’re not supposed to be here. I thought I gave you ’til Monday to–”
“You did,” Molly interrupted. “But I’m fine. I trust Shane, but...I need to be in my kitchen.”
He nodded and then shrugged one thin shoulder. “All right. As long as you know I’m not forcing you to work so soon after...you know...”
“Totally my decision.” She gestured over her shoulder to the kitchen. “Besides, we’ve got an hour until opening. I’ll need at least that long to clean up all the messes Shane made before I even start prep.”
Clifton smirked and turned a page in his paper. “Shane was fine and you know it.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Molly said.
“Good to have you back,” Clifton said. She had started to back through the kitchen door when he said, “Molly, hold up a second?” She turned, and he hesitated, as if unsure of how to broach the next topic. He tilted his head and worked his jaw back and forth before he finally asked, “How are you? Doing okay?”
“Fine,” she said, getting sick of saying the word. She ran one hand down the front of her chef’s jacket and motioned at the kitchen. “Can I get to work, please?”
“Go crazy,” Clifton said. He started to look back down at his paper, but a knock on the back door of the restaurant drew his attention away. He slipped off the stool, grabbed a baggie of leftovers from under the bar, and followed Molly into the kitchen. She moved towards the prep table while he continued on to the back door.
Molly knew the guy who lived in the apartment upstairs, Neil Something, was Clifton’s friend. Most mornings, Neil would knock on the back door and Clifton would offer him some sort of leftovers for breakfast. More often than not, they’d stand outside and shoot the breeze for a while, and she was glad for the chance to be alone for the first few minutes of the day.
She walked around the kitchen, running her fingers along the instruments and cooking surfaces. She counted the knives and saw, as she’d expected, that they were all present and accounted for. Shane had also made sure they were all washed and gleaming for the morning prep. Molly smiled and went to the walk-in.
Despite her jab to Clifton, she knew Shane had done a wonderful job in her absence. The real truth was that she couldn’t stand another entire day -- let alone a weekend -- mourning in solitude. In her sanctuary, she would be able to push those thoughts out of her mind, focus on the food, and ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
The funeral had done a bigger number on her than she’d expected it to. In her heart, she’d known for days that April was dead. But the funeral, actually seeing her lowered into the ground, had been like severing an anchor. Ever since the funeral, she had felt lost and cut off from everything around her. After a lifetime of having a connection out there in the world, no matter how far apart they might have been, April was gone, and Molly could feel it in a way that she couldn’t describe.
After making her rounds, Molly set about getting the kitchen ready for the day’s rush. The restaurant opened at ten, and the lunch rush started immediately after. After that, it was pretty much a mad dash until they closed the front doors thirteen hours later. Most days, she arrived early to prep and to deal with the lunch rush, then left for most of the afternoon. She was always there for dinner, a necessity with the amount of traffic the
restaurant had.
Assured that Shane had run an efficient ship in her absence, Molly went into the walk-in and gathered the things she needed for her prep.
By the time Molly came out of the freezer, Shane was standing at the big chalkboard next to the kitchen door. She had her back to the rest of the kitchen and was using a piece of blue chalk to write out the specials for the day. Molly put the bags she’d brought from the fridge on the prep counter and looked over Shane’s shoulder to see what she was writing. She frowned when she got to the third item listed. “Since when is the sockeye salmon one of the specials?”
Shane jumped, her chalk skittering across the board to make a shaky blue line. She turned and said, “Moll! God, you scared me. I didn’t think you’d be back for another couple days.” She gestured at the board and explained, “Yesterday, Clifton said we had an overload of the sockeye, so I should go ahead, drop the price, and add it to the specials.”
“Oh,” Molly said. She hated the idea that she’d missed a change in the menu. Her menu. Sure, Clifton paid the bills, and it was his name on the front door, but...damn it, did he even know how to make half the things on the menu? She sighed, resigned to the change, and looked at the rest of the menu Shane had filled out. She separated the bags she’d just gotten from the walk-in and handed the olives to Shane. She kept the basil leaves and pine nuts for herself. “All right, uh...well, in that case, you should probably get started on making some tapenade. I’ll take care of the pesto.”
Shane nodded, but didn’t move. She said, “How are you? With the...funeral and all?”
Molly didn’t look up. She opened the bag of basil leaves and poured it into the mortar with the rest of the ingredients. She shrugged, picked up the pestle. and began to grind. “I’m doing as well as can be expected,” she said, which was at least a change of pace from “fine.” Shane seemed to be waiting for her to expand on it, so she looked up and gestured at the bag in Shane’s hand. “Shane. The tapenade.”