Danny's Mom (13 page)

“No, Cal. What sucks isn't your lunch. What sucks is what's happening in Meadow Brook.”

“You wanna know the truth?” Callie sat back down and waited till my eyes found hers. “I'm scared because you're doing some pretty stupid things lately. And because you're getting yourself in a big mess. And because…” She looked down and lowered her voice. “Because I don't want to lose you. I can't imagine being here without you, and everyone knows Peter's out to get you. They'll bring you up on charges if you keep ignoring what they say, or they'll transfer you to the middle school, or they'll make you so miserable you'll leave.” Callie looked up then, tears glazing her eyes. “And it scares me you don't see what's happening. I mean, wanna try wiping out homophobia? Fine, be my guest. But while you're at it, you decide to help Liz Grant and to fight Bob and Peter all at the same time. So, how can you not see you're gonna lose? ’Cause you will. And when you do, I'll be here all alone. And that, my friend, is what sucks.”

Alison showed up five minutes into seventh period. As she was telling me about a fight with her mother, Peter pushed open the door to my office. He addressed Alison as if he didn't see me. “Where are you supposed to be now, young lady?”

“Here. See?” Alison twisted in her chair and flashed the call slip. “I have a pass.”

“Did Mrs. Maller give that to you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And what do you have this period, Alison?”

“Chem lab. But see?” She waved the call slip again. “We're doing college planning.”

“But there's not going to be any college if you don't pass chemistry. Will there?”

“But I got an
A
last quarter and a 91 on the last quiz.”

“And you want to keep those grades high, don't you?”

“Yeah. I will.”

“Not if you miss a lab you won't. And we're not even fifteen minutes into the period, so I suggest you hightail it back to class this instant.”

“But that's not—”

“No
but
, young lady. Back to class. Let's go.”

Alison looked at me. “Sorry, Ali,” I said. “We'll talk some other time.” She stood, clutching her backpack.

“And have the time stamped on that call slip, Alison,” Peter said.

He stepped out to let her pass. At the door, Alison turned toward me. I shrugged.

“You win, Peter,” I said when she left.

He started to go, then looked back. “Now that's the first smart thing I've heard you say, Mrs. Maller.”

Chapter Fourteen

A
pril slipped into May. Students taped posters all over the school. A
RT
F
AIR
—B
E
T
HERE
OR
B
E
S
QUARE!
F
IRST
S
HOW OF THE
M
ILLENNIUM
. C
OME
O
NE
, C
OME
A
LL
TO THE
G
REATEST
S
HOW ON
E
RTH
! No
A
in
Earth
, but
millennium
spelled correctly. Why not have the
millennium
speller proofread all notices? I suggested that to Callie when I pointed out the poster.

“I can't believe you let them put that up. How are these kids ever gonna learn to spell if they get away with that?”

“Spell check. They don't have to know how to spell.”

“That's nuts. Doesn't it bother you that a high school student leaves out the
A
in
Earth
?”

“No. What bothers me is that you're so uptight about it. Nobody else around here will even notice. It's a new world. Computers. Spell check.” She threw a playful punch at my shoulder. “Get with the program.”

A few days later, I stayed after school to help Callie finish hanging the art show in the cafeteria. The building was quiet, the only sound an occasional yell from the gym, where cheerleaders must have been working on new routines for the fall.

“You know,” Callie said as I hung a black-and-white drawing of a clown, “Meadow Brook's the one steady thing in your life now, and there're only six weeks till vacation. So if you keep your nose clean, as the big guys would say, we're home free. All they'll remember is how peaceful things were at the end of the semester. Dr. Sullivan'll pat them on the back for another good year, and that's all they're after. They're climbing the ladder. Everyone knows that. Bob wants to be superintendent. That's why he doesn't want anyone making waves. And Peter? Well, you know how he can't stand being second-in-command, how he always has to be big man on campus. I mean, it's no coincidence he divorced his wife when she became principal over at Hilldale. So now if everything stays quiet till Dr. Sullivan retires, then when Bob moves up, Peter'll take over the high school. He's just biding time till then.”

I listened to the voice of reason from my best friend—the woman who knew that spelling didn't count anymore. The rules at Meadow Brook were clearly changing. Not rocking the boat was all that seemed to matter now.

“You're right, Cal. Right as usual.” I stood back and looked at the clown drawing. “This is such a sad picture. But really good. Who did it?”

“I don't remember. But if it's not signed on the front, the name's on the back.” She tossed me a peppermint and left to get a staple gun.

I pulled the tacks from the drawing and flipped it over to find the artist. Zach Stanish had printed his name in thin, penciled letters. I held the black-and-white drawing and thought about Zach, a teenager with no parents. How much sorrow does it take to strip the color from a clown?

Joe never saw Zach's drawing. He didn't even come to the art fair.

“Whaddaya mean Joe's not coming?” Callie said when she called me at home to find out what time we'd be there and if we wanted to grab dinner first.

Tom, home early from work, got on the phone. “Hey, Beth, are you and Joe all right?”

I forced an upbeat in my voice. “Sure. I'll see you later. And by the way, the show looks great. Your wife did an amazing job.”

“Always does. But what's this about Joe not coming to the show? He always comes.” Tom stopped for a moment, then said, “Remember last year when we went to Friendly's after we put the easels back in Callie's room? And Joe and I each had that Super Sundae thing with four flavors? And you and Cal were betting on which one of us would get sick first?”

Last year. A lifetime ago. Before the accident. “Sure I remember. But …”

“What is it?” Tom asked.

“You know what? Let me see if I can find Joe. Just give me a few minutes. I'll call you back.”

I reached Joe at a project site in High Hollow. “I can't talk now,” Joe said when he heard my voice. “We're on a tight schedule.”

“I know, but I just talked to Callie and Tom, and they really want both of us at the show tonight.”

“And you thought that was important enough to bother me at work? Jesus, where's your head these days?”

My stomach tightened, but my voice came strong. “You know, sometimes I think my head's on straighter than yours.” I'd never countered Joe like that before, donning boxing gloves as I spoke.

“I can't have this conversation now, Beth. I'm in the middle of something important here.”

“But this is important too. It's important to me. You've always gone to the art fair. Callie and Tom are counting on it. They want to see you. They're our best friends, remember?”

“What I remember is that if my crew doesn't get the sheetrock finished today, this project won't be done on time.”

“Please. I told you, this is important to me.”

“So you go. I'll hang out with Mike.”

“But why can't we do just one thing the way we used to?”

“Jesus! We're not the same people anymore. The last place I want to be tonight is at your school looking at art by other people's children.”

I called Callie to tell her to go without us, that Joe wasn't coming, that I'd see her there. “Then we'll pick you up,” Callie said. “Can you be ready by five-fifteen? We can go to the diner and make it to Meadow Brook by seven, easy. And Mollie might even come. She'll be so disappointed if you don't join us.”

I inhaled the coffee that steamed from my mug. “Cal, why don't I meet you at school? I really could use a nap and a shower.”

“You've got to eat, though. We can stretch it to five-thirty and still make it on time. How's that?”

“Thanks, but I'll go myself. And Callie? You know how you said Meadow Brook's the one steady thing in my life now? Well, you were wrong.
You're
the one steady thing in my life.” I sipped my coffee. “So … I just want to say thanks.”

“Come on. No more thanks. You never have to thank me for being your friend. Just go do what you have to so you can get to the show.”

When I called my father, I didn't tell him Joe wasn't going with me. I didn't want to make excuses for his behavior. So I steered the conversation toward Dad, who told me Saul and Martha had gotten a new car, an Oldsmobile, a big boat-of-a-thing. Dad went to see it in the morning, and Martha insisted he stay for pancakes. When he got home, he planted a flat of impatiens by the front walk.

My father asked if Joe had done our planting yet. Dad knew our landscaping routine, how Danny and Joe always put in annuals around Mother's Day. What my father didn't know, though, was that
I had lied about Mother's Day, telling Dad that Joe and I wanted quiet time at home and not to bring over bagels. I never told him that Joe went for a run, then spent the afternoon with the Sunday paper. I slept through as much of Mother's Day as I could. Joe and I had an early dinner at Boey Louie's just outside Bay View, where the food was mediocre and the service poor. Neither of us had wanted to bump into anyone we knew, and no one we knew would eat there.

Now, on the day of the art fair, I let Moose out and poured another cup of coffee while Joe's words boomed in my mind:
The last place I want to be is at your school looking at art by other people's children.
Moose hobbled around the basketball post, then lay down under the basket. “Let's go, Moose,” I called. “Come in, boy.” He didn't move. “Come on, Moose-Moose,” I called louder. He raised his head and looked at the door, as if waiting for Danny to push it open, to dribble toward the hoop. “And he scores!” Danny would shout, making a hook shot, then a lay-up. I went out and pulled Moose to the side of the basket, where he sat while both of us watched Danny's ghost practice foul shots.

Then I phoned Rayanne and apologized for not having returned her last call. “That's okay,” she said, though irritation filled her voice. “I know things must be really hard right now. But what do you think about the apartment? If all goes well, we'll be away for a year. And Andy and I know how much you love the city. So?”

Joe's voice came again:
We're not the same people anymore
. “Thanks, Ray. Let me think about it.”

“What's to think about? A big apartment on the Upper East Side. Three bedrooms, two baths. A terrace with a view of the river. What's to think about?”

“I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I need to talk to Joe. He hates the city, and he works out here. We both do. You know that.”

“But you've got the summer off. And once school starts, you can use the apartment whenever you want—weekends, vacations. Why not? It'd be good for you. Some time away from home.”

“Thanks. That's really generous. I'll let you know.”

“Well, it's yours if you want it, with or without Joe. We wouldn't think of letting anyone else use it.”

I washed the coffee pot and crawled into bed, welcoming solitude. I pulled the comforter to my chin as images flooded my mind. First Rayanne's apartment—not the marble baths or the doorman who'd grab my parcels and ring for the elevator—but the anonymity of the city, where no one would notice my grief. And then Joe coming into our room the night before, only to find me scrunched on my side of the bed, pretending to sleep.

Joe's right, I admitted to myself. We're both different now— separate, unconnected. Yes, it was Danny who had kept us together. But as I tried to nap, I knew it was Danny who had actually torn us apart. Not his death, but the closeness between Danny and me, a bond Joe couldn't share. I'd known Danny longer than Joe had, since the first time his kick woke me at night.
I'm in charge now
, those tiny feet announced.

Nothing was the same after Danny was born. Being a mom changed everything for me. I shaded my marriage in motherhood and ignored the cloud over Joe. Maybe I didn't have enough love for a husband and a child. Or maybe I didn't know how to divide it.

I found the last spot in the Meadow Brook lot. T
HE
G
REATEST
S
HOW
ON
E
RTH
had pulled them in. Callie had been right: the missing
A
hadn't mattered at all.

Parents and students crammed the building, where the linoleum glowed as if it were the first day of school. The smell of seven hundred students had been Lysoled away. As I entered the cafeteria, my eyes caught the polished kick plate, which had worn a thick
coat of black scuff just that afternoon. But what I noticed most was the hum of quiet speech. Even the students spoke in hushed tones.

I spotted Callie by the refreshment table. Bob and Dr. Sullivan stood next to her, Dr. Sullivan pumping Callie's hand. At the end of the table, Peter piled cookies on a paper plate. I headed for Callie as Peter moved away. Then Liz appeared out of nowhere, elbowing toward me. She looked like a ten-year-old in her purple tank top and denim miniskirt. Her matchstick arms waved, knocking a cookie from the hand of a ninth-grade boy. “Watch it, loser!” he said, his voice sounding louder than it probably was.

Liz picked the cookie off the floor and held it while we spoke. “Hi, sweetie,” I greeted her. “It's good to see you.”

“This is okay, right?”

“What do you mean?”