Just to See You Smile (11 page)

Sunday evening found Britte gripping the Jeep's steering wheel and flooring the gas pedal. Second Avenue's burning streetlamps stretched into elongated streaks. “Lord, please let me get there on time!” She slowed only slightly at the stop sign before peeling out onto Main Street. “Being late for the Christmas cantata is inexcusable. I have students singing in it! They'll think I'm rude. Which I am. I wouldn't let them get away with such behavior. Which they will point out.” She let up on the gas and turned into the church parking lot, tires squealing. “At least I finished grading that stack of papers!”

She parked in the first available spot and flew from the car. Her feet hit the pavement at a dead sprint. At the building she yanked open the front door and threw a smile at a greeter as she sailed past him across the foyer and through the open sanctuary door. As if hitting an invisible brick wall, she halted.

The incredible beauty of the church and the season struck her. It was nothing less than
holy
. Her breath caught. She had no right to treat holiness with the flippancy she accorded a trip to the grocery store.
Lord, I am sorry.
She forced herself to stand still and take in the surroundings.

The lights were turned off. Candles glowed in glass chimneys at intervals along the center aisle. Fresh greenery hung everywhere. The floor of the front platform was half covered in red and white poinsettias. The place felt as hushed as a starlit night when fat snowflakes blanketed the field outside
her bedroom window at the farm, when all her family slept under one roof.

Thank You, Father.

They were all there in the church, her family under one roof, scattered about the pews. Mom and Dad. Her older sister, Megan, with her husband and their little Tiffie. Her younger brother, Ryan, and his new girlfriend. Big brother Brady and his Gina.

All couples.
She muffled a rising sigh.

Britte easily spotted the back of Brady's head towering over most others. There appeared a narrow space to his right. She could squeeze in.

Jesus, I'm sorry for being late. Shall we sit down?

She reached the row and slid beside her brother, grazing her shoulder blade on the high wooden edge at the end of the pew. “Ouch.”

“Hey, Britte.” Brady shifted slightly.

Gina shifted slightly and leaned around Brady to whisper, “Hi.”

Someone else shifted slightly and leaned around Gina. Mr. Kingsley?!

Muted singing diverted their attention. The choir entered from the back of the church, silver robes rustling as they made their way up to the front, singing a cappella.

Squished between her brother and the jabbing curve of wood, now roasting in the long black woolen coat she hadn't the time to hang up in the foyer and now hadn't the space to remove, Britte closed her eyes and shut out the visible world. In time the glory of the season uprooted her discomfort by filling her with a joyful stillness.

Britte tilted the rearview mirror, minimizing the glare of the headlights trailing her out to Brady's place. Naturally, the more she tried to ignore those lights, the more she noticed them.

They belonged to Mr. Kingsley's car.

After the cantata, Brady had said to him, “It's a nuisance to explain how to get there. Why don't you just ride with Britte?”

She could have kicked him. Twice. Once for inviting the man to his house for a party after the service. Once for suggesting the man get in her car. It wasn't that tough to find Brady's place. How big of a problem could a long, winding, dirt road with inexplicable turnouts be to a Marine?

At least he'd had the good sense to reply, “I'll follow her and save us the trouble of coordinating our departures. Miss O?”

Thank you.
“Fine.”

Brady nodded. “Okay. We'll see you there, then. Britte, the door's open if you beat us. Button up your coat.”

She had bit her tongue to keep from sticking it out.

You'd think we'd have outgrown our pecking-order roles by now.

Oh, it wasn't Brady's inveterate words. It was…everything else. The joyful stillness had fled.

She missed Isabel, especially tonight. Not that the choir needed her, but her friend would have sung magnificent, heavenly solos. And Britte could have used her influence now with the girls. Some of the team went to the Bible study that had continued in Isabel's absence, but Britte wasn't personally acquainted with the woman in charge. Isabel would have picked up on nuances about the team, nuances Britte didn't catch in the whirlwind of practices and games.

What were the girls sensing? Was she coaching to the best of her ability? With the girls' best interests in mind?

Anne could have helped. She, too, was familiar with many of the girls outside of school. But Anne was preoccupied with home matters and her new job.

And then there was last night's dance. No, not dance. Rather, there was Mr. Kingsley.

Her eyes strayed to the rearview mirror.

The magnetism Anne kept talking about had finally penetrated the coat of armor Britte so diligently maintained. No one had ever taken her up on a challenge—she couldn't believe she had actually called him “chicken”!—and zapped coherent speech into oblivion. No one had overpowered her with such…such physical presence.

She signaled, turned onto Brady's lane, and chewed her thumbnail.

All right. There. She had admitted it.

Anne adored Gina Philips, a second cousin of Alec's. She adored Brady's cozy log cabin house and his golden retriever, Homer, lounging contentedly in a corner. She adored the chattering group still basking in the glow of cantata music that glorified the birth of her Savior. She adored all the yummy Christmas goodies, none of which she had made herself.

But…she was tired. Exceedingly, excruciatingly tired.

“Annie!” Britte cornered her, that focused glaze in her eyes. Something was on her mind. She looked pretty tonight in a light blue sweater dress.

“That's a beautiful necklace, Britte.”

“Oh.” She touched it. “Thanks.”

“Where'd you get it?”

“Um, the faculty Christmas gift exchange.”

Joel and Alec joined them.

Anne fingered the necklace. “Pretty nice for a gift exchange. Who got your name?”

Britte huffed. “The whole thing's anonymous. I don't have a clue.”

“Did Ethan give this to you?” Anne teased.

“No. It's a special friend sort of gift, but what special friend would give it anonymously in front of the entire group?”

Anne shrugged. “Maybe someone got it in the wrong bag. It's supposed to be for a wife. And now they're too embarrassed to ask for it back.”

“No one on our staff would be too embarrassed to ask for it back. I think it's a joke that I just don't get yet.”

Joel said, “That's not like you, Miss O. Talking as if the glass is half empty instead of half full.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say?”

“You seem to be having that speechless problem quite a bit lately.”

Britte flushed.

Anne looked between her friend and Joel and almost laughed out loud. Britte always knew what to say, and she never flushed except when loudly disagreeing with a referee. “Britte, what did you want to ask me?”

“Uh, how's the job going? Is this week's practice schedule all right?”

They'd already discussed that after church that morning. “Fine and yes. But I'm tired. Alec, are you about ready to go?”

“In a minute. I want to introduce Joel to Ed over there. I'll be right back.” They continued on their way.

“Okay, Britte, what's up?”

She followed the men with her eyes until they were totally out of earshot. “Was that
tap
water you gave me at the dance last night?”

“Huh?”

She held out her hands, palms up, in a gesture of
well?

“Yes. We didn't bring in bottled water, silly.”

Britte moaned. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“There's something in it,” she muttered and walked away. Anne wondered what tap water had to do with anything and why Britte had avoided asking about it in earshot of Joel Kingsley.

Joel and Alec stopped near a group in front of Brady's television. A news program was being aired.

Rather, the war in Afghanistan was being aired. He turned aside.

Alec said, “Those boys won't be home for Christmas.”

“No, they won't.” The dull thumping started in the back of his head. “Alec, I'm going to shove off. Thanks for the introductions and the contract information.”

“You're welcome. See you at the board meeting tomorrow night.”

“Goodnight.”

As Joel made his way through goodbyes and out to his car, the dull thumping spread to his chest. The beats echoed one another in an alternate pattern.

The dirt-and-gravel driveway was a dark, narrow serpentine lane through woods, up and down gullies. He drove slowly. At a fork, he curved to the right. A few moments later he realized the road ended on the edge of a clearing. He turned around, retraced his way back to the fork, and took the other choice.

Another fork slowed his progress. By now pinpricks of lights flashed before his eyes, intermittently shrouding the view through the windshield.

At the bottom of a hill, the road dead-ended at the bank of a creek and he stopped. Carefully, he maneuvered the car back and forth until he had it turned around. He made his way out.

A white Jeep sat on the shoulder. Britte stood beside it. If he could follow her rear lights again…

He pulled his car up behind hers and pushed the automatic button to roll down his window as she walked back to him.

“Lost, Mr. Kingsley?”

“This is quite a labyrinth your brother's got back here.”

“It's to confuse the bad guys. Are you all right?”

He realized then that he was rubbing his forehead. “No. I get headaches now and then that interfere with night driving. Mind leading me out of the woods, Miss O?”

“Of course not. Want me to drive all the way to your place?”

“If you get me to Fourth Avenue and Main, that would be great.”

“I'll go slow.”

“Thanks.”

She walked away and then came back. “Is there anything else I can do?”

He didn't have much time before the shades would more or less shut and the memories would come. His pills were at home. He struggled against the urge to shout an obscenity at the world. “Britte. Please let's just go.”

Well, at least it hadn't been Alec. Although Alec knew Joel's history, Joel still preferred not losing macho points in front of him. It didn't matter that he lost them in front of one rather peculiar girl.

“How'd the game go last night, Britte?” Ethan stood in her classroom doorway early Tuesday morning. “I— missed—” He sneezed.

“Bless you.”

“Thanks. I missed the news last night.”

“Missed the game, too, I noticed.” She took a swig of coffee.

“I'm too ill to figure out whether or not you're teasing.”

“Of course I'm teasing.” She smiled. “Nobody makes the 90-minute drive to Springdale on a Monday night except parents and the bus driver. Ethan, you look awful. You should go home.”

“It's just a cold. I'll be fine once the decongestant kicks in. Zoned out, but at least I'll stop spraying germs. You don't look so hot yourself.”

“Late night. I hung out with the MacKenzies in the Rockville emergency room until midnight. Cassie sprained her ankle in the third quarter. We lost in the fourth.”

He expressed dismay at both developments. “Your first loss of the season. Is Cassie going to be all right?”

“She's devastated, but she'll take proper care of the injury. We'll have to wing it for a week or so without the tallest, best center in the league.” She wrinkled her nose. “Poor kid.”

“Poor Coach. This kind of levels the playing field.”

“Yeah, yeah. I suppose you missed the board meeting last night, too?”

“Britte, I was asleep by seven! But I am on my way at this very moment to the office. The board minutes are probably copied and in our boxes by now. I will hand deliver your mail to you in penance.”

She grinned. “That works. I'm not quite ready for class yet. Thanks. You're forgiven.”

He nodded and sneezed his way out the door.

Mid-December was always a tough time of the year. Basketball was in full swing, a daily activity which included two or three games a week, making for cold, late nights. The weather was perfect for one thing only: staying home, curled up with a book in front of a crackling fire. But who had time for that? Add to the schedule a myriad of flu germs circulating at school, playing havoc with everyone's schedule. Not to mention Christmas shopping. To top it all off, there was a wedding! At least she'd had the sense to postpone the shower she was hosting until February.

Britte drained her coffee cup.

And she was drinking way too much coffee.

“Psst.”

Finger poised over the phone's keypad, Joel saw Ethan Parkhurst standing in the doorway. He set the phone back on its hook. “Morning, Ethan.”

“Heads up.”

“Pardon me?”

Ethan glanced over his shoulder and held up a stapled packet of paper. “Board minutes,” he whispered. “There will be a firing squad. Oh,” he spoke in a normal tone and moved aside, “good morning, Lynnie. I was just on my way out.” The guy left.

What in the world?

Lynnie entered his office. “Joel, Matt Anderson's dad is here, and I need you to sign these.”

He took a stack of papers from her. “Send him in. Thanks.”

Board minutes and firing squad?
A memory joggled loose. What was it he had told Ethan? That he'd like to know the next time he'd be facing a
firing squad
. It was in reference to Britte Olafsson and her problem with Gordon Hughes. What did that have to do with last night's board meeting?

A man appeared in his doorway.

“Mr. Anderson? Come on in.” He went over to greet him and shut the door.

As he settled in to talk with the father about his son's habitual tardiness, Joel concluded to himself that the job title “principal” was a misnomer. He was a firefighter, constantly stomping out sparks before they flared into major blazes. At the moment it was Mr. Anderson's turn. Evidently Britte's turn was coming, and, as usual, he wouldn't have a moment to himself to figure out why.

While her first-hour students worked on an assignment, Britte reread her copy of the school board minutes for the— Oh! She had lost count of how many times she had read them. It wasn't there. It simply wasn't there, and she knew for a fact that the board minutes typically included when a member blew his nose. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but if the group had discussed her team attending the state tournament, it would have been in the minutes!

All the negatives of the season descended upon her like a torrential downpour. Cassie's injury, last night's loss, Anne's
preoccupation, every spare moment spent at the farm trying on a
dress!
Men scheduling
her
basketball games, dictating that the girls travel on a
Monday
night to Timbuktu, needlessly draining their energy reserves for the rest of the week and preventing her from attending the board meeting. And now, one man in particular, squishing their tradition because girls sports did not count enough to warrant attention! In spite of the
memo
she had written to him!

She slapped her desktop and stood. The students sitting nearby jumped in their chairs.

“Class. All of you are 16 or 17 years old and perfectly capable of behaving in a mature manner in my absence. I am going down to the office. If I hear of
one
idiotic move or comment, you will regret it. Understood?”

There were nods around the classroom. No one made a sound.

Caffeine coursed through her nerves, propelling her down the hallway. She didn't care. She was getting to the bottom of this right now.

Her peripheral vision lost in a blur, she entered the office and targeted Lynnie. “Is he in there?” She pointed toward Mr. Kingsley's closed office door as she walked toward it.

“He's on the phone, Britte. Britte!”

She had his door open and was inside shutting it before the secretary could say another word.

Mr. Kingsley looked at her from his seat behind the desk and stood. The phone was pressed to his ear. “Yes. Yes. I'll get back to you. Something's come up. Yes. Goodbye.” He hung up. “Miss—”

She held the packet of papers toward him and shook them. “I sure hope there's something missing in this. Is there something missing in this?”

He raised his shoulders in slow motion. “You tell me.”

“Oh!” She dropped the papers on his desk and walked around in a tight circle, biting her lip. She faced him again. “Mr. Kingsley! I asked you
twice!
And I wrote you a memo!”

“About?”

She wanted to scream. “About the girls going to State!”

There was a blank look on his face.

“You don't remember.”

“Uh, I don't recall reading a memo—”

“And you for certain don't recall
talking
to me.”

“I must have misplaced—”

“You are the most neurotically organized man I have ever met. Look at this desk! You can see its top! How could you misplace a memo that
you
requested?”

“Britte, sit down. What do you need me to do?” He sat.

She didn't. She had told him three times what she needed. What was the underlying problem here? What was it she really needed from him? “I need you to pay attention to us! You treat girls activities like some silly phase that'll soon pass from the picture.”

“I apologize for being politically incorrect at times—”

“I don't care how politically incorrect you are! Go ahead and wear school colors and go to all the boys games instead of ours.”

“I go to—”

“When it's convenient and you have to be here anyway to lock the doors. Oh!” It was a cry of frustration. “You know, that isn't even the real issue. You want to know what the real issue is?” She placed her hands on his immaculate desk, leaned across it, and lowered her voice a notch. “You don't have to do it all. You have a competent staff who can turn off lights and lock up doors. We can write lesson plans without you looking over our shoulder every single week. If you would delegate the details, maybe you wouldn't forget the one
important
thing I asked you to do. And I only asked
because it had to come from administration, otherwise I would have done it myself.”

“I sincerely apologize. I don't—”

“You're our backup. We're supposed to be on the same team! We're supposed to help each other.”

They locked eyes across the desktop, mere inches separating their faces. She remembered how he needed her help finding his way down her brother's road Sunday night. It had been uncharacteristic. Asking for help, delegating…they weren't in his nature. She straightened.

“Britte, do you mind if I complete a sentence?”

She clenched her jaw.

“What can I do to fix what I forgot to take care of last night?”

It felt as if the office walls were tumbling in, suffocating her. She went to the door, opened it, and turned. “I don't know. That's not my job,
General
.”

Well, at least she didn't slam the door.

General? What was that supposed to mean?

Joel walked into the outer office. “Lynnie.”

The secretary looked up from her computer.

“What did she mean by that?”

“Which part?”

Of course she would have heard the entire conversation. Britte's end of it anyway, which covered most of the discourse. “The ‘General' comment. I pretty much understood and agreed with everything else she had to say.”

Lynnie placed a thumb and forefinger around one lens of her eyeglasses and straightened them. “Well, that's what they call you.”

“They?”

“Some of the faculty.”

“Because?”

“Um, for the obvious, I guess.”

“I behave like a general.”

“You give orders and you expect perfection and you don't smile a whole lot and you stand like that with your hands on your hips.”

“Don't hold anything back now.”

She gave him a small smile. “That about covers it.”

The bell rang. He exhaled a weary breath and dropped his hands from his hips. “It's only second hour. What did I forget to do for her last night at the board meeting?”

“That I don't know.”

“All right. Thank you, Lynnie.”

“No problem, boss.”

Joel entered the stream of students moving through the commons between classes. He returned greetings, separated a smooching couple, and sent one boy to the office for wearing an offensive T-shirt. At Ethan's room he poked his head inside. “Mr. Parkhurst? May I have a word with you?”

He stepped back out into the hallway and waited, arms crossed, unseeing, pondering recent conversations with Britte.

The bell rang and Ethan joined him. “What's up?” The hall was empty, but Joel kept his voice low. “I appreciated the heads up, but what did I forget last night?”

Recognition registered in the English teacher's eyes. He knew what he was referring to. “She wants to take her team to the girls state tournament. They need permission to miss one and a half days of school. Policy says that you have to grant that and then ask the board to okay the trip. They also need to reserve the district's van.”