by Claire Cook
"Damn. She doesn't even have any water in there. I'd better get her home while she's still breathing. Listen, Sarah, maybe I could call you or something. You know, maybe we could try it again without the dogs."
I looked at him. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes were interesting, kind of a toffee color, like the inside of a Heath bar or the coat of a lion. "Okay," I half-surprised myself by saying.
Why not? I thought as he ran toward Clementine, whose barking had grown disconcertingly faint. Maybe if we didn't fall in love we'd at least get to be friends. What was wrong with connecting with another human being, adding to my circle of friends, enlarging my too-small world?
I watched as John Anderson opened the car door and leaned inside. I knew it was a superficial observation, but I couldn't help but notice that, from this angle at least, he was kind of fetching himself.
. . . . .
I dropped off Mother Teresa without a hitch. Phoebe invited me to stay for dinner. Annie and Lainie set the table while Michael sliced a pork tenderloin at the kitchen counter. I would have felt better helping them, but Phoebe insisted that I chat with her in the living room.
"Siobhan is teaching Irish step at Bayberry? That's great. Can you squeeze the girls in? I'd love them to get some extra practice." Phoebe held up a finger, then turned to yell into the next room, "Michael, can you drive the girls to Bayberry after school on Thursdays?"
Michael poked his head in from the dining room. He looked tired. "Phoebe," he began. "I can't keep leaving work early. Soccer days are tough enough." I knew it wasn't my business, but I never quite understood why Phoebe never left her job early.
"Please, honey bunny," Phoebe said in a helpless, little-girl voice that made me feel embarrassed to be in the same room with them.
"I can swing by and get them after I pick up Siobhan," I offered, if only so she'd stop talking like that. "I'll drop them off afterward, too. No big deal."
"Thanks, Sarah," Michael said. He turned around without looking at Phoebe.
We all joked and laughed through dinner, though I noticed that Michael and Phoebe directed their comments to Annie or Lanie or me, but not to each other. It made me think of Kevin, the many dining room tables we'd sat at together with family and friends, pretending everything was fine. I couldn't wait to leave.
Michael followed me out to the car after dinner. "Thanks again, Sarah, for taking Mother Teresa. And for offering to drive the girls to step dance."
"Are you all right, Michael?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little overextended. We'll talk soon, okay?"
. . . . .
There was a message from John Anderson on my machine when I got home. Hi, Sarah. It's me, John. Anderson. Just wanted to say I had a good time and that Clementine was still alive when I returned her to her owner. And you are really kind of voluptuous, in a minimalist sort of way. Anyway, while I was driving home I had some ideas for our second date, or our first dogless date, depending how you want to look at it. What would work for you? We could walk along the banks of the Charles River and maybe have a picnic? A good champagne, nice sandwiches? Would you want to go to Cambridge for the Gospel Brunch at the House of Blues? Take a ferry to one of the Boston Harbor Islands? Have you ever done that? Oh, no, I'm doing it again, talking too much. I was just thinking of some fun things to do if you want to give it another try. And, if not, that's okay, too, and, um, I hope you find what you're looking for. Well, take care, Sarah. Hope to hear from you.
I started to call John Anderson back, I really did. I had the phone in my hand and everything. Maybe I was still grieving Harrison, maybe I just didn't have the nerve. But mostly I was thinking about all the things that could go wrong. And all the things that did go wrong all the time for people. Like Michael and Phoebe. Like Kevin and me.
Chapter
Ten
I was almost going to be early for school when Carol called. "So, how was your date? Tell me everything."
"Why am I not surprised, Carol? How'd you know?"
"Phoebe. I called and she said you had just left and that you'd borrowed Mother Teresa. The rest was obvious."
I was beyond questioning Carol's radar. After years of lapsed Catholicism, it was the one miracle I still believed in. "I don't want to talk about it, okay, Carol? And I have to go now or I'll be late for work."
"What do you mean, you don't want to talk about it? Didn't he like you?"
"Thanks a lot. If you must know, the guy might not have been what I was looking for. He wasn't anything like his ad."
"So what. I'm sure no one is ever anything like their ads or they'd already be taken. Did you give him a chance?"
"Yeah, I guess. No big fireworks or anything."
"What's that got to do with anything? Lots of good relationships start off gradually. Why I knew Dennis for months before I felt anything."
Enough said, I wanted to say. "Listen, Carol, I have to go. I'm going to be late. Oh, and I'll pick up Siobhan tomorrow at three-thirty."
"Thanks. Hope you know what you're getting yourself into."
"She'll be fine, and she's such a good dancer. I mean, what could she do?"
"Would you like a list? Never mind, let's not anticipate. I'll talk to you later. Oh, I almost forgot. Dad wants you to hurry up and buy Dolly a new feather boa. He says she's getting impatient. And that maybe you can drop it off at the trailer. Today would be good, he said."
. . . . .
Even though my back was turned, I could actually feel Bob Connor come to the door of my classroom with Austin. Quickly, I took a few pieces out of the wooden puzzle on the shelf in front of me, just so I could look busy putting them back in. I was glad I was wearing a fairly decent black sweater and skirt. Just in case he should happen to notice me on his way to looking at June. I kept myself focused on the puzzle, little wooden children planting a little wooden garden.
"Hey," he said from somewhere about an inch behind me. I jumped and the puzzle jumped with me, pieces scattering all over the floor. Bob laughed and we bent down at the same time to pick them up. I'd never known that squatting on the floor next to someone could feel so intimate. I stood up.
"Don't worry about those. I'll get them later," I said, smoothing my skirt down carefully.
Bob finished picking up the last couple of pieces. His hair was curly and still damp from his morning shower. He straightened up and handed the puzzle to me. He smiled his twisted-tooth smile and when his hands grazed mine, I tried not to notice. "Well, I guess that'll teach me to come in and say hello to my favorite teacher."
"Oh," I said. "June's over there."
Bob laughed. He was close enough that I could smell his toothpaste. "I mean my other favorite teacher. Who, by the way, looks very nice this morning."
"Thank you. Well, I'd better get to work." I turned and walked to the other side of the classroom. From the corner of my eye, I saw Bob give Austin a hug. He waved casually across the room to June, as if he'd never even noticed her gorgeousness, and was gone.
I called the kids to circle. June and I pushed the tables and shelves back to make more room. Cho-cho-chuckie was always a hit. I'd found it years ago in a book called International Playtime. Basically, it was an African version of duck-duck-goose, so that's where we started.
"Duck . . . duck . . . duck . . ." I began, tapping each child gently on the head as I moved around the circle with exaggerated slowness. Molly Greene was so excited that she jumped up in anticipation just before I tapped her head. I waited patiently until she sat back down. Molly was one of those children who came to school coifed and wearing an ensemble, then became more like her true self as the day wore on. First she'd yank off the grosgrain bows that tied her elaborately braided hair. June and I would never see the actual dismantling. Instead we'd find one bow next to the fish tank, another on a pillow in the reading corner. As the morning continued, Molly would shed her pearl-buttoned cardigan and kick off her shoes. Her tights would start to stretch out and bag around the knees; t
hen eventually the bagginess would work its way south until several inches of empty fabric flapped around in front of her toes.
"Duck . . . duck . . . duck . . ." I continued around the circle. When I came to June, I said, "Goose!" and tapped her on her silky blond hair. I wondered briefly what kind of conditioner she used. It was quite possible that Bob Connor had no romantic interest at all in June, that he'd only commented on her gorgeousness in a conversational manner, the way you'd point out a child and say, "Isn't she cute?" It was even remotely possible that Bob Connor had wandered into the classroom this morning to talk to me.
June got up slowly and gracefully, as always, just as we had rehearsed. As June chased me, I ran as slowly and gracefully as I was capable of around the circle. I got to June's place before she tagged me, and sat down quickly. The children clapped appreciatively.
In theory, when teachers model safe indoor movement, children imitate it. In reality, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. Today was a good day. Everything went smoothly: June chose Max Meehan who chose Jack Kaplan who chose Molly Greene.
Before Molly could start tapping heads, I put my hands on her shoulders. "Can you say, 'Benin'?" I asked the children.
"Buh-NEEN."
"In the country of Benin in the continent of Africa, there are lots of chickens. And when the children of Benin call out to these chickens, this is what they say: cho-cho-chuckie! Can you say that?"
"Chuck-chuck-chuckie!" Amazingly, every year this happened. The children changed the "cho" to "chuck" to make it rhyme with "duck." I figured the children of Benin would never know, so I didn't bother to correct them.
"Chuck . . . chuck . . . chuck . . ." Molly Greene began. She tapped Amanda McAlpine and then June and then Jenny Browning on their heads. When she came to Austin Connor she shrieked, "Chuckie!" and ran all the way around the circle. She stood in Austin's place on one foot, flapping her arms like a chicken.
Austin was still moving around the circle, in extreme slow motion. He looked like he belonged in one of the running-on-the-beach scenes in Chariots of Fire. As he touched first the heel and then the toe of his left foot while circling his right arm forward like the wheel of a train, he smiled at June. "Look at me, June. How'm I doing? Don't you think I'm the slowest?" June smiled back.
"Chuck . . . " Austin said as he touched my head. "June had dinner with my dad and me last night. We had Chinese food with extra chicken fingers just for me."
"Chuck . . ." Austin said as he touched Jack Kaplan's head. "June read me a book before bed." He stopped, his hand still resting on Jack's head. He took a deep breath. "She let me pick the book. I wanted the fourth Harry Potter but she said well then only one chapter. Except then she read me two."
"Austin . . ." I prompted.
"You can come to my house, June," said Jenny Browning. "I have a very big house."
"No, my house."
"My house!"
June's palms were turned up on her knees, her index fingers and thumbs touching. She smiled vaguely. I raised my eyebrows, intending to send her a look to let her know that, while Bayberry Preschool didn't have an official rule prohibiting teachers from dating the not-even-divorced parents of students in their classes, this was why it was generally not a good idea.
. . . . .
Victoria's Secret always makes me feel as if I am an impostor. As if the minute I lift a padded satin hanger off the wall rack to consider its silky lace camisole a little closer, an alarm will go off somewhere. A spotlight will shine in my face and a store full of glamorous women will point to me and say, Hah! As if.
Today wasn't too bad. There was an older man off in one corner, talking quietly to himself as he looked at the bras. The salespeople seemed to be occupied, too, moving clothing from one of the racks to an identical rack nearby. I'm sure they had a good reason.
My plan was to buy something I needed and then casually mention feather boas while I was paying for my purchase. Telling the whole story about Dolly and my father was completely unnecessary. What did I care if someone I didn't even know thought I was buying a pink feather boa for me?
The old guy had moved to the back of the store, so I stayed toward the front. The number of choices in underwear was daunting. Satin or lace, underwire or not, colors that matched your outfit, but once you weren't wearing an outfit, what would it matter? That was it: a commitment to buying underwear here was an admission of hope.
I moved in the direction of cotton. Thirsty terry robes, nonintimidating nightshirts. Flannel pajama pants. And then I saw them—maybe long underwear, maybe pajamas, maybe loungewear; how was I to know? Gray cotton pants and a matching cardigan top with tiny snaps. Navy blue silhouettes of playful dogs, the breed not quite identifiable, romped everywhere. I couldn't wait to get home and put them on. I found tops and bottoms in a size medium, and considered comfortable versus really comfortable. I put the mediums back, matched up a pair in size large, and carried it to the register.
"Excuse me, but do you carry pink feather boas?"
The woman looked down at my purchase, which she was folding between sheets of tissue paper. She smiled.
"I wasn't planning to wear them together. Actually, the boa isn't even for me."
She smiled again. It was a hard smile to read. Discreetly, I moved my eyes lower, trying to figure out if she had implants. "I'm sorry, we don't. You might try Boa-Boa, across from Sears."
. . . . .
I was in luck. No sign of Dolly or her Ford Fiesta. I stopped in front of the Whispering Pines Park sign, left my Civic running, picked up the Boa-Boa bag and tiptoed to the front door of Dolly's trailer. A grapevine wreath studded with small plastic turkeys hung at eye level. I turned the knob on the storm door to tuck the bag inside.
"Why, Ms. Hurlihy, what brings you here?" Bob Connor, minus Austin and wearing old sweats and new sneakers, appeared to be returning from a jog. His cheeks were pink and he was breathing hard. He looked rumpled and friendly and boyishly handsome. His hair was curly on one side and sort of flattened and sticking up on the other, as if he had taken a nap before going out for a jog. I tried not to notice, but his eyes were particularly green in this light. I pictured June, looking spectacular in impossibly short shorts, jogging beside him. That helped.
I shut Dolly's boa safely between the doors. His eyes followed. "Boa-Boa?"
"Yeah, Boa-Boa."
"Shop there often?"
"It's always a pleasure to run into one of my students' parents, but, sorry, I'm in a rush right now. Take care. Say hi to Austin."
"You can say hi to him yourself if you want. He's getting dropped off in ten minutes or so. I could offer you a beer. Or learn to make coffee."
"Thanks, but it might be confusing for Austin to see his father entertaining more than one of his teachers in any given week."
"Ouch. You mean June, right?"
"Good guess."
"Actually, I was kinda hoping to talk to you about that."
"Maybe you can bring it up at the next parent-teacher conference." I smiled sweetly, incredibly proud of coming up with the first good parting line of my life. Taking extra care not to trip and ruin the whole effect, I sauntered away from Bob and toward my Civic. When I turned back for a final wave, he was grinning.
Chapter
Eleven
Siobhan was driving my Civic; Annie and Lainie were buckled up safely in the backseat. I was riding shotgun. "Nice job, Siobhan. You were great. The kids loved you. And thanks for picking up on my not wanting my boss to know we were related. I wasn't sure she'd think my hiring relatives was professional."
"What a bitch."
"She just takes her job seriously."
"I guess." Siobhan's driving had improved. She had better spatial awareness now, hugging the sides of the road on corners instead of straying over the center line if a car wasn't coming the other way. I breathed uneasily until we dropped the younger girls off, wondering if Phoebe or Michael would be mad at me for letting Siobhan drive when their k
ids were in the car. Fortunately, nobody came to the door and, as soon as Annie and Lainie were inside the house, Siobhan and I made a clean getaway.
We drove across town, and arrived at Carol's house just as she was pulling into the driveway. Ian and Trevor jumped out of the minivan first. They waved and ran screaming into the house. Carol leaned in to unbuckle Maeve. I wondered how she found the energy for car seats in her forties. She balanced Maeve on one hip and smiled. Even though Carol was three years older than I am, she looked about ten years younger than I felt. "So, how'd it go?" she asked Siobhan.
Siobhan popped the trunk of my Civic, walked around to grab her shoe bag. I circled around the other way, held my arms out to Maeve, who shook her head and buried it in the crook of Carol's neck. "Okay," Siobhan finally answered.
"She's a born teacher," I said. "The kids loved her." Siobhan's face was perfectly bored.
"That's great, honey. You really are good with kids. I knew you could do it." Carol tilted her head, trying to get Siobhan to look at her. Siobhan focused all her attention on twisting the straps of the shoe bag. "So," Carol continued. "Spot any talent, Siobhan? Anybody with championship potential?"
"Rebecca Lowenstein looked pretty good."
Carol smiled. "Great name for an Irish step dancer."
Siobhan gave Carol a look of astonishing hatred. "Oh, my God, you are such a racist I can't even stand it."
Still holding Maeve, Carol started to rock back and forth in that special way all mothers seem to have. Too quietly she said, "Siobhan, don't you ever use that tone with me."
Siobhan stomped off to the house. It seemed proper to observe a moment of silence. Afterward, Carol said, "An invitation to a bar mitzvah for a Dermot O'Toole would be funny, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah, I know how you meant it. But don't you remember being Siobhan's age? I have this image of Grandpa stopping the car to point out a man just to say he was black as the ace of spades. And Dad talking about Aunt Nora marrying an Eye-talian. I'm sure they'd been saying stuff like that for years, but one day I heard it and I was stunned. Maybe that's part of a teenager's function, to help you evolve to the next level."
