“Nobody's taking APs,” Gideon said angrily.
“Is that why you don't want to?” Fern asked. “Because your friends aren’t?”
Gideon's face turned a dark red, and he glowered at them. “It doesn't have anything to do with other people. I just want to have more free time.”
Translation: I want more time to hang with my girlfriend, James thought. He shook his head. “Gideon, I’m sorry, but I can't sign this.”
“But you have to. I have to take it back tomorrow.”
Across the table, Nelson ducked his head and applied himself to cleaning his plate, clearly hoping to stay off the radar during the conversation.
“We don't have to do anything,” James said evenly, taking a slow, deep breath.
“Mom?”
“No,” Fern said in a soft yet firm tone that she rarely had to employ. “You have made some very disappointing decisions with this schedule, honey. Without talking to your counselor, there is no way your father and I can approve this.”
Gideon's angry expression grew even darker. Without another word, he put his head down, finished his meal, and left the table. He took the time to clear away his dishes, and James was relieved that at least there was one small vestige of good manners left in this stranger who had replaced his easygoing son.
Fern looked at James. “We did the right thing.”
James nodded. “Yes, we did. I’ll call the school first thing tomorrow and see if we can get an appointment to talk to his counselor.”
“I wonder if this has anything to do with his girlfriend,” Fern said.
Nelson spoke up for the first time since the tense exchange had occurred. “Nope,” he said. “Jenni's a really smart girl. She takes APs. Gideon's just being lazy. And he wants to have more time to be with her.”
Although he could hardly say it out loud, James thought his younger child had hit the nail squarely on the head with his assessment.
Chapter Fourteen
AFTER TUESDAY'S BIRTHING CLASS, CANDACE WAS anxious to talk to Lewis and Therese Nottington, to see how they were dealing with the Down syndrome diagnosis and to offer them any additional assistance they might need.
The Nottingtons appeared eager to talk with her as well. They patiently waited until all the post class questions had been answered, and the last woman and her labor coach had left the classroom.
“Hi, Candace,” Therese said. “Do you have a few more minutes to talk?”
“Of course.” She sank onto one of the chairs, silently inviting the couple to join her. “How have you two been doing?”
Therese sighed. “Up and down.” She glanced at her husband, who nodded. “We’ve been doing a lot of research online. We also contacted the National Down Syndrome Society, and we have a meeting later this week with the chapter president in Normal, down near Bloomington. There are more than a dozen chapters, but Normal is one of the closest.”
“That's great. And how are you feeling now?”
“Physically, I’m doing very well. Emotionally, not so much. We’re still having trouble adjusting to the fact that our baby won't be perfect and normal.”
“That's perfectly understandable,” Candace assured her. “How did your family react? Do you think everyone will be supportive?”
Therese hesitated. Lewis cleared his throat. “We, ah, haven't told them yet.” Candace's shock must have shown, because he rushed on. “We thought it would be best if we learned everything we could before we tell them so that we can answer their questions.”
“Or,” Candace said, “you could tell them and ask the lady from the NDSS chapter to be there with you to field the questions. I really don't think you should delay. Your family—especially your daughter—is going to need time to adjust.”
“We know.” Lewis looked sorrowful. He stroked Therese's back, as his wife fought tears. “The truth is that we don't know how to tell Noelle. She already hates the idea of a new baby in the house. Learning that it's going to need extra time and practice to do nearly everything is going to infuriate her even more.”
“I understand, but like it or not, she deserves to hear what's going on. Welcoming a new baby is always a big change, and welcoming a child with developmental delays can be even more stressful.” Candace took Therese's hands. “Please think about what I’ve said.”
“We will,” the couple promised.
As they all walked out of the building a few minutes later, Candace thought of what Anabelle had said about Penny Risser's sister. Again she hoped Penny would be willing to talk with Lewis and Therese to try to allay some of their fears. Maybe she could even act as a mentor. As soon as she arrived home, she’d call Anabelle and asked if she thought Penny would be interested.
On Wednesday evening, Anabelle accompanied Kirstie to her school. Kirstie wanted to get everything done that she possibly could, so that she wouldn't have a ton of details to attend to after the final day of the school year. She planned to leave for Chicago the following weekend, and she wanted to give herself plenty of time to pack and say good-bye.
The first thing Kirstie did was get a ladder from the custodial closet. “I’m going to climb up there and take down the cursive alphabet,” she told Anabelle. “I’ll hand them to you, and you can stack them in that box over there.” The alphabet hung from a horizontal metal strip that held them in place once they were slipped into it.
Anabelle bit her tongue, while she watched Kirstie climb the ladder. Her instinct was to rush in and do it for her daughter, much as she had tried to do during Kirstie's childhood. She supposed it was a good thing Kirstie had such an independent streak, or Anabelle might have made her fearful and needy and more aware of her limitations than her strengths.
As they worked, Kirstie said, “Mother, I’m really going to miss you and Pop.”
“We’re going to miss you too.” Anabelle took another section and returned it to the box. “We’re just getting used to having you living in a separate residence. Having you in another city is going to take us some time to adjust to.”
Kirstie laughed. “I hope you’ll come and visit.”
“Just try to stop us,” Anabelle teased.
“I know you’re not thrilled about my being so far away, and I know it's hard for you not to have me close after all the things you and I have been through together.”
Anabelle's eyes filled with tears. They had, indeed, been through many things together. She remembered comforting her daughter when the ten-year-old had been told her leg had been amputated. Helping her up when she fell while trying to negotiate on crutches. Changing dressings when her new prosthetic rubbed sores on her stump. Traveling all the way to Springfield to find prom shoes with heels that Kirstie felt confident she could manage.
“Do you ever wonder,” Kirstie went on, “if we would have been as close as we are if that accident hadn't happened?”
“I was just thinking about all the things we’ve done together,” Anabelle admitted. “I like to think we still would be close, but there's no way to know.”
“Your relationship with Ainslee's a little different,” Kirstie pointed out.
“Ainslee's personality is different.” Anabelle hesitated. “She's never been one to share all her feelings; you wear yours right out there on your sleeve for the world to see.” They both chuckled, and Anabelle went on. “I don't love her any less than I do you. Or your pesky brother, for that matter.” She smiled. “But you’re right. Our relationship is a little different.”
“Do you think she minded the amount of time you spent with me?”
“I don't think so.” Anabelle had often worried about the very same thing. She and Cam both had done everything they could to ensure that their two older children didn't feel slighted or neglected. “Goodness, how did we get into such a deep conversation?”
Kirstie shrugged. “I started it. I just wanted to say thanks, Mother, for always being there, always championing me, always encouraging me. You made me feel like I could do anything, be anythin
g I wanted to be, despite my handicap. Without you, I don't know if I’d be going off to Chicago this summer.”
Anabelle waited a moment until she could trust her voice before she responded. “You’re very welcome, sweetheart.” She took the last of the cardboard placards from her daughter and held the ladder while Kirstie climbed down. “Do you need help with laundry or anything before you leave?”
Kirstie considered. “I’m planning on packing up all the perishables in the fridge and bringing them over. Could I have dinner with you guys? I can do one last load of laundry at your house and hang out with you, if that's okay.”
“That would be great,” Anabelle assured her. “Your father will be thrilled.”
“Thanks, Mother. It’ll be nice to spend one last evening with you.”
“It will.” Anabelle looked around. “Now, what's next?”
Elena was planning Cesar's party while Cesar was out of the house on Saturday. He had taken Izzy for donuts and a trip to the park, which often lasted until close to noon. Elena, now on the alert for the pink shorts, had made sure they were put away in a box in her closet before Izzy could see them again after they were washed.
At nine, Sarah Fulton, Izzy's mother, came over to help make and address the invitations. Like Elena, Sarah enjoyed crafts.
Since Sarah had returned to Deerford last year, she and Rafael had negotiated an uneasy peace and were making a serious attempt at co-parenting. Sometimes Elena had a faint hope that the two might even fall in love and marry someday, but she usually tried to squash that hope and be satisfied that Izzy had a mother in her life at last.
“So here's what I want to do.” Elena picked up the one completed invitation. “Use this stamp with embossing powder on the front, then use watercolor pencils to fill in the design. Inside, we’ll paste these blue who-what-when-where cards that I did on the computer.” She grimaced. “It would have looked nicer if I had done the inside by hand, but I just don't have the time.”
“This will be fine,” Sarah assured her. “You did a great job. Besides, people are going to look at it for five seconds. How much work do you want to make for yourself?”
Elena laughed. “Trust you to put it in perspective.” She indicated the cards. “Would you rather stamp or emboss?”
“Do you trust me to stamp?”
“Of course.” Elena picked up the shaker she’d filled with copper embossing powder—the shade she’d chosen to give definition to the basketball player on the stamp she’d purchased. “Let's do the ‘You’re Invited’ stamp across the top first, and then we’ll go back and add the other one.”
With Sarah stamping and Elena shaking out embossing powder and using the high-heat setting of a hair dryer to melt it until it turned shiny and left a raised impression of the design, they quickly finished the first segment of the job, then repeated the process with the basketball stamp. Next, they glued the information cards on the inside. Sarah insisted on using fancy scissors to trim a scalloped pattern across the top edge, and Elena had to admit it gave the inside a nice look.
Finally, they put away the stamping supplies. Elena was just about to get out her watercoloring supplies so they could paint the front of each card when the door opened unexpectedly.
Cesar and Izzy came in. Izzy was crying on her grandfather's shoulder, her little face tearstained, and Cesar was looking slightly wild-eyed.
Elena quickly swept the cards off the table and onto a chair that was pushed in beneath the table.
“What happened?” Sarah exclaimed as she rushed forward and took the child from Cesar's arms. Elena was barely a step behind her, and both women turned anxious eyes on Cesar.
“We got our donuts and some juice,” he said, “and we went to the park and had a little picnic. Then we walked over to the playground, and she wanted to swing. So I pushed her for a while—”
“Skip the details,” Elena interrupted. “What happened to make her cry?”
“I was getting there,” said her husband irritably. “She wanted to play in the sandbox, so she went over and joined a group of kids there—”
“Mean boys,” Izzy said, ceasing her sobbing.
Elena was relieved to note that there didn't appear to be any blood, and Izzy was milking the tears for her grandfather's sake. “So what did these mean boys do?” she asked her granddaughter.
“They threw sand on me.” Izzy's eyes welled with tears again. “I asked if I could play, an’ one boy said no because I was a girl. I said girls are smarter than boys anyway, and then”—she paused dramatically—“he made fun of my dress! And then he threw sand on me, and it got in my hair.” She started to cry in earnest, and this time there were no crocodile tears. Isabel loved dressing in feminine, girly clothing and having her hair carefully styled. In her little world, getting assaulted by dirt really was a tragic occurrence.
“Okay, honey.” Sarah patted her back as she started for the hallway. “Let's go get you a bath. I’ll comb all the sand out of your hair first and then we’ll wash it and make it pretty and shiny again.”
As the pair disappeared back the hallway, Elena heard Izzy say, “I don't ever want to wear a dress again.”
Cesar shook his head. “I don't know how people who care about their kids can stand playgrounds. Seems like I spent most of the time I was there trying to keep Izzy—and a couple other little kids—from getting hurt by other kids who didn't appear to have any parents in sight.” He shook his head. “I need a shower. I’ve got as much sand on me as she does on her.”
Elena laughed. “Sorry it was so stressful. It's just the way playgrounds work.”
“You should have warned me,” he growled, and Elena laughed harder, as he stalked away. Cesar rarely took Isabel anywhere alone, and Elena honestly couldn't remember the last time he’d even accompanied them to a playground. She guessed it had been a rude awakening.
Then he looked toward the empty hallway. “I didn't know Sarah was coming over.”
Rattled, Elena thought fast. She didn't want him to become suspicious and figure out she was planning a surprise party. She and Sarah had intended to be finished, and Sarah already gone, by the time he and Izzy returned home. “I, uh, I’m giving her another sewing lesson.”
Cesar appeared to accept the answer, nodding as he turned away. “I’m going to grab a shower.”
She seized the opportunity to hide the cards and art supplies while he was showering. Then she occupied herself making a snack for everyone: apple slices with warm caramel dipping sauce and glasses of lemonade.
Sarah reappeared first, followed by Cesar and then Isabel. Izzy was wearing a fresh pink sleeveless summer blouse that Elena had made and a pair of white shorts. Her hair had been washed, and since it was summer and quite warm, Sarah had French-braided it while it was still damp. She was carrying Dorie, a stuffed elephant who was one of her favorite companions from her collection of stuffed animals. The elephant normally had a little straw hat perched between her ears, but apparently it had come loose. Izzy was holding it in her free hand.
“Buela, Dorie's hat came off. Can you sew it back on?”
Cesar, who was taking his seat at the table, said, “You should ask your mother, Izzy. Buela's giving her sewing lessons.”
“Are you going to make me another costume?” she said to Sarah.
Elena answered quickly. “No. I was showing her how to read dress patterns.”
“So she can make me new clothes,” Izzy said happily.
“Exactly.” Elena beamed at her.
Standing with her back to Cesar, Sarah mouthed the words “I am?”
“Isn't that nice?” Elena said heartily to Izzy. “Your mama came over while you were away, so that I could begin teaching her to sew. Only it's not really fair to ask her to sew Dorie's hat back on yet, because we barely got started.”
“Thank you.” Again, Sarah mouthed the words.
“And if you give her to me after this snack, I’ll sew it right back on quick as a wink, all right?”
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“Yes, thank you.” Izzy's fashion sense may have been a bit skewed toward pink and ruffled, but her manners were impeccable.
Anabelle ran to the fruit stand at the edge of town Saturday afternoon for some fresh strawberries. As she was carrying her purchases to the car, a black Lincoln slid smoothly into the space beside her. Absently smiling, Anabelle waited until the driver had turned off the engine before she stepped forward to get into her own car.
“Anabelle? Hello. I thought that was you.”
When Anabelle focused on the speaker, she had to clamp her mouth shut to prevent it from falling open in surprise. Em Palmer.
“Hello, Em.” She spoke calmly, but her thoughts were racing. “How are you?”
“Fine. Are you finished with your part of our awards project?” Em's eyes lit up. “I'll be so thrilled if Hope Haven wins.”
“We all will.” Anabelle shook her head, planning her next words. “No, I’m not quite done with my part. Honestly, I’ve been tempted just to give a few estimates. It's been a lot more work than I anticipated.” She acted as if a thought had just struck her. “And yours probably required even more research than mine. How in heaven's name did you get it all done?”
Em just smiled tranquilly. “It wasn't so bad. But I don't work, either, so I have more time than you. I just devoted several days to it.”
“Ah. That's, ah, good.” Anabelle struggled through a few more meaningless phrases until Em bade her farewell and walked on into the stand. As she climbed into her car, Anabelle's cheerful smile faded. Well rats. That certainly shot down my guesstimate theory. Em apparently had made a conscious decision to deliberately falsify her information.
Chapter Fifteen
HEATH AND CANDACE SAW THE MULLEN FAMILY AT church again on Sunday, although the Mullens arrived late, so the two couples didn't get a chance to do more than exchange pleasantries. The Mullens sat in a pew on the other side of the sanctuary, which relieved Candace. Keeping Howie quiet and occupied during church was challenging enough without adding Eason to the mix.
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