by Doreen Alsen
Drenched in gratitude, Ainslie let out a sigh of relief. Never in her life had she been so grateful to one man. It gave her back some small faith in the species.
She could do this, she could make it work. She had to. Failure was not an option.
Chapter Two
“So, do you want to tell me why, for the first time in your life, I have to go talk to the principal?” Ainslie put a bowl of cereal down in front of her boy, Ruark, then looked at the clock. “Shanna,” she yelled. “It’s getting late! You’re going to miss the bus!”
“Momma?” Patsy, Ainslie’s youngest child, sat at the breakfast table like the little angel she was. “I don’t wanna go to school.”
“What’s that, silly? You love school.” Ainslie frowned at the clock again. “Shanna! If you’re late, you’re going to walk to school!”
“The other girls won’t play with me. They say I talk funny.” Patsy put on her Olympic gold medal pout. “They say my name is stupid.”
Ainslie sighed and looked at her six-year-old daughter. She didn’t doubt her story for a minute. Public schools were full of mean girls out to get the new kid. “You are named after the greatest singer who ever lived, Patsy Cline. Your name is beautiful.” Ainslie rinsed her hands off in the kitchen sink. “What else did they say?”
“That my clothes are ugly and my pants are high waters. That’s why I didn’t get invited to Britney Saunders birthday party.”
Ainslie had been eyeing those pants, hoping to put off a shopping trip for some new things for Patsy until she had a little bit more money. “I’ll figure something out, precious. Do you want me to talk to your teacher?”
Patsy shook her head. “She won’t do anything. She hates me.”
“Now, sweetie, she doesn’t hate you, I’m sure of it.”
“I think she does. She’s always tellin’ me I use words wrong and only calls on me when I don’t raise my hand.” Patsy stirred her cereal. “I want to go home. I want to go back to my old school.”
It wouldn’t help matters if Ainslie admitted that was exactly what she wanted too. “Things will get better, I promise. Now eat up, so you’re not late for the bus.” Oh, damn, the bus. Where was Shanna? “Shanna!”
“I’ll see you, later, Momma.” Ruark slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed for the kitchen door.
“Wait a minute! You didn’t tell me why I have to visit the principal today!” The outside door closed, and Ruark was gone.
“Momma, I don’t feel good,” Patsy whined. “My stomach hurts.”
“What?” Ainslie threw Patsy a look, just as the child threw her breakfast up all over the kitchen floor. A moment later, the bus blew its horn, making a kind of last call. Shanna managed to fly down the stairs just as the bus rolled away.
“Sorry, Momma,” she mumbled as she grabbed a Cookies and Cream Luna Bar out of a cabinet. “Can I get a ride?”
Ainslie felt despair gurgle up behind her eyes. “Sure. Go help your sister get cleaned up.” She was pretty sure Patsy had made herself sick—sick with worry. Well, they all had to face their new lives.
“Ew!” Shanna looked at her sister. “You’re so gross.”
“Can you do it without detailed commentary, sugar?”
“But Momma, I’m too sick to go to school.” Patsy stood there in all her miserable glory.
And it might have worked if Ainslie hadn’t seen her angel baby hide a triumphant smile. If little Patsy could play her at age six, Ainslie was going to be toast when she was sixteen.
“Just hush, please, and go get changed. You’re going to school.” She turned her back to the girls and wet a dishtowel with hot soapy water so she could clean the gloppy mess.
One day at a time seemed like a luxury. She went from minute to minute, praying for some peace. Remembering her appointment with the principal and Ruark’s reticence, she didn’t hold out too much hope for an easy rest of the day.
She cleaned the mess and ran upstairs to grab a change of clothes for her meeting with the principal. When in doubt, she could always count on her Chanel suit. Karl Lagerfeld had designed it just for her. This was the one piece of her designer wardrobe that she wouldn’t take to the consignment shop for the money to make a rent payment. She grabbed her make-up bag and her Christian Louboutin sling backs. She would get changed at the Brewsters after she cleaned their beautiful house, get to school, talk to the principal, take Ruark home, change into her End Zone uniform and only be an hour late for her shift.
God bless Sandy, that’s all she had to say.
About halfway to Patsy’s school Ainslie remembered to remind Shanna to pick up her sister.
“I can’t, Momma. I have cheerleading try-outs.” She was using her holier than thou voice. “Ruark has to watch Patsy today.”
“Ruark can’t, sugar. Remember?” Ainslie’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “We’ve got that meeting with your principal.”
“But if I don’t go to practice today, I won’t make the squad.” Shanna wailed, the perfect sound of fifteen-year-old angst.
“Then take your sister to practice with you.” Ainslie sighed. “I’ll pick her up on my way from the Brewsters.” She glanced in the mirror and caught Patsy sticking her tongue out at Shanna.
“Momma!” Shanna’s voice held the perfect blend of dismay and outrage. “She’s such a brat. She’ll ruin everything!”
“No, she won’t. She’ll behave.”
“She better, or else I’ll shave her head bald while she’s sleepin’”
“Momma!” Patsy screamed. “She’s gonna shave my hair all off!”
Ainslie banged her hand on the steering wheel. “She’ll do no such thing. Shanna, apologize to your sister.”
“Whatever. I’m sorry I said I’d shave you bald, okay?”
“I don’t believe you.” Patsy was adamant.
“Patsy, sweetie, everything’s gonna be fine. Shanna was just picking on you. You should be a big girl and just ignore her.” Ainslie shook her head. “Can you do me this one favor without riling up your sister?”
“’Course I can, Momma,” Miss Sweetness replied. “Since I’m babysitting for the brat, can I get a new dress for the dance next weekend?” Ever the operator, Shanna knew when to pick her moments.
“No, and stop calling your sister a brat. I don’t have the money right now. I promise I’ll get you a new dress soon.”
“I’ve got to get new outfits first,” Patsy chimed in, twisting the knife.
That was true. Patsy was way past due for some new things. It was times like this she so regretted giving all Shanna and Ruark’s baby things and outgrown outfits to charity when they had outgrown them. Back then, it never occurred to her to keep used clothes for a new child. Ainslie mentally did an inventory of that designer wardrobe of hers again. She guessed a trip to the consignment shop was in order. It was the vintage Dior gown’s turn to go.
Tears stung her eyes. It was so shallow, she knew, but she loved that gown.
“Momma?” Shanna’s voice broke up her pity party. “Do the Brewsters have a daughter named Cecily?”
“I believe they do, sugar. Why?”
“Can you not let them know I’m your daughter?”
Ainslie nearly drove off the road. “What?”
“Well, she’s really a snob, and she’s the head cheerleader, and if she knows I’m the daughter of her cleaning lady, I won’t get onto the squad.”
Ainslie was robbed of all power of speech. Stunned, she focused her attention on the road as she blinked away tears.
“Okay, Momma? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I really have to get on the squad.”
They got to the high school none too soon. Shanna opened the door and slid out. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you when you pick up Patsy.” She slammed the door shut and melted into the crowd of students rushing to class.
Ainslie had to sit there a minute, as she had a little trouble breathing. Her beautiful baby girl was ashamed of her. It just didn’
t bear thinking about.
“Momma, can you take me to school now?” Patsy nagged from the back seat. “I’m gonna be late.”
“Can’t have that now, can we sugarplum?” She gathered her wits about her and put the car into gear. It was only the morning, and already the day had gone to hell in a hand basket.
****
Ruark, his guts churning to beat the band, sat outside the principal’s office. A janitor in the hall pushed around a great big broom. Teachers were coming in and out, laughing with each other as they picked up their mail and messages. Every once in a while, one of them would slide him a look.
He just sat there, fighting the urge to puke.
The group of jocks who had beat him up yesterday in the locker room hung around the hall outside the principal’s waiting room. When they’d beat him up, they’d been sure to leave marks where no one could see them. Like they practiced it a lot and did it for fun.
He was so terrified he shook, he hadn’t been able to eat, and he wanted to bolt in the worst way. All of that would shame his momma more than she was already shamed. A real man would do what he had to do. He would not add to Momma’s burden. He would not be like his father.
He just wanted to get this whole thing over with. As in done. Period. Finished.
Mrs. Rockland, Mr. Mason’s secretary, looked over at him with a kind look on her face. “Mr. Mason will be out of his meeting soon. Is your mother on her way?”
Ruark nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Alden Bradford was giving him the death stare, promising retribution for telling the truth.
Actually, death might not be a bad option right now.
Mr. Mason breezed into the office, checking his watch as he did. He was dressed in a nice suit, off the rack obviously, but it fit him well. He smelled really good, too, Ralph Lauren’s Polo, and his hair, as usual, was awesome, even though he didn’t use any product.
Mr. Mason was totally hot. Ruark shifted in his chair to hide his shameful reaction to the principal. In that moment, he couldn’t have hated himself more.
Mr. Mason smiled and looked at him. “Hey, Ruark. Is your mom here yet?”
“No, sir.” Ruark could feel himself blush. He hoped with no little bit of desperation that Mr. Mason couldn’t tell what he was thinking and feeling.
“Then I’ll just go make a few phone calls while we wait for her.” He looked at Mrs. Rockland. “Buzz me, please, when Mrs. Logan gets here.”
“Sure thing.” Mrs. Rockland nodded at Mr. Mason as he disappeared into his office. She gave Ruark a look. He was deathly afraid she could read his mind or something equally embarrassing.
Soul deep guilt swamped him. He drowned in it. He just hated that he was adding to his mother’s problems. It broke his heart to see her working so hard, to see her give up everything just for him and his sisters. He tried to talk her into letting him get a job, but she was totally against it. “Don’t worry ’bout a thing, sugar,” she’d told him. “You just worry about school.”
If she only knew what-all he had to worry about, she’d have a heart attack.
He heard a familiar click-clack and looked up. There was his momma.
His real momma. Dear Lord, she was dressed in her Chanel suit, the one Uncle Karl designed, her Louboutins, and she was made up to perfection. Her short, dark hair was just the dignified side of messed up.
Sucking in a deep breath, he watched her come into the office.
He wanted to cry with relief. He knew it was only temporary, but for now, she was the momma he missed. He stood up, like a gentleman should.
“Ruark, sugar, sorry I’m late.” She kissed his cheek. She smelled like Nocturnes de Caron again, not like the bleach or the beer and the grease he was getting used to.
“Mrs. Logan?” Mrs. Rockland also stood up. “Mr. Mason has been waiting for you.” There was just the smallest touch of scold in her voice, Ruark thought.
If his momma heard it, he couldn’t tell. “I’m so sorry, ma’am.” Her voice oozed southern charm. “The traffic was horrendous.”
Mrs. Rockland sniffed. “Please have a seat. I’ll let Mr. Mason know you’re here.”
“Thank you so very much.” She lowered herself into a chair with all the grace of a prima ballerina. “Don’t worry, baby,” she said to Ruark as she patted his knee. “It’s going to be okay.”
Ruark mentally crossed his heart, as if wishing could make it so. He was pretty sure, however, that nothing was ever going to be okay ever again.
****
Ainslie smoothed the skirt of her suit, even though there were no wrinkles to smooth out. Her mother’s intuition on full alert, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that her boy was just terrified. She could practically hear his heart beating out of his chest. “I got here as soon as I could, baby,” she told him. It killed her to think he was sitting there, scared silly and waiting for her.
“’S’okay, Momma.” Ruark looked at her, but she noticed that he avoided her eyes. “I wasn’t waiting long. Besides, I’m not a baby. I can handle bein’ by myself for a coupla minutes.”
“Shush, you. You’ll always be my baby.”
He turned red, like he always did when she said things like that. “You look real pretty today.”
She chuckled. He had too much charm by half. He was going to be a lady-killer someday. “You keep sweet talkin’ the girls like that, and you’ll have to beat them off with a stick.”
Ruark didn’t react to that, just looked away from her. She’d obviously embarrassed him again.
All her attention was focused on Ruark, so she didn’t hear the door to the Principal’s Office open. “Mrs. Logan, I’m Dave Mason, the principal here.”
She stood while extending her hand, grabbed a look at Principal Dave Mason, and fell back in her seat. Standing right in front of her, holding her boy’s future in his hands, was Grumpy Dave, her personal Scrooge at The End Zone.
The very same Dave Mason whose butt she’d knocked onto a platter full of guacamole and refried beans just last night. Oh, this could not be good. He hated her.
Ainslie wasn’t that fond of him either.
She pasted on her best Miss South Carolina smile and extended her hand as she stood. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Mr. Mason,” she lied through her pearly whites. She took consolation in the fact that he looked nearly as pole axed as she felt.
“Yes, well,” Mr. Mason ran his hand down his tie before he shook her hand. “Why don’t we go into my office?” He swept his arm out toward the office door.
“Certainly.” She grabbed Ruark’s arm and held on for dear life.
Principal Dave Mason’s office was an education about the man. His degrees hung on the wall, along with other awards and citations. No picture frames sat upon a very organized desk. The chair behind that desk had seen better days, and she imagined if any woman could stand to put up with him, one of the first things she’d do is get rid of that ugly maroon chair.
He gestured to the guest chairs in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”
She sniffed as she took a look at them. They were only marginally better than the chair behind his desk. Ruark used his manners and helped her into a ratty chair before sitting down himself.
How could such a polite, well-raised boy be in trouble at school? There must be some mistake.
“Thanks for coming in today.” Principal Dave smiled as he sat behind his desk. “There was an incident yesterday in the boys’ locker room, and I’m hoping Ruark can help us get to the bottom of it.”
Ainslie bristled at the insinuation that her boy was part of an incident. “Are you accusing my son? Because I have to tell you, Mr. Mason, that Ruark is a good boy. He’s never been in any trouble his whole life.”
“I’m not accusing Ruark at all. He was in the locker room when something went down, and I’d like to know what he knows about it.” Dave, Mr. Mason she corrected herself, looked from her to Ruark, who was dead still in his seat. “Did you see anything
?” Mr. Mason asked Ruark, his tone of voice gentle and encouraging.
“No, sir.” Ruark wouldn’t look at Mr. Mason, a sure sign he was lying.
“If you know something, sugar, you need to tell Mr. Mason.”
“I don’t know anything.” Ruark insisted.
“Ms. Adams thinks some of the other boys were giving you a hard time.” Mr. Mason looked at Ainslie. “Ms. Adams is Coach Kelly’s student teacher.”
“You have a female student teacher in the boys’ locker room?” Ainslie couldn’t quite believe it.
Mr. Mason shook his head. “No, which is the reason I need to question all the boys.” He again turned his attention to Ruark. “You don’t have to worry about getting into trouble. Anything you tell me and your mom is confidential.”
Ruark swallowed hard and shook his head as he studied his shoes, the picture of utter misery. He was trying very hard to be brave, and she knew there was a story here, but her boy wasn’t going to spill it here and now. “Ruark, would you please go out and wait for me. I want to have a private word with Mr. Mason.”
Ruark jumped up and ran out the door like the roadrunner hightailing it away from an acme anvil. Ainslie took a deep breath and turned her attention to Mr. Mason. “I think you and I need to have a talk about my boy.”
Chapter Three
Dave watched Ruark scurry out of his office, but really never took his gaze off the in control, totally-take-no-prisoners woman sitting in front of him. No way was this woman the ditzy waitress from The End Zone.
There had to be an evil twin lurking around somewhere.
“Just what type of incident are you talking about, Mr. Mason? Is my boy in any danger?”
Whoa! “He’s not in any danger,” Dave hurried to assure her. “Addington High is a safe school. But I’m certain he knows something about what happened, and I want to get to the bottom of it.”
“He’s not going to tell you anything today. This is a new experience for him, and he’s feeling quite humiliated.” The new Ainslie, Mrs. Logan, informed him.
