by Beck, Jamie
“He tutors me. We aren’t friends.”
A shame, really. If Rowan had stayed close with Carter, my son might’ve been a better student. “Well, you used to be friends.”
“When I was nine.” Rowan rolled his eyes. As if that were a million years ago. Then again, sometimes it felt like it was.
“He helps you, so you be nicer.” I mussed his hair. “Now come on and do your part tonight. I shouldn’t be the only one fighting this battle for you.”
By the time I hustled Rowan into the car, found a parking spot, and scrambled into the auditorium, the meeting had begun. Standing room only, with a row of board members at a long table on the stage. There were two mic stands near the front of the room, with lines formed behind each. Jillian Beckman, another football player’s mom, was currently voicing support for the budget while Rowan and I picked our way through the crowd. Along the way, I scanned the throng in the back, looking for Grace, but didn’t see her. Had she chickened out? That possibility produced mixed feelings.
“No one brought their kids,” he grumbled.
“It’s still a good civics lesson. You don’t have to talk, but stand where I can see you. I’m going to get in line,” I whispered.
Rowan stood along a wall, wedged between some parents he knew. I got in the line closest to me, which was when I noticed Grace waiting in the other one. Her eyes widened, most likely because she’d never seen me in this kind of getup. We smiled at each other, although she had to be strung tight. Public speaking was to Grace what discovering lice on a client’s head was to me—a horrible, awkward thing you hoped to avoid. Still, her discomfort might make her less persuasive, which would be a blessing for my side.
I shifted my attention to the front of the room. One board member poured herself water from a pitcher. The others glowered, doodling on notepads and shifting in their seats. Each of them clearly dreaded sitting through this community bicker fest. Two had kids who played sports for our school, so those votes were fairly certain, but a handful of unfamiliar faces reminded me of every principal I’d never liked.
Movement caught my attention. Grace stepped up to the mic, note cards in hand, perspiration beading above her lips. The scuff of shuffling feet, a stray cough, and pages of paper being folded broke the silence. My heart squirmed while she appeared to be dying inside. As much as I wanted to win, I didn’t want to see her fail. Finally, she cleared her throat.
“Good evening. Thank you for allowing us this t-time to speak on behalf of all taxpayers. My name is Grace Phillips, and I’m against the p-proposal to allot capital expenditures for improved athletic facilities rather than for upgrades to the academic facilities. Statistically, less than t-two percent of high school students go on to play Division I college sports, and only one in sixteen thousand high school students goes on to p-play professional sports. Conversely, every single student takes science and other STEM classes while in high school and college, and almost two-thirds of the thirty top-rated careers you’re supposed to be preparing students for are in the sciences, engineering, and big data fields.
“Every member of this community pays school t-taxes, so those funds should be used to benefit the majority of students instead of a small minority, especially when the booster club annually raises an average of seventy-five thousand dollars through its membership dues, annual gala, and other efforts that can be p-put toward better equipment and scoreboards and so on over time. Our high school’s statewide rank in education has dropped twenty spots since I moved to town. It’s been more than a decade since the high school’s science labs have been upgraded, despite the technological advances since then. Better academic results lead to higher school rankings, which increases not only our kids’ competitiveness but also the property values for all residents. All of this should be factored into your decision to reconsider the superintendent’s budget. Thank you.”
Well, well. Grace did just fine once she got rolling. Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged her to be more assertive. If we’d talked about this issue instead of around it, I might understand her motivation better. From where I stood, her son made top grades, so our school’s rank wouldn’t stop colleges from fighting over him or from handing him academic scholarships. Not that the Phillipses needed those. Between Sam’s career and the extra money Grace earned from giving piano lessons, they could afford to educate their children with very little debt.
She threw me a relieved smile before making her way over to Sam, who beamed at her. I meant to return it but wasn’t sure that I did. Against my better nature, the acid burn of antagonism bubbled in my stomach.
Grace knew Rowan didn’t have Carter’s opportunities. He wasn’t as smart, and I lacked her deeper pockets. Despite what I’d said at the market earlier, it did feel a little personal. That might not be fair, but I couldn’t help it. And after listening to her arguments, even I had to concede that the proposed budget might not be the best use of town funds.
No one could miss the respectful nods she’d earned from the crowd. Not to begrudge her something she deserved, but she took general admiration for granted. Since my parents died, I’d spent lots of effort to win admiration and affection from others. Older folks liked me, and young kids, too. But my peers typically considered me a little too much. Respect was something I really wanted, yet most days I hardly even got it from my own son.
It’d be nice if fortune would break my way once. Absent that, the only sure way to lose was to quit. My mama had always said flattery would get you everywhere, so while Grace chose to attack the superintendent’s decision, I would praise him and the board. When my turn finally came, I adjusted the mic down to my level. It helped to see dozens of people I’d been working with these past months giving me a thumbs-up. I supposed that would be the silver lining if we lost—at least I’d gained more acceptance from folks.
“Good evening, everyone. I’m Mimi Gillette, and I support the proposed budget. Some folks have thrown a bunch of statistics at you, but I’m pretty sure Superintendent Musgrave already considered all that before making his decision. High school isn’t only about preparing kids for college. It’s also about preparing them for life. Team sports help many kids learn to work as a unit, to socialize, to excel and push themselves. These things matter, too, and shouldn’t get pushed aside as less important than science or math. Plenty of kids—people like me—who aren’t great students need to see that they can still become successful, happy adults by leaning in to their own special talents.
“Student athletes spend up to twenty hours per week practicing. The current fields serve multiple sports and are worn down. Sharing the existing space forces some teams to practice late at night. An upgraded sports complex will alleviate a lot of those problems. So thank you, Superintendent Musgrave, for finally putting some money into them.” I flashed my best smile with a perky nod before leaving the mic to go stand beside Rowan.
Across the room, Grace and Sam were holding hands, their expressions attentive as they listened to the last speaker—Jim Russo, another ally of theirs. Thank God our being on opposite sides of this would end soon. Meanwhile, I envied her having Sam on her arm. A solid guy. Clean-cut, devoted, dependable. Everything I’d always considered nice but boring until Dirk and the two bad boyfriends since him ground me down. Guess when it came to picking men, I hadn’t been any smarter than my son had been about his priorities. Next time around, I’d choose someone like Sam. With my increased social acceptance, I might have more opportunities to find him, too.
“Mrs. Phillips’s speech was good,” Rowan said, surly. “She made it bigger than just the school when she talked about people’s property values. Even people with no kids care about that.”
Truth. Her thoroughness didn’t surprise me nearly as much as my son’s attentiveness did. Grace had always been organized and prepared. When the boys were tykes, she’d been ever ready for any situation. If you dumped out her purse or opened her hatchback at any time, you’d find first-aid supplies, extra jackets, shelf-st
able snacks, and other assorted items.
“Nothing Grace said is new information. The board might even be insulted by the suggestion that they hadn’t already thought of it.”
My son didn’t look swayed. “Can we go now?”
“It’s almost over. Let’s wait so we don’t look rude.”
Rowan whipped out his phone. A few minutes later, the audience began to file out of the auditorium. In the lobby, we bumped into Sam and Grace. Under other circumstances I would’ve taken her out for dessert to celebrate her personal milestone. Now we all stood in an awkward huddle beneath the weight of curious glances as people passed us on their way out.
“Grace. Sam.” I gave them each a quick kiss hello before elbowing Rowan.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips.” He shook Sam’s hand.
“Rowan, it’s terrific to see you participating in politics,” Sam said. Per Grace’s encouragement, he’d tried to be there for Rowan that first year after Dirk split, but Rowan hadn’t been into it. It was almost as if he’d rejected Sam to prove his loyalty to Dirk, although no one—not even Dirk—had ever suggested that anyone wanted to replace Rowan’s father. At least I’d never said it aloud.
“Mom made me come,” Rowan replied.
“Well, that’s smart. If Carter wasn’t babysitting Kim, I might’ve made him come, too.” Sam winked, his hands now in his front pockets.
“Carter wouldn’t have come. He’s already worried my speaking up will cause him more trouble at school.” Grace sheepishly eyed me while she spoke, but I’d no doubt that her message was meant for Rowan.
She hadn’t directly accused him, but Grace had a way of making her feelings known without getting her hands dirty. We’d practically raised our kids together, so the insinuation stung. Then again, Rowan had already hinted at some bullying, so perhaps she wasn’t wrong.
“Boys talk tough, but Rowan would never do anything to Carter or anyone else, Grace,” I assured her, tucking my arm through my son’s.
“I know Rowan wouldn’t hurt Carter,” she covered, smiling at Rowan and then meeting my gaze. “It’s been a tense time for everyone.”
“Well, regardless, your speech was great. Even Rowan said so. Now it’s up to the powers that be,” I said, pretending not to care much about the outcome.
“Seems so,” Grace said, but something about her expression gave me pause. Like she knew something she wasn’t sharing. I hated this distance between us, yet I hadn’t been willing to back down or share strategies any more than she had. Hopefully when things were settled, we’d return to normal. “We should probably all get home. I’ll see you Friday morning.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I smiled and waved at Sam before tugging at Rowan, who didn’t need any coaxing to leave. When we got to the car, I said, “Rowan, listen up. It’s really important that you and the others don’t harass Carter or anyone else, especially if this thing goes against us.”
Rowan shrugged. “I can’t control everyone else.”
That was exactly what worried me.
We were nearly home when he finally spoke again. “Mom, since Dad blew me off, can I have some friends over Saturday night?”
Oh, the guilt trips my divorce caused on a weekly basis.
“Maybe a few friends, but I’m not up for a big group, okay?” I could manage a handful of boys and a six-pack with pizza, but that was my limit. Rowan didn’t respond, so I repeated myself. “I said okay?”
He barely glanced up from his phone. “Sure, Mom. Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry. If only hearing those words actually made it so.
CHAPTER THREE
GRACE
Friday, January 8
Sugar Momma’s pastry shop, Potomac Point
At promptly eight thirty, I arrived at Sugar Momma’s. An old Stevie Nicks song rang out over the bustling, eclectic pastry shop’s speakers. The café’s cheery red, yellow, and turquoise decor induced a smile as usual, as did the buttery aroma of Hannah’s excellent pastries. When a quick scan of the room proved that Mimi hadn’t yet arrived, I made my way to the last open table.
This many years into our friendship, I’d accepted the fact that her internal clock ran at least five minutes behind. I draped my jacket and purse over the back of my chair before sitting. The tight ball of anxiety from my morning conversation with Carter as he bolted outside to catch the school bus sat in my gut. As he’d anticipated, some of the jocks had been giving him and other kids a hard time all week.
Nothing physical—more along the lines of insults disguised as jokes in front of girls and such. Antagonism—a trait I’d never understood. Who gets joy from making others squirm? A joke wasn’t funny if everyone couldn’t laugh. And Carter’s particular sensitivity meant these antics hit him twice as hard. I didn’t relish hashing this out with Mimi, given the way she’d taken offense when I’d referenced it after the hearing, but it’d help if Rowan could get his crew to knock it off.
My son’s suffering for my actions mirrored how I’d felt whenever Margot’s smart mouth enraged our dad. I closed my eyes, ashamed of how often I’d resented her when her behavior had backfired. My regrets changed nothing, then or now. And like all things past, the school debate had come and gone, so we’d all have to live with the fallout.
Two tables over, Trudy Miller and Anne Sullivan waved to me. I’d bought a beautiful painting from Trudy’s gallery a few years ago, but didn’t know her well. Anne, who was newer to town, was a local artist and an ally in the budget fight, although her daughter, Katy—currently a senior—was both an athlete and a scholar. Anne and I regularly took yoga classes at Give Me Strength and occasionally chatted afterward over a smoothie. Divorced, she now dated Dan Foley, a talented builder in town. I liked her, but with younger kids at home, I didn’t quite share her freedom; thus, our friendship had plateaued at a superficial level.
“Any word?” Anne asked.
I shook my head.
“Your statistics were persuasive. I have a good feeling.” She smiled, unaware of my bittersweet feelings about my involvement.
“Let’s hope you’ve got ESP,” I teased, although winning could make things worse for my son, and between Mimi and me. She was pinning her hopes for Rowan’s future on his NFL dreams. With all my heart I hoped he achieved that long-held wish. Sam and I cheered him on at every game. But that didn’t mean that Carter’s goals weren’t as important, or that Kim’s education should take a back seat.
“Come join us.” Trudy pulled out an empty chair at their table.
“Oh, thanks, but I’m waiting for Mimi Gillette.”
Trudy nodded with a grin but didn’t offer for us both to join them. Any other day the subtle slight would’ve upset me on Mimi’s behalf. But I wanted to speak to Mimi privately, and she’d implied she also had something to discuss, so I didn’t push for a broader invitation.
I’d been so focused on Carter during breakfast I hadn’t given much thought to what Mimi wanted to share. It could be anything: news about the decision, seeking advice about dealing with Dirk, or even fun gossip she’d overheard at her shop this week.
Hannah stopped at my table on her way out of the restroom. She and Mimi were kindred spirits, with their colorful hair and bold fashion choices. “Good morning, Grace. Can I bring you some Earl Grey?”
Many people know me well in our small community, which could be a blessing and a curse. Hannah had a talent for making her customers feel like close friends, but in truth she played her own cards very close to the vest. The school debate had opened a divide in town, yet I had no idea which side Hannah took. Either way, the split should knit back together once the losing side accepted defeat—provided the kids didn’t make it worse by doing something stupid.
“That’d be lovely. Cream too. And what muffins do you have today?” I asked.
“Banana chocolate chip, blueberry, pistachio, and cranberry orange.” She folded her arms beneath her ample bosom.
“Can you bring a pistachio with two plat
es? And Mimi loves your macchiato.”
“You got it.” She sashayed away, carrying herself quite regally.
The bell above the shop door rang as Mimi bumbled inside, having tripped over the tiny lip at the entrance.
“Oh!” she yelped, calling more attention to herself. I, too, would’ve lost my balance if I’d been wearing those boots—gray snakeskin ones with at least a three-inch heel. They looked painful, but Mimi swore heels put her at the right level for reducing neck and shoulder strain while styling hair. She limped her first two steps toward me. “Sorry I’m late!”
When she noticed Trudy and Anne, she flashed a smile and waved at them, too. They offered polite nods.
I stood to give her a quick hug. “No problem. I’m not the one who has to be at work soon.”
She glanced at her watch. “I wish we had more time.”
“Actually, I’ve got errands to run for Kim’s birthday sleepover party tomorrow, so I wouldn’t be able to linger as much today, either.”
“Aw, how fun.” She set her phone on the table while shucking out of her short-waisted puffy silver coat. Then she combed her fingers through her curls and shook her gobs of tousled hair. Even when worn messy, it looked terrific. “I would’ve loved a daughter. Tea parties and manicures and all the hairdos!” She wiggled her fingers. Each of her nails was painted a different color, which made me smile.
Mimi did everything big and loud, like how she’d dressed up in formal wear for the boys’ middle school music recitals, or how she strung dozens of strands of colorful lights around her house and yard at Christmas, or how she hollered from the sidelines during football games. She had a flair that made ordinary things more extraordinary. As more people let her in, they’d want her to do that for them, too.
“Except that we’re talking about Kimmy.” I folded my hands (with their unimaginative clear polish) in my lap. My daughter’s picture would not be in the dictionary beside words like “dainty,” “demure,” or “biddable.” “God give me strength to get through her preteen and teen years. Something tells me they’ll be much harder than Carter’s.”
