by Holly Jacobs
"I hope so." Michelle didn't sound so sure. "I hope our talk was the end of it. I just hate having him angry at me, and feeling as if I've somehow let him down."
Both Carly and Samantha comforted Michelle until it was obvious that she was feeling better.
"Thanks, guys." She turned to Carly. "Your turn."
"Dean and I had another meeting with a mediator, trying to finish the divorce settlement. As soon as that's worked out, it's all done. My marriage is over." She paused. "No, I take that back, the marriage was over the moment I caught him with his secretary on my couch. I just want this settled before Thanksgiving. The divorce was in January, despite the fact we hadn't divided the marital assets. I graduate in December, and I'd really like to go into the new year with a degree, a new job and a totally completed divorce. I can't spare much more time for this. I've got a couple huge papers due, on top of getting ready for the start of the holiday season."
Samantha and Michelle both offered support as Carly continued to talk about her ex, and how he'd balked about paying for her to go back to school, despite the fact she'd quit college to put him through law school.
As Carly wound down, Samantha had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she realized how busy her friends' lives were. Neither of them had time to help with the Thanksgiving Pageant. She'd imagined them consoling her, and jumping to her aid when she told them that Mrs. Tarbot had appendicitis. It had only happened today, and she was pretty sure the word hadn't spread on the Erie Elementary grapevine yet. Mrs. Tarbot was going to be out for a while, and wouldn't be able to oversee the Thanksgiving Pageant. Samantha had spoken to the sub, a Ms. Hahn, who had a four-month-old baby at home and went on and on about getting home as soon as school was out. There was no way she was going to stay after and help. Which meant Samantha would be directing the pageant, and fitting the costumes and preparing the set.
How hard could it be? So, she didn't mention Mrs. Tarbot. Or Ms. Hahn.
She'd deal with the pageant on her own, somehow.
Still, she needed comforting. So as Michelle and Carly looked at her, signaling it was her turn, she said, "I broke off my friendship with Harry."
The words tumbled one over another as she told them everything. About Harry's mom, about Stan, about the kiss. "So, I ended it. I'm sure it's for the best. He's leaving soon anyways."
"But you didn't want to." The gentleness in Michelle's voice almost undid her.
She replayed the kiss in her mind, and caught her fingers moving toward her lips, as if she could recapture it. She firmly brought her hand back to the table, and nodded. "No, I didn't want to, but right now, the kids have to come first. Stan has to come first."
They continued to talk, sharing, unburdening, reassuring. Again, Samantha didn't mention Mrs. Tarbot, not even when Michelle asked, "We're supposed to be here to talk about the Thanksgiving Pageant. Is there anything we can do?"
Samantha forced a smile and lied through her teeth, "No, there's nothing either of you need to worry about. I've got it under control."
Samantha knew she was right not to tell her friends about her predicament. Now, if only she could figure out how to handle all the pageant details on her own.
HARRY KNEW THE PTA SOCIAL committee moms met every other Friday, and that this was their week. He tried to ignore the light from the meeting room as he walked along the hallway. Every part of him wanted to wait and talk to Samantha, instead, he forced himself to turn left and head into the gym. He might be only an interim principal, but while he was here, he'd do his best, and that meant coming to as many school functions as humanly possible. He figured he'd be able to catch a bit more than the last half of the game.
The gym was full. Erie Elementary was a tight-knit community, and the school families turned out in droves for any event. He was greeted by a number of people as he made his way into the gym. He glanced at the scoreboard. Home 10, Visitors 3.
"Hi, Mr. Remington," Heidi called out from the snack table.
"Harry, Heidi." He made his way over to her. "You can call me Harry," he reminded her.
She smiled ruefully. "I don't want to seem too informal in front of the kids."
"I doubt any of them would notice over the din. The game seems to be going well."
"It's always going well if we're winning," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Is everything okay?" he asked.
"You're the second person to ask me that today. I must look a fright." She patted at her hair.
"That's not it. You just seem. . .not quite yourself." Granted, he didn't know the woman personally, but he'd had numerous meetings with her since starting at Erie Elementary, and she definitely wasn't her normal chipper self. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was off.
"I'm fine," she said. "And you?"
"I'm fine, too," he assured her, knowing even as he said the words they were both liars. "If you need anything. . ."
She nodded. "I won't, but it's kind of you." She smiled. "You better go mingle with the school families and watch some of the game. I wouldn't want to make Samantha jealous." She grinned, obviously teasing.
"What?"
She looked stricken. "Oh, Mr. Remington, I didn't mean. I mean, I did. I was only kidding. I mean we, all saw the two of you at the Halloween party and assumed. . . I mean—"
"That's an awful lot of 'I means' for one sentence. And it's okay, you just caught me by surprise. Samantha and I are, well, we're friends. We knew each other as kids, and she's been kind to me since I don't really have any old contacts in town. That's all."
Heidi didn't need to know that Samantha was more than a kind old friend who'd taken him under her wing. He thought back to the kiss. A lot more.
"I see. I'll be sure to spread the word and stop various tongues from wagging."
"I'd appreciate that." He made his way into the crowd milling around one end of the bleachers. He nodded and made all the appropriate greetings, but his heart wasn't in it. It wasn't in the game, either, though he clapped as the home team pulled even further ahead.
He thought about Samantha in the meeting room. Maybe he should go check on her.
"Mr. Rem," came a small voice.
He looked down and saw Stella standing there grinning at him. He knelt down so he was closer at her eye-level. "Hey, Stell. How're things?"
"I lost the boys. They're supposed to be watching me, but they told me to stay in my seat, and I don't know where they are."
"Would you like me to help you find them?"
She nodded, her brown braids bouncing against her shoulders. She looked at him then, her eyes, so like Samantha's, trusting.
"Come on. We'll find them."
It wasn't hard to locate Seton. He was dangling from the ledge of the top bleacher. And after a stern warning that the boys take better care of their sister, Harry went back to his mingling and tried to forget Samantha was nearby.
He kept trying to forget throughout the rest of the game. When Samantha came for her kids, he spotted her and waved. She gave a small wave back, gathered Stella and the boys and started out the door, but not before turning and giving him another look.
He waved again, and she nodded, then ushered the kids out.
Leaving Harry wishing he was going with them.
THAT SUNDAY EVENING, Samantha decided there was such a thing as a silver lining.
The fact that she was so busy doing everything for the pageant meant she didn't have time to fret about Harry. At least that's what she told herself. But for someone who wasn't spending a lot of time thinking about Harry, she was spending a lot of time thinking about how she was not thinking about him.
He'd looked sad as he'd waved at her from across the gym Friday night.
Samantha forced herself to glance up at the kids, who were playing their new game—tag Marmalade. She hadn't caught on to all the rules, but it seemed to center on a lot of running, shrieking and general pandemonium.
She clipped th
e thread. She was reattaching feathers to the turkey costume. She wasn't sure just what had happened at last year's pageant, but it obviously involved defeathering the turkey. There were exactly three feathers on the costume when she'd started. After an hour of sewing, there were maybe twenty. She glanced at the box and refused to think about how many more she had to go.
Grunge, who considered it beneath his dignity to play the game with the kids and the dog, leaped onto the couch and started batting the thread as she tried to get it through the eye of the needle.
"Grunge," she warned, but when the cat continued batting the thread as if he hadn't heard her, she gave up and held the thread in place and let Grunge have at it as the dog and kids darted around the room.
If Harry were here, he'd be right in the thick of it, running and acting like a ten-year-old.
This had to stop. She had to stop thinking about Harry.
She pulled the thread away from Grunge, and picked up the needle, only to jab herself in the finger. "Ow."
The three younger kids didn't pay any attention to her but Stan stopped cold in his tracks. "You okay, Mom?"
"I just pricked my finger. You know that sewing isn't my forte, which is why my motto is—"
"If there's a hole, don't come to me," he finished for her.
She nodded. "I don't sew or iron." She hated ironing more than sewing, and that was saying something.
"So, why are you sewing on turkey feathers?" He came closer, standing near the edge of the couch, watching her intently.
"Sometimes you have to think of other people. The third-graders need the costumes for their pageant, so I'm sewing."
He frowned. "Why don't the other two moms help. They're supposed to, right?"
Both Michelle and Carly had heard about Mrs. Tarbot and called. Samantha had lied through her teeth, telling them that she and the sub had everything under control. She would need them the day of the pageant to help. Yes, she could have asked some of the other PTA parents for help, but that would have gotten back to Michelle and Carly, making them feel guilty.
No, this was an instance of it was easier to just do it herself. She was hoping she'd be so busy she'd forget about missing Harry.
"I can handle this."
"I could help then," he offered.
"Sewing? I mean, Stan, you know I try not to be sexist, if you want to sew, I'm all for it." She smiled and he laughed, which had been her intent.
"Well, not that, but I could help with the stage stuff. Me, Seton and Shane are pretty good with paint. Mr. Rem said—" He hesitated, as if not sure he should mention Harry.
"Yes. . .?" Samantha prompted, trying to give him her best talking-about-Harry-doesn't-bother-me look, though it did. Because talking about him meant she was thinking about him and that hurt.
"He said we did a good job on his office." He flopped onto the couch next to her, watching for her reaction.
"Yes, he did," she agreed. "He told me how great you all were getting his office painted."
"I don't know why he bothered with it. I mean, it's not like he's staying. He's temporary. That head-lady was in school on Friday showing some new guy around. Someone said he was going to be the new principal. That means Mr. Rem will be going back to Ohio soon." He punched at a pillow, presumably to make it more comfortable, but he used far more force than was needed.
Samantha could sense this wasn't just turkey feathers and painting scenery. "Maybe he felt better with his office set up. Sometimes you can't worry so much about what's coming up in the future that you miss out on what's happening right now."
"Well, right now, maybe you need some help with the stage stuff?"
She nodded. "Thanks for noticing. I will definitely take you up on your offer because the truth is I do need all the help I can get. Why don't I come to school tomorrow and we'll all stay after and work on it?"
"I'll help watch the little kids so they don't make things harder," he offered.
She smiled. "I appreciate that, honey."
Stan got off the couch, and returned to the tag game with his siblings and the dog, but he kept checking on her. Samantha couldn't quite read what was going on in his head, but she knew eventually he'd open up to her.
It was only a matter of time.
She thought about a new principal touring the school, then pushed it aside. She'd known Harry was going back to Columbus.
That was only a matter of time, as well.
THE WEEKEND WAS LESS than stellar. Harry went through the motions. He pretended to do his classwork. He pretended to do Erie Elementary work in case he had to hand things off to the new principal. But then Geri called and said the candidate she was grooming for the position had taken another offer. So he'd be heading back to the school next week.
The highlight of his weekend was a two-hour talk with Lucas Sunday evening. They'd discussed the ins and outs of Lucas's football season. "I'll send a tape, 'kay, Harry?"
"I can't wait, Lucas."
"Harry, can I come see you?"
That one innocent question broke Harry's heart. Lucas was Shane's age, and nowhere near old enough to travel on his own. "Well, L., I can't promise anything other than I'll see you as soon as it's possible. I miss you."
"Miss you, too, Harry. Lots. 'Night."
'"Night, bud."
Harry had fallen into a funk after that, not noticing that the house had long since gone dark until the phone rang. Everything in him wanted to pick up the receiver and hear Samantha's voice. Instead, it was his mom calling just to check on him.
She casually asked about Samantha, and when he said they'd decided not to see so much of each other she suggested, "That's probably for the best."
That's what he tried to tell himself as he went to bed, but he was finding it hard to believe. The truth of the matter was, he missed Samantha. Missed her far more than he should.
It was a relief to be at school on Monday. He didn't have to pretend to be busy, as Monday mornings were habitually packed with things that required his attention.
It was well after lunch when Harry looked up to find Stan standing in his doorway. The boy's expression was unreadable.
"Hi, Stan. Come on in."
The boy stepped into his office, and shut the door behind him. "Mrs. Vioni said I could come in 'cause, Mr. Remington, I need to talk to you."
"Have a seat, Stan." Harry waved at the chair.
Stan shuffled across the room, not looking happy to be in the office, but beneath the uneasiness was a sense of determination.
Harry put down his pen and simply waited as Stan took the seat and fidgeted for a few moments. Finally, the boy began, "I. . . Mrs. Tarbot's sick."
"Yes, I know. I've arranged a substitute for at least a few weeks. Is there a problem with Stella and the sub? Is she upset about Mrs. Tarbot?"
"Nah. She misses her, but she said Ms. Hahn is nice."
"I'm glad." Harry noted that Stan seemed to be struggling over what to say next.
"I. . .uh. . ." Stan hemmed and hawed. Suddenly in a rush, he asked, "You know about the Thanksgiving Pageant?"
"Yes." Harry glanced at his desk calendar. "It's two weeks from tomorrow."
"Yeah, and my mom's doing everything on her own now 'cause Mrs. Tarbot's out sick and Ms. Hahn has a new baby."
Harry frowned. "What happened to her friends on the PTA committee?"
"All Mom said was that they've got problems of their own, and she didn't want to bother them. She told them she had it handled, but she can't. Mom's busy, too. She works all day, and has to do tons of stuff for us, and. . . Well, me and the boys said we'd help with the stage stuff, but Mom was trying to sew feathers on a turkey, and Mom doesn't sew. She's got to finish it all, and work with the third-graders, and Mr. Rem. . ."
Harry had forgotten how much he'd missed hearing Stan call him that, until the nickname slipped out.
"Third-graders are tough. The other classes are singing some songs, but Mom's gotta teach those third-graders the whole play. I mean
, I just live with Stella and that's hard enough. Mom needs some help. And I thought, maybe you—" He shrugged.
"You thought maybe I could help?"
"I know you're busy here, and Mom says you're taking classes, but maybe you'd have some time?"
Everything in Harry wanted to jump at the excuse to spend time with Samantha, but he held himself back. "Stan, your mom thinks it might not be such a good idea for us to be friends."
"Because of me."
He saw the guilt in Stan's expression and hastened to reassure him. "Well, your mom loves you very much and cares about how you feel. Besides, your mom and I, we're both busy. I've got my own classes, and running this school, and your mom has you kids, work and the Thanksgiving Pageant. That's a lot for each of us."
"But you were seeing each other until I gave my mother problems."
Harry wasn't about to let the boy take the blame for everything. "Stan, this is about your mom and me, not you. Sometimes grown-ups might like each other, but still—" He shrugged. "Listen, you know I had a girlfriend for a long time, and we broke up before I moved here, but the thing is, I'm still hurting. And your mom's still hurting. And. . ."
Stan's expression would have told Harry that he knew he wasn't doing a good job of explaining things even if he didn't already know it.
"Mr. Rem, I don't get grown-ups. But I know my mom loves me, and that when I. . ."
Harry could see that whatever Stan was trying to say was hard for him. Thirteen-year-olds had a powerful sense of pride.
"When I acted like a baby, complaining 'cause Mom and you were friends, well, she stopped seeing you, 'cause she loves me. But Mr. Rem, I love her, and she misses you. I can tell. So, maybe you are busy, but maybe not too busy to give her a hand with the pageant?"
"And you'd be all right with that?" Harry asked.
"I've got lots of people to talk to. My mom, my dad now. My brothers and friends. Not really Stella so much, 'cause she's so little, but I've got lots of people. Even that shrink you made me talk to. Mom, she's just got us kids and her PTA friends. She was happier when she had you around, too. She misses you."
