The first thing Rue had decided was that even if they couldn’t read or write, Country School children would know how to look you in the eye, call you by name, and give a firm handshake. The tradition caused a great bottleneck now that enrollment was nearing three hundred, but the children liked it, and Rue liked it. There were usually a dozen moments in the course of a day when she feared she was was doing the wrong thing, but in this exercise at least, adding very slightly to the level of civility in the world, she felt sure of doing no harm.
For the first day of school Kathleen Clancy, a dear little girl with Coke-bottle glasses, had brought Mrs. Shaw a tomato she had grown all by herself. It was large and ripe and beginning to split. Rue took it carefully, with warm thanks, shook Kathleen’s hand, and wished her a very happy year in second grade.
As she was doing this, a man Rue had never seen before appeared suddenly from the side of her field of vision and started to barge past her and Kathleen, tangled among the little ones. He was dark and very tall with a long angular face, and he moved in a violent rushing way, as one who has been running for a plane and sees that it has left the gate, whose next move is going to be to knock people down and yell at the gate agent. Beyond Home, Rue saw that someone, in spite of the large handpainted sign asking that no one park on the grass, had circumvented the line of cars by pulling a gleaming green Masarati onto the lawn of the preschool.
“Good morning,” said Rue, smiling, but subtly blocking his way by holding out her tomato. “Can I help you?”
The man looked balked and angry, as if not used to being questioned.
“Have you seen Malone and David Dahl? I’m Dr. Dahl.”
Rue extended her hand and said calmly, “I’m Dr. Shaw.”
“Are they here yet? I’d like to see my children,” he added sarcastically, as if she had personally kept him from them.
“I’ll be through here in just a moment, Dr. Dahl. Why don’t you wait for me in my office? Right in there, in the administration building.”
Rue watched him storm off toward Home.
“Good morning, Lia. Good morning, Ashley. Good morning, Ryan…what happened to your foot?”
“A horse at camp stepped on it,” said Ryan proudly. He was in a nylon cast that was covered with graffiti. He stumped away.
“Good morning, Jennifer, good morning, Scott. Jennifer…”
Jennifer Lowen, a fifth grader wearing all the Colors of Benetton, hopped back to her.
“Could you do me a favor? Would you find Mr. Dianda and ask him to come speak to me? Thank you. He should be in his office.”
Mike Dianda, reassuringly tall and broad-shouldered in his tweed jacket and khakis, appeared moments later. “There’s a fairly aggressive item stalking up and down in front of Merilee’s desk,” he said. “Good morning, Shana.”
“Good morning, Mr. Dianda.”
“I know,” said Rue. “Would you please go take over Mrs. Dahl’s Spanish class and ask her to come to my office?”
At that moment the warning bell for first class sounded. “Yes, ma’am,” said Mike.
“Good morning, Jamie, good morning, Tara, better hop it…you’ve got two minutes…. Oh, Royya, thank you!” A beautiful black-eyed girl emerged from a huge silver van and handed her a bouquet of zinnias with their cut stems wrapped in wet newspaper. Rue waved her thanks to Dr. Zayyad, Royya’s mother, who was a competitor of Henry’s. Rue liked Rita Zayyad a lot.
“I would like you to let my children know that I’m here for them,” Tom Dahl demanded, loudly, as Rue walked into Home. He was pacing up and down in front of the trophy case.
“I’ll be with you in just a minute, Dr. Dahl.” She walked past him and handed her flowers and her tomato to Merilee. “Could you find a vase, Merilee? And don’t let me go home without the tomato. When Mr. Kip gets here, will you ask him to wait a few minutes? Thank you.”
She turned. “Come this way, Dr. Dahl. I don’t have much time. I have a meeting scheduled with my Board head. I’m sorry I didn’t know you were coming….” She showed him into her office.
Tom Dahl pulled the door shut forcefully behind them. “What is this place? I never heard of it,” he demanded, gesturing in a way that indicated he meant the school. Rue stared at him, then sat down at her desk. She was trying to decide whether to play it straight or to get aggressive herself.
She decided to play it straight. “We’re an independent country day school, pre-K through 8. We were founded in nineteen forty-eight; our current enrollment is two hundred ninety-eight, and we’re quite well known in the mid-coast area….”
“The school my children attend,” he said, as if each word were a piece of jerky he had to rip off with his teeth and then spit at her, “The Bonewright School in Los Angeles, where I have paid full tuition for both, was surprised to find you expected my children to enroll here. They were kind enough to inform me you had asked for their transcripts. Are you in the habit of taking kidnapped children and hiding them from their parents?”
“I’m not in the habit of requiring legal proof of custody or to see death certificates in the case of widowhood, if that’s what you’re asking me.”
“My wife shows up out of the blue, for no reason, and it doesn’t occur to you to ask her if she has the right to be hiding children in some god-forsaken town without telling her husband?”
“Do you think this town is god-forsaken?” Rue asked mildly. “I’ve always thought it was rather blessed. But you may be on more intimate terms with the Lord than I am.”
“You think that Ph.D. makes you smart, don’t you?” Rue had hoped that might bother him.
“I don’t know if that’s a serious question,” said Rue, “but I’ll give you a serious answer. No, I don’t. I don’t think degrees have anything to do with making people smart. Doctor.”
At that point, Emily walked in.
“Oh, Jesus,” said Tom Dahl, wild with disgust. What was his wife doing on campus? He had assumed he could either scoop the kids up and have them back in LA before anyone was the wiser or else bully someone here, who after all wouldn’t know Emily from a hole in the ground, into handing them over.
“Emily,” said Rue, “Dr. Dahl tells me there’s a misunderstanding about where Malone and David are to go to school. I thought the two of you together could probably solve this better than I can. Would you like me to go or stay?”
“Stay,” said Emily as Tom roared “GO!”
Just then, Chandler Kip walked in, looking hot and annoyed. Every visible stitch of clothing on his body, including the shoes, had been handmade in London. This was a man who wanted no misunderstanding about exactly how successful he was, but his crisp white shirt was wilted and the top of his head looked uncomfortably pink.
“Chandler, good morning. These are new parents in the school, Dr. Dahl and Emily Dahl. Mrs. Dahl has been kind enough to take over for Mariel Smith….”
“Take over what?” Tom demanded.
“Look, Rue, I can’t wait, my car’s in the shop, and I have a very important meeting downtown in forty minutes,” said Chandler, virtually ignoring the two seething humans who were sharing the office with Rue. “I’ll have to call you later to reschedule.”
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Rue. Chandler waved his hand impatiently, a gesture Rue couldn’t quite interpret. He went out and shut the door.
“Took over what?” Tom said again, to Emily.
Neither Rue nor Emily answered.
“Emily, Dr. Dahl says I should have asked before, and perhaps I should have. Who has custody of Malone and David?”
There was a silence. Tom glared at Emily. Emily looked as if she were fighting for clarity.
“I do,” she said.
“Nobody does,” Tom shouted. “There’s no agreement, you just left!”
“I do, because if we fight it out in court I’ll get them and you know it. You left me, Tom….”
“You left the house and stole the car and the children!”
“You
want a ‘vacation from the marriage’ while you’re sleeping with your nurse! I’ve been a faithful, full-time, at-home mother for eleven years! Do you think you’re going to get custody?”
“Are you filing for divorce?”
“I will.”
“Well then you’re leaving me. I don’t want a divorce.”
“Oh for christ’s sake!”
“This is a no-fault state….”
“That applies to money, not who’s fit to raise children,” Emily howled. Rue stood up and handed Emily the nearest box of tissue as she burst into tears.
“Dr. Dahl, I’m going to ask you to leave. If you are going to have a custody fight, it should not be in my office.”
“I’m taking the children.”
“Not unless you show me a court order.”
“She can’t show you one!”
“What should we do, put them in a foster home?” Emily yelled at him.
“I’ll sue you,” said Tom to Rue viciously.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Rue.
“I want to see them,” he said.
Rue looked at Emily. Emily said, “They’re in class. It’s their first day of school.”
“I can’t wait here all day!”
“If it were me, I would,” said Emily.
“I work for a living,” said Tom nastily.
“So do I,” said Emily.
“At what?”
“I really think,” Rue said, “that you should have your lawyers work out regular times for your visits, Dr. Dahl. But you are welcome to stay and have lunch with us. The children will be free then for forty-five minutes.”
Tom Dahl stared at her. He stared at his wife. Moments passed. Suddenly, he turned and stalked out, slamming the door explosively behind him.
“Well,” said Rue, looking at Emily. “The year has begun.”
Emily sat down and began to shake. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry….”
Rue opened her office door and called, “Merilee—is there any coffee? Would you bring us some? Do you mind?”
“I’ve got to get back to my class,” Emily said.
“Take a deep breath,” said Rue. Emily did, and it was ragged, like sobs. “Again,” said Rue. Merilee came in with mugs of coffee.
“I’m terribly sorry,” said Emily more calmly. “I thought he didn’t know where I was.” She blew her nose. “I’m sorry, it really isn’t like him…it’s just that I broke all the rules. He’s supposed to be able to hurt me and reject me, and I’m supposed to stay and take it, because I’m a mother. He can’t believe I walked out of his cage. He can’t believe I won’t come back and climb back in and pull the door closed behind me. Maybe I can’t either. I wonder if he’s put down fresh paper for me. Shoveled up all the old doots and bird seed.”
“I take it you don’t have a lawyer yet.”
Emily shook her head.
“I’ve got a good one for you. Ann Rosen. She’s on our Board, she was my president for four years. She’s smart and she’s not afraid of bullies and she gets it over quickly. At least that’s what I’m told. Would you like her number?”
Emily nodded. It looked to Rue as if she still didn’t believe things had come to this.
Merilee came to the door. “Excuse me…the auction committee would like just a minute, if your nine o’clock is canceled….”
“God, I’m sorry—” said Emily for the third time, jumping up.
Rue said, “Why don’t you come have supper with us tonight? I know Henry would like to see you. Bring the children.”
The auction chairpersons trotted in, carrying clipboards and mugs of coffee.
“You don’t have to…” said Emily.
“You don’t know. We have an empty nest for the first time tonight…you’ll be doing us a favor. Come at six.” Emily, teary, nodded and ran out. The auction chairs, both fit and bright-eyed in spandex and sweatshirts, began to chatter. The annual auction fund-raiser this year was to have a Gay Nineties theme.
That evening, Rue missed the moment when Emily and Henry met. She was in the garden, cutting flowers for the table. Emily came to the front door with the children, found it open, and came through the house, following the smell of cooking, to where Henry stood in the kitchen, making pesto. She stood in the doorway watching him. The same tall, long-torsoed body, the same thick blond hair, stiff and wiry and curling over the silver side pieces of his glasses. His hair had more gray than hers, but of course he probably didn’t dye his.
He looked up, about to speak, and saw her. She was wearing pressed blue jeans and a fresh shirt, and her hair was pulled back and sleek. His mouth hung open a moment. Then he grinned and said, “Well, waddya know. It’s you.” He put down the spoon he was holding and put his hands on his hips and stared. After a while, Emily said, “Yes, it’s me. And this is Malone, and this is David. Malone, this is my old friend Dr. Shaw. Who used to be called Cricket.” Malone went to shake hands. David went to shake hands. Emily went to shake hands, but Henry kissed her on the cheek, his hands on her shoulders. They smiled at each other.
“I’m so glad to see you,” said Emily, broadly smiling.
“Me too you,” Henry said. “You’re certainly aging well.” Then Rue came in.
“So you do remember each other.” She was pleased.
“Yes,” said Henry. “Very well. It’s just this habit women have of changing their names.”
“Men too. Henry,” said Emily, and they both laughed.
Rue turned to Malone. “Do you like Mad magazine? Or Pogo?” Malone nodded. “If you go to the top of the stairs and turn right, you’ll find a room with big stacks of them.” The children thanked her and thundered out.
Rue looked at Henry looking at Emily. “So, what is her name?”
“Goldsborough,” said Henry.
“How nice. How eighteenth century. You should take it back,” she said to Emily. “I don’t usually give personal advice, but having met Dr. Dahl, I think I would take back Goldsborough immediately.”
Emily took the advice.
School had been in session for a week and a half. Emily Goldsborough was, to put it mildly, having a problem with the eighth grade. Oddly, she found that handling fourteen-year-olds had virtually nothing to do with what she had learned in primary grades during her ed courses. The wizard of the class, running the show behind masks and curtains, was a sharp-faced boy, Korean by birth, with the distinctly un-Korean name of Kenny Lowen. The worst thing was Emily could never catch Kenny at anything. Out of the corner of her eye she would see a note being passed, or a conversation in sign language, but when she whirled to look, it was always someone else holding the note, or stifling laughter.
Hughie Bache had once gone ostentatiously sound asleep in her class, causing the other boys to come unglued with amusement. Students would get up and walk around without permission and even leave the room. When Emily asked what they thought they were doing, they would say with mock surprise that Miss Smith always let them, or they thought class was over, or that they needed the bathroom. She’d sent Glenn Malko to Mr. Dianda three times. What she didn’t know was that Margee Malko had come in to complain to Rue that Mrs. Goldsborough was picking on her son.
Mike Dianda came repeatedly to observe Emily’s classes, but when he was there the children were angels. The small sarcastic woman who taught history in the class next door kept coming in to ask if Emily could keep the noise down. Emily thought it was a rude question. If she could, she would, wouldn’t she? At home at night she was tense with despair. She’d always been better with small children than teenagers, but she’d never had this kind of trouble. She didn’t need this fear of failing. She’d failed enough, at more or less everything up to now, or at least it felt that way. Certainly at being a wife, if you asked Tom. And if she hadn’t yet failed as a mother, she hadn’t really been tested, had she? Anyone could be a decent mother with a big car, a full bank account, and nothing to do all day except work on her tennis and remem
ber someone’s dentist appointment. Try it working full-time at something you stink at, with so little money you have to say “No” every time your children ask for something, in a dingy little house that looks to your daughter like the kind of house people’s maids live in. Try doing that and still keeping your sweet and loving temper.
Cynda Goldring, who taught English, made a point of sitting with Emily at lunch. Cynda had a glossy flip of dark hair, big white teeth, and incredibly long fingernails, such that Emily wondered how she could hold the chalk. She told Emily comforting stories.
“You’ll get better, and the kids will let up on you. You think these kids are tough? I used to teach public school until one of my eighth graders tried to rape me in the girl’s room. He was seventeen and weighed about two-twenty. I took a forty percent pay cut to come here, and believe me, it was worth every penny.”
Cynda made her laugh, and so did Janet TerWilliams, who taught second grade and drove a new BMW. The bad part of the job was the job. The good part was that for the first time in fourteen years, Emily belonged to a group other than her family, and she found that you form a different kind of bond with people with whom you share work. She found herself measuring time a different way and valuing money a different way. She felt a longing to succeed that was entirely different from wishing to win at games; it was a matter of identity. When she taught in the younger grades, she had moments of hoping she was going to be really good. Certainly she was learning a new respect for the mixture of tact, kindness, imagination, and skill that went into this job. She thought of teachers in her children’s old school whom she had hardly seen as people like herself; she’d seen their ordinary clothes and heard their occasional grammatical mistakes, and known only that they hadn’t had fancy educations like hers. She wondered now if she’d ever had any idea of how hard it was to be good at what they did. She began to take home information on teacher enrichment workshops and seminars she hoped Rue would send her to. She hired Ann Rosen, and instructed her to file for a divorce.
Saying Grace Page 4
