by Karen White
But the blonde definitely was. Her whole body glowed. Her face glowed. Even the hair visible beneath the visor appeared to be lit from within. The woman looked vaguely familiar, and Merilee realized she’d probably been one of the mothers she’d met at the open house the previous week. She’d only been to the one “let’s get acquainted” event, her work schedule precluding her attendance at any of the various parties that were held almost exclusively on weekdays.
Merilee was terrible with names, had been ever since she started dating Michael. He was so good at it, always reminding her who everyone was when they were at a party, that she’d simply stopped trying. She hoped she was only out of practice instead of permanently disabled. Her children’s futures probably depended on it, since Michael wouldn’t be there to make sure Merilee remembered the names of Lily’s friends who were or were not speaking to each other. And which of Colin’s teachers appreciated his dreamy attitude and which didn’t. It had always been a game with them, her recalling every detail about a friend or teacher—details always overlooked by Michael—and then he’d fill in the missing part, the name. But now she had to do it all on her own.
She smiled vaguely in the direction of the blond woman and her entourage and had almost made it to her minivan when she heard her name being called.
“Merilee? Merilee Dunlap?”
Great. The woman remembered not only her first name but her last as well. Forcing a warm smile on her face, Merilee turned. “Oh, hello. It’s good to see you again.”
The other women parted like the Red Sea as the tall blonde walked toward Merilee, and she remembered that the woman had been wearing a Lilly Pulitzer sundress and two-carat diamond stud earrings when they’d met before. But she didn’t remember her name. “I thought that was you. I looked for you in Mrs. Marshall’s homeroom. I’m the room mother and wanted to welcome Lily myself.”
Merilee remembered the voice. It was very Southern, heavily laced with dropped consonants and elongated vowels. The most memorable part about it was that it sounded exactly like Merilee’s mother did.
“We were running a bit late this morning.” Feeling suddenly short and frumpy in her dark skirt and blazer, Merilee had the strong urge to explain. “My son couldn’t find his new uniform shoes. They somehow managed to find their way back into the box they came in and then got shoved so far under his bed that it took nearly twenty minutes to locate them. And then Lily spilled her bowl of cereal and milk down the front of her skirt, and I had to quickly iron one of her other ones so she could wear it.”
The woman gave her a warm smile from behind dark Chanel sunglasses as if she knew exactly what it was like to be a frazzled single mother. “Bless your heart. And on the first day at a new school. You’ll get used to the routine—I promise. It took me a whole month to realize that I should have a skirt and blouse for every school day plus one, and have Patricia have them cleaned and ironed as soon as my girls dropped them on the floor.”
Not exactly sure how to respond, Merilee picked out the first confusing part of the sentence. “Patricia?”
“My house manager. I couldn’t live without her. You know how crazy busy it is with all the kids’ schedules.” She reached into her large handbag, which was more briefcase than purse, with a designer’s logo sprouting over its surface like kudzu. “I was going to stick this in the mail to you, but since you’re here I’ll give it to you now. It’s a sign-up sheet for parties and field trips—it lists everything for the year. Just let me know your availabilities and ask Lily to bring it in to school and give it to Bailey as soon as you can. Bailey is very responsible and will make sure it gets to me.” The woman smiled, her teeth perfect. “Only sign up for four—every mother wants to be at every single event, but then it just gets crowded—plus there won’t be room on the bus for the kids.”
“Only four . . .” Merilee took the list and looked at it, almost letting out an audible sigh when she saw the woman’s name at the top of the page, Heather Blackford, Class Mother, followed by three different phone numbers. Now she remembered. Heather had a daughter in Colin’s class, too, both girls’ names starting with “B.”
“Yes. And if you could turn it back in tomorrow, that would be terrific. I’ll have Claire put it all in a spreadsheet and I’ll e-mail it to all the mothers. Please write neatly—Claire has a way of butchering your name if she can’t read it.”
“Claire?”
“My personal assistant. She’s only part-time, but I would simply die of exhaustion without her.”
The ladies behind her all nodded in understanding.
“Yes, well, I’ll take a look at it and get it back to you tomorrow.” Merilee was already wondering how she was going to approach her boss to ask him for more time off. The divorce and move had already eaten up most of her vacation time, and although Max was kind and understanding, everyone had their limits.
“And don’t forget the ‘I survived my first week of fourth grade’ party at my lake house this Saturday. I’ll be handing out disposable cameras to all the moms and dads to take pictures throughout the year at our various events—I like to do little photo albums for all the kids and the teachers at the end of the year.” She beamed, like it was just a small thing. “Oh, and I took the liberty of signing you up for a dessert because we’re overrun with vegetables and dip and pimento cheese. I figured you’d know how to make something sweet.”
“Oh . . .” Merilee simply blinked her eyes for a moment, wondering whether Heather had meant to be insulting by implying Merilee’s lack of a perfect figure meant she ate a lot of sweets.
“Because you’re from south Georgia. You mentioned that when we met. You said I had the same accent as your mother.”
Feeing oddly relieved, Merilee said, “Yes, of course. Where did you say you were from?”
“Here and there—but mostly Georgia. I can always tell a native Georgian. Hard to hide it, isn’t it? It’s almost like no matter how far you go in life, all you have to do is open your mouth and somebody knows exactly where you’re from.”
There was something in the way Heather said it that made Merilee pause. “Yes, well, I’ll call my mother today and ask her what she might recommend.”
“Wonderful.” Heather beamed. She pointed a key fob toward a black Porsche SUV with vanity plates that read YERSERV, and the rear door slowly raised. As the other mothers oohed and aahed appropriately, Merilee stared into the trunk, where fourteen metallic gift bags with blue or pink tissue paper expertly pleated at the top were arranged in neat rows.
Heather moved toward the car. “A little lagniappe—that’s Cajun for ‘a little extra’ for all my Yankee friends—for the first day of school. My treat. I thought we could each give our children a bag at pickup today and then head over to Scoops for ice cream afterward. I’ve already reserved the party room at the back of the store. Claire is picking up the helium balloons this morning and will have it all decorated in Windwood colors.”
“You are just too much,” one of the mothers said as the other women eagerly stepped toward the car and took a bag.
There was something in the tone of voice that made Merilee glance over at the woman who’d spoken. She wore a floral dress, not particularly stylish or flattering, along with pantyhose and pumps, and was, Merilee noticed, the only other mother besides herself who wasn’t dressed in tennis garb. And, like Merilee, was the only other mother not smiling. The woman caught her gaze and raised her eyebrows before grabbing two pink bags and bringing one back to Merilee.
“I’m Lindi Matthews, Jenna’s mom.” Merilee took the outstretched hand and shook it, amazed at the strength of the grip considering how very thin Lindi was. She looked like a runner, very long and lean, with no fat in her cheeks or neck. When Merilee had suggested to Michael that she start running to lose the weight that had crept up on her since giving birth to their two children, he had said he didn’t like the idea, that he didn’t want
her to look all chicken necked. Apparently, he didn’t like her looking slightly plump, either.
Lindi smiled, and Merilee thought she was pretty in a natural, no-makeup way, a distinct contrast to the other mothers, who appeared to be wearing full makeup to play tennis. Assuming they actually participated in the sport and didn’t just wear the cute skirts—like yoga pants, which weren’t actually an indicator of whether you practiced yoga. “I didn’t get to meet you at the open house because I had to leave early for a work thing. I take it you’re new,” Lindi said.
“New to Windwood Academy, but we’ve lived in Sweet Apple for six years. We’ve been at the public school since the beginning, but my in-laws thought the kids needed a change.”
Lindi regarded her with light brown eyes. “Your in-laws?”
“I’m recently divorced, and, well, it got uncomfortable at their school because of certain . . . people, and my in-laws thought it best we move the children. They’re paying for it, so I couldn’t argue. Besides, they’re in Dallas and this is the only way they could probably think of to help me out long-distance. They’re on my side, if there’s such a thing.”
“Wow. Well, that’s a story for after we know each other better. I have a feeling we have a lot in common.”
Her accent was definitely not Southern, so Merilee guessed at the next obvious thing. “Are you divorced?”
Lindi shook her head. “No. But I don’t play tennis. Or golf. And I work outside the home.” She indicated Merilee’s outfit. “We’re like unicorns here at Windwood.”
It was such a relief to hear somebody put it into words that Merilee laughed out loud, making the other mothers look over at them.
“It’s easy to be intimidated by this crowd, but they’re a good bunch. Just a little . . . intense. Especially Heather.” Lindi pressed a business card in her hand. “Call me. We should have coffee. I can fill you in on some of the stuff that doesn’t get covered in the new-parent orientation. I’m on the school board, so I’ve got insider information.” She winked. “Seriously, though, call me with any questions you might have. From one unicorn to another.”
Merilee smiled. “Thanks. I will. Actually, I do have a question. I’m looking for a carpool partner. Any idea where I can go to find someone who lives near me? My kids have always taken the school bus, so this is completely new to me.”
“I can probably help you. Where do you live?”
“Near the intersection of Prescott Bend and Prescott Road.”
Lindi tilted her head. “That’s the Prescott farm, isn’t it?”
“Almost. I’m renting the old cottage behind the house.”
“You’re renting from Sugar Prescott?” Heather approached, her smile still wide and pleasant but her voice strident.
“For the next six months, at least. It’s a beautiful little cottage, and so peaceful with the small lake and the woods. It’s like a place out of time. The children and I really like it.”
Heather’s expression turned to one of concern. “I hope you don’t have to deal too much with Sugar. She’s two years older than dirt and just as mean. I had a little run-in with her at the drugstore—remember, Liz?” She turned to a petite brunette whose face was barely visible beneath her tennis visor as she nodded vigorously. “It was when Brooke was having those horrible spring allergies and I needed to get her medicine—and we were so late for her tennis lesson. Sugar was very unpleasant about giving up her spot in line; I’ll tell you that much.”
“How horrible for you,” Lindi said, her face serious. “Well, I’ve got to go,” she said to Merilee. “I’ll think about potential carpool partners and let you know.”
“Thanks,” Merilee said, waving the business card. “I’ll text you so you have my number.”
“Bye, ladies,” Lindi said with a quick wave. “I’ll see you at the lake party on Saturday.”
Merilee watched as Lindi slid into a white Prius, then looked down at the business card. LINDI F. MATTHEWS. MATTHEWS AND MATTHEWS, FAMILY LAW.
Heather touched Merilee’s arm. “We were just about to head out to the new coffee shop, Cups, to get better acquainted. I hope you can join us.”
Merilee glanced at her watch, horrified to see how late it already was. “I would love to, but I have to work.”
Heather smiled sweetly, but there was a note of disapproval in her voice. “We all work, honey. But it’s important for our children that we moms take time out for ourselves.”
“I know—and you’re right. Maybe next time. It’s just that it’s going to be a busy day and I don’t like to drop last-minute surprises on the nice people I work for.”
“Where do you work?” asked the petite Liz.
“I work for Stevens & Sons in Roswell. I’m their marketing manager.”
There was a short silence before another woman, indistinguishable from the others in her tennis whites, asked, “The jewelry store? The one where Usher is always in the TV ads?”
“Yes, he’s shot a few ads for us, since he’s local. Very nice man.”
“He’s so hot,” one of the women said, and then slapped her hand over her mouth as if it had spoken without her permission.
Merilee jiggled the sign-up sheet. “I’ll fill this out tonight and send it in with Lily tomorrow. And I’ll bring dessert to the party on Saturday.”
Everyone smiled and waved, and Merilee started for her car before she remembered something else. “Is there room for me to bring my son to the party? I’m not sure if I can find someone to watch him.”
Heather smiled widely. “Of course—siblings are always welcome at my parties. We should have enough room for one more.”
“Great—thanks again.”
She said good-bye, then climbed into her minivan, pausing to hit her parents’ phone number. She missed her Bluetooth from her old car, feeling like a dinosaur as she drove past the other mothers, smiling because she didn’t have a free hand to wave.
It rang nine times before her mother picked up. Her parents had only a landline, believing for ten years now that smartphones were only a fad.
“Hello, Mama. It’s Merilee.”
“I know. You’re the only person I know who would ever think to call this early.”
Merilee took a deep breath, eyeing the pink gift bag on her passenger seat and wishing she’d stopped to look inside it before she headed out of the parking lot.
“Did I wake you?”
“Of course not. I’m up early every morning. I just don’t enjoy having to have a conversation this early.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll make this quick. Do you remember when I was little and you used to make those amazing peanut butter fudge brownies to take down to the beach house at Tybee? I’d like to make those for a party for Lily’s class—”
“No. And you know why. I’m surprised and not a little disappointed that you would even think to ask.”
Merilee thought back to her Lamaze classes, focusing on her breathing so she’d stop feeling so light-headed. “Mama, they’re only brownies, for goodness’ sake. And they’re so good. It’s been such a long time—”
“Now I’ve got a headache. Thank you, Merilee, for starting my day off by bringing up Tybee and those horrible memories.”
“They weren’t all horrible, Mama. There were so many good ones, and I wish you’d reconsider—”
She heard a fumbling sound and then her father’s voice. “Merilee? Why are you giving your mother a headache? I hope you’re not talking about your divorce—you know how upsetting it is for your mother. I think it’s best if we hang up now until you’ve calmed down and can talk about more civil subjects. Good-bye, Merilee. We’ll talk to you soon.”
Merilee hit “end” before she could hear the click from her father hanging up the phone. She pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, not trusting her shaking hands to hold the steering wheel straight.
She practiced her deep breathing for a moment, until she was distracted by the bag on the seat beside her and picked it up. Being careful not to disturb the tissue paper too much—Lily would be able to tell—she parted it carefully and looked inside.
She’d expected a small bottle of blowing bubbles and maybe a bag of chips or a cookie. Instead, she pulled out a black-and-white gift card from Sephora worth twenty dollars. Merilee’s first thought was to call a friend to discuss how odd this gift was for a ten-year-old, and if she should get a gift for Colin just in case his room mother hadn’t seen the need for a little first-day-of-school lagniappe. And then she realized that she’d jettisoned all her old friends along with her marriage and house.
Not that she’d had any close friends—at least not since high school and college. She’d left her old friends behind along with her hometown and the memories it contained. Besides, she’d always worked full-time, which didn’t allow time to build close friendships with the other mothers at school. She’d worked not because they needed her income, but because Merilee never wanted to be as dependent on her husband as her mother was on her father. But, as her mother had pointed out more than once, look where her independence had gotten her.
She took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the trembling in her fingers begin to subside, then let her gaze fall to the floor on the passenger side, where a small box of her antique maps sat, apparently forgotten during the unloading. Reaching over, she picked it up and set it on her lap, resisting the urge to reach inside and follow a random map to an unknown destination. She couldn’t, of course. There were Lily and Colin—the best things that had ever happened to her—and she had a strong suspicion that she needed them as much as they needed her right now.
As she put the car in drive and pulled out into traffic, she kept the box of maps on her lap, if only to remind herself that nothing ever stayed the same, despite all evidence to the contrary.
Three
