by Gun Brooke
“Until…”
“Until two years ago when Savannah Mueller began her senior year. We’re talking homecoming queen, the mayor’s daughter, the captain of the cheerleader team. And a terrific student, always on the honor roll. Little Ms. Perfect.”
“Sounds unbearable,” Faythe said. “Go on.”
“Actually, Savannah was a nice kid. She was usually far more levelheaded than her mother. I never saw the trouble coming. I really didn’t.” Deanna rose to get the coffee, but sat down again when Faythe pressed a steady hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll get it.” She brought two steaming mugs and headed to the fridge for some milk. “Okay, where were we? Oh, that’s right. Little Ms. Perfect. Nice girl. Then what?”
“Savannah developed a crush on me. I could tell early on, and she wasn’t the first girl to idolize me, so I took it in stride and treated her kindly, but no different than anyone else. I told myself it was a normal, passing-phase thing.” Deanna cupped her hands around the mug, warming them, but found it lacking compared to the comfort of Faythe’s hands. “As it turned out, I was wrong.”
“She pursued you?” Faythe rested her chin in her palm.
“Savannah was probably used to being pursued, rather than the other way around. She started out by making herself useful—carrying equipment, cleaning brushes, putting up chairs at the end of the day.
When I didn’t take the bait, she stepped it up a notch by convincing her parents to invite me to different functions, benefits, that sort of thing, trying to get me involved.
At first I was impressed when I realized how many charities her mother was head of. It took me a while to understand that Gloria Mueller was not acting out of the goodness of her heart, but because she wanted to be the queen bee. She ran those charities like they were her kingdoms and the employees and other volunteers were her loyal subjects. When I discovered what was happening, I bowed out. That’s when Savannah began her siege.
“She seemed devastated that I wasn’t impressed enough to keep going to the meetings. One day she stayed after class and burst into tears, clinging to me, telling me that she loved me and that she couldn’t bear to be without me.” Deanna tried to smile, but her lips trembled too much. “I was shocked. A schoolgirl crush I could deal with, but these raw emotions, the despair. I guess I handled the situation badly.”
“What did you do?” There was no judgment in Faythe’s voice.
“I told her that what she felt wasn’t love. I gave her the generic speech about how common it is for a young person to idolize a teacher, a role model.” Deanna shrugged. “Savannah didn’t take it very well. I chalked that up to her being a spoiled only child to wealthy, influential parents. I was obviously dead wrong.”
“What happened?”
“She was crushed. She’d told her best friends about ‘us’ and, I suppose, turned some of her wishful thinking into ‘facts.’ They truly believed that she and I were lovers. Later, Savannah told them that we wanted to elope to Canada, to get married.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“Yes. I was shocked. And angry. I lashed out at her, telling her there was no ‘us,’ and never would be. I explained that I thought she was a nice kid, but that was it. I wasn’t in love with her, and it wasn’t going to happen.”
“Oh, Deanna.”
“I know. I broke her heart. And she reacted the only way she knew how. Revenge.” Deanna closed her eyes and felt Faythe take her hands and remove the coffee mug. She opened her eyes when Faythe pulled her up from the chair and guided her to the couch. There, she sat down and tugged at Deanna, making her sit next to her, wrapping them both with a blanket.
“You looked so cold. Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Deanna allowed the warmth of Faythe’s body to permeate hers before she continued. Talking about this no longer seemed a choice, but a necessity. “Suddenly, it wasn’t just Savannah’s best friends who knew about ‘us.’ Everybody, students and faculty alike, thought that I had seduced my most beautiful pupil and more or less left her at the altar. I wasn’t even out at work, then. But I thought, naïve as I was, that the faculty would realize how preposterous this accusation was.
I was shocked when I realized they’d swallowed everything Savannah dished out—hook, line, and sinker. She didn’t have to act heartbroken. She was. But she used her pain to nail me, and once her mother got involved, I was history. It only took Gloria a week to get the word out. Remember, she had all these connections and ran all the major charities and events and was the mayor’s wife. Her word in Grantville, was, and still is, the law, even if her husband isn’t the mayor anymore. So I quit.”
“Why? You could have fought them. They didn’t have any evidence.”
“Oh, but they thought they knew what happened. No smoke without fire, right? And when my colleagues found out, I imagine the fact that I’m a lesbian and that Savannah confessed to such a thing made it very plausible. Why would anyone admit to a lesbian affair, which they considered such a stigma, if it wasn’t true? Why subject yourself to that kind of gossip?”
“I see. So Savannah had them all believing you bedded her, then abandoned her and broke her heart.”
“The school’s board of directors called an emergency meeting. They assured all the concerned parents and local media that they had launched an investigation, which was a lie. They’d already made up their minds. The hidden message was that they would make sure that no sexual predator—that would be me,” Deanna said, laughing bitterly, “would ever be able to prey on any of Grantville High’s pupils again.”
“They said that? I can’t believe it.”
“Oh, did I forget to mention that Gloria Mueller is a member of the public and private school boards, as well as the PTA?”
“Ah. I see. Know thine enemy.” Still, Faythe realized that she didn’t fully understand. “Something is off. You could have fought this, tooth and nail. It’s as if they’ve got a hold on you.”
“You’re very perceptive. I should’ve realized.” Deanna shook her head, twisting the edge of the blanket. She squeezed her eyes shut, wrinkles marring her forehead. “I can’t tell you. Not everything. I’ve told you more than I’ve confided in anyone.”
“I see.” Faythe looked at Deanna with concern, and Deanna wondered what was going through her head. “You obviously have your reasons, strong ones, but you have to understand that it sounds strange.
It’s out of character that you didn’t sue everyone for slander and defamation of character. Your silence must’ve made you look guilty in everyone’s eyes. When I listen to my gut instinct, I can’t believe you’d prey on a young girl. No way.” Faythe sighed. “I mean, I’ve heard family members and neighbors of people accused of such things state the same thing, that their loved one would never prey on anyone, that they must be innocent—”
“And then it turned out they were guilty after all.” Deanna shrugged. “Can’t blame you if you think I’m lying through my teeth. If you think it’s possible I could seduce young teens and promise them marriage in Canada—” Deanna went rigid, pushing the blanket half off.
Stupid tears ran down her cheeks and tremors reverberated throughout her and made her hands shake, but she refused to even blink when she looked at Faythe. She was caught in this web of lies, but she would not give anyone the satisfaction of breaking down completely. Show no fear. “So, what kept you in Grantville after you were ostracized?” Faythe was obviously not giving up.
“Everyone expected me to, wanted me to move as far away from Grantville as possible.”
“Why didn’t you?” Faythe gently pushed Deanna’s hair back from her face. The touch meant more to Deanna than Faythe could ever guess.“Because of Miranda, my sister. I could never leave her behind. She’s a student at a facility in this town for children with special needs. She depends on me. That’s all I can tell you.” Deanna’s eyes begged Faythe not to force the issue.
“And it’s not enough for me to understand. I can’t connect
the dots between you succumbing to slander, to sacrificing yourself like that for your sister.” Faythe took both of Deanna’s hands under the blanket.
“But you saved my life and I owe you the benefit of the doubt. Still, I can’t help you with this new situation with Savannah if you don’t keep me in the loop.”
“Oh, God. Savannah. I haven’t spoken to her, or she to me, for two years. I saw her at the supermarket and she wants to talk to me.”
“Really?” Faythe looked surprised. “Any guess as to why?”
“No idea. She seemed genuinely concerned about something and looked very different from the cheerleader teen she was two years ago. Obviously something’s going on.”
“Any chance of an apology? Preferably a public one with a chance to clear your name.”
“Perhaps. But it seemed more than that. And it scares me. If anyone finds out that we’ve spoken, even in passing, I’m afraid everything will be like it was two years ago. People still hate my guts, and occasionally I run into someone who feels the right to give me a piece of their mind. But compared to how it was back then…” Deanna leaned her head back against the couch. “I suppose everything is relative.”
“It sure is.” Faythe sucked her lower lip in. “Let me think. Since you’re actually considering listening to this misguided young woman, you shouldn’t do it here at your house, or in public.”
“No, no.”
“A motel room sounds even worse.”
“Faythe.” Deanna winced. “I can’t see how we could possibly arrange it.”
“Don’t you think you owe it to yourself, or to Miranda?”
“In some ways you’re right—”
“And you won’t tell me in what ways I’m wrong.” Rubbing the back of her head, Faythe messed up her hair completely. “Listen. Aunt Nellie’s house might be a good option. I know it’s close to your property, but nobody knows that we’re friends.”
“I can’t let you risk your reputation like that.”
“You’re not. You’re risking Aunt Nellie’s.” Faythe wrinkled her nose. “And she’s too rich to care. Not even the Gloria Muellers of this world have any impact on Nellie.”
“But—”
“No buts.” Holding up her hand, Faythe suddenly looked stern in a way Deanna hadn’t seen before. “If you decide to find out what she wants, then tell her you can meet at my house and that I’ll witness what you two say. I won’t have her try to trap you into something worse than she got you into in the first place.”
Deanna stared at Faythe. “You—you really seem to believe in me.”
“I really do want to believe in you, Deanna.”
“Okay, I’ll think about your offer. Thank you.” Deanna clutched Faythe’s hands. “It’s been so long since anyone even considered taking my side.”
“It bothers me that nobody stood up for you.”
“It hurt me for the longest time that my so-called friends among the faculty turned their backs on me so readily. Back then I didn’t know what Gloria was capable of.” Deanna knew she was explaining too much and cut herself off. “Let’s just say I understood why they couldn’t—I mean, didn’t dare to support me. Neither of them wanted to risk losing their jobs. If you cross Gloria Mueller, it’s damn hard to find a new employer in this town within the educational system. It wasn’t their fault any more than it was mine.” Deanna tried to speak in a matter-of-fact way, but knew her pain still shone through.
“Remember where I used to work,” Faythe said softly. “Public opinion doesn’t sway me very easily, probably since journalists are experts at putting spin on things.”
“Thank you.” Deanna slumped back. “I’m so tired.”
“Me too. Intense conversations can wear you out.”
“Well, try imagining the first intense conversation in more than two years. I’m out of practice.”
Chapter Thirteen
Deanna looked at the pink business card Savannah had given her. At first she had merely tucked it away. Of the many conflicting emotions that flooded her system, anger was the strongest.
She was about to tear the silly card in two and forget the whole painful thing when she stopped. The card had a small tear at the top edge, but the phone numbers were intact underneath the swirly font that spelled out Savannah Mueller, Customer Service, Grantville Animal Shelter.
She’s working? She didn’t go to college?
Curiosity overshadowed her anger, and she tried to figure out why a young woman from wealthy and politically ambitious parents worked at an animal shelter. Savannah’s parents certainly had the funds and the connections to send her to any of the Ivy League universities. Deanna thought about their encounter the day before and what it had ultimately led to when Faythe came over. She tucked the business card away since she wasn’t ready to decide what to do and walked over to the couch to fold the blanket she and Faythe had huddled under. Faythe’s scent lingered on the fabric, its clean freshness reminding her of oranges and ginger. She inhaled deeply, then caught herself and placed the blanket on the armrest. She had a lot to do today, and she couldn’t waste time standing around feeling sentimental.
In the part of her cabin used as her studio, Deanna turned on the overhead light. She had many times dreamed of a loft condo or apartment with huge windows that let in the north light. Instead she’d settled for several blue-colored bulbs that mimicked north light passably. She placed a new sheet of paper on her workspace and made sure she’d sharpened her pencils. Sitting on her stool, she felt almost physically comforted by the feel of the pencil between her fingers. When she began to draw, she knew this would be a productive day. Bunny Buttercup and his friends seemed to appear out of nowhere and take up residence on her paper, and she felt genuinely happy as she added the details.
She couldn’t wait to start blocking in the colors. It was like being a child with a coloring book again, and she loved that part as much as the drawing itself. The entire process was meditative, and this project had kept her going these last two years. The image of Gloria Mueller spewing her acidic words, her voice well articulated and refined, surfaced. Gloria supposedly came from humble beginnings, but marrying a much older man who became a successful politician paved the way for her own career as the First Lady of Grantville.
“To think I admired that woman,” Deanna said. “And even tried to impress her once. Damn, I can be such a fool.” She worked more focused with the pencil, forcing her frustration out of her body and mind. Working creatively like this could exorcise even the darkest feelings.
When her thoughts migrated to the topic of Faythe instead, Deanna’s hands created the lovely forest around Bunny Buttercup, with intricate flowers and trees. She could still feel Faythe’s soft, tender kiss on her cheek. It was meant as a kiss of support and friendship, but for the first time in years, Deanna experienced a clear element of desire. Faythe’s external beauty was obvious, and to feel attracted to her was a healthy sexual reaction, but Deanna felt much more. Deanna was wary of several things about Faythe—her profession, coupled with her celebrity status, and her declaration that she wasn’t relationship material. Deanna stopped drawing, her hand hovering a fraction of an inch above the paper. Why did Faythe prey on her mind so much? They weren’t lovers, or even considering becoming such. Were they? Am I?
Deanna quickly drew a row of small mushroom streetlights that lined the forest path where it disappeared among the trees. No matter what, she needed to decide soon whether to call Savannah. Faythe would keep asking her about it, she was certain, and it really bugged Deanna that Faythe might think she was a coward. “Head-on,” she whispered as she added fireflies to help light the mushrooms. “There isn’t a helmet strong enough for that.”
* * *
“Suzy!” Faythe stared in surprise at her agent, who stood on her doorstep, chic and well coiffed as usual. Suzy Connelly was in her early fifties, but with the help of surgical augmentation and restoration, she looked like she was in her early thirties. Her hair short an
d chalk-white blond, Suzy always dressed in black, no matter the occasion, which suited her, even though her husband often complained about it, which Suzy ignored.
“I thought I’d stop by.” Suzy beamed, hoisting her briefcase, which held all of Suzy’s important documents in digital form, and some even in hard copy. Once Suzy had dropped her briefcase on Faythe’s couch and the contents had spilled out. The most unexpected object, considering Suzy’s laconic remarks about her husband and his traditional point of view, was an eleven-by-eight picture of him in a silver mesh frame.
“Stop by? Where are you going? You live in Manhattan, for heaven’s sake.”
Suzy grinned unabashedly. “Well, I have two reasons for being in the neighborhood. One is a great offer you simply can’t refuse, and the other one is…Cornelia called me.”
“My mother called?” Faythe realized she was starting to sound like a parrot. “Whatever for?”
“If you ask me inside, I might just tell you.” Suzy looked pointedly behind Faythe. “It looks like a nice house.”
“Oh, sorry. You surprised me.” Faythe glanced at her watch. She had slept late, tired after her evening with Deanna. Something in her midsection suddenly glowed at the thought of how she and Deanna had sat so close on the couch. “Come in, Suzy.” Inside, she gave Suzy a tour of the house, knowing she would appreciate it, and finally they ended up in the kitchen where Faythe brewed fresh coffee. “Why don’t you get to the point?” She wasn’t being impolite. She and Suzy had always been candid with each other.
Too many secrets in Faythe’s family as she was growing up had made her demand it. Was that why she’d persuaded Deanna to tell her the truth? Or part of the truth. She still didn’t have one major piece of the puzzle that was her neighbor.
“Faythe?” Suzy’s voice broke through Faythe’s musings. “You went vacant on me.”
“Sorry,” Faythe said again. “What were you saying?”
