Always Florence

by Muriel Jensen

  “Hi, girls,” he said. He kept smiling despite going mildly nuts with the noise and confusion. But if the other parents could cope, so could he.

  “Oh, good grief!” Sandy fought her way past someone in a Hulk costume who had gotten between her and the girls, and noticed Nate dabbing at his jacket. “What did they get on you? I’m so sorry.” She extracted a wet wipe from her purse and grabbed his wrist to work on the frosted cuff.

  She wore a wildly colored headscarf, a yellow blouse and long red skirt, and the large hoop earrings of a gypsy. As she worked she smiled up at him in dismay. “I’m really sorry. You always look so elegant and we’ve messed you up.”

  Nate pulled away to stop her fussing. “Hi, Sandy. I’m fine, really.”

  “Girls! Come back!” While she was trying to clean him up, the girls had escaped again. She reached around him just in time to catch Addie’s hand and desperately pointed to Zoey, on his other side. “Stop her, Nate!”

  Afraid he’d break that small arm if he grabbed it, he caught the little girl around the waist and scooped her into his arms. He was smacked in the face by a sparkly wing as she put her arm around his neck. The little fairy pushed aside her long blond hair and smiled warmly. She smelled of strawberries. “Hi!” she said. “You’re Sheamus’s daddy.”

  A little surprised that she remembered him, Nate didn’t correct her. He was sure he’d met the girls only once, at a parish picnic at St. Mary’s. “And you’re Zoey. You have to stay with your mom or you’ll get lost.”

  Addie tugged at his pant leg, clearly competing for attention. “I’m Addie!” she announced in a voice much bigger than seemed appropriate for her size.

  He smiled down at her. “Yes, I know. Are you having fun?”

  She held up a plastic bag filled with candy. “Yes. You want some?”

  “No, thank you. I’m full.”

  She clearly didn’t see how anyone could be too full for candy. “Can you pick me up, too?”

  Sandy sighed apologetically. “I’m sorry. They’re both man-crazy. I guess because they don’t have one in their lives. You really don’t have to...”

  He reached a hand down for Addie, told her to hang on, and pulled her up against his side. She held on to his neck as he settled her on his arm. She giggled at her sister, then both girls looked around, enjoying their superior view.

  He grinned at Sandy. “They seem like a lot of fun.” It was strange how vulnerable she seemed as a mother, yet as a community activist, she was a powerhouse.

  She glanced at her daughters adoringly. “They are. Exhausting, but fun. They’re never still a minute, and I’m trying not to think ahead to when they’ll be dating at the same time.” She straightened the hem of Zoey’s dress and asked casually, “Have you and Bobbie talked about the painting?”

  He shook his head and frowned. “You told her I called her fragile, didn’t you? Apparently that’s a bad word where she comes from, because when I got home tonight, she waved a wand at me and threatened to make me bald and ugly.”

  Sandy laughed, her hoop earrings dancing. “As though she could make you bald. You have that same wonderful hair Ben had.” She smiled reminiscently. “I served on a couple of committees with Sherrie. They were both fun to know. Anyway.” She expelled a sigh, pushing the sensitive subject aside. “As for ugly,” she added, mischief in her grin, “I’m sure it wouldn’t take, no matter how hard she tried.”

  Nate was left wondering if Sandy Evans had just given him a compliment.

  “Hey, guys!” Hunter appeared beside them in a Frankenstein costume. The Kiwanis Club had helped with the decorating. Suddenly recognizing Sandy, he looked a little nervous. “Hi. I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you with your red hair covered.”

  Nate watched in amazement as Sandy’s gaze softened. She said nothing, but smiled into Hunter’s eyes.

  It surprised Nate that the girls didn’t seem frightened of Hunter, despite his full Frankenstein makeup, complete with a large bolt sticking out of his head.

  “Ah...” Hunter dragged his eyes away from Sandy and looked around for another subject. He found it in the little fairies that had alighted on Nate’s arms. “How come you have two of those,” he asked, “and I don’t have any?”

  “Clearly, I’m more important. Actually, they’re just on loan. I think my purpose here is to provide them with an aerial view. You want one?”

  Sheamus walked up to the group, the photo session over, and looked puzzled at the sight of Nate holding Sandy’s daughters. “We aren’t keeping them, are we?”

  “No. Here you go, Hunt. Have both. Girls, how about you let Uncle Frankenstein show you around?”

  The amenable pair leaned out of his arms toward Hunter without complaint.

  “We were about to join the dancing, Hunter,” Sandy told him. “Want to come?”

  He looked pleadingly at Nate, who ignored him.

  “Do I have to dance?” Hunter asked worriedly.

  “No.”

  “Then, yes. See you tomorrow, Nate.” He followed her across the room, his arms filled with her children. It was a good look for him, Nate thought.

  “Okay.” He put a hand on Sheamus’s shoulder and glanced around for Dylan. “Where’s your brother?”

  “He and a couple of his friends were gonna get some punch.”

  As Nate looked toward the refreshment table at the other side of the room, he heard a sudden, eerie whooshing noise that was immediately followed by the eruption of a green geyser shooting toward the ceiling. There were cries and screams and a great scattering of children and adults before the geyser collapsed as dramatically as it had risen, drenching everyone nearby.

  Nate saw three boys run for the door, one of them a very familiar Iron Man.

  He pushed his way through the crowd and reached the table just in time to see the principal of Astor School and the mayor soaked from head to toe in green slime. One of the bad words he’d fought so hard to control in the past few months slipped out. Sheamus, wide-eyed and glued to his side, blinked up at him. “Uncle Nate!”

  Nate did the mayor’s personal taxes, and he didn’t really know the principal, but he’d had a conversation with her about the boys right after the accident. She’d been kind and caring. Right now she maintained the carriage of a royal personage—despite the fact that she was green.

  “I’m...so sorry,” he said. He looked around frantically for something to help them wipe the slimy stuff off, just as several people ran from the kitchen with a stack of towels.

  A woman Nate recognized as the mother of one of Dylan’s friends held his nephew by the arm in one hand and a vampire by his cape in the other. A concerned mummy followed them, looking around furtively, as though considering escape. In the end, he chose to stay with his friends.

  Nate met Dylan’s eyes. Then, in a gesture of deliberate defiance, his nephew pulled off his headpiece and glared at him. Every word that came to Nate’s lips should not be used around children, so he remained silent as the principal stepped forward.

  She slanted a scolding look at the boys.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Trumble?” the mayor asked as he wiped his face.

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Mayor. I can’t tell you how many times the Mentos−Diet Coke experiment has crossed my path. Nucleation never seems to get old for children.” Then she added a little more severely, “But I think someone’s allowances should pay for dry-cleaning the mayor’s suit and my dress.”

  The other parents involved, Steve and Judy Berg, a couple in their forties that Nate had met at an open house, and Kristy Moss, a single mother and the one who’d caught the boys, nodded their approval.

  “Good. And now I think the boys should clean this up.” Mrs. Trumble smiled at the crowd collected behind them. “Please continue with the party. Everything’s fine.” To the boys she
added more quietly, “What were you thinking? There were already enough Mentos in the lime punch for the bubbling cauldron effect.”

  “We wanted to see if we could make it hit the ceiling,” Dylan said. “But we didn’t think you’d be standing here. I’m sorry about your dress. And your suit, Mr. Mayor.”

  Nate was both proud and angry. Which mystified him, because he hated indecisiveness. Since he was more familiar with the anger than the pride, he decided to go with the pride this time. Dylan was behaving well, despite what he’d done, so maybe there was hope. And he and his friends hadn’t intended to hurt anyone. It was simply a kid-friendly experiment for which they’d chosen the wrong time and place.

  The principal beckoned to one of the women who’d been working in the kitchen. She was tall and formidable-looking. “Inga, please take the boys and get them each a bucket and a mop, then send them back to me.”

  Inga nodded, pointed the boys to the kitchen and followed them. Dylan cast a dark look over his shoulder at Nate.

  The principal smiled at the parents. “Don’t be upset. It’s messy but harmless. Blame the sugar and the excitement.”

  Steve Berg shook his head. “Justin was probably the instigator.” He looked apologetically at Nate and Kristy. “He’s new to our home, and still trying to shock us.”

  The Bergs, Nate knew, had a foster home. He shrugged. “Dylan never needs much encouragement to try to make something reach the ceiling.”

  Kristy folded her arms, looking completely demoralized. “Yeah, well, this time it’s me! I’ve never been so embarrassed! I can’t believe Randy did this!”

  Judy sighed philosophically. “It’s very humbling to be a parent.” She lowered her voice when Mrs. Trumble turned away to speak to the mayor, and there was a wicked gleam in her eye. “But you got to love how straight and high that geyser shot!”

  Nate suppressed a laugh. Mercifully, Sheamus was distracted by someone passing in a Chinese warlord costume.

  Kristy looked horrified. Judy patted her arm. “We’ve raised four boys, Kris, and Justin is our eighth foster child. Believe me, it can get a lot worse than an eruption of soda.”

  When the boys returned with buckets, Mrs. Trumble gave directions for the cleanup to Inga, then left.

  “Is Dylan in big trouble?” Sheamus asked as they sat at a table to wait for him.

  “That’s where he seems to like to be.”

  Sheamus dug into his sack, came up with a bag of almonds and ripped it open. He grinned at Nate as he poured some into his hand. “It was cool the way it just shot up!” he said excitedly, using his free hand to gesture toward the ceiling. “And it was kind of funny that Mrs. Trumble got slimed!”

  “That’s the part that wasn’t cool, Sheamus,” Nate said seriously. “She’s a very nice lady, and she works hard to make Astor School special. Dylan and his friends ruined her dress, the mayor’s suit, and made them look silly. That isn’t nice.”

  Sheamus appeared repentant, or seemed to think he should. “Yeah,” he corrected, striving for sincerity. “Sorry.”

  The event began to wind down. Nate was chewing on a red licorice vine he’d finally accepted from Sheamus when Hunter appeared beside them.

  “How’s it going?” he asked Nate, pulling up a chair. He fist-bumped Sheamus. “You guys okay? You got to admit we all want to try the Mentos thing.”

  “Yeah!” Sheamus agreed heartily. At a disapproving glance from Nate, he went back to examining his candy.

  Nate turned the same look on Hunter. “What he did wasn’t so bad,” he said in a low voice, so that Sheamus wouldn’t hear, “but like a lot of things you don’t think through before you act on, other people get hurt or embarrassed. And that’s not so good.”

  Hunter nodded gravely and took the last string of licorice in Nate’s package. “Right. Sorry.” But there was laughter in his eyes.

  Nate noticed something was different about him. “Your bolt is missing,” he said.

  Hunter touched the spot of glue just above his ear. “Zoey didn’t like it and pulled it off.”

  “What happened to Sandy and the girls?”

  “Addie was starting to fuss. They had to go home. I offered to take them but Sandy had her car.”

  “Did she make you dance?”

  “Nobody makes me dance. She tried, though. Pushy woman.”

  “I know.”

  Dylan came to join them, smelling of pine cleaner and looking belligerent. His headpiece was tucked under his arm. He frowned at Hunter. “Where’s your bolt?” he asked. “Your brain’s going to fall out.”

  “That happened years ago.” Nate got to his feet and grinned at Hunter. “See you in the morning. Let’s go, Sheamus.” Noticing Dylan was empty-handed except for his headpiece, he asked, “Where’s your candy?”

  Dylan shrugged. “I don’t know. Lost it after the punch bowl blew up. Somebody probably took it when everybody started running.”

  Sheamus held up his bag, still filled with treats despite how many he’d eaten. “I got lots. You can have some of mine.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes and started for the door. Sheamus turned to Nate in confusion, so he put an arm around him. “It was nice of you to offer to share. He’s just crabby because he lost his. Good night, Hunter.”

  “See you guys.” Hunter waved them off, but he seemed moody.

  Dylan was quiet on the ride home, but Sheamus relived the evening in descriptive detail. At home, Nate stashed the bag of candy in a kitchen cupboard, Arnold watching closely, tail wagging. Nate gave him one of his own treats, explaining why dogs shouldn’t eat chocolate.

  A short while later Nate tucked Sheamus in, assured him that the closet door was securely closed, turned on his night-light, then crossed the hall to Dylan’s room. The door was shut.

  That was a metaphor for their relationship, Nate thought. He rapped lightly, and when there was no answer, he pushed the door open. Dylan was in bed with the lights out, facing the window.

  Nate turned the light on and sat on the edge of the bed. “We have to talk about tonight,” he said, doing his best to sound reasonable. “You didn’t do anything awful, but you have to start thinking first, Dyl.”

  “We didn’t mean for that to happen.” Dylan spoke without turning.

  “I’m sure you didn’t.” He wasn’t really, but the words expressed some belief in the boy’s intentions. “But...you’re a kid who likes to experiment with things. Next time, experiment with thinking through the possibilities of what could happen before you do it.”

  That earned him a puzzled look over Dylan’s shoulder. “What?”

  “Think first,” Nate added more succinctly. “Imagine what could happen if something goes wrong, or just differently than you planned. Then consider whether it’s worth taking the chance. Especially if you’re doing it in front of a bunch of people who’ll probably remember what you did for a long time.”

  “Yeah.” Dylan agreed, but before Nate could feel a sense of relief, the boy added, “And plan enough time to get away.”

  Nate closed his eyes and bit down on exasperation. He so wished he could channel his brother. “Are you getting my point at all?”

  Dylan turned away again. “Yes,” he said stiffly. “You were embarrassed in front of some of your clients, weren’t you? I know you do some work for the mayor.”

  Surprised, Nate replied, “I didn’t say that.”

  “Sandy did. She was in the kitchen when Inga was filling our buckets.”

  “What you did embarrassed you, not me. And most of my clients have their own kids and know that thinking before you act is a lesson that takes time to learn. So buck up. You’re not as awful as you want to be. Good night.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BOBBIE EXPECTED CHAOS in the large classroom assigned for her art project
s, but was pleasantly surprised to find the second and third graders attentive while she explained the plan.

  She had initially been reluctant to use the tried-and-true turkey-made-from-paint-on-a-child’s-hand project but finally decided it would be a good introduction.

  Once the children got their hands in the paint, though, the chaos she’d feared surfaced and quickly took over. They dutifully pressed their hands to the paper. There was giggling and bumping as everyone moved along the table to press their hands into a different color set out in pans on a work table. They pressed their hands into the paper again, but the third pass was too much of a temptation. In their little minds the obvious next step was touching one another. Before Bobbie could react, children were sporting orange noses, yellow foreheads, multicolored blotches on their T-shirts and dresses. The classroom aide had outfitted the students with aprons, but still, paint was everywhere.

  The aide, a wonderful volunteer in her midthirties named Fernanda, laughed and patted Bobbie’s shoulder when she saw her distress. “It’s all right. This always happens. That’s why we supply water-based paint. And, of course, water-based children.”

  Bobbie relaxed, but worried a little about how to keep the children occupied for another forty minutes. Then one of the livelier second graders suggested eagerly, “Let’s do monsters! Turkeys are dumb.” He waved his unconventional yellow-and-blue print in the air. “Monsters! Can we, please?”

  The other children quickly picked up the cry. Bobbie questioned Fernanda with a look.

  The woman nodded. “Why not? Whatever keeps them happy for another—” she consulted her watch “—another thirty-seven minutes.”

  “Okay.” Bobbie walked to the middle of the aisle separating the worktables and tried to project order. “Let’s talk about what monsters could look like.”