by Lisa Wingate
“Granmae’s work always is.” Craning her neck, she read my check number, leaned across the counter, and wrote it on the bill. “Don’t make the payment out for any extra, either, or Grandmae will just hang onto it until you come write her a new one. That’s the way she is. She doesn’t take any charity. Just honest work. I don’t know how much the flowers will be. You can pay Mim for them next week.”
“All right.” Finishing the check, I handed it to her, then waited for her to secure the gown in a zip-up dress bag. She carried it out and hung it in the backseat of my car, then thanked me for the business. As I left, a Lexus pulled in bearing another young bride-to-be, her mother, and a garment bag, undoubtedly containing a wedding dress that had seen better days.
On the way home, I tried to focus on Bett and the wedding, and the whirlwind of last-minute preparations that were to be taken care of this weekend. One thing was for sure: Neither Bett nor my parents needed the added burden of knowing what was happening with my job. Stafford’s ultimatum was a decision with which no one could help me, anyway.
“In the end, your life comes down to your own conscience,” Sister Margaret had said. “Only you can choose where you will bend and where you will stand firm.”
Was now the time to bend or the time to stand firm? How was I to know?
I sifted through my options over and over again. None of them felt real. It seemed impossible that I would leave Harrington, yet I could not imagine telling Cameron and his parents that everything was fine, turning a blind eye to drug use at the school, however pervasive it was, and simply waiting until some outside force blew the situation wide-open. There had to be another way.
I tried to imagine what it would be, tried to draw the answer from thin air and a vapor of hope that somehow everything would turn out all right. My mind was a million miles away as I drove home, carried my belongings into the empty house, and cleaned up Joujou’s latest protest in the entryway. Bringing in the wedding dress, I took it from the garment bag, and hung it on the curtain rod next to the guest bed, in all its glory. With Joujou in my lap, I settled into a chair in the corner, looking at the dress. Following the curving lines of lace and pearls, I imagined my mother’s hands creating it, Granmae’s and Mim’s bringing it back to life, making it beautiful and whole and allowing it to serve a purpose again.
If such a thing were possible with an old dress, how much more was possible with my life?
Closing my eyes, I let my thoughts drift. In my lap, Joujou was already murmuring and twitching in her sleep, and I felt myself slipping away also… .
When I woke up, Mom and Bett were standing in front of the wedding gown. The fabric rustled softly as Bett took the dress from the hanger and held it against herself, her brown hair spilling over the beadwork.
“Put it on,” Mom murmured. “We’ll surprise her when she wakes up.” I closed my eyes again as Bett turned my way. Beneath the shadow of lashes, I watched as my sister slipped into her dream, and Mom fastened the back. When Bethany turned around, I couldn’t pretend any longer. With an audible intake of breath, I sat up, and my sister’s eyes met mine.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered, and in that moment, everything else fell away. There was only my sister and me, and one rare and precious instant in which everything was as it should be. Setting Joujou down, I came across the room and hugged her. Mom wrapped her arms around both of us. From the doorway, Dad smiled at me, flashed the OK sign, and then walked away wiping his eyes.
After that, the weekend descended into a whirlwind of last-minute wedding plans and preparations. The hum of activity and the sheer volume of details helped keep my mind off the problems at Harrington. Both Bett and Mom eventually picked up on the fact that something was not right with me. They knew me well enough to see that, mentally, I was elsewhere.
On Sunday night, Bett hugged me extra hard before she left. “I love you,” she said, pressing her lips together in a tender I’m-not-going-to-cry frown. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for the wedding. I couldn’t have a better maid of honor … or sister.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, feeling that in some small way, I’d made up for all the times I’d let her down in the past. “I love you, too, Bett.”
Giving me a final hug, she went out the door. I was still standing in the entryway, reveling in the glow of sister love, contemplating one of our baby pictures on the wall, when Bett rushed back in.
“There’s a guy on a motorcycle out here, and he says he’s a friend of yours.” Her voice was hushed, so as not to alert Mom, Dad, and Joujou in the living room. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she quirked a brow.
“A guy on a motorcycle …” I repeated hesitantly. “I don’t know… .”
“Kind of tall, brown hair, nice smile.” Wheeling her hands in front of herself, Bett glanced toward the crack in the door. “Has a cast on one foot …”
“Keiler?” Slipping past my sister, I walked outside. Keiler was next to Bethany’s car, leaning casually against his Harley as if it were perfectly natural for him to be in my parents’ driveway. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was in the neighborhood, and …”
“James and Karen don’t live near here,” I countered, vaguely aware that Bett was behind me, watching the interplay and waiting for an introduction.
Keiler grinned mischievously, and my heart bubbled up like soda pop, slightly shaken. “I wanted to see how you were doing. I heard you went home sick Friday.”
My sister glanced sideways at me, confused. She knew I wasn’t sick on Friday.
I had that old sense of being entangled in a lie, and out of habit, the first thing I did was offer up a diversionary tactic. “How did you know where I lived?”
“Looked it up on the employee database. Want to go get a cup of coffee or something?”
“Sure,” I chirped, then blushed, because the word conveyed over-the-top enthusiasm.
Behind me, Bett cleared her throat, and Keiler looked at her like he hadn’t realized she was there. Stepping forward, he smiled and extended his hand. “Keiler Bradford.”
“Bethany Costell,” Bett said, giving him the once-over, then cutting her gaze toward me.
“I’m sorry.” Bethany’s interested look spurred me into action. “Keiler, this is my sister, Bethany, and Bett, this is Keiler. He’s a new substitute teacher at Harrington. Actually, he saved me from having to teach algebra all week.”
“Eeewww.” Bett curled her lip.
“Math can be fun.” Keiler raised a finger to punctuate his point.
A charmed chuckle twittered past Bett’s lips.
“Keiler’s the one who’s going to play guitar accompaniment for the wedding soloist,” I interjected, then swiveled back to him. “Dell did ask you about that, didn’t she?”
“Sure. We’ve already been practicing. That girl can sing, I’ll tell you. I’m amazed every time she opens her mouth.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Taking a step toward her car, Bett gracefully bowed out of the conversation. “Well, listen, I’ll leave you to visit. I have about a million things to do at home.”
“Nice to meet you.” Keiler shook Bett’s hand.
I leaned over and hugged her. “Night, Bett.”
“Nice smile,” she whispered in my ear. “I’ll call later—I want the dish.”
Having the mortifying feeling Keiler could hear, I yanked the back of her hair, and she came away rubbing her head.
“Talk to you later, sis. Nice to meet you, Keiler.” Waving good-bye, Bett pulled out of the driveway, and I went into the house to grab a coat and tell Mom and Dad I was going out for a cup of coffee. They assumed I was going out with Bett, so I escaped the usual grilling.
When I came back out, Keiler was waiting on the Harley.
I gave the black beast a wary look. “I don’t mind driving… .”
He revved the engine. “C’mon, live a little. It’s a nice night for a rid
e. I saw a Starbucks by the highway exit.”
Glad that the coffee shop was nearby, I hopped on behind him. As we wound through the twilight-dim neighborhood streets, I discovered that I liked riding a motorcycle much better than I ever thought I would. Keiler’s body was warm against mine, and the rush of cool March breeze filled my ears and cleared my mind, so that when we arrived at Starbucks, I was flushed and invigorated.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I admitted, as we ordered cappuccinos and took a table in the back.
“Guess I should have asked if you were still sick.” Tossing his hair out of his eyes, he looked pointedly at me, gauging my reaction. “A motorcycle ride in the cold might not be the best thing.”
“I wasn’t sick Friday, Keiler.” I stirred my cappuccino, watching the steam rise. “Something happened.”
“I gathered as much. It had to do with Cameron’s incident in the hall last Thursday, am I right?”
“How did you know?”
He glanced away. “I have my sources,” he answered evasively, then looked back at me. “But mostly, I’m just guessing. I saw you Friday morning. I knew you weren’t sick. Mrs. Jorgenson mentioned the big powwow with Cameron’s mother, and Cameron was seriously lying low all day Friday. Basically, I put two and two together, being the math teacher that I am. I was going to wait and see you Monday, but I was out riding this evening, and I thought about you, and ended up here.” Taking a sip of his coffee, he pushed it forward, then rested both hands in his lap and leaned across the table. “So what’s going on, Julia?”
I gazed up at the ceiling, exhaling a long breath. “It’s bad. It’s really bad.” I was told the story as Keiler sat listening intently. He seemed quick to understand, slow to judge, and as I recounted Friday’s happenings, a thousand pounds seemed to drop from my shoulders. “I really don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow,” I said finally, then added as an afterthought, “I’m sorry to dump all of this on you.”
If Keiler felt staggered by the burden, it didn’t show. He frowned thoughtfully into his cappuccino, which was probably growing cold. “That’s a serious dilemma.” Stretching a hand across the table, he laid it over mine. “I don’t know what I’d do. I really don’t. But I do know that the kids need you there.”
“That’s the problem,” I admitted. “This job is about more than just what I want or what I think; it’s about the kids. I’ve found the place I’m supposed to be. This is what I’m supposed to be doing at this point in my life—I’m sure of it. I got here by accident, but I’m needed, you know?”
“I don’t think anything happens by accident.” Keiler’s eyes were soft and large, filled with a kinship I couldn’t explain. “You understand those kids because of everything you’ve been through. You can relate to their dreams, you know their fears, you’ve experienced the kind of pressure they’re under.” His fingers molded around my hand, and I felt the warmth of the circle, a bond of friendship that told me I wasn’t alone. “You’re a great dancer, Julia. I have to admit, the first time I saw you at Jumpkids, I thought, Why is this beautiful girl, with this incredible talent, hanging around some high school, working as a guidance counselor? But it didn’t take me one day at Harrington to see how good you are there. You’re the one who can make the difference.”
His praise, his belief in me made tears tighten my throat. I swallowed hard, rubbing my forehead, trying to smooth the tangle of conflicting emotions. “I want to be there, Keiler, but I can’t imagine telling Cameron and his parents that everything is fine—that nothing went on last Thursday. What if something happens to him? What if he gets in a car with some friend who’s as messed up as he was last week, and they have a wreck and kill themselves, or someone else? All of that’s in my head, and I can’t get past it. I can’t do it. I can’t lie about what I saw.”
Keiler nodded, chewing the side of his lip. “Then I guess you have your answer.” As if it were simple. Go with your conscience. No compromises. No gray areas.
“But if I leave Harrington, I can’t help the kids at all. I can’t be there for Dell, or Cameron, or anyone else.” The idea seemed as unimaginable as lying to Cameron’s parents. Tears welled over and trickled down my cheeks, and I wiped them impatiently. “Sometimes I wonder if Stafford is right—if I’m abandoning the kids so I can sit on my high horse. Maybe I should just play the game—do what I can.”
Giving my fingers one last reassuring squeeze, Keiler broke the connection and folded his hands in his lap, leaving me alone on my side of the table.
“I can’t tell you which way to go, Julia,” he said softly. “That choice has to come from you. You have to decide what you can live with. But beyond that, I’ll listen, I’ll pray, I’ll tell you that all this is happening for a reason.”
“I can’t imagine the reason,” I admitted, wishing I had his faith.
“Give it time,” he said with calm assurance. There was an incredible sense of relief in finally having shared the whole story with someone, in not being trapped in this mess alone. “The answers don’t always come according to our self-imposed schedule. You ought to know that. You’re the professional counselor here. I’m just a substitute algebra teacher.”
Sniffling back the tears, I managed a trembling smile. “I’m so glad you’re here.” In spite of everything, Keiler Bradford could still make me laugh.
Chapter 23
By Monday morning, the answers still weren’t clear, and I was running out of time. I left for work early, needing a quiet place to think. When I got there, the administration offices were still dark, and the janitorial staff was sweeping the floors. Down the hall in the auditorium, a girl’s ensemble was practicing, and someone was playing “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” on the piano. I listened for a moment before slipping into my office and closing the door behind me, as if that could keep out the realities of the day. It only shut out the music, of course. Everything else came inside with me. I stood looking at the file cabinets, the plaster walls, the cluster of ladybugs in the corner, the piled-up in-box. All of it seemed foreign, as if I’d been gone for a month rather than three days.
I tried to imagine being gone forever.
When I turned to my desk, there were two sheets of spiral notebook paper resting atop my Dayminder, weighted down with a stapler. They fluttered slightly in the draft from the air vent as I picked them up.
As usual, Dell’s essay didn’t have a title. It was just her thoughts, like an entry in a journal, all of which would have remained locked inside her if Mrs. Morris hadn’t brought the first one to my office. God can make good ends from bad motives—a quote from Sister Margaret.
Sitting down in my chair, I started to read.
I found out this morning that my father had a name. Thomas Clay. He was somebody real. He signed the paper when I was born, and so he knew about me. He must have cared a little bit to do that, but not enough to stay.
Twana Stevens explained it all to me real slow, like maybe I couldn’t understand it, but I do. She says they have looked for him, but they can’t find him. Now the courts will do some things, so I can be adopted by James and Karen. She asked if I thought I’d want to change my last name, and I said yes, I would. Jordan isn’t a very good name.
So, I’ll be Dell Sommerfield. I may put my father’s name in the middle. I’ll have to think about it. Twana says that his last name should have been my name all along, but Mama and Granny never did use it.
The funny thing is that now I don’t feel like I care so much about everything that happened before. It’s fading away, like a story you tell about someone who isn’t real, and never was. I think the girl in the river will get smaller until she’s only a tiny piece inside me. That’s good, because it leaves more room for other things.
Karen and I talked for a long time last night. She told me that years ago, she and James were going to have a baby, and they lost it before it was born. She always thought about who that baby would be, if it grew up. What she didn’t know, she says, is that h
er daughter was growing up all that time, only not the way she thought. She never imagined she’d find her daughter living across the river from Grandma Rose’s farm.
After Karen left my bedroom, I laid there thinking about what she said. If I didn’t have my real mom and dad, I wouldn’t be who I am. If I didn’t meet Karen and James, I wouldn’t be living in the bedroom with the high ceiling and the pretty fan that you don’t really need because the place is air conditioned. It’s OK how things worked out.
Grandma Rose says the secret to a good life isn’t in getting what you want; it’s in learning to want what you get. I’m learning to want what I’ve got and not to think about the rest so much. Maybe the only thing God used my real parents for was thread, so that he could knit me together a certain way for James and Karen. Maybe James and Karen didn’t have a baby so they would have room for me.
I hope someday I’ll see my baby brother, Angelo, again, so I can tell him about the things we used to do together. He ought to know that I cried when he left, and I always missed him, and when Grandma Rose taught me how to pray, I always said prayers for him. Someday I want to tell him that.
But right now I’m here, and I have a good family. Sometimes, when we’re all at the breakfast table, I close my eyes, and I feel just like the girl in the river, like I’m drenched in light from the inside out.
Lots of people don’t ever feel that, no matter where they come from.
Looking at the paper, I felt a sense of joy and accomplishment that was out of keeping with the day. Whatever happened from this point on, there would remain this one fact. I had helped the girl in the river begin to take ownership of her new shoes. If I’d turned a blind eye, as Mrs. Morris and Mr. Stafford wanted me to, it wouldn’t have happened. Harrington might have been one more failure in a long string of disappointments for Dell. Who could say if this would have been the one that closed her off to the possibility of success? To her own right to happiness?
