“She’s very protective of her yard.”
“Well, I nominate you to tell her that the 5K is going to be a color run this year.”
“I nominate Deb.”
They both laughed.
There was a brief, comfortable lull in conversation as their beefcake of an instructor moved one of the targets several paces back.
“Cody wants to ask Taylor to homecoming.”
“Really?”
“Do you think she’d say yes?”
“If she doesn’t, I’ll say yes for her.” But even as Camille said it, the ache in her stomach burned hotter. She thought she’d overheard Taylor telling Alexis the other day that Cody was a jerk.
“I keep telling him he’d better hurry up, before someone else asks her.” Kathleen batted at a pesky fly and twisted her lips to the side. “I don’t know, Camille. The other day, he told Rick he might quit.”
“The football team?”
Kathleen shook her head, not because the answer was no, but because she didn’t know what to do about it. All summer long, Cody counted on being the starting quarterback for the Crystal Ridge Wildcats. But then the transfer happened, and Darius Jones showed up, and suddenly Cody’s spot wasn’t quite so secure.
“The coach told him that he wasn’t starting tomorrow.”
“Man, Kathleen. I’m sorry.” She reached across the table and gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. “If it makes you feel any better, Darius’s big sister thinks my daughter is a bully.”
“What?”
“She emailed me this morning. We spoke on the phone. She says she’s concerned because Paige is excluding some girls at recess.”
“Did she say who?”
“One of the transfer students. And Jubilee Covington.” Camille hated, hated, hated that one of the two girls was Jubilee. Her heart sank the second Anaya said the name. Maybe that was why she hadn’t received an RSVP from Jen regarding Paige’s birthday party invite.
“See, that makes me mad. Both are new this year, right? I’m sure it has nothing to do with exclusion and everything to do with comfort level. Paige doesn’t know those girls.”
“That’s what I said. I mean, her class has always been tight knit.” Camille picked up her new handgun as Alvin made his way back to them. “I still have to talk to her, though.”
* * *
As soon as Camille stepped inside the house, Taylor made a beeline for the door, her hair damp from her postpractice shower.
“Wait a minute. Where are you going?”
“Library.”
“Again?”
“I told you. I’m working on a French project.”
“Does this project involve a boy?”
Taylor rolled her eyes so hard, there was only white.
Note to self: spy on eldest at the library.
Just like she should spy on her husband at CrossFit.
No.
Nope.
She wouldn’t do it. She refused to be that woman.
“I can give you a ride if you want.”
“Alexis is driving. She’s already out front.” As if to prove it, Taylor held up her phone. There was a text from Alexis that said Here! “Sure would be nice if I had my own license so my friends wouldn’t have to be my chauffeur.”
“We’ll practice this weekend.”
“Sure we will,” Taylor said, stepping outside.
“Make sure you’re home in time for dinner,” Camille called after her.
Taylor slammed the door.
And on that note, Camille headed up the stairs to check on her less sarcastic, less hostile children. Austin was sitting on his bed, flipping through a book about chess, stopping occasionally to jot a note on a pad of paper.
She tried not to feel concerned as she watched him. Camille had a hard time understanding her son. She had always been a part of the popular crowd, just like Taylor was a part of the popular crowd. Granted, Taylor didn’t seem to care about being a part of that crowd half as much as Camille did at that age. But still, she was part of it. Paige was outgoing and charming and would most likely be the leader of the popular crowd. But Austin? Austin was a loner. Austin was introverted, and lately his introversion bordered on antisocial.
She wanted to talk to Neil about it, but Neil was the one to blame. And besides, any time she did talk to Neil about Austin, he became exasperated and said things like, “He’s not you, Camille.”
To which she usually replied, “Thanks for stating the obvious. And excuse me for wanting to talk to my husband about our children.”
“That’s all you talk to me about.”
It was an unfair comment Neil had muttered once upon a time. She was so furious with him, she had turned on her side and gone to sleep. In the light of morning, it didn’t feel worth rehashing. So she forgot about it altogether. But maybe she shouldn’t have. Maybe she should have paid that comment more attention.
Austin looked up from his notebook. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, honey.” She leaned against his doorjamb. “How was school?”
“Uneventful.”
This had been his answer every day since the first day. So far, it seemed to be true. There hadn’t been any fights or any sign of the violence many of them worried about at the public meeting back in July. There was a small skirmish in Austin’s homeroom yesterday, but Camille didn’t hear that from Austin; she heard it from Kathleen. Apparently, Bennett and Maxwell Teague had an altercation. But that was nothing new. The two of them had been having altercations since kindergarten, when Maxwell stuck his wet finger in Bennett’s ear and Bennett reacted by slugging Maxwell in the stomach. The principal at Lewis and Clark must not have communicated to the principal at the middle school the importance of keeping the boys apart. Poor Mrs. Fullerton was in for a long year.
On the other hand, the kids from South Fork appeared to be on their best behavior.
Rebecca kept saying it was the calm before the storm and just you wait. Camille was starting to suspect that Rebecca would rather have the violence for the sake of her own vindication than avoid the violence for the sake of her children’s safety.
“Did you know that the number of possible unique chess games is greater than the number of electrons in the entire universe?”
Stop being weird! she silently shouted.
She wanted to grab Austin’s book and throw it out the window, send him outside to play baseball like every other boy in the neighborhood. But she would never do that. She would not pressure her son to be someone he wasn’t. She would let him be exactly who God created him to be. She would let him march to the beat of his own drum, even when that marching scared her to death.
“That’s a lot of chess games,” she said instead.
“An insane amount,” he replied, his attention returning to the notebook.
Frowning slightly, Camille left him to map out one of those infinitely possible chess games and headed into Paige’s room, where she sat on the floor undressing her Maryellen doll. As much as Camille didn’t want to, she needed to talk to her about the concerns Miss Jones brought up on the phone earlier today.
“Hey, Mom,” Paige said. “How did the gun shootin’ go?”
“Your mother’s a pretty good shot.” Camille sat on the edge of her daughter’s canopy bed, watching Paige straighten Maryellen’s hair, unsure what was worse: having a son who was too easy a target for bullies or having a daughter who might actually be a bully.
“Honey, are you nice to all your classmates?”
“Of course,” she said, with such utterly confounded sincerity Camille knew it wasn’t true.
“So you don’t leave anyone out?”
“What do you mean?”
“At recess, do you tell other kids they can’t play with you? Like Jubilee?”
“I played with her
on the first day.”
“And since then?”
Paige stopped unbuttoning Maryellen’s shirt. “I don’t like when she tries to hold my hand.”
“Honey, you and Faith hold hands all the time.”
“Not anymore. That’s baby stuff.”
“What about Nia? Do you leave her out?”
“I hate her.”
The strong, matter-of-fact words came like a slap across Camille’s face. Since when did her daughter hate anyone? “Paige, we don’t use that word in this house. And you have to be nice to Nia.”
“Why?”
Because otherwise, you’re going to look like a little racist! The thought came irately—like a rage-filled scream in her head. Camille slid off the bed and joined Paige on the floor. “Honey, you know why. We learn why every Sunday at church.”
“We don’t go to church anymore.”
“Yes, we do. We’ve just taken a small break. We’ll go back this weekend.” Camille reached into Paige’s lap and took her hands. “Babe, we’re nice to everyone because Jesus tells us to be kind. We treat others how we want to be treated.”
“Well, maybe someone should tell Miss Jones what Jesus says because she’s not nice at all!”
Camille drew back at the sudden outburst.
Paige’s face turned pink, and she was doing that thing she did whenever she didn’t want to cry—where she pulled her chin toward her neck and sucked on her lower lip and the vein in her temple began to throb.
“Paige.”
“I hate second grade!” she yelled. “Miss Jones lets Nia do everything, and she never lets me do anything! All the girls love her and hate me, and I don’t want to go back to church unless Daddy comes too!”
Whatever restraint Paige was holding on to snapped in half. She burst into tears so violent, her shoulders heaved.
Camille didn’t have any words. All she could do was pull her broken daughter into her lap and rock her back and forth, wiping away Paige’s tears and hating her husband.
Twenty-Five
L<3vy: Did u hear abt Cody & Taylor?
Dax: Cody & Taylor? I thought he was hooking up w/Alexis.
L<3vy: Was.
Dax: ??
L<3vy: He asked her to homecoming & she said no.
Dax: He asked Alexis?
L<3vy: No, Taylor.
Dax: Yikes.
L<3vy: You know who she likes, right?
Dax: Not Cody.
* * *
The Liberia Adoption Facebook Group:
September 15 at 3:48pm
Jen Covington: Hey, Friends. I need advice. Our daughter was invited to a birthday party. It’s for a little girl in her class. Jubilee was VERY excited when she brought the invitation home. To be honest, my husband and I were excited too. It’s a relief to know she’s making friends. She really wants to go. The problem is, she’s only been home five months, and when she gets overstimulated, it turns into a nightmare. Any advice? RSVP due date is in two days, and I still don’t know what to do.
Ruth Barnes: Man, that’s hard. Do you know if they’re opening presents at the party?
Likes: 2
Jen Covington: I have no idea.
Ruth Barnes: I would find that out beforehand.
Jen Covington: What if they’re opening presents?
Ruth Barnes: Don’t go.
Meredith Thompson: Go in with a well-thought-out exit strategy, and be prepared to pull that eject handle even a couple minutes in. Staying for the presents or to watch the kid blow out the candles is not worth the resulting 24-hour nightmare you may have to endure as a result of staying a minute too long.
Likes: 4
Dixie McLaughlin: Low expectations. Like Ruth said, find out the schedule from the kid’s mom and prepare her step by step. Go through what she can expect at each transition, be prepared to leave, and come up with a reason ahead of time. Use lots of connection to keep her regulated.
Likes: 5
Carmen Hart: I don’t think you have to miss out on the party just because they are opening presents. Like Dixie said, if you know what’s coming and prepare her ahead of time, she might surprise you. We have to give our kids a chance to surprise us.
Likes: 3
Amanda Collins: If they are opening presents, maybe when you and Jubilee pick out a gift for the birthday girl, you can get Jubilee the same thing. That way, when she gives the present to birthday girl, she won’t feel like she’s losing something. Our kids have lost enough.
Likes: 3
Ruth Barnes: Whoever started the whole “let’s open presents at the birthday party” tradition must have hated mothers.
Likes: 10
Amanda Collins: LOL!
Dixie McLaughlin: They sure never adopted a kid with trauma!
* * *
Camille drove the Highlander into the garage and shifted into park. The back was laden with groceries. She bought more than usual, mostly because she needed something to do. An excuse to avoid the house. She didn’t want to feel its emptiness.
Emptiness was a horrible thing to feel.
It reminded her of Austin when he was five and he’d get the word confused. I feel empty, he’d say. The first time he said it, Camille had been quite alarmed. Until she figured out he really meant he felt bored. Well, Camille didn’t feel bored. She really did feel empty. Just like the house she didn’t want to go into.
Her phone vibrated on the console.
The name Jen C popped up on the screen.
Grateful for the distraction, she snatched it up and pressed the phone to her ear with an exuberant, “Hello!”
“Hey, Camille. It’s Jen.” There was a brief pause. “Jen Covington.”
“Jen! It’s so great to hear from you. How’s the job going at the high school? Taylor hasn’t been to your office, has she?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Well, good. She’s always had a pretty sturdy immune system. Of course, if you know of any medicinal cures for sarcasm, I’m all ears.”
“Hah. I don’t think that one’s been invented yet, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
“Perfect. So, you’re liking the job?”
“So far. There’s a lot of kids to keep track of, but I’m slowly wrapping my mind around it all. No two days are the same, that’s for sure.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.” Camille pushed the button on the garage door opener. It rumbled to life behind her, slowly squeezing the sunlight away. “Because a little birdie in my ear told me that Joelle is getting ready to hand in her resignation. Apparently, she’s one smitten new mama.”
“That’s great.” Jen’s voice carried a false sort of note, like it wasn’t really great at all—an interesting contradiction. Was she not being honest about her enjoyment as the new high school nurse? “I’m really happy for her.”
“And you,” Camille said.
“Yeah, me too. Hey, I’m calling about Paige’s birthday party.”
“I hope you and Jubilee can make it.”
“I think we can. I…well…Do you mind if I ask what’s going to happen at the party?”
Camille’s brow furrowed. “What’s going to happen?”
“The order of events, I mean. I’m sure this is a weird question, it’s just…Jubilee’s never been to a birthday party before, and I want to help prepare her. Ahead of time.”
“Oh, of course. Well, the theme is American Girl doll. But please do not take that to mean you have to get her an American Girl doll present. She has plenty, and the accessories are not very budget friendly, if you know what I mean. Barbies are ten times cheaper and just as popular around here. Now, if Jubilee has an American Girl doll, she is more than welcome to bring it along. Or any doll really. It doesn’t have to be American Girl.”
“Okay.”
“It’s going to be a 1950s theme. Paige’s favorite doll is Maryellen, and she’s circa 1954. So if you have anything 1950ish to wear, great! Of course, plenty of girls will come in jeans and T-shirts, so absolutely no pressure to dress up.”
“Okay.”
“The girls will play for a half hour or so. Maybe longer. It all depends on how long it takes before they start getting squirrelly. There will be a bounce house. Paige is obsessed with bounce houses. A snack table, of course. After that, the girls will get to decorate matching girl-doll T-shirts. Isn’t that adorable? It’s an idea I found on Pinterest. One will fit them, and the other will fit their doll. Paige wants to have a tea party with the cake, which will take up a chunk of time. And then whenever that wraps up, the girls can spend the rest of the time playing.”
“So…” There was another pause, as if Jen were trying to process all that Camille just told her. “You won’t be opening presents at the party?”
“Oh goodness, no. Third child in and I’ve learned my lesson there.”
This seemed to come as a great relief. “Okay. Great.”
Camille smiled. It was her first genuine one of the day. “Does this mean you and Jubilee can make it?”
“Y-yes. We’ll be there.”
Twenty-Six
There was a toy aisle at Target that used to make Jen cry. An explosion of pink and glitter, tiaras, dress-up clothes, and plastic tea sets. Jen would be shopping for Clorox or lightbulbs, come across the aisle, and want to curl into a ball and weep a river of tears that would sweep all the pink away.
Now the aisle made her nervous.
She faced it like a soldier headed into battle or a boxer staring at the ring—knowing soon she’d have to climb inside and face her opponent.
Paige’s birthday party was tomorrow, and Jen RSVP’d yes. They would be going. And while Camille insisted that Jubilee didn’t need to dress up like she belonged in the 1950s, Jen had spent the past several days in a craze searching for a poodle skirt that would fit her seven-year-old. She’d also driven to the nearest American Girl store, which was thirty minutes away, and spent an exorbitant amount of money she and Nick didn’t have to spend, all so Jubilee could take a doll to a party. Not any old doll, mind you. An American Girl doll. A Truly Me doll, with dark brown skin like Jubilee’s and short, curly hair.
No One Ever Asked Page 14
