Mom had piled a plate with tuna sandwiches. There was a large bag of potato chips on the table and a bowl of homemade chunk pickles from Gram’s pantry. Jimmy-John was already perched on the telephone directory—his eyes glued to the plate of sandwiches.
“Okay, kids, dig in,” Mom said, doing a poor imitation of Martha Stewart. “And Kate, honey, there’s ice cream in the freezer. I’m heading to the hairdresser’s for a quick cut and style. Dad’s working in the basement on some project or other and will be in and out. You guys going to be okay?”
I had some trouble swallowing the bite of sandwich but managed to nod. “Uh, sure, Mom, we’ll be okay.” Inside, I was throttling my mother for abandoning me when I needed her most. I didn’t want to be alone with the Coughlins. I might betray my repulsion. Having Mom there was like a buffer or something, and now she was leaving on her merry way without a care. She wasn’t very empathetic. She was clueless.
“Great. I won’t be too long. Jimmy-John has a puzzle he’s going to put together at the kitchen table. Isn’t that right, sweetheart? But you girls keep an eye on him.” She smiled as she pulled on a coat. Then grabbing her purse, she waved good-bye and was out the door. I had to will myself not to yell at her to come back.
I’d noticed something weird. When Mom had mentioned the word “hairdresser,” Rose’s hand and had self-consciously patted her tangled hair as though trying to tidy it or something. That’s when a crazy idea jumped into my head. So crazy, I squelched it. Offering to fix Rose’s greasy snarled hair was not something I would do—ever. Jeez. No way.
We finished our lunch and then I cleared the table. I even went so far as to hand Rose a clean, damp sponge and told her to wipe the table and shake out the placemats. Rose obeyed without hesitation. As soon as everything had been cleaned, the puzzle was placed on the table in front of Jimmy-John. He stared at like he’d never seen a jigsaw puzzle before.
“Okay, Jimmy-John, here’s the puzzle my mom got you.” I lifted the lid, which depicted a chubby purple dinosaur sitting in a field of flowers with a too-blue sky and a cherubic sun smiling behind him. The dinosaur’s happy face was infectious and I had to grin.
“Cute little dinosaur, huh, Jimmy-John?” I said as he continued to stare stupidly at the picture. “Go on, put the pieces together. Like this.” I demonstrated how to find similar pieces and connect them to form sections of the picture. Soon he was doing it himself.
We left Jimmy-John concentrating on his puzzle and returned to the living room. The poetry cube was taking on a personality of its own. I was pretty sure we had an A in the bag already. Believe it or not it was really neat. One side of the box was covered with 3-D daffodils in a wild yellow, orange, and green confusion. Very eye appealing. On another side we’d glued letters to spell out one of the stanzas, which took like eons to do and wasn’t finished yet. The other sides had our typed interpretations of how the poem made each of us feel. It was probably going to take another two hours before we were anywhere finished with the whole thing but, I was really pleased with the overall effect. I knew Ms. Wayne would like it.
SEVENTEEN
An hour and fifty-seven minutes later, tired of the tedious work, I flopped on the carpet on my back to rest. I stared up at the swirls on the painted ceiling and let out a long, drawn out sigh. The earlier thought that had teased me raised its annoying head again, and I stole a glance at Rose, who was still cutting out minute letters. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Rose…you want to stop for a while and do something else?”
The girl put down the scissors, folded her hands in her lap and waited.
“Well,” I continued even though a tiny voice inside my head screamed for me to shut up, “I just thought it might be, uh, fun to, uh, do your hair.”
Again a tentative hand went up to pat her head. She lowered her eyes and stared at the carpet but whispered, “Okay.”
“Great.” God, what am I doing? “Come, on, we’ll, uh, wash your hair first like they do at the salon, and then I’ll style it with a curling iron. Okay?”
Before she had a chance to answer, I flew upstairs and came back carrying towels, shampoo, conditioner, brush, mirror, hairdryer and hot comb. I led Rose into the kitchen. Putting the stuff on the counter, I instructed her to bend over the sink. In silent obedience, she did as she was told. With her nose practically down the drain, I turned on the faucet. I hesitated, closed my eyes and grimaced while warm water drenched her matted hair. Then, clenching my teeth and feeling very much like Mom’s Mother Teresa in Calcutta, applied a liberal amount of fragrant shampoo. I began working my fingers into the sudsy mess, all the while conscious of the staring eyes of the little boy behind me. God knows what Jimmy-John was thinking. He’d completely forgotten the puzzle and was transfixed by the beauty operation going on in front of him.
I rinsed her head and then squirted on even more shampoo, marveling at myself for the umpteenth time that I was even touching the awful stuff. If I’d been told a week ago that I’d be washing Rose’s hair, I would’ve choked until blue in the face. Yet here I was—doing just that. I was actually washing Rose Coughlin’s hair, never mind touching it.
After the conditioner had been allowed to do its thing for two minutes, I again rinsed her hair. Already the hair looked different. No longer a dull, mousy brown, it was now a glossy chestnut with red highlights catching the sunlight streaming through the window. Actually quite pretty.
I toweled Rose’s head until she gave a protesting yelp.
“Oops, sorry.” A grin escaped. “I got kind of carried away. It really looks nice, and I haven’t even curled it or anything.” I wanted to add that maybe if Rose washed her hair more often it would help, but I clamped down on the thought not wanting to spoil the moment.
I plugged in the hair drier and fluffed her hair with one hand while I let the drier blow the silky strands up and down. In only a minute, it was dry enough for me to use the hot comb. Taking small bunches of hair I curled each handful until the whole head was done. I ran the brush through the now shining ringlets a few times then stood back to admire my handiwork.
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “You look good, girl, if I do say so myself.”
I handed Rose the small mirror and watched as she stared, open-mouthed, at her reflection. Her neck and face washed with color. Then tears spilled out onto her pink cheeks. Rose was crying.
What should I say? Should I ask her why she was crying or would that sound lame? I mean, I knew why she was crying. For the first time in her life she looked like a human being. I certainly couldn’t say anything like that, so instead I patted Rose’s shoulder. Jimmy-John voiced the words I couldn’t say.
“Rosie! Oh, Rosie, you’re bootiful.” His shrill little voice filled the kitchen.
Rose ran over to her brother, threw her arms around him and squeezed. He clung to her like a baby gorilla would its mother.
“Oh, Rosie, it’s so pretty,” he crooned. “It’s the prettiest.” His little claw-like hands went up and touched her head with unabashed reverence. “It’s real soft, too, Rosie, real soft.”
Rose looked at me and smiled. Still blushing, her deep blue eyes met mine for maybe the second time ever. “Thanks, Kate.”
Just then we heard my mom drive up. Dashing to a window, we watched her get out of the car and approach the house at a fast trot.
An idea hit me and I waved my hands at Rose. “Hurry. Hide! Let’s surprise my mom, okay?”
Rose crouched behind a counter, and we waited for Mom to come into the house. As soon as she closed the front door I called, “Hey, Mom, come into the kitchen for a sec, will you?”
“Okay, just let me hang up my coat.” When she entered the kitchen a moment later, she stopped in the doorway. “Okay, what’s up?” Glancing over at Jimmy-John, she smiled. “Oh, are you finished with the puzzle, sweetheart?”
“No, Mom, it’s not Jimmy-John we want you to see. It’s Rose.” I clapped my hands once and Rose stood up.
I nodded, beaming. “Yep. I sure did. We got tired of doing the project so I just thought it would be fun to mess with her hair. It looks great, doesn’t it?”
“Great doesn’t say it—it’s beyond great, it’s simply gorgeous.” Mom said for the third time.
“Yeah. Now if we could just get some new clothes, we’d be finished,” I added without thinking. Immediately, I kicked myself as the smile on Rose’s face wobbled then disappeared. She bowed her head and the silly, half-smile was back in place. Stricken, I looked at Mom.
“Well, that would be fun. I’ll talk to Rose’s mom, and maybe we can all go shopping next weekend.” Mom said brightly—too brightly but I don’t think anyone was processing at the moment.
Rose smiled faintly at this, but continued to avert her eyes. I swallowed the small lump forming in my throat, and, without another word, led the way back into the living room to finish our project. That magic moment, where I had Rose practically floating on cloud nine like some fairy godmother, had evaporated. In its place a feeling of melancholy took over. I felt rotten. I should have left well enough alone. I had too big a mouth and was always putting my foot into it.
It took another fifty minutes to complete the project. We placed it on the dining room table for display. Dad was called upstairs to admire it, and he and Mom stood together and applauded us.
“That is really something.” Dad whistled. “Those daffodils are remarkable, Rose. You’ve got a real talent, young lady. Yep, I think you girls have an A sitting here. At least, I’d give it one.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I grinned then prodded Rose with an elbow. “We did it, Rose. We’ll make a killing at school, Monday. Rock on.”
Rose let a smile play on her lips, but she didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
EIGHTEEN
Sitting in the pew at church the following morning, I glanced around for Nancy. The Spencers were also members of this church and usually sat near us. Not this morning, however. I saw them as they walked up the far-left aisle and sat next to Mr. and Mrs. O’Leary, an elderly couple that were like pillars of the community and rich as Bill Gates—well, almost as rich.
My heart weighed ten pounds. I slumped in my seat. Nancy hadn’t even looked our way even though my parents and I were sitting in approximately the same pew we’d been using like forever. It was too obvious. Nancy and I were no longer best friends. Nine years of friendship gone out the window. Lost—never to be seen again. Tears brimmed and threatened to spill over, and I had to rifle through my purse to find a tissue. I dabbed at my eyes before anyone noticed.
After church, Dad suggested IHop for a pancake breakfast. Mom was delighted with the idea, but it was the last place I wanted to go. If Bertie Coughlin were working this morning and came over to our table to talk, well, frankly, I think I’d die.
It was one thing being nice to Rose for a while, but to have half the town see us acting chummy with a Coughlin would be too much. And I mean too, too much. No one should have to take such humiliation. I mean, wasn’t the pastor forever harping on keeping one’s reputation tarnish-free? Or something like that.
I couldn’t think up a believable excuse for not wanting to go so I sat in silence as we drove to the pancake house. It wasn’t crowded and we were ushered to a table by the window and given menus. Usually I had pigs in a blanket but today I wasn’t hungry. As we’d taken our seats, I’d spied Bertie Coughlin waiting on a nearby table. My worst fears were realized when the brassy redhead bustled over to our table. Murphy’s Law. There were at least four other waiters and waitresses, but she had to be the one assigned to our table. What are the odds on that?
“Well, look who’s here,” her clarion voice bounced off the walls. “If it isn’t the Merricks. How’re you doing? My kids sure enjoyed being at your house yesterday. And what you did to Rosie’s hair. Lord! Sam and I hardly recognized the kid.”
I winced. My parents, however, were as cordial as ever and jumped right in the inane conversation.
“We enjoyed having them,” Mom said in her sweetest voice. “We hope you’ll allow them to come over again soon. Kate had a lot of fun fixing Rose’s hair.”
“Their project looks great, too,” Dad had to chime in. “I’m certain they’ll get a high grade for it. By the way, how’s Sam? He was a bit under the weather when I saw him yesterday.”
Bertie Coughlin looked flustered and averted her eyes. “Oh, he’s okay. Just a touch of the crud, I think.” She brightened. “So, what can I get you folks?”
We gave our order, Bertie’s pen scratched on her pad, then she bustled away. Her uniform was a tad on the tight side. I glanced at my parents and caught the look Dad sent Mom.
I wasn’t letting them get away with it this time. “What’s the look for? Let me in on your sordid little secret.”
Both parents went overboard assuring me that it was nothing and changed the subject. They talked about stuff going on at church, a patient of Dad’s who’d fallen asleep in his dentist’s chair, my grandparents in Illinois—everything except the Coughlins. Of course I thought it funny, but didn’t press it. The Coughlins were the last people I wanted to talk about, anyway. It just irked me that they still thought me too young to notice what was going on around me.
NINETEEN
Dad drove me to school Monday morning so I could bring the project. He volunteered to help carry it in, but of course I waived the offer. As though I’d want my dad traipsing down the hallway behind me. No way. With my tote bag slung over one shoulder, I managed to carry the large box all the way to my English classroom without mishap. A junior had to help me once while going up the staircase but that was all. Receiving permission to leave the project there, I headed for homeroom, which, of course, was half a building away.
Nancy, Jenny, and the others were already there, chattering about their projects, their busy weekends, and guys. Julia saw me and waved. I was so surprised at her overt friendliness, I hesitated for a second.
“Come over here, silly,” Julia called across the room.
Almost lightheaded, I hurried over to join them and was greeted warmly by Julia and Molly. Jenny’s smile wavered but Cindy and Donna just stared. Nancy looked at me but didn’t smile or say hello. Her lips were a straight line and her eyes were slits.
“Hi, Kate, did you have a good weekend?” Julia asked with forced lightheartedness. “How did the project go? With Rose, I mean. I mean, did she do anything? I mean—”
“I know what you mean, Julia, and it went quite well, thank you. I’ve already put it in Ms. Wayne’s room because it’s too awkward to carry.” I kept my voice level, but it cracked on the last syllable.
“It’s that big, huh? Neat! What poem did you, uh, choose?” Julia went on sweetly—too sweetly.
“The Daffodils.”
“Oh…nice,” Julia faltered. “A poem about flowers…sounds nice.”
“Yeah,” Molly agreed, “sounds very nice…if you…ah, like daffodils.”
“Did Rose do any of it? I mean, can she do anything? Where did you work? Certainly not at her house?” Jenny asked with thinly disguised revulsion. “Surely she didn’t go to your house? God! How could you stand the smell? What did your parents say? I know mine wouldn’t have allowed it.”
Molly nodded. “Oh, god, yes. My mother would die before allowing Rose into her home. I mean, did she actually sit on your couch? Were your parents home?”
Nancy wrinkled her nose and made an unflattering noise under her breath. Jenny and Molly swallowed nervous giggles, while Cindy and Donna continued to stare.
Not wanting another minute of this, I turned and returned to my seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Rose sitting in her des
k at the back of the room, hands folded in her lap, eyes cast down, wearing the shame-faced little smile. I knew I should go over and say hello or something, but after swallowing the bitter pill my so-called friends had just given me, I couldn’t muster enough courage. So I remained at my desk and pretended to read a library book.
I was in a fog until lunch and barely made it through the cafeteria line. Twice I almost dropped my tray and succeeded in making it to a table by sheer luck. There was no way I was going to join the others at “our” table so I resigned myself to sitting beside an obnoxious sophomore group who gave me the cold shoulder. Like I even cared.
Two tables away, Nancy, Jenny, and the rest talked animatedly, punctuating their silly chatter with loud bursts of laughter. Of course they were talking about me and my new “best friend.” I knew this for a fact, too, because when I carried my trash to the waste can, I overheard Donna say something about lice and fleas and how nice people didn’t accommodate those who were so infected.
By English lit, I was exhausted. It’s draining avoiding people you were accustomed to hanging out with. Not to mention, fielding all the curious stares and whispers from a zillion others, who all knew I had partnered with a Coughlin. Numb, I sat at my desk and watched as the groups, one by one, were called to the front of the room to share their projects. Nerves stretched to the max, I was sort of excited, too. Soon I’d be able to show everybody what was what. I was pretty sure they’d be freaked out when they saw what Rose and I had done. I already knew it was good because I think I’m a pretty good judge, and also because Ms. Wayne pulled me aside before class and complimented me.
Finally our names were called. I stood up and tossed my head just a little before making my way up to the front of the room, where I picked up our cube and held it out to Rose who shuffled up to stand beside me. Rose held it aloft as I explained each side. There were only a few snickers made during the presentation. For the most part, the class sat in silence and appeared to be listening to my commentary. They clapped politely when I finished. Ms. Wayne clapped energetically, looking really impressed. I felt only overwhelming relief that the whole ordeal was over.
By Any Other Name Page 9
