“Well done, ladies,” our teacher praised. “That was beautifully executed. The cube is magnificent and those flowers. Where did you find such exquisite daffodils? From construction paper, no less.”
“Rose made the daffodils, Ms. Wayne,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched, with satisfaction, the reactions of my loser friends. Most of them sat with mouths open—like idiots. Julia smiled as usual, but Nancy sat back in her chair with arms folded and a disbelieving scowl plastered on her face.
“Well, Rose, you have a God-given talent,” Ms. Wayne said, her head bobbing up and down, I guess to emphasize her praise. “You should seriously consider art as a profession.”
At that, someone snorted and a voice stage-whispered, “That’ll be the day.”
More than relieved when the bell rang, I grabbed my tote and hurried out of the room before anyone could stop me. I especially didn’t want to have any more contact with Rose Coughlin.
World history went on forever. When the bell rang to signal the end of the day, I made a mad dash for the bus. The project was left in the classroom so Ms. Wayne could put it and one or two others on display in the media center. Having my project one of the chosen was gratifying, sure, but it still didn’t make up for the treatment I’d gotten from what I’d considered my friends. I felt empty inside and only wanted to go home.
Mounting the steps to the bus, I saw that Nancy was already in our seat, but to my chagrin, she wasn’t alone. A sophomore girl whose name I couldn’t remember sat in my seat by the window. After swallowing a surge of anger, I continued down the narrow aisle, stopped at the fifth row and stared at Nancy.
She looked up and gave her hair a sassy flip. “Sorry, this seat’s taken. You’ll have to find another one.”
“But I always sit here,” I said, trying to hang onto some shred of dignity.
Nancy shrugged. “Well, not any more. Louise gets carsick sitting in the back so I told her she could sit here. You don’t mind?”
What was I supposed to do? I looked at the girl who’d been my friend for like forever, but she was a stranger now. Gazing out the window like nothing was amiss, she pretended to be oblivious of me standing in abject misery beside her. I wanted to slap her or burst into tears—I didn’t know which. All I knew was I wanted to do something to wipe the smirk off her face. But she was cool as a Popsicle so I played her game. I straightened my shoulders, lifted my chin and proceeded the rest of the way down the cramped aisle until I found a seat—presumably Louise’s old one—and sat. What else could I do?
At my stop, I stumbled down the aisle and out into an overcast, monochromatic world. The weather was trying to match my mood. Maybe snow was on the way, which would be fine with me. I’d welcome a blizzard. Anything to keep me from having to return to school. Frankly, I never wanted to go back to that insane institution again. So miserable, I fantasized about going away to some boarding school—Switzerland, maybe. Or, perhaps I could convince my parents to home school me. As if. Even as wretched as I felt, I wasn’t that naïve. That wouldn’t happen in a zillion lifetimes.
I let myself into the house. I called out and Mom answered from upstairs. Climbing the stairs like a tired old woman, I dumped my coat and tote bag on my bedroom floor and went in search of my mother. I found her in the spare room, tucking in the last sheet corner on the double bed.
“We having company?” I roused enough from my misery to ask.
“Not that I know of—just want to be ready in case,” Mom answered with her usual cheeriness. She looked at me for a second then frowned. “Okay. What’s the matter? You look like you just lost Lassie.”
I made a face. “You don’t need to be condescending. I’ve just been through hell, and I’m not in the mood.”
“Oh, Kate.”
It all came out in a flood of words and tears. To her credit, Mom listened before giving me her usual lecture about growing up and counting my blessings. I ranted for several minutes until I ran out of steam and ended up gasping for breath and hiccupping like a two-year-old who’d just had a tantrum. Mom led me into the bathroom, soaked a washcloth, wrung it out, and handed it to me.
“Here…put this on your eyes and try to calm down. You’ve got to put all this into perspective, Kate, before it makes you sick. Let’s go downstairs and get something cold to drink and talk about it.”
In the kitchen I got a Coke from the refrigerator then sat at the table. Before popping the lid, I held the icy-cold can against my flushed cheeks. I sneaked a look at my mother. She was sitting with elbows on the table waiting for me to begin. She didn’t appear to expect anything too serious, and that really irked me. Again with the total absence of empathy.
“It’s over, Mom,” I said. “I’ve lost all my friends.”
“All your friends?” Her eyebrows arched in that condescending way she has.
“Yes, Mother, that’s what I said, isn’t it? Julia was her most congenial self—you know, all smiles and gracious manners—but it was all a weird polite act. Rather patronizing, actually. Not like the old Julia who was always lighthearted and sweet to everyone. I could tell she was trying really hard to find something nice to say, to keep up appearances. Nancy, on the other hand, hates me.”
“Oh, Kate, I doubt that.” There it was. Mom’s condescension again as if she knew better than I what was going on in my life.
“Please, you have absolutely no clue what I’ve been through. And all because I tried to be nice to someone. Oh, yeah…the project was a huge success. Ms. Wayne praised it to the skies and beyond. It’s even being displayed in the freakin’ media center. Great, huh?”
“Why, yes, I think th—”
“I’m not finished. All day people stopped me in the hall, or wherever, to ask about working with Rose. Things like did she smell, what did my parents say, theirs wouldn’t have allowed it, she has lice and fleas, blah, blah, blah. It got to be so horrible that I almost left school. I was going to walk home but then my better judgment took over so I endured. It was awful. By the time English lit started, I was a nervous wreck. You should’ve been there. We stood in front of the class and did our thing while twenty-seven pairs of eyes just stared. Some kids snickered, and Charlie Koon kept making hideous faces behind his hand. Naturally, Bobby Bigelow coughed ‘whore’ a few times, and Ms. Wayne, being so above all that, didn’t catch it.”
“Oh, Kate—”
“I’m not finished.”
“Sorry.”
“Then we sat and I literally felt the looks they were all sending my way. Looks of pure disgust and loathing and shock and—oh. It doesn’t matter. I don’t give a damn—”
“Katherine!”
“Okay, okay. Give me a break, Mom. I’ve just been through the worst day of my life.”
“Fine, b—”
“And Nancy and Jenny and Molly—they were like totally grossed out. They said some really nasty things. Nancy no longer wants me to sit with her on the bus. I had to sit all the way in the back where the exhaust made me sick and where a bunch of loathsome sophomores have their territory. I didn’t belong there. It was like the ride from hell. I barely made it off the bus because I was feeling so nauseous. And now? It’s only January of my freshman year. I have three more years to go and no friends. Nobody respectable will even speak to me now. Only the losers will. I even had to eat my lunch at a loser table.”
A sob rose up before I could squelch it, and my voice cracked. The tears came like a dam had broken. I looked up at my mother, willing her to show some understanding—some empathy. Her face was mildly concerned. Nothing more.
“Gosh, Mom. Can’t you put yourself in my place even for a second?”
“Kate, please. I am putting myself in your place, and I do understand what you went through. But.” She put up a hand to stop my protest. “But…I don’t think your world has come to an end, nor do I believe that Nancy really hates you. I’ll say she is angry at the moment, but I do believe she’ll come around. You two have been friends since
kindergarten. Besides, there is always tomorrow. Tomorrow you have a fresh, clean slate to write on. Let everybody sleep on it. You’ll find that your friends will rally around you once more and life will go on. And think how much you helped Rose. She’ll never forget your kindness.” Mom went on and on about how our “little acts of kindness” are like dominoes—one causing the next to topple over, yadda, yadda, yadda.
I listened and nodded in all the right places, but my heart was empty. After Mom was through playing Pollyanna and was convinced I’d calmed down, she suggested a hot bath. Right. My mother’s favorite panacea for what ails you: a hot bath—preferably one with bubbles. Not wanting to argue—I never win, anyway—I pretended to take her advice and went up to my room.
By dinnertime, I felt a little better, resigned to the fact that contrary to what my overly simplistic mother thought, I no longer had any friends. I now had to go it alone, forever branded a Coughlin-lover. But at this point, I just plain didn’t care. I’d be like the martyrs of old and hold my head high as I walked toward my destiny.
I’d think of myself as another Anne Frank or Joan of Arc. And when I got a few years older, maybe I’d enter a convent or monastery—whatever you call them—and hide away in sacrificial contemplation of the sins of the world. Or, better yet, I might become a missionary and go off to some strange, pestilence-infested third world country and nurse sick people. I’d most likely catch a disease myself—something unspeakable like the Ebola virus—and die, a martyr for the great and noble cause of Fighting for the Betterment of Mankind.
I pictured Nancy writing letter after letter, only to have them returned, unopened. The girls, upon hearing of my untimely demise, would mourn and chastise themselves for being so wicked to me when I was alive. I’m ashamed to admit that I let my fantasy go on until Dad’s voice broke the spell.
“Kate. Kate, did you hear me?”
I’d been sitting at the table, resting my head on one hand, elbow on the table, so was totally startled. “What?” I blinked in confusion.
Dad put both hands on the table and leaned toward me. “I asked you how you’re feeling. Your mom says you had a pretty bad day.”
“Uh, yeah, I did, but I’ll be okay. I’ve decided to ignore them completely and go on with my life.”
“Yeah? Sounds okay if you’re not planning to be rude. Two wrongs don’t make a right, you know. You can be independent, but not spiteful. Okay?”
“Please, Dad, I’m not a child.”
“I know that, Kate. I’m not trying to tell you how to handle this. You have to fight your own battles. I’m just acting like a parent.” He tousled my hair. “My job, you know. You’ll always be my little girl, even when you’ve got kids of your own.”
I nodded. No point in arguing.
TWENTY
The following Friday, I was more than ready to vacate the stuffy confines of the bus and return to the warm safety of my house. The past week had been excruciating. I’d accepted the ignominy of sitting in the back of the bus with the sophomores, although it was intolerable since none of them spoke to me. I was a persona non grata—or whatever that phrase is. But, frankly, I liked it that way. I didn’t feel much like having a congenial conversation with any of them either.
I was even resigned to the fact that Nancy was still not talking to me—at least civilly. But what was really excruciating were the stares and covert remarks said behind my back as I went from class to class. Alone. I was so miserable that once I was even tempted to grab Rose’s arm and walk down the hall with her—advertising, in a radical way, that we were best buddies. Of course I was sane enough not to go that far. But I was tempted. And that scares me more than anything. To be so low that you’d even consider for a nanosecond pairing up with a Coughlin. I mean, been there, done that. Right? So, all in all, it had been a lousy four days.
Now, as I went in the front door, expecting to hear a cheery greeting from my mother, I was really surprised to see her and Dad sitting together on the living room couch. Mom was pale, and Dad wore a serious expression on his usually benign face.
“Hi, Dad,” I greeted him with mounting trepidation. “What’re you doing home so early?”
“Sit down, Kate, we have something to tell you.”
My stomach lurched as I practically fell into a chair. “Are Grams and Gramps all right? Grandma and Grandpa? Did someone die? God, what is it?” Genuine fear crawled up my spine.
“No, sweetheart,” Mom hastened to say. “Everyone in our family is fine. It’s no one we know closely.”
“What, then?” I asked too loudly. “Jeez, Mom, don’t keep me in suspense here.”
“Late last night a convenience store in St. Charles was robbed. Or I should say, someone attempted to rob it,” Dad started to explain. “The perpetrators were apprehended…but there was a, uh, complication—”
“Please. Cut to the chase.”
Dad grimaced and cleared his throat. “Kate, Sam Coughlin was one of the men trying to rob the service station.”
“They had guns. He was shot and—” Mom choked.
“Was he killed?” I bounced in my seat.
Dad nodded. “Yes, Sam Coughlin died at the scene. One of the station’s employees was wounded slightly in the free-for-all, but the police were able to surround the two men, take charge, and the whole thing was over in a matter of minutes. Sam and his pal weren’t pros. And they were probably drunk, too. But, to complicate matters, Bertie Coughlin was outside in the car, waiting.”
“Oh my god,” I muttered.
“We were able to speak to Bertie—I play tennis with Officer Spinelli—and offered to do anything she needs done to help her through this, uh, situation.” Dad picked his thumbnail for a second then continued. “The police have her in custody as an accomplice. She insists she had no idea what her husband and his buddy were planning to do, and maybe she didn’t. But, that’s how things stand for the present. So. What your mother and I have done is to offer to take the kids until social services can make more permanent arrangements, or until Bertie is released.”
I let that sink in for a minute. Then his words hit home. “You what? The Coughlins here? In our house? Dad! You’re not serious.”
He nodded and by the furrowing of his brows, I knew he wasn’t pleased with my reaction. I tried to salvage myself. “Dad, please. You know what I’ve been through these past few weeks. Can you imagine what the kids will say when they find out? That now the Coughlins are actually living with us? In our immaculate house? Sitting at the dining room table with us? The Coughlins living here? Impossible! No, more than impossible. It’s just plain damnable. Damn.”
“Kate,” Mom snapped.
“No, I’m not sorry. I meant it. It’s abominable what you’re doing.”
“I’m ashamed of you. What your father and I are doing is showing compassion to another human being—two, in fact. You need to gr—”
“‘Grow up and count my blessings,’” I finished. “Right. But what about me? Your own flesh and blood? How about showing me some compassion? Because I befriended Rose Coughlin, I’ve been branded. I’ve lost my friends and my reputation. Everybody stares at me and whispers behind my back. I might as well have leprosy the way they all shun me.”
Mom was about to say something then stopped herself and let out a long sigh instead. “I know, Kate, and I’m sorry. But think of Rose and little Jimmy-John. You’re always talking about empathy—try to practice what you preach.”
I clamped my mouth and remained silent for a minute then released a sigh of my own. “Okay. Okay. You’re right. I’m already at rock bottom, so what’s the difference? I agree it’s a horrible situation and I’m sorry. I really am, but…oh, okay…whatever. I guess we’ll cope.”
Both my parents nodded, apparently satisfied that I wasn’t as immature as they’d thought. I was glad I could show them how well I could rise to the occasion. What a faker I was turning out to be. I was the biggest con man there was.
“Okay. So where
are Rose and Jimmy-John now?”
“The Department of Family and Child Services met them at their house, and after doing whatever it is they need to do, they’re bringing them here,” Mom explained. “Your father and I had to qualify as foster parents, but since they know your father in town and he has an excellent reputation, we had no problem offering our services. And the poor kids know us and have been to our home.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand why he did it. Why didn’t he think of his family first? I really hate that man. Because he was such a jerk, Rose and her brother have lived like, well, like pigs for their entire lives.”
“I understand how you feel, honey, but we can’t hate him. We don’t know what kind of stress he was under. Maybe in his convoluted way, he was doing it for his family. You know, trying to get more money for them, yet not knowing how to go about it.” Dad said.
I made a face. “I don’t buy that baloney, Dad. You saw how he was dressed that day we picked them up, and how he acted. He was downright nasty. He swore and yelled at Rose. And, and you saw how cold little Jimmy-John was. No coat. No coat in Missouri in the dead of winter. No, sir. I hate him and I’m not sorry he’s dead.”
“Well, we’ll discuss the moral repercussions of this some other time,” Mom said. “Now we have things to do before they arrive. Honey, you go on upstairs and get changed. I’ve got the guestroom all ready for them. I just need you to put clean towels in the bathroom. Providential I made the room up ahead of time, isn’t it? Although this isn’t the kind of company I had in mind. Oh, well. I thought Rose could have the bed, and your dad could put up the camp cot for Jimmy-John. We decided they shouldn’t be separated at this time. Maybe later, if they’re going to be here long enough, Jimmy-John can take over the guestroom and Rose can move in with you.”
By Any Other Name Page 10
