I pad to the fridge, my running socks sliding across the beige tiled floor. Opening the door, I stand there until I find the juice.
The phone on the wall rings, and I stay in my spot holding my Minute Maid. Do I answer it? On the seventh persistent ring, I pick it up. “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Yes?”
“Your dad.”
“I know.” I do a Riley eye roll.
“You have to go get your niece at school.”
I glance at the clock. “She’s only been there thirty minutes. How much trouble could she have possibly have gotten into?”
“I can’t leave work. We have union reps coming today to discuss the company shutting down.”
“So Reliant Tires is definitely closing. Why didn’t you tell me?”
A buzzer sounds in the background. “I gotta go. Please get her.”
“But wait, I—”
The line goes dead. I down two coffee mugs of juice and pray that Jesus and the vitamin C will get me through the day.
Twenty minutes later, I walk into the Ivy Elementary office.
“I’m here for Riley Montgomery.” My sister had known from the beginning Riley’s father wouldn’t be in the picture, so Riley carries on our name. Crazy like the rest of us.
The secretary’s lips thin. “Just a moment.” She picks up the phone and talks for a moment. “Mrs. Chapel will see you now.” She points to the hall behind her.
“Mrs. Chapel?”
“The principal.”
“Oh.” Boy, does that bring back memories. I follow the direction of her finger and find an open door. I knock twice.
A thin woman stands at her desk. “Come in.” She shakes my hand with a weak grip.
“I’m Maggie Mont—” I clamp my mouth shut, recognizing a look I’m coming to know. Let me guess. You went to high school with me, I tormented you in some fashion, and you’re still slightly bitter.
“You don’t remember me?” The brunette takes her seat, and I do the same.
I stare at the nameplate on her desk. The degrees on the wall behind her.
“Of course I do, Danielle.” Squinting, squinting. “Danielle Pierce, right?”
She doesn’t look convinced. “Yes. Chapel now. I’m divorced.”
“I’m sorry.”
She slowly blinks. “For what?”
“For grades seven through twelve. Okay, now about Riley.”
Danielle stares at me a lingering moment before taking her red nails and opening a manila file. “Yes, little Riley. Today she started a fight.”
“In class?”
“Before school. On the playground.”
“Why?”
Danielle lifts a dainty shoulder. “She said some girls were picking on a student named Sarah, but Sarah denied it, and so did the girl whose nose she bloodied.”
“Anything broken?”
“No. Did you want it to be?”
I straighten at her viper’s tone. I’ll have to ask Beth what I did to this chick. “No, of course not. I was never into violence myself. I guess fighting was the one thing I stayed away from.” That and head gear.
“The child will be fine, but obviously she went home for the day and her parents are quite upset.”
“I’m sure they are.”
“Riley has built quite a file in the month we’ve had her.” Danielle thumbs through the pages. “She’s pulled a fire alarm, let the class gerbil loose, tripped a boy, put glue in a substitute’s chair, thrown chicken nuggets at a classmate, and run away multiple times.”
I have no idea what to say here. “I’m getting familiar with her behavioral issues.”
Danielle closes the file with a slap. “I know your father has gone back to work, so who is taking care of this child after school and the evenings he has to go in?”
“Um . . .”
“Mr. Montgomery mentioned you were coming for an extended visit to help out with Riley.”
“Did he?”
“How long will you be staying?”
I swallow and meet Danielle’s icy gaze. “Indefinitely.”
One big lecture, a few warnings, and lots of advice later, I’m driving down the road with my niece, nauseated by the knowledge that I’m staying another week. God, why me? Why now?
“You missed your turn, Auntie M.”
“Watch the tone, Rocky Balboa. What were you thinking, punching a little girl in the face?”
“I was thinking she needed to get her paws off Sarah. She’s the one who’s little.”
“The principal said Sarah backed up the other girl’s story that you attacked without any reason.”
Riley huffs and stares out the window. “Whatever.”
“No, don’t whatever me. Give me the truth here.”
“Nobody believes me anyway. What’s the point?”
“Try me.”
“Like you care.”
I yank the car over on the shoulder and jerk the gear in park. “Riley, I do care. I don’t want my niece knocking in people’s faces or pulling fire alarms or whatever else it is you have up your sleeve.” Tattered sleeve at that. “You cannot act that way.”
She turns her head so that all I can see is the back of her curly red head.
“Look at me.”
Nothing.
I take a deep breath and let out a sigh that could only belong to a woman out of her league with a kid. “I know things are hard right now.”
“You don’t know nothing about me.”
“I know when your birthday is.”
She tosses me a fierce look over her shoulder. “I know when Zac Efron’s birthday is, but that doesn’t mean jack diddley.”
“I’m your aunt.”
She laughs. “Lot of good that does me. I’ve seen you, like, three times in my entire life?”
I roll my shoulders and try to dislodge the guilt sitting there. “I sent you birthday and Christmas presents.” Good ones too. Like a Wii and a scooter.
Riley whips her head around. “Yeah, thanks. Mom hocked them all. Maybe next time I could just get some socks or a few pencils—something she won’t steal.”
Oh. “I . . . I didn’t know.” What in the world has Allison put this child through? If I had only known, I—
Who am I kidding? I don’t know what I would’ve done. My sister didn’t really want anything to do with me, and I didn’t fight it. It was always easier to just stay away. Stay away from it all.
“Riley, I don’t know what your mom told you about me, but I’m not a horrible person. I do care about you.” This is the part where I should say I love you. But I can’t. We’d both know I’m lying.
“Can we just go home?”
“We’re going to Target.”
“Hello, I just slugged Megan Oberman. You’re supposed to yell at me, take me home, send me to my room, then yell at me some more.” She blows air out her lips. “Don’t you know anything?”
“You know what you did was wrong. Even if Sarah needed taking up for, you don’t hit someone. You tell an adult.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
“There won’t be a next time. And we have to get you some clothes and a new bedspread. That purple one went out with the New Kids on the Block. So just tell your grandpa that I thoroughly yelled at you, and we’ll call it good.”
“Grandpa doesn’t yell at me.”
“Right.” I’ve never known him to hold back on any man, woman, or fist-wielding child.
I can feel her weighty stare. “That’s it?”
“Yep. As long as you cooperate and help me shop.” I hit the exit marked Grapevine.
She chews her lip and considers this. “I’m not wearing pink.”
“Fair enough.”
“And if you get me a Hannah Montana bedspread, I’ll pull every fire alarm in Target I can find.”
“Deal.” I stick out my fist, and Riley lifts a scornful brow. “Bump it. Come on.”
A small giggle escapes, but s
he reels it back in. “You are so lame.”
Chapter Eight
Carley, I know it’s bad timing. But my family is in crisis, and they need me.” I pace my bedroom as my producer lists all the reasons why I need to be on a plane to Taiwan tomorrow morning. “Just a week. That’s all I’m asking for. Plus it will be a great chance for that intern to get some more camera experience.” Knowing I have an impressive collection of vacation days, Carley finally agrees. But her disappointment practically reaches through the phone to tap me on the shoulder and shake its head in shame.
Okay, God. You got me here. For a week. But that’s all I can do. And I’m gonna need you to get me through every minute. You and SweeTarts. And Jolly Ranchers. And I might have to go to the hard stuff and get some Chunky Monkey.
I walk down the stairs to the smell of tacos.
“The principal says you have to apologize.” My dad sets a plate in front of Riley.
Riley’s upper lip lifts in a snarl. “The principal looks like she sucks lemons all day.”
True. “Oh, just apologize and get it over with,” I say, going to the silverware drawer. “And tomorrow keep your hands to yourself.”
“Speaking of tomorrow.” Dad walks back to the stove. “I have to go in to work early. I need you to take Riley to school.”
“Why are you working, Dad?”
“For the fun of it. Get the kid something to drink.”
“The kid wants a Dr Pepper,” Riley says.
Dad looks at me over his shoulder. “Milk or water.”
“Why isn’t Maggie cooking?” Riley asks as I grab the two percent.
“Because she can’t.” Dad stirs the ground beef. “Just like her mama. Terrible cooks.”
As the refrigerator blasts cool air on my skin, memories flash through my mind. Me trying to please my dad by making a pork chop dinner. I burned those chops, and all he could say was, “Can’t you do anything?” I think I’ve been trying to answer that question all my life.
“Has my mom called?” Riley asks.
The kitchen falls silent.
Dad focuses on transferring the food to a serving dish. “No. I’m sure she will. She’s just getting her head together.”
“I’m going to church Sunday.” My own announcement surprises even me. “Who wants to join me?”
Dad sits down at the table. “Have to work.”
Riley grabs a taco shell. “Me too.”
“I don’t want to go alone, Riley. You can go with me.” I’ll call Beth and see where she goes.
“Nah.”
“I took you shopping today.”
Her green eyes narrow. “You gonna hold that over my head the rest of my life or just this week?”
“That new black skirt and rocker T-shirt would look great at church. There might be some cute boys there.”
“Boys are stupid.”
“There might be some new people to beat up.”
“Maggie,” my dad warns.
After a dessert of ice cream and chocolate syrup, Riley pushes her bowl away. “I’m gonna go up and watch TV.”
“Do your homework first.” Dad’s voice leaves no room for argument, but Riley doesn’t seem the least bit fazed.
“Homework is dull.”
“So’s working at McDonald’s all your life.” I tweak a stray curl and make a mental note to get her a hair appointment. “Go on up and get started on your school work. I’ll join you in a bit and help you hang your new curtains.”
With a sigh that comes from the tips of her toes, she squeaks the chair across the floor and shuffles out of the room.
“I’ve decided to stay for a week.”
Dad looks up from his coffee, surprise lighting his eyes. “Um . . . good.”
I guess that means thanks.
“I might not find your sister in seven days. Or another babysitter.”
“I can’t live here. I have to go back to work. I have a life in Chicago.” And then there’s John. He’s left six messages in the last two days. I guess my deep, meaningful four-word texts haven’t been enough to satisfy him. But I said we needed space.
At midnight I put my book down, slip on a light robe, and traipse down the hall in my bare feet. I turn the knob on Riley’s door and slowly push it open with a creak.
Walking forward in the dark, I head for her bed and—oomph!
“Ow!” comes her voice from below.
I trip over a hard lump in the floor and careen into her mattress face first. Getting my bearings, I switch on her bedside lamp. “What are you doing down there?”
She sits up. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re sleeping on the floor with your new comforter.”
Riley stares at her hands and blinks at the light. “I’m pretending to have a campout.”
“Why?”
“Because I just am. Go away. If I fall asleep over my multiplication tables tomorrow, it’s going to be your fault. What are you doing in here anyway?”
I rub the knee I banged on the bed frame. “Checking on you.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . because that’s what adults do!” Isn’t it? It just seemed right. Until I stepped on her and went airborne.
Eyes of fire look up at me. “You’re not my mom.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
My niece flops back on her pillow and throws the comforter over her head. “Go away.”
“Riley, I—”
“Try to walk around me this time.”
I twist the knob on her lamp and carefully let myself out of her room. It’s like I have no maternal skills. No child instinct. I need Mary Poppins.
Slipping into my own bed, I close my eyes and let sleep pull me under. And a familiar dream lures me further into the darkness.
“Maggie—”
I’m at the Ivy Lake pier. Moonlight spills out onto the water like light from heaven. “Mom?”
She stands on the top of the gentle waves and holds out a hand. “Come on out.”
My feet are stuck to the worn boards of the pier. “No. I can’t.”
“What are you so afraid of?”
The water laps at the pier and splashes on my feet. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”
“Just step out here with me, Maggie.” Her hair floats around her face, red and wavy like mine. Then she slips beneath the watery surface, inch by slow inch.
My breath hitches in my throat, tears pour down my cheeks. “I’ll go for help. Just don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.” I run the planks toward the shore.
“You’re going the wrong direction,” she calls.
But I just keep running.
And running.
The next morning I wake up with a mouth of cotton and bags under my eyes big enough to carry a small child. I spend some time with my Bible before I even put my feet on the floor, searching the pages for some encouragement.
A few chapters later, I throw my hair in a ponytail, walk down the hall, and blast Riley awake with some off-key singing. “If you don’t get up, I’m moving on to the one and only Hannah Montana song I know.”
Riley’s eyes pop open. “I’m getting up.”
I give her my best go-team pep talk all the way to school, and I’m pleased with the submissive way she sits there and listens, quietly taking in my every word. It isn’t until she opens the car door at Ivy Elementary that I notice she’s had my iPod on the whole time. I reach for the ear buds and tweak them out of her ears. “I’ll just keep this. And you look totally cute in your new outfit today. Keep your hands to yourself and no food throwing, alarm pulling, or teacher gluing.”
“Fine. Don’t forget to pick me up. School gets out at two-thirty.”
“Nice try. See you at three.” Which means I have to be in the car-rider line at, like, eleven a.m. I swear some of those moms must camp out the night before.
At two-fifty, I’m one of a string of adults at Ivy Elementary waiting to pick up a child. I’ve read a
chapter in a book, filed my nails, and done the crossword in People. And there’s still time left.
My door flings open and Beth jumps inside. “Hey, girl! I thought this was your car.”
Yes! An adult to talk to. “I don’t know how you do this every day.”
She runs her fingers through her dark bangs. “I thought you were leaving today.”
I shrug and sigh. How do I even explain this? “Riley’s going through a really hard time. I just had no idea.” My cheeks burn with guilt. “Allison and I were never close, but after Riley was born, she really shut me out. She made sure I had nothing to do with her. If I was home visiting, Allison would make sure she was out of town.” I shake my head and look into my friend’s compassionate face. “I don’t even know my own niece. I’m the worst aunt ever.”
“No, you’re not.” Beth grabs my hand and pats it. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”
“For a week. And then what?” So many questions. What if Allison doesn’t come back? And even if she does, is she fit to raise her own daughter? “I really don’t know what I’m supposed to do about any of this.”
“You know what you need?”
“A vacation in Maui?”
Beth shakes her head. “Dinner at my house.”
“I should probably stay home.”
“No, come on. Mark’s taking the kids to his mom’s for the evening, and we can hang out. You have a whole week ahead of you.”
Ugh. Don’t remind me. A whole week with my dad. And in a town that won’t let me forget that I bungee jumped off the water tower in the eleventh grade.
“I won’t take no for an answer.” Beth swats my shoulder. “We’ll have fun. Besides, you’ve never seen my house.”
“I don’t know.”
“If you come, I’ll forgive you for not visiting one single time in the last decade.”
My resolve crumbles like a stale brownie. “What time?”
After saying good-bye to Beth, I finally creep to the front of the line. Leaning across the seat, I open Riley’s door and wave. “Hey there.”
Riley stomps toward me and sticks her head in. “Mrs. Ellis needs to see you.”
“Who?”
“My teacher. She’s a cow.”
I move the car to a nearby parking spot and climb out. “What’s this about?” I ask Riley.
Just Between You and Me Page 5
