Just Between You and Me

by Jenny B. Jones

  Though Riley’s tone overflows with sass, every time I got up to check on her last night, she was lying on her pallet on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Wide awake.

  God, help me be the support Riley needs. Saying I have no idea what I’m doing right now is like saying Rush Limbaugh’s a little conservative. I have no clue what to do here.

  “What if my mom needs me?” Riley asks.

  “She has more than enough help.”

  My niece shoves a foot into her shoe. “What if Matilda the puppy needs me? What if Connor forgets to feed her?”

  “The man has a mind like a Mac computer. I don’t think he’s ever forgotten anything in his life.” I push her toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  We walk into Mrs. Ellis’s classroom just as Riley’s principal walks out.

  “Hello, Danielle.” Looking prunish as always. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” She glances down at Riley. “Miss Montgomery, we better behave today or else we will not be going on any more field trips. Do we understand?”

  Riley scrunches up her face as she peers up at her principal. “We don’t think that’s correct grammar.” She flops a dismissive hand. “But what do we know? We’re failing language arts.”

  I pull my niece to me and dig my fingers into her scrawny shoulder. “So . . . Danielle, are you going with us today?”

  She sniffs her perfectly straight nose. “No. I have too many responsibilities here. I can’t just take off like some people.”

  “My aunt works for a TV show. She gets to do lots of cool things.”

  Somehow my hand finds its way to Riley’s mouth. “Why don’t you go check us in, sweetie.” I pat her on the top of her red head. “Now.” I give a nervous little laugh as Riley walks away. “Kids. Aren’t they precious?”

  Danielle stares back at me with nothing resembling maternal kindness. “I should warn you that Connor is a sucker for wounded animals.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, cool thing he’s a vet then, eh?”

  She crosses her arms over her tailored black jacket. “I mean he’ll help anyone. Anything. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea about any time he spends with you.”

  “Oh.” Awkward! Psycho!

  Danielle steps forward on spiked heels. “You used to have all the boys dangling from your finger back in school, didn’t you? Well, you know what, this isn’t our senior year.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  Her eyes narrow to reptilian slits. “Some people tend to take advantage of Connor’s generosity. I’m sure you won’t be one of them.”

  “Connor isn’t exactly doormat material. I bet he can take care of himself.” Calm down, Maggie. Ease the tone.

  “His fiancée all but stood him up at the altar six months ago. Left him two days before the wedding. I guess his friends and I are a little protective of him.”

  Well, Dr. Blake didn’t mention that little facet of the story. “I’m sure he appreciates having a good friend, though, to look out for him. Everyone needs someone to watch his back.”

  Her left eye does this twitchy thing that has me squinting. “Just take care of your niece and your sister and leave the rest to those of us who actually care about Ivy.”

  Ivy . . . or a certain veterinarian?

  “It was nice to see you again, Danielle.” Nice like a mosquito bite on the butt is nice.

  One bumpy, loud bus ride later, I’m still fuming over that woman. Who does she think she is? First of all, Connor has not said a word about dating her. And two, like I’m moving in on him anyway. I’m sure. I have four days left here.

  I peek to the back of the bus where Riley sits with a small white-headed girl. Every time Riley turns to speak, the girl just bows her head and nods.

  Decisions have to be made. I know I need to make arrangements for Riley’s care. Her mom is not going to be in any shape to help. Dad said this morning he was calling a treatment facility in Dallas. Supposed to be one of the best in Texas. So Allison will be out of commission for at least sixty days. Maybe I should think about transferring to another cable network and forget National Geographic. Forget Passport to the World. Something that doesn’t involve so much travel. Like HGTV. Surely a network about home can’t involve too many trips. And then I could fly in on long weekends to be with Riley. Maybe once a month. Every six weeks? And she could come visit during school breaks. God, I want a chance to be the fun aunt. I don’t want to be the loser aunt anymore. I really think Riley’s warming up to me.

  I look back again, catch her eye, and wave big. She sticks out her tongue and turns toward the window. Maybe she’ll perk up when she sees I brought my video camera to film our fun day.

  Knowing her, she’ll find a way to feed it to the fish.

  The bus finally comes to a stop, and I put on my brave face and climb out. I can handle this, right? Twenty-five kids. Some animals. Piece of cake.

  By noon I’m about ready to throw myself off the observation tower. I’ve had three girls glued to me for the entire three-mile hike, one mom who will not shut up about a Mary Kay makeover, and I’m pretty sure there is something crawling down my shirt.

  The tour guide stops and identifies yet another plant species. The kids scribble the name down on their field trip journals, and I zoom my camera on my niece, who continues her routine of ignoring me. She’s doing a really great job.

  Mrs. Ellis catches up to me in her sensible Easy Spirits. “It’s so nice of you to join us today. Riley seems to be coming out of her shell a bit.”

  Coming out of her shell or retiring the boxing gloves? “Actually I wanted to speak with you about getting a reading tutor for Riley. I’m going to be leaving this week, and I need to get some things lined up for her first.” I explain my discovery about Riley’s low reading skills.

  Mrs. Ellis is not the least bit surprised. “I had spoken with her mother about it”—she drops her voice—“before she took off. But she told me quite plainly to mind my own business.”

  “Her mother is going to be out of the picture for a few months.” I fill Mrs. Ellis in on the basics of Allison. “I’m only telling you this in case you observe Riley acting out.” I pause. “That is, more than usual. Well, I mean if it escalates to a level you’ve yet to see.” Like she sets a classmate on fire or takes hostages on the playground. “She doesn’t say so, but I know she’s scared. Things are so up in the air with her mom.”

  Mrs. Ellis holds back a low tree branch. “I’m sure it’s a frightening time for all of you.”

  I grow uncomfortable as she spares me a quick, maternal gaze packed with pity and other variations on sympathy.

  “I think I’ll go find my niece.”

  “We’re getting ready to cross the Little Sugar Creek bridge,” our guide announces. “We ask that you grab your buddy’s hand as you walk across. It’s only wide enough for two, though, and it might still be a little slippery from this morning’s rain, so please be careful.”

  I glance at Riley, but she quickly latches on to her friend Sarah’s hand. The two get in line and cross the wooden planked walkway that covers the flowing creek.

  “This also serves as a bike trail, as well as a nature hike,” the guide says as he steps to the other side. “The water can get as low as four feet during the dry season. The water’s a bit higher now—about five feet. We’ve had a lot of rain lately, so it’s pretty close to the bridge. Please keep your feet out of the water, though. No dipping, no dangling. You don’t want a fish to reach up and grab you.”

  The kids laugh. I do not.

  I grab the hand of Lucy, one of the little girls who only moments ago was attached to me like a sock with static cling. “Ready to go?” I gently lead her toward the bridge. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. You’re perfectly safe.

  “Hey, I want to hold Maggie’s hand!”

  “Me too!”

  Once again I’m surrounded by all three girls. “Now, Jessie, you grab Leyla’s hand. I’ve got Lucy’s. There’s only room fo
r two of us to cross at a time.”

  The girls press in closer until I’m standing on the edge.

  “I want to go with Maggie.”

  “I do!”

  “Ladies, please. Move back, Jessie. There isn’t room. Leyla, step away. Get back before I—”

  Fall.

  With one push from Jessie’s hip, I lose my delicate balance.

  And tumble over the side of the bridge.

  I sink beneath the surface, as voices mingle in my head. Shouts come from above. Have to get out. Can’t breathe. Can’t move.

  I close my eyes against the sting, and see my father. “Can’t you do anything? I’m trying to teach you how to swim, and you won’t even pay attention. Now paddle, for crying out loud! Look at your sister. She’s already diving.”

  “I’m trying, Dad.”

  “Try harder. You’d have to be stupid not to get this. Quit holding your nose like a baby.”

  My arms and legs finally move, and I paddle with all I’ve got. But it’s no use. My limbs grow heavy. My mind swirls in a black fog. And I just give in and go lax.

  So this is how it’s going to be.

  Water took my mother’s life.

  And now it’s finally come for mine.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Death by field trip. What did I ever do to deserve this?

  An arm belts around my waist. My head bobs as I’m pulled up, up. Toward the light.

  We break through the surface, and I suck in air with my whole body. My chest shudders in spastic coughs.

  “Hang on, ma’am. Almost got you out.”

  Did that seriously just happen? I struggle to open my eyes. I want to go home. I want to crawl in my bed and never see anyone again. I want this water out of my lungs. I cough until there’s nothing left, as our guide in his Natural Science Center shirt lowers me onto the ground.

  “Are you okay?” He leans down like he’s going to give me mouth-to-mouth.

  “Don’t even try it.” I push his face away and give into another coughing fit. “That bridge is not safe.” I spit out some water. “Not safe for children especially. You must have hundreds of people fall every year.”

  “Actually in twenty years, you’re the first.” He shakes his head. “I kept waiting for you to stand up.”

  “Stand? I guess I was too busy fighting for my life.”

  “Ma’am, did you hear me say that river’s only about five feet right now?”

  I push the hair from my eyes. “No, I guess I didn’t.” My head was too full from all the plant species. And I don’t even want to think about the condition of my video camera.

  I rise to a sitting position and find twenty-five children staring at me with wonder. One claps hesitantly. As I’m helped to my feet, the applause grows until the forest resounds with the noise. I cover my face with my hands and groan. Thank you for rescuing me, God. You saved me from the water . . . only to kill me with humiliation.

  It’s everything I can do not to cry. My hands shake as I wring out my hair.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” the guide asks. “We have a nurse on staff.”

  “No,” I say a little too sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m . . . I’m not really a swimmer.” Haven’t been in the water in years. Never wanted to return.

  By the time I drive us home, my hair is dried into a tangle of yuck, and my hands won’t quit shaking.

  I turn off the car and unsnap my belt. “I’m sorry, Riley.” I scan my overloaded brain for something to say. “I know today was a little embarrassing.”

  She turns in her seat. “A little embarrassing?”

  I bite my bottom lip. “Okay . . . a lot.”

  “Are you kidding me?” she squeals. “It was totally cool! It was like something from America’s Funniest Home Videos. Those girls just butted you right off that bridge.” She gives my hand an awkward pat. “You seriously rocked today, Aunt Maggie.”

  She springs out of her seat and into the house. I sit in the car for another five minutes.

  Knowing Dad won’t be home from work for a few hours, I go straight to the kitchen to see what I can make for dinner. I’ll take Riley to see her mom afterward. And after my shower.

  I peel open the refrigerator door. And just stand there. Seeing nothing.

  Nothing but water. Blackness. I close my eyes, and I’m right back there. I hate that feeling of powerlessness. Out of control. Out of my hands. My body not obeying my brain. What is wrong with me? God, why can’t I get over this? I’ve conquered so many things, met so many challenges head-on. Yet today just proved . . . some things you can never leave behind.

  Deciding we can just do pizza later, I make my way upstairs and climb into the shower. I stand under the heated spray and let it wash away the grime, the bug spray, and eventually my tears.

  People walked through fire in the Bible. And I can’t even handle five feet of water.

  Three shampoos and two body scrubs later, I sit on the back porch, my hair damp and free flowing. I sink into the deck chair and curl my legs around me, letting the lowering sun warm my chilled skin. I close my eyes and rest my head against the back of the chair and try to think calm thoughts. Kitties. Roses. Flip-flops. Strawberry ice cream. Tax refunds.

  “Anyone home?”

  I jump at the voice, my hand going to my throat. “Oh.” Connor Blake steps from the grass onto the porch. “You scared me.”

  His eyes scan me over, miss nothing. “You okay?”

  I run my fingers through my damp strands, foolishly wishing I had taken the time to dry it. Style it. Put on makeup. A good push-up bra. “Sure. How are you?”

  In one step he’s on the porch, grabbing the seat beside me. He rests his elbows on his khaki pants. “How did the field trip go?”

  Horrid. Disastrous. A nightmare of epic proportions. “I think Riley had a really good time. It was nice to see her smile.”

  “That’s it?”

  “The bologna sandwiches at lunch were a little rubbery, but other than that, yeah. Good field trip for the kids.”

  He shifts forward until he’s perched on the edge of his seat. Inches away. “You look like crap.”

  My eyes narrow. “And that, Connor Blake, is why you didn’t have a prom date.”

  His smile tells me my arrow did not hit a weak spot. “Riley called me to check on the dog. She mentioned you were the highlight of the trip.”

  I press my eyes together. “I’m really tired. Keeping up with a gaggle of screaming, wiggly, sticky fourth graders has worn me out.”

  “What happened today?”

  “Nothing.” What is it about this guy that makes me want to blurt it all out? To just blab my life history and catch him up on the whirling disaster occurring in my heart.

  He reaches out a strong hand, his healer’s hand, and rests it on my knee. “You’re shaking.”

  I know. And I can’t stop. “Just chilly tonight, I guess.”

  “Maggie, it’s practically record-breaking heat for April.”

  I take my eyes off his hand and look into his face. “Did you want something or is this part of some veterinarian outreach program? I’m sure there are other people in town who need your company.”

  His smile doesn’t let up. “I’m sorry you had a bad day.”

  My eyes sting at his humongous understatement, but if I cry in front of Connor, it will be the cherry on top of a humbling, soul-crushing day. “Just back off, Doctor. I’m fine.”

  “You know what I think?”

  “You hope pocket protectors will make a comeback?”

  His face grows serious. “I think you’re hiding—”

  “Maggie?”

  My head snaps up at my dad’s voice as he pushes open the back screen.

  “Hey, Dad.” For once, I’m glad to see him. Perfect timing.

  Connor stands up and shakes Dad’s hand. “Mr. Montgomery.”

  Dad looks between us, but his face reveals nothing. “I’m taking Riley to get something to eat, then on to the
hospital. Saw Allison at lunch today, and she looked a lot better. She was coherent, but tired.”

  “Okay.” I tunnel my fingers through my hair and sigh with exhaustion. “I’ll get my purse. Connor, thanks for stopping by.” My tone is about as sincere as a politician’s apology.

  “Hope you get to . . . feeling better.”

  I’m saved from a response as my phone rings in my pocket. I check the screen. Work. “I’d better take this. Hello?”

  “Maggie, we need to talk.” Carley. Great. Just what I need.

  “Just a sec, Carley.” I put my hand over the phone and whisper to Dad. “You and Riley go ahead. I’ll drive to St. Raphael’s myself. This could be awhile.” I wiggle my fingers good-bye to both men.

  Letting myself back into the house, I talk as I climb the stairs to my room. “Did you get the footage I sent you?” Yesterday I finally got the nerve to send Carley a piece of my documentary file.

  “Yeah, Maggie, but what is it? I thought you were sending me something for a new show idea. What I saw looked more like a Save the Children infomercial.”

  “I just . . . I know it’s not right for Passport to the World, but maybe one of our sister networks?”

  Carley laughs. “Why?”

  “Why?” What kind of question is that? I finally break down and share it with her and this is what I get? “Because I think there’s a story there, Carley. I mean, we go to all these places and report on the travel culture, but what about the dark side? What about some of the things we’ve seen and ignore or edit out? Child trafficking, poverty, child prostitution, kids who—”

  “That’s not what we’re about. Look, I thought it was gripping stuff, but it didn’t entertain me.”

  “It’s not supposed to.” I sit down on my bed and fall backward onto the pillows. “I sent it to you for your professional opinion. I just think . . . I don’t know.”

  “I don’t either. I mean, I seriously don’t know about that footage. But I know our show can’t use it, and I can’t think of anyone who could. Who wants to see children in these circumstances? Maggie, consider our demographic. Consider what marketing would say. These are hard times for everyone, and people want an escape. That’s what our network provides. They don’t want to be depressed even further with images they can’t do anything about.”