Chapter 21 Lorna Now
“What do you think?” lorna asked bean, modeling the skirt, blazer, and flat shoes she intended to wear to show Mr. Sanders she was not a loser, despite the evidence he might have to the contrary.
“Umm...” Bean studied her hard. Too hard. “You look like a principal.”
“Okay,” she said uncertainly. “Is that bad or good?”
“I’m scared of my principal,” Bean said.
Lorna groaned. “Ugh.”
While she changed into something less scary, Bean used Lorna’s phone to type in the address of the Community Celebration Church.
He was wearing a giant compass around his neck; she supposed in case Google Maps didn’t work.
But the geographic charting and compassing aside, it wasn’t necessary—Lorna knew exactly where the church was.
It was a huge monolith on MoPac Expressway that attracted people from Austin and surrounding towns.
She remembered that at one point, Kristen had gone there in hopes of spiritual healing.
She wondered what happened with that. She knew only that it was a short-lived effort.
When she and Bean arrived, people were exiting out of the church doors, dispersing to cars in the parking lot. The rehearsal appeared to be over for the day. “Ready?” she asked Bean.
“Ready,” he said solemnly.
They made their way to the large sanctuary.
With all the lighting and sound systems suspended from the ceiling, it looked more like a civic auditorium.
People were picking up their things from the seats and heading for the exits.
Two men remained onstage, and from where Lorna stood, it looked like they were having an argument.
One of them was Mr. Sanders. He looked almost the same as he had when she was a teenager, dressed in his trademark newsboy cap and a gray button-up vest.
“This church is big,” Bean said, looking around him. “Do you think they have a Christmas tree that goes all the way to the ceiling?”
“If they don’t, they should,” Lorna said as she watched the man Mr. Sanders was talking to come off the stage. He turned back and said something, then, with a dismissive wave of his hand, walked up the aisle to the exit.
Mr. Sanders remained onstage, his hands on his hips, staring after the man who disappeared into the foyer. “Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Okay. Here we go.”
“Remember to slow down if you talk too fast,” Bean said. He pressed a tissue into her hand.
“Thanks.” She made herself move.
Mr. Sanders didn’t seem to think anything of a woman and boy moving down the aisle to him when everyone else had left. He was still standing with his hands on his hips, staring at the door the other man had gone through. When they reached the apron of the stage, Lorna cleared her throat.
Mr. Sanders turned his head to look at her. “Yes?”
“Mr. Sanders? Do you recognize me?”
He frowned. “Should I?”
“She threw up onstage in front of a bunch of people,” Bean said. “It went everywhere . I don’t know what color it was, though. When Trey threw up in the bushes, it was yellow.”
“Pardon?” Mr. Sanders asked.
“I’m Lorna Lott. In high school, I had a solo at a choir competition, and unfortunately, I threw up onstage.”
Something clicked in Mr. Sanders’s eyes. “Ah.” He nodded slowly. “Lorna Lott. That was a day. What can I do for you?”
She didn’t like standing below him. “Do you mind if I come up?”
He gestured for them to come onstage. There were stairs immediately to their left, and she walked up, Bean on her heels, and came eye to eye with her former teacher.
She’d remembered Mr. Sanders being a tall man, but either he had shrunk or she had gained yet another inch in her late teens. “How are you?” she asked.
“I’m well. What brings you here?”
Lorna’s palms began to sweat. She felt a little more confident than she had been speaking to Callie... but the whisper of doubt that was her constant companion was getting louder. What am I doing here? He doesn’t even remember me. “Umm... so I came here to apologize.”
“For what?” He looked quite serious. Quite unsure.
“For the mess I made of the choir contest.”
“Why?” He folded his arms. “Is this one of those new age things I hear about? Some TikTok fad?”
“Well... probably,” she admitted. “I’m addressing some events from my past that happened because of my sister. I regret them and would like to apologize.”
“I don’t know why I’m included in that.” He turned slightly, like he meant to walk away.
He clearly had no patience for her apology tour.
She felt on the verge of giving up, of excusing herself for bothering him.
But then Bean touched her leg. He was watching every moment of this exchange, and she realized that, because she’d invited him to be her wingman, he was invested in this.
“My sister,” Lorna repeated. “She was there that night, she and some guy she’d met.
They were in the front row causing a scene. ”
Mr. Sanders’s frown deepened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I remember you getting sick, but I also remember you were a ball of nerves. That was probably my fault, making it a bigger deal than it needed to be.”
“We had a chance to win first place,” she reminded him. “And you would have beaten your college friend.”
“My college friend,” he repeated slowly. “Are you talking about Charles Collins?”
Memories were beginning to jumble, just like in Nana’s house. She’d thought she remembered so clearly but now wondered if she was wrong. Still, she was sure there had been a rivalry, someone Mr. Sanders wanted to beat. She had not pulled that from thin air.
“Ms. Lott, that was nothing,” Mr. Sanders said. “I said that every year to my classes to encourage them to perform at their highest level. We lost the contest before we ever walked onstage.”
“How?” Had she done something to doom them?
“Oh, that girl. Beautiful voice. Can’t remember her name, but she got sick—”
“Jamie McCorkle,” she said automatically.
“That’s it,” he said, pointing at her. “I hope she went on to do something with that instrument of hers. You don’t get many students who can sing like that, believe me.
But when she got sick, we lost any chance we had.
We weren’t good enough. And you were..
. well, what I recall is that you were very earnest in wanting to help, but you didn’t have a lot of talent.
It was your hard work that led to you standing up there.
” He smiled, like she ought to be pleased with his assessment.
“I felt a little sorry for you, to be honest. I put too much pressure on you. Kids get sick when they have a lot of anxiety.”
She’d been filled to the top with anxiety. But he wasn’t remembering correctly. “But my sister—”
“I don’t know anything about a sister,” he said, shaking his head.
How was that possible? Hadn’t everyone seen Kristen and the guy?
It had seemed to Lorna that they were moments away from an audience uproar over their antics.
Had she imagined it? She couldn’t have—she saw them making a scene.
But wait... She’d been a pity backup singer?
And he hadn’t really cared how they did in the contest?
She was suddenly struck with the realization that he had not been harmed by her. He hadn’t even noticed Kristen. For years she had lived with the shame of what she’d done to the one teacher she thought believed in her.
“If you need me to accept your apology, consider it accepted,” he said. “Good to see you,” he added, and turned as if to go.
“Lorna!” Bean said. “You have to make it up to him.”
“What?” Mr. Sanders asked.
“He’s right.” Lorna nodded. “I came here to make amends. It’s part of my... therapy,” she said, uttering that word out loud for the first time. “I am addressing old wounds. For my sake, this time.”
Mr. Sanders looked confused. He rubbed the nape of his neck. “This touchy-feely new age business baffles me.”
“Me too, Mr. Sanders. I just know I need to do this. It’s helping somehow.
” She couldn’t explain how important it was to erase this mark from her slate.
He might not have noticed Kristen, but she had, and she was certain she had not imagined what happened.
“There must be something I can do for you.”
“I can’t think of—” Mr. Sanders suddenly stopped talking, then turned back to look at her. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay!” she said, relieved. “What can I do?”
“Our youth group is putting on a musical this weekend. It’s a fundraiser to send them to Guatemala to help build schools.”
A worthy cause! That was precisely the sort of amends she wanted to make.
This was the kind of thing she wanted to achieve.
She’d do something noble to atone for what happened, to erase her mistake from the universe.
She and Bean beamed at each other. “I can help,” she said quickly, before Mr. Sanders changed his mind.
She could man booths or hand out flyers along with the best of them.
“Well, good. Because my moneylender can’t perform Friday night.”
She nodded, awaiting her instructions.
“So I need a moneylender.”
She was pretty sure he didn’t mean she should literally lend money.
“It’s only one line,” Mr. Sanders continued. “You come in, sing the line, then the townspeople attack and kill you.” He cast his arms out wide, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
“They kill me?” Lorna repeated uncertainly.
“Sure. You’re a hated moneylender.”
“That’s cool!” Bean said enthusiastically. “You get to die .”
“There’s a mattress to fall on if that’s what you’re worried about,” Mr. Sanders said, and pointed to the back of the stage. There, under a black cloth, she could see a lump that she supposed was the mattress.
“Can I try?” Bean asked, already headed for the mattress.