Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
RUBY
STIRRING SILENCE
Istared at the oversized round clock on the wall of my festive first-grade classroom. Outside my casement windows, gentle snow fell lightly, displaying the first signs of a winter wonderland that singers made millions of dollars of royalties singing about.
The subtle beauty of the landscape didn’t match the sense of dread creeping into my spirit. Every December, the ominous countdown to Christmas weighed on me like lead. Loneliness at the holidays was real, making me wish I could hibernate until it was time to return to school in the new year.
I tapped the sole of my brown leather ankle boots against the tile floor and checked my watch. I only had an hour left before my adorable students left for winter break. Most of them would be going to Farmerton’s annual Christmas parade immediately after our half-day session.
The school system might as well call me a babysitter, since our Georgia community was predicted to be the recipient of an unexpected snowstorm unlike one the region had ever seen.
Our local meteorologist predicted a steady stream of light snow that was scheduled to end before a heavier front moved in from the north.
The excitement of many of the kids seeing snow for the first time had them distracted. From experience, I knew that not a lick of work was going to get done at Farmerton Elementary today. Even when I presented Christmas-themed math and reading worksheets, my students couldn’t concentrate.
I finally gave up and told them to sit on colorful little bean bag chairs and floor mats around the TV on the cart.
They grazed like little cows enjoying their apple juice boxes, chips, and cookies as Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer streamed.
I thumbed through arts and crafts catalogs in preparation for the beaded bracelets I’d make over the next few weeks.
“Is Santa coming to your house, Ms. Starks?” Esther Stallings, one of my most precocious students, ran up to me during a bathroom break and placed a small red gift bag with a candy cane poking out of it on the corner of my desk.
“Yes. I’ve been a good girl this year.” I spoke the words to my little gap-toothed student with confidence.
“Me too.” Aspen Snowden bounced her head around as the small, clear beads in her hair clinked.
I smiled at both girls as I imagined how adorable my little girl LaRue would have been. The Stallings and Snowdens were blessed to have such precious angels to spoil this Christmas.
The rest of the day was uneventful. The bell finally rang, pulling me from my pre-Christmas routine at Farmerton for the past five years. I was a pro at this.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
“Bye, Ms. Starks. See you next year!” Student after student hugged me before rushing out of the class and into the wide hall toward the school’s front entrance, where buses and parents waited for them.
I followed behind them, electricity filling the air as adults and children scurried up and down the halls with their arms full of Christmas gifts and leftover food from holiday parties.
When the hallways cleared of kids, my colleagues’ voices got louder and jollier as professionalism left the building with our students.
“Don’t let Santa eat your cookies, ho!” Laneesha, our over-the-top music teacher, called out to Mrs. Plano, the oldest cafeteria worker in our building, who still had on her hair net and uniform.
I turned, wondering if Laneesha had a death wish. To my surprise, Mrs. Plano cracked a huge smile and chuckled as she flicked her wrist Laneesha’s way.
“You so crazy, girl. You know Mr. Plano is the only man who samples my fresh baked goods.”
My eyes widened. The world must be ending since I didn’t know Mrs. Plano had such a raunchy sense of humor.
Where had I been? It was as if the employees of Farmerton Elementary had been released from prison and could finally run free. I hadn’t seen these folks this happy since before the first day of school.
“Have fun in Vegas!” Ms. Reese, one of the new teachers at our school, who was an endless bundle of energy, waved at Cyrus Rivers, our newly married assistant principal, as they passed each other in the hall.
“Thank you. I will.” Cyrus spoke with tight lips and an even stiffer posture.
Instead of looking at Ms. Reese, Cyrus turned his narrow head my way and squinted as if I were the one wishing him well.
“Hi, Cyrus.” I lifted my hand and lowered it quickly.
“Ruby.” Cyrus said my name like it was a curse word and crunched his face like he smelled a skunk.
He’d asked me out countless times over the years, but I turned him down every time.
Nothing about his narrow frame and darting eyes appealed to me.
Even his screechy voice grated my nerves.
When his clammy hand first shook mine, I wanted to wash it with bleach.
Thank goodness he finally gave up pursuing me.
Three months after his last request, Cyrus got engaged to the oldest daughter of Farmerton’s African Methodist Episcopal pastor.
I saw Daisy St. John’s somewhat homely self in the grocery store last week.
Cyrus must have said something crazy about me because she mean-mugged me like I was a debt collector coming to repo her used Ford Fusion with its bald tires.
As we passed, I noticed her protruding belly.
Cyrus may have been a dud to me, but he obviously knew how to charm somebody and put it down on his new wife.
Cyrus’s face got sourer as he paused near my classroom door and stared at me as if he wanted to have a conversation.
“You okay?” I spoke kindly despite wanting to put my hands on my hips and ask him what his doggone problem was.
“Yes, I am, Ms. Starks.”
We stared each other down like we were about to duel. He was so passive-aggressive, probably expecting me not to show out at work. I hated that he thought he could flex since he had a little title and was getting some cooch every night.
“How’s your wife?” I crossed my arms and smiled sweetly.
He blinked rapidly and darted his eyes around as if I had shared a big secret.
I’m glad I didn’t date your trifling behind. I wanted to tell him that but pursed my lips instead, throwing his nasty energy right back at him.
Within seconds, I was convicted for being so ugly.
“Merry Christmas, Cyrus.” I gave him a faint smile.
“Okay,” he mumbled before scurrying away.
I sighed.
Maybe Cyrus was misunderstood like me. The past was the past. Or at least it should have been.
When I reentered the quiet area of my nine-hundred-square-foot classroom, I closed my eyes, inhaling and exhaling the strong scent of the pine and fig-scented air freshener behind my desk. It reminded me of years long gone that were full of good memories.
Who was I to judge Cyrus? He had someone to love, and I had what? Coupons to clip? A cheap bracelet to string?
When he sat with us in the teachers’ lounge earlier this month seeking input for his Las Vegas honeymoon itinerary, I listened carefully.
As everyone offered advice about restaurants and shows to see on the Strip, I silently critiqued whether I’d gone to each one and enjoyed that spot.
I munched my sugar cookie and drank my overly sweet red punch, knowing the likelihood of my leaving Farmerton to go back to Vegas was slim to none.
I hadn’t traveled more than two hundred miles since I moved back over five years ago. I told myself that I liked my boundaries and that the lure of any city where I couldn’t sleep in my bed for the night didn’t appeal to me. If everything I needed wasn’t at 716 County Road 45, I didn’t need it.
That’s a lie, and you know it.
When I opened my eyes, I took in the festive decorations of the room with my hands on my hips.
As far as the eye could see, red and green holly, plastic snow-frosted cranberry garland, and anything that looked like winter or Christmas covered the cinder block walls.
No one could deny that I had a flair for decorating.
My artificial six-foot-tall Christmas tree was bare now, but hours ago, it was weighed down with the homemade ornaments that my first graders spent thirty minutes a day creating for the past week.
From clothespins reindeer with small red pompom noses to green felt trees lined with glitter, every ornament elevated my tree to a fire hazard of the first degree.
Although my kids weren’t expert artists, the beautifully decorated tree displayed symmetry that a mathematician would be proud of.
Christmas tree decorating was one of the many crafty skills my interior designer mother taught me.
Just like the three over-the-top trees she decorated in our home when I was a child, my Walmart clearance tree was perfect in every way, at least in my eyes.
Even Farmerton’s mayor agreed when he dropped in after speaking at our school assembly last week.
Decorate from left to right. Spread out ornaments of the same size and shape.
I heard my mother’s voice in my head as I opened the pictures I took today on my phone.
Eighteen bright-eyed students stood in front of the tree and posed like little angels before we placed their ornaments carefully in plastic bags for delivery to their parents.
“Guess what time it is?” My friend Nick Braxton’s shrill voice drew me from my musings when he burst into my classroom like an unexpected snowstorm.
He always acted hyper as Farmerton Elementary’s PE teacher. I joked that many of the kids were calmer than he was. Nick raised a piece of fake mistletoe over the threshold of my door as it closed behind him. He puckered his thick lips like he wanted a kiss.
Nick loved acting like he had a crush on me, but I knew better. Although I was above average attractive, I was the last person he wanted to date. From the minute I came back to Farmerton, I became the object of his fake affection. Game knew game and could spot his cover-up a mile away.