Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
POLLY
I told Georgie and the others that for a cheeseburger, I'd do just about anything. But having an alien lay claim to me feels . . . weird. I don't even get a choice? This is like me saying "I want a cheeseburger" and someone slapping a pickle into my hand and saying, "Fuck you, you get a pickle.”
Ruby Dixon , Barbarian Alien
D r. Alberton,
Attached is a list of the events pertaining to the Judge’s bid for the Supreme Court nomination to which he requests the attendance of you and/or your children. Please let me know at your earliest convenience if you have any conflicts so we can remedy the situation.
It has also come to the Judge’s attention that Mrs. Gloria Simon is no longer in your employ. I have taken the liberty of finding suitable nanny replacements. Please review the enclosed information and let us know your choice or one will be chosen for you. If they don’t meet your standards, I am also including information on the boarding options for Eagleton Preparatory Academy so that you would be free to attend the following events as requested, preserve a full-time work schedule, and retain your current living quarters.
Regards,
Jeffrey Savient
I rubbed the suddenly spasming muscles at the base of my neck. I was in between patients, midmorning on Tuesday, and I already felt a migraine coming on. There really was no circle of hell suitable for “Regards Jeffrey” and his patronizing emails. If he thought for one minute that I’d ever send my kids to a boarding school, then he was obviously smoking the same thing as Clarice.
I debated making a voodoo doll of him with Ryla later and calling it a craft.
As expected, a headache pounded in my temples the rest of the morning. The threat was clear: attend these events or we’ll kick you out of your home. A brief review of the nanny “options” revealed militant older women who looked ready to whack a kid with a ruler if they stepped out of line. I wouldn’t let them watch a snake I didn’t like, much less my children.
During a break between patients, I searched in vain for homes for sale in Green Valley, something I’d been doing for months, still finding none that were within my budget. The houses in my budget looked like they came with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a family of raccoons in the kitchen.
My clinic day ended early at one o’clock, so I made a stop at the Donner Bakery before heading to pick up the kids from their summer school program. I desperately needed caffeine. Seeing something called a dill pickle cupcake, I picked one up for Leah as a thank-you for helping us out and headed to the school.
The Green Valley Elementary School didn’t look much different from twenty-five years ago. It had the same red brick siding and rectangular veranda leading out from the front doors. As I walked inside, I gave a head nod to the nice administrative assistant I’d met with Leah when Max and Ryla had started summer school, holding up the iced coffees and white bakery bag, explaining that I was taking them to Leah.
“Oh, isn’t that sweet. You go ahead sugar,” she said, buzzing me in.
The smell of crayons, cleaning supplies, and rubber permeated the air as I made my way to Leah’s third grade classroom. Her room was cheery and busy, just like her, with solar system posters, a reading corner, and plants covered with different colored cellophanes spaced evenly apart on the window ledges.
Leah was at her desk, dark wavy hair up in a bun, wearing a T-shirt and shorts along with Tinkerbell earrings. She’d been obsessed with Disney for as long as I could remember and actually named her eleven-year-old daughter and seven-year-old son, Belle and Eric, respectively. Her husband, Kyle, was a very understanding man.
“Knock, knock,” I called out, entering her classroom. “I thought I’d bring you an afternoon snack.”
“For me?” Leah exclaimed excitedly, getting up from her desk.
“Is Max around?” I handed Leah the bag and one of the iced coffees from the carrier.
Leah’s eyes closed slowly as she took a sip of the coffee. “You’re a stallion in a field of donkeys. Let no one convince you otherwise.” She took another fortifying sip, then smiled proudly. “ Max is in the auditorium with the other kids.”
“What?”
Leah nodded. “He’s been pretty tight to me, but then today, he just wanted to go. All by himself. I checked on him a few minutes ago and he seemed fine.”
Pride filled me. After all, that was the goal. Yet at the same time, I was nervous. What if he got scared? What would he do? Pushing against the urge to go check on him myself, I followed Leah toward her desk and sat next to her on a too-small-for-an-adult chair.
“You didn’t have to bring me anything.” Leah’s protest was at odds with how eagerly she peered into the bag.
“You’ve been a lifesaver. It’s the least I could do.”
“I’d happily help you for free—” Leah stopped and gasped, pulling out the clear plastic container housing a white-and-green cupcake. Excitement filled her eyes as she pried open the lid and gave it a small sniff.
“It’s a dill pickle cupcake, so if it’s terrible, don’t blame me. I know how much you like?—”
I was interrupted by the sight of Leah practically attacking the cupcake with her mouth like a feral cat, face-first into the green-and-white confection.
“—pickles.”
Wow. She’d really gone for it. Just dove right in, not caring how much frosting could get on her face. Wolfing it down happily, white frosting from nose to chin, she finally swallowed and let out a contented sigh.
“I thought these were an urban legend. I’ve heard of ’em, but I’ve never seen them sold.”
She went back in for the last few bites. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as I leaned forward to grab a napkin from the bag, handing it to her after she finished off the last of the cupcake.
I glanced at my watch. “You ate that entire thing in less than a minute.”
“I’m like a pelican with carb,” Leah explained, wiping frosting from her face. Balling up the napkin, she lined up her shot, then pitched the napkin into a garbage can from ten feet away.
“Woohoo!” Leah hollered, throwing up her hands as she sank it on the first try. I marveled at her obvious ease in her own body. How she seemed light and happy. No stressors stacked on top of each other to weigh her down.
“Hey,” I asked Leah, “do you know anything about the school district’s medical director?”
Leah tipped back, balancing on two legs of her desk chair. “Why?”
“Mercy Health agreed to drop my call requirement, but not until September, and in order to keep my benefits, I have to take on the medical directorship of the school district.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Why do you have to—Hey!” she exclaimed, interrupting herself. She brought her chair down and pointed at me. “You need to talk to my friend Rose!” Leah looked at her watch, then up to the clock, then back down to her watch. Suddenly, she bolted up and across the classroom, closing the door, then dashed back to sit right across from me in her own little chair.
“My friend Rose is the school’s special ed coordinator,” Leah began, the enthusiastic glean in her eyes making me strangely wary. “She and a few others have been working on getting more funding to improve special ed resources for the school. This spring she won this long-shot grant specifically to aid the special ed program. We were all pretty shocked. But now, Rose has been pulling her hair out working with the school board and needs help. The school board president wants to use the grant money for sports rather than special education. I know the school’s medical director hasn’t been helpin’ much and was leavin’. But I never thought about asking you—of course you’d be the perfect choice! She’s gonna be happier than a pig in mud!”
I couldn’t help the amused grin that spread across my face. Whenever Leah got excited or angry, her Southern gene activated.
I gestured to the closed classroom door. “What’s with the cloak and dagger act? Is it really that contentious?”
“Yes. And the rumor mill is that the grant was funded through an anonymous local donor.”
I tilted my head, not understanding. “If they’re local, why not just anonymously donate the money to the school? Why do it through a grant?”
Leah shrugged. “Who knows why rich people do the things they do? Anyway, you and Rose will get along great. She’s sweet as pie and equally obsessed with Disney, so you know she’s good people. Where’s your phone? Her number’s 555-6028.” Leah recited this rapid fire from the top of her head, not surprising to me, her ability to recall numbers and dates rivaled an internet search engine.
I patted Leah’s hand. “I’ll need that number repeated again later. It’s not a done deal. And I don’t have time. I still need to find a nanny and then with Ryla’s birthday party this weekend . . .” I sighed. “I told you she invited every kid in her summer school class last week without asking me first, right?”
“I still can’t believe you hired a petting zoo.”
I groaned. Not only could everyone attend, but in a moment of sheer brilliance, Ryla had also asked for a petting zoo. And in a moment of true stupidity, I said yes. Thank God I found a local party planning company to help.
“Do you need any help?” Leah held up her hand, stopping me before I could reply. “Wait, I’m staying over Friday night when you’re on call, so I’ll already be there bright and early on Saturday to help. Easy peasy.”
I shook my head. “You really don’t have to. I don’t have much left to do. Just a few party favors. And picking up the cake. And putting up the decorations.” I winced, feeling more overwhelmed as I recalled everything I had left on my list for Saturday. “And the treat bags. Why did I do this to myself again?”
“You wanted to make up for the fact that your kid’s daddy is a level one prick .” You could tell Leah was happy with herself as she leaned into that last word. “And you wanted to make your kids happy.”
Leah jerked her head up at the clock. “Shoot! It’s quarter past. We need to get to the gym.” Not sparing me an explanation, Leah grabbed her iced coffee and sped out of the room.
I had to jog to catch up.
“Why are we going to the gym?” I asked, breathless. The kids didn’t get done with their day until 3 p.m.
“The puppet show started one minute ago.”
“Did you say puppet show?”
Her eyes lit. “You have to see it. A guy who helps out with theater classes at the middle and high schools performs a full-on puppet show twice a year for the kids. He lets them try it too. And I’m not talking sock puppets. I mean honest-to-goodness string puppets. He’s great with the kids and they all adore him. I think half of Belle’s class is in love with him.”
“As long as it’s puppets and not clowns. You know how I feel about clowns.” I fought off a shiver.
Leah laughed. “That might be my favorite memory of the fourth grade.”
We linked arms, continuing down the hallway until we reached the gym. In the middle of the court sat a large rectangular wooden frame at least thirty feet wide and fifteen feet tall, with red curtains and, as Leah promised, two marionettes. On the left was a monkey, and on the right was a puppet that looked like Bert from Sesame Street.
And there were at least fifty kids sitting in front of it with rapt attention, giggling at the puppets’ antics. I spotted Ryla near the front, Leah’s son, Eric, to her right and Max to her left, a happy smile on his face.
“Oh!” exclaimed the Bert puppet. “Oh, how dare you! You sneaky little monkey. That was supposed to be my lunch, and you ate it!”
“Ooo-ooo-ooo, AH! AH! AH!” replied the tiny monkey, causing the kids to erupt into laughter.
“No! You can’t have more!” the Bert puppet announced in outrage, again causing giggles throughout the crowd.
“Ooo-ooo-ooo, ah?” The monkey’s sounds were quiet, almost conversational.
“Especially not the peanut butter!” The Bert puppet hollered. I craned my neck but still couldn’t tell where the person controlling the puppets was standing.
For the next twenty minutes the kids ate up the hilarious performance, which ended in Bert and the monkey dancing the tango. I enjoyed the puppet show almost as much as I enjoyed my kid’s laughter—because there was nothing better than the sound of your child laughing.
Robust clapping and cheers erupted at the end as a teacher from the audience walked up to the puppet show frame. “How about that, everyone! Let’s give it up for our puppet master!”
The clapping continued, but all sounds faded away as a young man appeared. Dressed in all black, he was wearing a microphone headset over his mop of curly brown hair. He had the monkey puppet under his arm as he waved jovially down to the kids.
A very familiar, very handsome, young man.
A man I’d only ever seen in a black polo, driving my car.
Jace.