Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
CHARLIE
It’s family meeting time.
This is a Roscoe institution. A time-honored tradition that’s best served over-easy. With toast.
We held our inaugural breakfast after my mom kicked my dad out when I was fifteen. It involved a quick postmortem of their relationship for Carl’s sake. Then we dug into the real matter at hand—getting me into rehab. It was quite the breakfast.
That was nearly eight sober years ago, and our tradition is still going strong. My sister had already skipped town by the time we started, but the rest of us haven’t missed a single breakfast since I got back from the teen addiction facility in Cascade Canyon. Even when I went away to art school for a year, Mom and Carl just FaceTimed me in from my dorm.
Some families have Sunday dinner; we have Tuesday breakfast.
Normally, we relax and talk about our lives in general, catch up on what’s new before my mom and Carl have to go to work. But today, nobody wastes any time on small talk. They have too much to say.
Carl kicks things off the second he joins us at our usual breakfast spot downtown, Not Just Desserts. A place where the pie is just as amazing as their pancakes. Before he even sits down, Carl holds up his copy of Dispatch From the Hedgerow. “Is Alice from the bus station actually Anne Livingston?”
I nod.
“Where is she staying while she’s in town? Please tell me it’s at the hotel or the bed-and-breakfast—or with some sweet old lady who could really use the company. Please tell me she isn’t staying at your house for a week and a half.”
Well…
I take a long sip of my orange juice. Then I take another.
“Charlie, we talked about this. You’re already taking care of two other grifters. You don’t need more. How did this happen?”
My mom takes pity on me and cuts him off. “Oh, calm down—Alice seems nice. And don’t be so hard on Tyler and Lydia. They’re sweethearts.”
My mom is the only other person in Ponderosa Falls who knows the truth about Tyler, besides Lydia and me. When I went away for school, I made a big deal about how talented my roommate was. How I thought his webcomic was going to take off—then it did.
Tyler is not a man who’s built for fame. He’s more of a double-life kind of guy. We only roomed together for a year before I dropped out, but we stayed close. When I convinced him to move to Ponderosa Falls, he only had one request: anonymity. People could know my old roommate was the artist Vast Blue—they already did—they just couldn’t find out that was Tyler.
Except my mom.
She thought he might be a drug dealer, and I couldn’t make her worry like that.
Carl tries to say more about the Sharp twins, but Mom cuts him off again. Sticking up for my roommates as covertly as she can. “Don’t be such a grump. Tyler and Lydia aren’t causing any trouble. They’re practically family.”
It’s the practically family part that nearly kills my brother. He almost dies right there in our booth. He stares at our mother in dismay, his fork suspended in the air. His next bite of pancakes hovering motionless, as if his breakfast is stunned too.
“Family? Charlie met the guy at a crosswalk. We’ve known these people less than five months. Family ?”
My mom waves her hand to change the subject. But mostly, she’s trying not to laugh.
“Calm down, Carl. I don’t want to spend our entire breakfast talking about the Sharps. We’ve got bigger problems.”
That shuts us up.
It doesn’t matter how much our mother is smiling when she says it. Carl and I hear those words, and we both stop cold. The last time she said “we’ve got bigger problems” at a family breakfast, our dad had liver failure, his girlfriend had bailed, and he wouldn’t let Mom come take care of him.
He wouldn’t even call her back after he told her he was sick. He refused to communicate with anyone except my sister, Roxie. And that was a very big problem.
He passed away a few years ago, but all I can think now is that my sister must be in trouble. She’s the only Roscoe who isn’t already here.
Across the table, my mother doesn’t say anything else right away. She takes a bite of her Denver omelet before gesturing to me with her fork. “How did the end of your semester go? Are your grades in? Did you finish the student teaching hours you needed?”
“Everything’s final. I’m all set.”
Graduation was last week, but I didn’t go. I never thought I’d return to college after I dropped out of art school. By the time I did, I just wanted to finish and move on. Breakfast with my family is the only celebration I need.
Except this doesn’t feel like a celebration. Not with the words “bigger problems” looming overhead.
My mom sighs happily and gives me a quiet, proud look I’m not used to. One that makes warmth tug in my chest and embarrassment itch under my collar.
“This is your fault.” I point my fork at her, and my mom chuckles. “I was going to be the king of part-time employment, but you’re too good at your job.”
Our mother went back to school after the divorce, and she’s the best kindergarten teacher I’ve ever seen. My own teacher at Ponderosa Elementary used to hate how hyper I was. That was the first time in my life I got labeled as a “bad kid,” and I believed it.
But watching my mom in her own classroom, how she loves her “good” and “bad” kids the exact same amount, did something to me. It made me want to help hyper little tornados like me the way she does every single day. It made me want to be the person who understands them instead of the first teacher to give up on them.
My mother aims another proud look in my direction, savoring the moment. We’ve come a long way since that addiction facility in Cascade Canyon. “I can’t wait until you have your own classroom.”
If I get hired.
That’s the one hurdle left, the only fear I can’t shake. What if nobody wants me?
Part of me still isn’t sure if anything from my past might get in the way, even the small stuff. My tattoos or my spotty work history. My GED. Though at least my teenage misadventures didn’t make it to my permanent record.
Praise all the saints of juvenile hall.
My mother nods sympathetically, as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking about. All those extra obstacles I had to tackle to make up for my past, the obstacles I still might have to tackle. Then she detonates the bomb to end all bombs.
“I’m retiring.”
Carl and I both drop our forks.
“But you love your job.” My brother grabs a napkin to blot the maple syrup he splattered everywhere. “And you’re barely fifty. What do you mean you’re retiring?”
“Loving my job isn’t enough. I love working with Bill too, and I can’t do both full-time.”
Nothing could’ve surprised us more, but she keeps going. As if she’s shooting for some kind of stun-your-children world record.
“I actually wanted to retire pretty soon after I got married, but I made my principal a deal: I’d stay one more year if she interviewed you for my old position once you graduated.”
If I could drop my fork a second time, I would. But it’s still on the table. Covered in whipped cream from my Belgian waffles.
Meanwhile, my mother hesitates like there’s more. How can there be more?
“My assistant is retiring too. I might’ve offered to stay on part-time and take her place if they hired you.”
Carl and I are speechless. That woman has stolen all our words.
My brother fights to recover, but mostly he just stumbles over his words. “But you…you can’t…that’s…can you do that? Isn’t that?—”
Illegal?
Unethical?
A kindergarten shakedown?
Those are my first thoughts, but my mother takes it in a slightly different direction. Less crime ring, more mama bear.
“Shameless nepotism? Yeah, I know. Isn’t it great? That’s usually a rich man’s game, but I’m excited to give it a try. It’s been pretty thrilling.”
I don’t know how I feel about any of this. On one hand, I could work in the community I love. I could make a difference in my own hometown, the same place where other people made a difference for me.
But on the other hand…
“I don’t like you asking for favors. It feels shady.”
“Kindergarten assistants are a dime a dozen. They don’t really need me for that position, no matter who the new teacher is. The only thing I really did was wait to retire. You could’ve gotten an interview on your own, and they’re only going to hire you if they think you’re the best candidate for the job—and I’m okay with that. I’m just cracking open the door on my way out. The rest is up to you.”
I still can’t tell how I feel. It sounds like a dream come true, but it also sounds too good to be true. Like it’ll hurt if it doesn’t work out.
I try to focus on the positive. I never thought I could get hired in my own hometown. This place knows all my secrets, and people here could probably recite my teenage mistakes by heart like a fable or an ancient myth. The Ballad of Bad Charlie.
Though maybe they’d hire me anyway. Maybe this is my chance.
My mother reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “You’re going to be an amazing teacher no matter where you end up.”
I wish we could stop there, but I know we can’t. I got arrested eleven times before I turned sixteen. Trouble wasn’t just my middle name, it was my entire identity, a way of life.
My mom taps the paper Carl left on the table, the newest publication from The Victorian that’s now splattered with maple syrup and whipped cream from all those dropped utensils. She doesn’t have to remind me that her principal lives in the hedgerow too. That she’ll see any fresh gossip about me that makes those pages.
“You might only get one shot at Ponderosa Elementary,” she tells me. “Don’t screw it up.”