Chapter 2
Candace
“Mom, wake up!” An icy finger pinches my exposed shoulder blade, disturbing my REM cycle. Before my eyes can adjust, another voice hollers from across the room. “Why isn’t she up yet? We’re seriously going to be late.”
“Mmm, what is it, honey?” The sleeping pill I took last night is still pulling me under, demanding I continue my dream of male models running laps on a sandy beach.
“We’re late!” my daughter Kate bellows next to me. She must’ve been the one to pinch me. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I look over to my fully dressed pre-teen, aggressively pointing to my alarm clock.
“Oh, my gosh!” If that clock reads what I think it does, then not only did it not go off, and I overslept, but the twins are about to be late for their first day of eighth grade.
“Let’s go, let’s go. Everyone has their lunches and water bottles?
” I shout, running to the bathroom to quickly splash cold water on my puffy face.
“Mom, we don’t have time for this. Just throw on a robe like all the other moms. Nobody’s gonna see us. It’s not a fashion show,” Madison growls from the hallway, looking exhausted with me as always.
“I’ll meet you in the car. Let me brush my hair and throw on mascara really fast.” I motion for them to leave my room, then make quick work of my hair and the heavy bags under my eyes.
Come on, Candace. We’ve never been late.
I’m first in line at drop-off and always the first to arrive for pickup.
Even the morning I found out about the affair wasn’t enough to make us late.
Throwing on the navy blue wrap dress I had hanging on my door, I tie it tight and go looking for some matching flats.
Throw on a robe? Is she serious? When have I ever left the house in a robe?
Every day in this town is a fashion show.
If you’re not dressed to the nines at all times, you might as well not exist. Sounds dramatic, I know, but trust me.
I’ve lived here my whole life. My mother, who lives just down the street, doesn't even own a pair of slippers, let alone a robe.
There are expectations here, not just from husbands, but from other mothers.
We make a show of the perfect cookie-cutter life, and leave no evidence of any mess behind the scenes.
Why? Because there is no actual mess. The husband works, making great money to provide a life most could only dream of.
The women stay home, keep the house spotless, their figures trim, food on the table, and fill the family schedule, leaving no room for silly arguments or marital troubles.
The perfect life. And mine was, or so I naively thought.
The death glares I get from my girls once I start the car could melt an iceberg. “I’m so sorry. I promise this won't happen again. Let me make it up to you. We can go for ice cream after school.”
“We have a study group at Melanie’s house. Her mom said you'd pick us up after, you won't forget, right?” Kate asks from the back seat.
“No, Kate. I’ll remember. I promise, I’ll even see her mom today at the PTA meeting.
” I reassure them, taking the last turn into their school.
The girls attend an elite private school in town.
Basically, every doctor, lawyer, or suit-wearing millionaire sends their children here to learn how to rule the world one day.
Of course, I had no complaints when my ex brought it up.
We both graduated summa cum laude, and put education on a pedestal.
Although I never did much with my degree.
I redirected my career path and became a stay-at-home mom.
He became a partner at a prestigious law firm, handling corporate accounts.
Honestly, I couldn’t imagine working with the way my days fill up.
Today, for example, is a typical Monday.
After our meeting I’ve got aerobics, my bi-weekly nail appointment, and after picking the girls up from study group, I’ll be hosting this week's book club.
“Bye, don’t forget to pick us up,” the girls snarl, as they slide the door to my white minivan.
Waving them off, I turn around, heading to the nearest drive-through coffee spot, needing some fuel after that abrupt wake-up call. Our meeting is in less than an hour, giving me plenty of time to grab a quick breakfast before jumping into our first discussion of the year.
The beginning of the year is always the busiest. We’re planning the school's fall festival, homecoming, and prepping for Mrs. Cummings’ maternity leave.
She’s our treasurer and will be gone most of the year to have her fourth baby.
I’ve proudly been PTA president for three years, and a prominent member since the girls started kindergarten.
Our school has grades K-12 as a way for the students to have a community-based learning experience.
“Good morning, ladies. How’d the morning go?
” I ask, walking in and taking my seat at the head of the long wooden table.
We have our own office, where we’re set up with computers and walls filled with our monthly calendar.
Typically, I come in before school starts to decorate and hang up any cute new posters I print out.
The responsibilities of the president are endless, consuming most, if not all, of the school year and parts of summer break. It’s a job I’m honored to have and naturally take very seriously.
“Our morning was pure chaos. The kids couldn’t find shoes or backpacks, and to top it all off, at the last minute, Richard informed me he’s flying out west for a week on business. During my birthday month, no less,” Denise, our secretary, says.
“Same thing at our house,” Kelly, our vice president, chimes in, setting her pink Chanel bag and travel mug on the table. “I had the kids line their shoes up last night along with their uniforms, yet we were three minutes behind schedule.”
“Candace, I couldn’t help but notice you and the twins were behind schedule this morning as well,” Betty says, making herself at home with her pocket calendar.
She’s been here as long as I have, but doesn’t hold a title, although she wishes she did.
She’s been gunning for my spot for over a year, but I’m holding onto it with a death grip.
As charming and helpful as these women are, none of them could do half of what I can. This job was made for someone like me.
“Yes,” I nod, embarrassed. “The alarm didn’t go off, so it was a bit of a mad dash to get here.” Great, I hoped nobody saw us. My girls have been through enough of the rumor mill this summer, and the last thing we need is to be the focus again.
“Well, that's too bad. It’s unfortunate their father isn’t around.
Perhaps if there were a strong male presence in the house, mistakes like this wouldn’t occur.
Have you considered having them live full-time with Greg?
He has a new woman in his life, doesn’t he?
That might be a better living environment for those girls,” Betty suggests, nodding to the rest of the group seeking approval.
What’s left of my broken heart sinks, but not because she’s judging me, which she totally is.
It’s because she’s not wrong. My ex-husband has a new woman, and maybe my girls would be better off with them.
I’m a thirty-nine-year-old, newly divorced single mom of two, unsure of how to raise girls going into the teen years alone.
This summer was hands down the worst season of my entire life.
Never have I felt more alone or helpless.
My entire world came crumbling down, and before I knew it, school was starting, responsibilities were piling up, and it was time to curl my hair, fix my collar, and run the school again.
“Maybe we should get started. We’ve got a lot to discuss today, and I know we’re all eager to dive in,” I suggest, passing out the itinerary I printed last night, hoping the change in discussion will put their eyes on something other than me.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Mrs. Cummings says, waddling in with an oversized tote bag.
“Well, you must’ve been hanging around Candace. Punctuality must not be in season this year, seeing as you ladies aren’t interested in it.” Betty wrinkles her nose.
Classic Betty says whatever's on her mind, regardless of anyone’s feelings, and for the most part, everyone takes it.
Projecting is her bread and butter. Knowing what I do about her home life makes it all the easier to sweep it under the rug and not let it get under my skin.
Ignoring her rude comment, I scoot over, making room at the table for our treasurer.
“You look gorgeous. How are you feeling?” I ask as she sets her bag down next to me. “Have you heard anything from the doctor? We’ve all been worried about you.”
“Well, girls, hold on to those pearls because I have some bad news. It turns out my blood pressure is higher than my doctor would like. He thinks with the stress of a new school year, I need to start maternity leave now and take a leave of absence until next year.” She frowns as the women take turns sharing their condolences.
“Have you found a replacement yet? The school understands how important it is to have a treasurer, don’t they?” Kelly’s voice softens.
“Yes, the school found one this morning. It's been quite the ordeal already. She’s new to teaching, and this will be her first job post-college,” Mrs. Cummings reassures the other moms.
A wheezy cough comes from the opposite side of the table, where Betty appears to be on the verge of a stroke. “You can’t be serious. How old is this woman? Fresh out of college, they might as well hire a child to teach. Does she have any idea how crucial the education is at this school?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s the only option right now.” She shrugs. “This all happened so quickly. My hands are tied, and so is the administration's.”
“Well, this definitely shakes things up, but I don’t see why we can’t make it work.” I straighten in my chair. “I’ll take her under my wing. Everything will be fine. When does she start?”
“The end of the week, so she’ll be here for Friday's meeting. Before I came in, we spoke on the phone, and I brought her up to speed with the workings of our group.” Frown lines deepen as she pushes her brows together.
“Don’t worry, ladies. I’ll be back before you know it, and it’ll be like this mess never happened. ”
Betty purses her lips. “Fresh from college. What’s next, strippers serving food in the cafeteria?”
Without looking up, she stabs at her PalmPilot screen, each tap harder than the last.