No Ordinary Day (4 page)

The class turned in the direction of the aquarium that housed the class turtle, sitting on the window shelf next to the framed picture of Lucy’s cat, Sadie, and waved vigorously. “Goodnight, Sebastian!”

Sebastian, a small Red-eared Slider, stared back, emotionless.

“Clean up, folks,” Lucy directed. “We leave for the buses in five minutes.”

2:57
PM

On her way
to the main office, Lucy came speedily around a corner and almost collided with Glen Daniels, the vocal music teacher whose windowless, interior classroom was around the corner and down the hall from her exterior one, causing the tower of sheet music he was carrying to pitch violently from side to side. Amid a good deal of awkward motion between them they managed to right the tower and avert a catastrophe.

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy stammered as she patted the papers back into place. She pulled a few strands of her long, curly hair that had escaped the up-do back out of her face and tucked them behind her ear.

“No need to be,” said Mr. Daniels, smiling uncertainly. “I was hoping to run into you anyway; this is as good an opportunity as any, I guess.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’d like to come and snag a couple of your students tomorrow for some extra practice for the Tea,” he said. “There are a few featured parts in some of the songs.”

“That would be great,” Lucy said, standing up straight again. “Drop by any time; we have a pretty flexible schedule tomorrow.”

“Will do.” He cleared his throat. “Would—would you perhaps like to grab some supper tonight in town?” His face flushed red; Mr. Daniels, a tall, fair-skinned, attractive-enough man with blond hair, had a reputation among the female teachers for being almost painfully shy and awkward.

Lucy blinked. “Uh—well, I’d love to, but I’m planning on attending the Town Board hearing tonight.” She saw his face fall, and felt her stomach cramp, so she sighed inwardly and threw herself on the bonfire of kindness. “Can we eat early? I have to be at the Town Hall by six o’clock.”

Glen brightened. “Sure. I was going to suggest Charlie’s, but that can take a while. Do you want to go to the Lebanese place, Pita Gourmet, down by the lake? Pretty fast service there.”

“That’d be nice. I need about an hour to get cleaned up and ready for tomorrow—does that work for you?”

“I’ll stop by your classroom—see you in an hour.”

Lucy smiled at him awkwardly and headed into the main office.

She greeted Karen Ridley, the long-time general secretary.

“Hi Karen—any chance Mrs. Cox is in?”

“She is,” came the voice of the principal from behind her.

Lucy spun around and smiled.

Mrs. Cox was a smart, placid woman several inches shorter than Lucy, with a full head of beautiful white hair. “What can I do for you, Lucy?”

“Can we step into your office for a moment?”

“Certainly.” Mrs. Cox dropped the papers she was holding onto Karen’s desk and led Lucy down the hall into the principal’s office, closing the door behind her.

“What’s up?” she asked as she went behind her desk and sat down, indicating the chair in front of it to Lucy.

“I have a concern about three of my students regarding the Mother’s Day Tea,” Lucy said directly as she sat. “I’m worried that they might be compromised by it.”

“Who?”

“First, Ashleigh Winters.” Lucy’s throat tightened; the little girl’s mother had died just before Christmas, after the birth of her second child, Ashleigh’s baby brother.

Mrs. Cox nodded. “Already got that one handled,” she said. “I spoke to Ashleigh’s father, and he plans to take the day of the Tea off from work and spend it with her. He’s arranged for a sitter, and it should be some nice father-and-daughter time.”

Lucy exhaled in relief. “That’s great.”

“Who else?”

“Elisa Santiago. I sent an invitation to Mrs. Santiago home via backpack express, but I haven’t heard back from her.”

Mrs. Cox jotted a note on a small pad of paper. “I’ll check into that one,” she said. “Did you use the English version of your invitation as a guide?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Well, I noticed you put ‘RSVP’ on the bottom of the English version—and since those letters are abbreviations for French words, perhaps it’s not in their culture to know what they mean.”

“Of course. How stupid of me.”

“Stupid is a twenty-five-cent word,” Mrs. Cox said, not looking up from her note-writing, but pointing with her other hand toward a large mason jar full of spare change and the occasional dollar bill with a wide slit in its metal lid on the window shelf behind her. “Tomorrow, make sure you contribute to the Don’t Be Unnecessarily Negative jar.”

Lucy dropped her head and chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And finally?”

The kindergarten teacher exhaled deeply. “Garrett Burlingame.”

Mrs. Cox looked up, exhaled herself, and nodded.

Garrett’s older brother, Devin, had been the only child at the Tea two years before whose mother had forgotten about it. The little boy had entered the Playroom, looked around, then burst into tears when he realized she was not there.

Mrs. Cox had been called to come down from the office and stand in for Mrs. Burlingame. She sat in the carefully be-ribboned chair next to him during the various events in the program, trying to substitute for his parent without any success whatsoever. Devin could not be coaxed into any sort of happy state of mind, but just sat through the entirety of the Tea, weeping silently.

Lucy had gone after about fifteen minutes of agony to the kindergarten-through-3
^rd
-grade office nearby and had called his house, only to be informed by her husband that Mrs. Burlingame was running errands, the Tea having slipped her mind. Lucy’s fair-skinned face had gone completely red with rage, and she needed to go into the teacher’s restroom and splash water on it, cursing quietly under her breath, trying to cool her Irish temper, without much success, before she returned to the Playroom.

“I’ve sent her three invitations now, but still have received nothing back,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “At least with Devin she sent a response in. Garrett insists he’s given the invitations to her, and reminded her to RSVP, but to no avail. Their answering machine is full. I swear if she misses the Tea by going to the bank, or Hardware Heaven, or the liquor store again like she did two years ago, I’m going down there and drag her back here by her hair. I can’t bear to watch another one of her sons sob through the Tea. It’ll kill me.”

“Understood,” said Mrs. Cox. “I think I’ll call Mr. Grimes at the hardware store and Chris Weiler, the owner of the liquor store, and ask them both to keep a lookout for her. They would be willing to remind her what she’s missing quietly and non-judgmentally if she shows up there.”

“That’s it? What if she goes somewhere else?”

The principal looked levelly at her.

“There’s only so much we can do, Lucy,” she said sensibly. “I’ll ponder the situation and see if I can come up with some other preventive action. But, while I appreciate you being so devoted to and protective of your students, there are some lines we just can’t cross. No hair-dragging. The school doesn’t need the lawsuit.”

Lucy sighed. “All right. I guess I’ll just send a fourth invitation home tomorrow.”

“Not a bad idea. Anything else I can do for you?”

“No,” the young teacher said as she rose from her chair. “Unless you want to stand in for me at my dinner date with Glen Daniels in an hour. That would put me in your debt forever.”

Mrs. Cox winced. “Yeah. Uh, no. Sorry.”

“You can’t blame a girl for trying. Aw, c’mon—he’s treating—I think. Is your husband perhaps working late? You like Lebanese food, don’t you, Mrs. Cox?”

“Mr. Daniels is actually quite a nice man, Lucy,” Mrs. Cox said. “You really should give him a chance—”

She stopped and broke into laughter at the sight of Lucy’s face.

“All right,” she said. “I won’t even try.”

“Yeah, it’s a waste of your time,” Lucy said as she took hold of the door handle. “Thanks. I know he’s nice, and nice looking. I just, well, I just can’t—”

She shook her head and walked out the door, Mrs. Cox’s amused snort following her.

‡

3:31
PM

Windsor Gardens nursery, near the center of town

S
usan Windsor maneuvered
her station wagon around the other cars in the small parking lot of her family’s garden center, careful to avoid the customers who were loading large bags of mulch or heavy potted plants into the back end of their own vehicles.

The rain that had been tormenting the town all spring had been especially heavy for the last week. At this moment, however, it had quieted into a mild shower, so all the power gardeners were out, trying to make up for lost time.

She pulled into a parking space near the little shop in front of the greenhouse, turned off the engine, leaving the auxiliary power on, and unbuckled her seat belt. Then she turned around and looked into the back seat at her three favorite things in the world.

Two of which were asleep.

Her oldest daughter, Sarah, a five-year-old kindergartner, was sitting between her two ten-month-old twin sisters in their car seats with a skeptical look on her little face that made Sue Windsor burst into laughter.

“What’s the matter, honey?”

Sarah sighed. “How come they can cry at the same time, be hungry at the same time, sleep at the same time, but every time you change one, the other one poops when we’s in the car?” She raised her little hands in a grown-up gesture of surrender.

Sue leaned over the seat. “I ask myself that every day, Sarah.” She unbuckled the little girl from her car seat and put her hands out to her.

Sarah reached out and climbed over the front seat into her mother’s arms.

“You don’t have to
sit
between them,” she said moodily.

Sue kissed her daughter and hugged her tight.

“You’re such a wonderful big sister,” she whispered. “I know it’s not easy.”

The passenger side door opened, and a handsome man’s head crowned with dirty-blond hair the same color as his daughter’s popped into the car.

“There’s my girl!” Dave Windsor, owner of Windsor Gardens, called rowdily. “C’mere, you! Where’s my hug?”

“Daddy,”
Sarah said indignantly, “shhhh! You’ll wake the baobabs.”

Dave’s tone quieted immediately.

“Ooops, sorry,” he whispered, pulling Sarah out of the car and into a hug. “Let me get a kiss from Mommy, and we can go water your plant.”

“Plant
s
, Daddy,” Sarah reminded him as he carried her around the front of the station wagon on his way to the driver’s side door. “Blythe and Bonnie need they’s plants watered, too.”

“You got it, Sweet Pea.” Dave crouched down in front of Sue, a fresh-faced brunette who had worked as an art teacher before the birth of the twins, and planted a warm kiss on her lips. “How was your day, Beautiful?”

“Not bad. The babies didn’t sleep much, so if you and Sarah are going to water the plants, I’m gonna take a quick nap with them in the car.”

“OK. We’ll be back in a while.” He kissed her again, then locked and closed the door quietly.

Susan watched them walk away across the parking lot, smiling. Then she turned the radio on. Nirvana’s
Smells Like Teen Spirit
screamed out of the speakers; Susan quickly hit the second station button, switching away from a song she really liked but did not want disturbing the twins.

On the second channel, Whitney Houston’s
All the Man That I Need
was playing softly. She settled back against the seat’s upholstery and closed her eyes, singing along softly to an intermittently wailing saxophone.

How appropriate,
she thought dreamily as she drifted off, her head drifting to the same side as both her baby daughters.
She might just as well be singing about you, Dave.

She was asleep before the second verse.

“How was
your
day?” Dave inquired of Sarah as she took his hand and trailed along with him back to the open gardens where the rare plants, trees, and vines stood, light drops of rain falling as they walked.

The kindergartner regaled him with all the events of her school day as they traveled across the wet garden center to the place where a small flowering vine was growing up against a trellis.

Dave snatched the watering hose and brought it to Sarah’s hand.

“There you are, my love,” he said as he wrapped her small palm around the trigger. “Give ’er a nice drink.”

Sarah looked doubtfully into the sky.

“I think the rain did that already,” she said.

“Yes, but when you water her, it’s special,” Dave said. “You and she have the same name—at least the same middle name—and so you’re special to her. Go ahead, give her a splash.”

Sarah smiled and turned the hose on the plant, spraying it generously.

“She’s little,” she said as she let up on the hose. “Is she going to get bigger?”

“Oh yes. She will be high as the sky in a few years. Just as I suspect you will be. Come on, let’s water the plants for the baobabs.”