Address to Die For (6 page)

When you're stuck waiting, consider the time a gift.

Make lists. Clean your purse. Clear your head.

 

 

 

 

I
woke up early Tuesday morning, now fully adjusted to camping on the barn floor. It was the first day of school. I glanced at my phone, looking for a text or email from Max to say he'd arrived safely in Bangalore.

I'd never felt so far from him. This separation, coming so soon after we'd made a move that we'd hoped would give us more time together, was going to be difficult. I needed to make the best of it, though. It was time to get on with my day. The boys and I could write him long emails tonight detailing the events of the first day of school.

I showered and donned my jeans, T-shirt, and grubby white sneakers. There were advantages to a limited wardrobe. I didn't have to waste time deciding what to wear.

I woke up the kids. David jumped in the shower while Brian started his breakfast. I could tell Brian was nervous about starting a new school because he was quiet. Normally, he chattered through breakfast, barely pausing to take time to chew.

“Hey, Mom,” David said. He joined us dressed in a towel he'd wound around his waist. Drying his hair with another towel, he sat at the table and poured cereal into a bowl. There'd be time to lecture him on proper mealtime attire another day. Technically, we were still camping.

“Roll up your sleeping bags,” I said. “We're back in the house tonight.”

“Unless we find another body,” Brian said, grinning. The cheeky little devil dodged the dish towel I threw at him.

Both boys dressed in record time and climbed in the car with Belle while I grabbed my phone, grocery bags, and shopping list. With no working refrigerator, I was afraid to stock more than a day's worth of food.

After dropping David at the high school, Brian and I headed to the middle school, where I parked in the shade. Brian gave Belle a quick pat, made the American Sign Language symbol for
I love you
—our family code—and dashed out the door.

I let Belle out the back of the car, attached her leash, and gave her a quick stop-and-sniff moment at a nearby patch of grass. Belle finished her own morning-hygiene routine and tugged on the leash.

“We'll walk later, Belle,” I said as I opened the rear hatch. She hopped in. I pulled out my tinted lip balm. Normally, I'd dress up a bit for the first day of school, but this year, grubby jeans and sneakers were my only option. I rolled down the windows to let cool air in for Belle, squared my shoulders, and marched off to the first PTA meeting of the year.

* * *

I squirmed on an uncomfortable metal chair and listened to the “Let's Get School Off to a Good Start” meeting. I'd attended dozens of these back-to-school lectures, but this was the first time I'd been to one outdoors. Late summer and early fall in Stockton were too hot for outdoor meetings.

“Thank you for being here to support your students,” said Principal Harrier from her podium. “I'm sure we're going to have a wonderful year. I'd like to introduce our new teachers . . .”

Blah-blah-blah. The meeting was the standard drill and I barely listened. By this time in my career as a mom, I could have given one of these presentations myself. My attention wandered off, but I dragged it back to Miss Harrier. I'd met her in February when we'd come to Orchard View to peek in the windows of the house before we had the keys. We'd made appointments ahead of time with both schools to preregister the boys and get their paperwork in order. At the high school, the meeting took all of fifteen minutes, including a tour of the campus.

In contrast, the middle-school meeting came to a halt when Miss Harrier realized the transfer of the property had not been finalized and we didn't yet live in the district. I'd convinced her to register Brian anyway, on the basis of the preliminary paperwork I'd brought with me. I'd promised to deliver documentation from Pacific Gas and Electric on the first day of school. Why the gas company had the final word on who went to school where, I had no idea. Bureaucracy seldom makes sense.

I'd tried to drop off the form before school this morning, but the office had been packed with fidgety adolescents held in check by a diminutive woman dressed in canary yellow from head to toe. I'd decided to wait until she'd solved the kids' problems before I bothered her with my paperwork.

Miss Harrier droned on. “I run a tight ship,” she said, slapping the leather cover of her iPad. “The rules are posted. Everyone has a copy. Every student and parent will sign forms stating they have read the rules and will be responsible for them. No excuses will be accepted. That holds true for homework, attendance, and for all forms.”

This woman should run a military academy. I looked at the other parents and wondered if I could become friends with anyone. I'd already seen and avoided my snooty neighbor who had been shaking hands and passing out his cards this morning. What was it with the people in this town and their business cards? And what was making me so negative? Maybe the fact that Max wasn't here.

I gave myself a mental slap and tried to focus on something other than self-pity.

Directly in front of me was a woman who looked like she'd stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. Her hair was sleek, shining, and dark—almost as dark as her black business jacket and tight, straight skirt. She'd alleviated the black with a Chinese red scarf artfully draped over a white silk blouse. Her heels were black stilettos with red soles. I didn't know the name of those shoes, but I knew they cost about as much as I'd spend on a trip to the vet with Belle and the cats. The suit screamed money and high fashion. I checked her off the potential friend list right away.

I sighed and slumped in my chair.

“There are cookies and coffee on the tables in the back. Please stop and pick up your packets of all the necessary forms,” concluded Miss Harrier.

Chairs clattered as parents gathered their belongings. A group of helpful dads folded chairs and stacked them on carts. I allowed myself another unattractive moment of self-pity, thinking that ordinarily, Max would have been there to join the other dads.

Miss Harrier slapped her hand against her iPad—a sound I was learning to hate. She barked for attention with a voice that would have done a drill sergeant proud. The crowd quieted, though a metal chair clanged when it fell to the pavement.

“I neglected to announce earlier that we are grateful to an anonymous donor”—she looked at my neighbor, Mr. Snooty DeSoto, who turned and smiled at the crowd—“for a contribution of record-breaking generosity to complete our all-season track. We appreciate
all
the donations we've received, but we are truly overwhelmed by this show of parental support.”

Someone behind me snorted and I turned to find a plump, frizzy-haired woman wearing a flowing purple skirt with a mint-green T-shirt and Birkenstock sandals. “Anonymous, my foot,” she said, elbowing the dominatrix woman in black who'd been sitting in front of me.

“You've got that right,” said the dominatrix. “Darling Dennis DeSoto does it again. Showing us how much more dedicated he is than anyone else, but maintaining his sham humility by making the donation ‘anonymous'.” She did the air-quote thing with the first two manicured fingers of each hand. “But he made sure everyone knew who that anonymous donor was. Typical. How soon do you think we can clear out of here? I've got things to do.”

Maybe I'd misjudged them. The snooty Dennis DeSoto couldn't be
all
bad if he'd made a huge donation to the school. He'd put his money where his mouth was, at least. The plump earth mother and the dominatrix both had a little bit of the irreverent sarcasm I liked to see in someone who might one day become a friend.

Harrier slapped her iPad again. “This donation is particularly welcome in light of the fact that the district has reported a financial setback that may impede our academic program.”

A murmur of concern rose from the crowd, but it stopped when Harrier slapped her iPad for attention. I entertained the snarky thought that Harrier had the skills to launch a career as a flamenco dancer.

“An accounting discrepancy was discovered in this summer's audit of foundation accounts. The foundation board has frozen funds pending an investigation and that will delay our receipt of the money that helps us provide programs no longer supported by the State of California. Those who are interested in learning more may wish to attend the board meeting in October.”

October seemed a long way off to begin resolving an important funding issue, but I didn't say anything. I was too new and too unfamiliar with local issues to have an educated opinion. The parents moved into tight little groups, waving their arms and speaking in voices that rose nearly to the point of shouting. Harrier's tone implied a temporary setback or slight trimming of funds. But from the noise of the crowd, I guessed that either cutbacks were new to Orchard View or the parents didn't believe the budget trimming would be as minor as Harrier had suggested. In Stockton, I would have buttonholed one of my best friends, the head of the PTA whose cousin was on the school board, and had the complete story within minutes. I couldn't do that here. Not yet.

These parents were angry, focused on potential budget cuts, and not interested in meeting new parents like me. Someday maybe, but not today. I picked up my dictionary-sized stack of forms, dropped a copy of the gas company's letter in the office, and got back to the car just after Belle started to bark.

I dropped the forms in the back of the van and grabbed Belle's leash. “Let's make a good impression, girl,” I whispered. “Try to hold it until we get off school grounds.” I didn't want the parent group's first impression of us to be the image of my dog desecrating the plush school lawn.

“You know that's my parking space, right?”

I looked up, confused. A woman wearing pressed khakis, pink ballet flats, and a matching pink sweater stood behind my car, scowling.

“Excuse me?” I said. The woman scanned my clothes and my dusty car. Her expression told me we'd not made a good first impression.

“You're in my parking space. I had to park clear over on the other side of the campus. I always park here.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “This is my first day. I'm Maggie McDonald. My son started seventh grade today. We're new.” I reached out my hand to shake hers. She ignored it. Maybe people here didn't shake hands? I was starting to feel like I might have landed on another planet. Was she kidding about the parking spot or were there really assigned places? I was too new to know.

“Pauline Windsor,” said the woman, looking at her phone. “My daughter Rebecca is student council president.”

“Nice to meet you, Pauline.”

Pauline waved her hand and hiked back to her car, which was parked only a few rows over. I shrugged and set off with Belle, who was much easier to read than the Orchard View humans.

I looked around the neighborhood as we followed a concrete sidewalk past manicured lawns, trimmed bushes, and cheerful fall flowers. The houses were California ranch-style, built in the fifties and sixties. I thought about how easy it would be to fix up Aunt Kay's house and put it on the market. Her house and land had been appraised at more than fifteen million dollars. Land was scarce in Silicon Valley and prices for even the small tract homes and lots were creeping toward three million.

In addition, if we sold Aunt Kay's house and bought a smaller one within walking distance of both schools, we'd save big on property taxes. We'd have the remainder of the money from the sale to finance the boys' college expenses and build our retirement nest egg. It was a tempting thought, but didn't allow for Max's emotional attachment to Aunt Kay's house. Nor for the fact that even though we had only been there for a short time, the boys and I had become almost as attached to the house as Max was.

From across the street, I heard another dog barking—the deep woof of a large dog.

Belle strained at her leash, pulling me in the direction of the woof. I looked both ways and crossed the street. It didn't matter where we walked, as long as I remembered how to get back to the car. Belle pulled, forcing our speed up to a trot. I gave the leash a little tug, reminded her to heel, and pulled a treat from the pocket of my jeans. Her tongue lifted it from my palm.

Two houses up from where we'd crossed, a black BMW was parked in front of a well-landscaped house. I slowed my step. Behind the BMW, on the passenger side, stood the dominatrix from school, waving her arms and calling to me.

“Oh, I'm
so
glad to see you,” the dominatrix said. “Please, would you mind helping me a moment?”

Help her? She seemed like the type of woman who had every hair in place, every wrinkle ironed out, and every appointment entered in the latest version of the iPhone. Why would she need
my
help?

I shrugged. I needed all the luck I could get at this point and I figured the best way to make the Fates happy and maximize my good fortune was to help someone else. Even someone I wasn't anxious to meet and who might throw my schedule off enough that my latte would have to wait.

I pasted a smile on my face as I approached.

“Sure,” I said. “How can I help? I saw you at school, didn't I?”

“My son Teddy is starting eighth grade. Are you new? I've not seen you before. I'm Tess Olmos.”