Drenched in Light (26 page)

Shaking his head, he sighed. “One of those stories that never seemed like it would have a happy ending, but here we are. Karen’s grandmother, Rose Vongortler, lived across the river from Dell’s granny. Rose was lonely and Dell was lonely and the two of them became friends. Eventually, Dell was like a part of the Vongortler family. It seemed a natural thing that when Dell’s biological grandmother died last year, Karen and James took her in. They’d never been able to have children of their own, so Dell was a long-awaited gift. God has an amazing way of weaving lives together.”

Clearly, he wanted to leave the story at that. Happy ending. No more to be said. I pushed for more, anyway. “Dell has mentioned a boyfriend of her mother’s—someone with long dark hair. She thinks he might be her father. Do you know who that could have been?”

Brother Baker squinted upward. “No, I don’t believe I do. Dell’s family always kept to themselves. They didn’t like a lot of people knowing their business—always afraid of the welfare authorities and things like that.” Tapping a finger against his chin, he frowned thoughtfully. “I hate to say it, but if Dell has a biological father out there, she’s probably better off not knowing him. Dell’s mother didn’t run with a very savory crowd.”

“I suppose not,” I muttered, but in the back of my mind, I felt that even if the answers weren’t pleasant, Dell still had a right to find them. I’d learned from experience that ignoring the questions wouldn’t make them go away.

I
nside the main chapel, Karen and another woman were busy setting up rudimentary props for what looked like a production of
Alice in Wonderland
. Karen introduced the other woman as her sister, which was obvious because of the family resemblance.

Even without the physical similarities, I would have quickly determined that Karen and Kate were sisters—only sisters talk to each other that way. Friends require a certain level of politeness, little niceties and conversation makers. Sisters get right to the point. Only half as many words per sentence are necessary. The rest comes from unspoken understanding and common life experience. Watching Kate and Karen laugh and joke with each other as we constructed the theater set, I felt a pang of missing Bett. Standing next to a giant Styrofoam toadstool, I was momentarily overwhelmed by the fact that I was losing her. In two weeks, she would be married and moving away.

Bett would have loved helping with the Jumpkids production of
Alice in Wonderland
. When we were little, she always wanted to play storybook dress-up with my dance costumes. Even though she didn’t pursue ballet after the first grade, she still loved the performance outfits. The one from
Alice in Wonderland
was her favorite, but I was always stubborn about letting her wear it. Now, I wished I’d let her be Alice every time she wanted to. Our years as sisters and playmates went by faster than I’d ever imagined. Now we were grown-up, and life was sweeping us into an entirely new phase, taking us to unknown places.

I wanted to speed home, burst into Bett’s bedroom, wrap my arms around her, and tell her I loved her and she couldn’t move away.

Dell came through the side door, and I wiped my eyes, feeling silly. She frowned as I dabbed my face with the remodeled bathrobe that would soon clothe the Queen of Hearts.

“Sorry,” I said, laying the bathrobe over my arm and reaching into the prop box for the queen’s crown. I was supposed to be sorting out the costumes, not musing over Bett’s life changes. “I was thinking about my sister getting married and moving away. I was having a little
moment
.”

“Oh.” Dell was still perplexed, the way kids are when they realize that—
oh, my gosh
—schoolteachers have actual human emotions beyond simple anger and irritation. “Well . . . ummm . . . you should get this thing we’ve got on the computer. You can call each other up and talk and see each other on the screen, and everything, and it’s all free. Karen and Kate do it all the time.” Before I could stop her, she’d hollered across the stage, “Karen, what’s that computer thingy we’ve got where we can talk on the phone?”

“Phonefamonline,” Karen answered, then paused to glance over her shoulder, and added, “Why?”

“Ms. C needs it.”

To my horror, everyone turned to look at me, standing there clutching the Queen of Hearts bathrobe, wiping my eyes. “Sorry,” I said sheepishly, feeling like a complete moron. Terribly unprofessional, crying in front of a student and a parent. “My sister’s getting married in two weeks and moving to Seattle.”

Karen and Kate seemed to understand perfectly. Girl thing. Sister thing. They made pouty lips at each other, then lamented, “Aaawww,” in unison. Karen got misty eyed, and Kate, whom I didn’t even know, came across the stage and gave me a sympathetic hug.

Dell joined in, patting my shoulder and saying, “I’m sorry, Ms. C.”

I began to blubber in earnest, babbling on about my sister, and how she was going to be so far away, and of course I was happy for her, and Jason was a great guy, but I was losing my sister. . . . And so on, and so on. All the things I couldn’t say to Mom or Bett.

Karen walked over, and the three of them stood consoling me, while I drenched the Queen’s gown, vaguely aware that when I finished, I was going to feel so idiotic that I would have to make some excuse and leave. I would never be able to face these people the rest of the day.

“What’s this,
Steel Magnolias
?” A man’s voice came from the back of the room, and I wanted to turn to vapor and dissipate out the back door.

“Keiler!” Dell squealed, and I registered the fact that Dell’s friend Keiler was here, and he wasn’t a little kid.

Kate withdrew from our circle of sympathy. “You made it!” she said, as Dell jumped off the stage and ran across the room.

“What happened to the hopelessly broken-down car?” Karen asked. She kept her arm around my shoulder, and I realized I was about to be introduced.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so ridiculous and completely undignified. Fortunately, Dell delayed our meeting by tackling Keiler with a hug. I wiped my eyes furiously with the bathrobe, taking in the guy in the stocking cap with
Mental
embroidered on the front, a
Ski Red River
T-shirt, woefully wrinkled khaki hiking pants, a hiking boot on one foot, a multicolored walking cast on the other, and a guitar case slung across his back. He stumbled sideways, catching Dell and bumping the guitar case against one of the pews.

Karen gaped at the cast. “Well, I guess now I know why you’re back here helping us before ski season’s over,” she commented, still keeping her arm over my shoulder, as if she’d forgotten I was there. “What happened to your foot?”

Dell let go, and Keiler righted himself, mussing her hair with a lazy movement that was both playful and sweet. “Tried to catch a kid falling off the ski lift.” Holding out his hands with a few feet measured between them, he added ruefully, “Big kid. I did a good job of breaking his fall.”

“Oh, my gosh.” Dell leaned down to investigate the nylon-and-Velcro cast, and Keiler pulled off his ski hat, dropping it on her head. “Eeewww!” She squealed, tossing the hat on the pew, then slapping a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my
gosh,
you cut off all your hair!”

I wondered how much hair Keiler had before, because from where I was standing, he looked like he still needed a haircut. The thick brown mass came out of his ski hat, sticking up in all directions, seeming to have a will of its own.

He shook it out, grinning good-naturedly at Dell. “Got bored in the hospital. Did it myself. What do you think?”

“I don’t know . . .” Dell mused, standing back to survey the haircut.

It looks like you did it yourself,
I thought.

“That’s what the nurse said.” Keiler ruffled Dell’s hair again, then grinned and winked toward us.

I found myself smiling back. It would have been impossible not to like Keiler. The dusty, silent room came alive the minute he walked into it. He was like Tigger from the
Winnie the Pooh,
stories immersed in a cloud of lovable insanity.

Dell led him, limping, onto the stage, and made the introductions. When Keiler Bradford shook my hand and smiled, I felt like there wasn’t anyone else in the room. He had a charisma that was unrelated to looks, fashion sense, or haircutting skills. He was simply authentic—that was the clearest way I could categorize it in my mind. His brown eyes sparkled with a magnetic enthusiasm for life.

“Guidance counselor?” he questioned, lowering a brow at me. “You don’t look like a guidance counselor.” In any other context, I might have been offended, but Keiler made it sound like a compliment, as if I must be something better than an everyday guidance counselor—Super woman or Helen of Troy. Someone far too extraordinary to have a regular job.

“Today she’s our dance instructor,” Karen interjected. “Mrs. Mindia couldn’t come.”

“Well, that makes more sense,” he said as he unstrapped his guitar and set it on a chair. “You look like a dancer.”

I could have sprouted wings and floated right off the stage. For the first time in months, I had a sense of being myself again, as if everything I was and everything I’d worked for hadn’t died that day on the dressing room floor. Even now, I looked like a dancer. When Keiler Bradford said it, I believed it was true.

Dell jumped in with confirmation. “Ms. Costell studied at
Harrington
. She was, like, with the KC Metro and everything.” Lifting her hands, she let them fall against her thighs with a slap. “She helped us with Jumpkids the last two Fridays, and she’s, like, such a good dancer. I wish I could learn to be like that. Ms. C is way cooler than the other teachers at Harrington, too—well, except maybe for Mr. Verhaden, because he’s cool, too—but Ms. C tutors me at lunchtime, so she’s my favorite of all.” Dell snapped her lips shut, probably realizing two things. One all three of us were gaping at her, shocked by the flood of words; and two she had just slipped up and revealed the fact that she needed tutoring.

Karen met my eyes with a questioning look, and I tried to act nonchalant. If Karen asked about Dell’s grades here in front of everyone, I had no idea what I would say.

The back door opened, allowing a spray of light into the chapel, and all three of us turned to look, relieved to have the conversational cloud puffed away by the inflow of fresh air. I suspected that none of us wanted to delve into the weighty subject of grades and tutoring right here on the
Alice in Wonderland
stage.

A teenage African-American girl came in with a toddler on her hip, then kicked the door shut behind her and swaggered up the aisle with copious attitude.

“Hey, Sherita.” Dell exited our circle and quickly walked a few steps toward the newcomer.

Nodding in response, the girl surveyed the stage, her gray eyes narrowing skeptically. “So what we doin’ this time?”

“
Alice in Wonderland,
” Dell replied hesitantly, watching for Sherita’s reaction.

Pressing her full lips together, Sherita nodded toward me. “You Alice?”

I chuckled at the joke. “Ummm, no, I’m not, but I could probably arrange for you to be.”

Sherita grinned, clearly impressed that I wasn’t intimidated by backhanded adolescent humor. “That’d be some sight—a nappy-headed black girl playin’ Alice. I don’t do that little British schoolgirl accent too good. Anyway, I wanna be the evil queen. I can get with that off-with-their-heads stuff.”

“Man, isn’t that the truth,” Keiler piped up.

Sherita did a quick double take, a broad smile lifting her face. “Keiler Bradford? Where’d you come from?” Taking stock of his rumpled outfit, she stopped when she reached the cast. “What’d you do to your foot?”

Keiler rolled his eyes wearily. “Tried to catch a kid falling off the ski lift. Big kid.” He spread his hands farther this time, the rescued kid growing like a trophy bass in a fish story.

Sherita laughed. “Well, you’d think a dude with a education from New York University would know better’n that. You don’t never, ever get between a fat boy and the ground. Don’t they teach you that stuff at NYU?”

Keiler shook his head, and the rest of us chuckled.

Sobering, Sherita checked out the stage again. “Meleka’s gonna be along for day camp in a little bit, but I gotta watch little brother for the day.” She hiked the toddler onto her hip like what she really wanted to do was bounce him off into the eaves somewhere. “Can Myrone be a toadstool or somethin’ in the play?” She glanced toward Karen for approval.

“Sure,” she said.

“All right, then. I’ll stay.”

“Great.” Karen seemed completely unaffected by the surly reply. “Kate’s kiddos are back in the nursery with some of the church volunteers. Why don’t you take Myrone back there for now? Myrone and Joshua can practice being toadstools together, and you can help us with the setup or the registration table, if you want.”