Class(95)

“Sorry about the wait,” said Susan, taking her seat.

“No need to apologize,” said Karen. “I mean, I’m the one who’s here to apologize.”

Susan cocked her head and blinked. “For what?”

Karen fixated on the mortar between two exposed antique bricks. “For not being straight with you,” she began, her shoulders shrinking into her chest, “or really with anyone at the school. Ruby doesn’t actually belong at Mather. What happened is that”—Karen took a deep breath—“I sort of walked by your house one night earlier this spring and saw a gas and electric bill that you or your husband had tossed out. And I used it to register Ruby at Mather. I never thought I’d end up meeting you.” Although still fixated on the bricks, Karen looked quickly over at Susan, whose mouth was now ajar, revealing a hint of purple tongue. “And then, by a total coincidence in the universe,” Karen said, refocusing on the bricks and forcing herself to go on, “you e-mailed to invite Ruby over. And then you asked me to help fund-raise. And I already felt so indebted that I didn’t know how to say no. But once I looked at the numbers and saw how much money the PTA had raised—to be honest, it kind of shocked me. I know you guys don’t get Title One funding. But I just couldn’t quite believe that a school like Mather, where everybody is basically upper middle class or above, wasn’t sharing the wealth at all. Ruby’s old school just had to close their library because they couldn’t afford a librarian. And it seemed like you guys had so much money that you didn’t even know how to spend it.” Karen paused to sneak another glance at Susan, whose lips had now tightened into a fish-pucker. “Anyway,” said Karen, her gaze falling to her lap, “after I organized Fund in the Sun, I was paying myself back for various expenses when I suddenly had the idea of anonymously sending a small amount of money to Ruby’s old school. In retrospect, I realize I should have run it by the executive board first. In total, I—”

“In total?” said Susan. “There was more than one time?”

“Yes. In total, I diverted—”

“You mean stole.”

“Okay, stole,” said Karen, swallowing, “not quite twenty-five grand of Mather PTA money and sent it to Betts Elementary and also to this one poor family who live in the projects and whose kid used to be in Ruby’s class. I’m just hoping that, if I promise to get all of the money to you by Friday, you will keep this between us. Of course I’ll resign from all PTA duties as well.” In search of a shard of sympathy or understanding, Karen tried to make eye contact with Susan. Although humiliated by her confession, she was relieved to have gotten out the truth—or at least most of it. Cutting herself some slack, Karen had decided to omit mention of both the three hundred and fifty dollars in petty cash and the snakeskin heels.

But Susan seemed to have little compassion to offer. “So, you’re trying to tell me you’ve been siphoning off money from the Mather PTA the entire spring?”

“Well, not the entire—”

“I really don’t know what to say, Karen,” Susan said, shaking her head, “except I’m shocked and disappointed. As for keeping this between us, given the circumstances, I’m loath to make any promises right now.”

“I understand,” said Karen, shivering on the inside.

“But if you return every last cent by Friday,” she went on, “and if my vice president agrees, I will recommend that we not press charges. However, I need to look into the legal ramifications of the whole matter first.” A lawyer once, a lawyer forever, it seemed.

“I appreciate it—thank you,” mumbled Karen, head now hanging and horrified at the thought of a public scandal, her name a punch line in a tabloid story, her job prospects decimated.

“Please have a check for me waiting in the PTA office by three p.m. tomorrow,” Susan continued. “I will also need you to surrender your keys to me within the next six hours.”

“That’s all doable,” said Karen. “In fact, it’s doable now. I actually have the key on me, so here you go.” She unhooked the PTA office key from her chain and slid it across the tabletop. Susan promptly scooped it up and deposited it in her monogrammed canvas tote. “And here’s a check.” Karen removed a blank one from her wallet and, as painful as it was to write the number, made it out for $24,187. The sum represented about a sixth of her and Matt’s life savings. “But I’d appreciate it if you waited until tomorrow to deposit it,” she said as she handed it over. “I have to transfer some funds.”

“That’s fine,” Susan said sharply. “And now, if you have no more crimes to confess to, I’d like to leave.” As she stood up to go, her breasts, which turned out to be surprisingly large, flopped to and fro.

But a little fire had begun to burn inside Karen—an underground conflagration that was still seeking oxygen and that didn’t feel right about ceding the entire expanse of high ground to Susan Bordwell. “Susan, can I say one more thing?” Karen asked.

“What?” she said.

“I’m sorry to bring this up, but since I’m getting everything out—I have to say that I thought it was really unkind of Charlotte not to invite Ruby to her birthday party last weekend at the American Girl Café. Ruby was really hurt.”