Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(26)

Shoulders slumped, Holly felt like she was in one of those idyllic Random House Little Golden Books with the gold foil binding, illustrated by a picture book artist like Mary Blair or Gustaf Tenggren. The Poky Little Puppy. The Little Engine That Could.

In Holly’s Little Golden Book, the women of Petunia Lane were cast in muted watercolors and dressed in tailored garments: clean lines, pointed busts, cinched-in waists, and voluminous skirts. Holly? She was cast in garish Technicolor.

“If my life were written onto the pages of a Little Golden Book, its title would read The Little Mommy That Couldn’t,” muttered Holly, snatching a second patch of grass to throw toward the bus as it crested the hill at the top of the street, en route to distant bus stops, en route to on-time moms waiting with ready-for-school kids.

Bye-bye, bus!

The back of it looked like a smiley face about to wink at her—black bumper smile stretched across a pale-yellow face below round rear-headlight eyes. The way it barreled up the hill on its merry little way made Holly feel like the bus was mocking her, 1950s–nuclear family style: Golly gee, Holly, seems you failed to get your daughter on me on the first day of kindergarten. You’re a stinker of a mom. Yes sirree! You’re a true stinker.

“Stay there, Ella.” Holly ran past Jack and Ella, back inside the house to grab her coffee and keys from the kitchen counter. “Struggle. Stop barking!”

Back on the porch, Holly told Jack, “People miss the bus all the time.”

“But it’s the first day of kindergarten.”

“I’m sorry. Jeez, Jack. Will you drop it? Where were you? Hmm? You could have helped. Why’d you leave everything to me? That’s so unfair.” Struggle through the open door. “Struggle!” Freaking barking. “Will you stop?”

From Ella: “I don’t wanna go to school. I want to stay home with yooooou.”

Holly placed her hands on the top of Ella’s shoulders, turned her around, and calmly pointed to the red Chevy Suburban on the driveway. In a controlled voice: “You’re going to school, Ella. And I’m going to drive you.”

To Jack: “This Friday night”—Holly lifted a finger—“if I make it through the week with the house unpacked and Ella on the bus each morning, we’re opening the pinot noir: the grand cru from Burgundy, the bottle your company gave us when you signed the agreement to move us to the Village of Primm. You hear me? Friday night. We’re drinking the Gevrey-Chambertin.”

“That’s a hundred-dollar bottle—”

“We’re drinking it.”

“Got it.” Jack nodded. Grabbed Holly. Hugged her. “You can do this.”

“We can do this,” she corrected. “Not ‘me.’ ‘We.’”

Holly closed her eyes, took a moment to feel Jack’s embrace. Could she? Could she do this? Ella would be fine; she’d adapt. But as far as school moms went? Holly worried Holly might flunk kindergarten.

Gevrey-Chambertin. Gevrey-Chambertin.

Holly pulled away from Jack, stepped to the side to look at the floor of her naked front porch. “We need a welcome mat. Collette had this place looking so nice.”

And then I showed up.



After driving a few blocks, Holly stopped at the corner of Dillydally and Castle Drum Tower. A scant seven cars separated Holly’s SUV from Ella’s school bus. And great news: the Dillydally and Castle Drum Tower bus stop had to be one of the most populated bus stops in Primm because it stood at the courtyard intersection between two enclaves: Dillydally and Castle Drum Tower. A large sparkling-white gazebo stood at the center of the courtyard, staked at the roofline with a circular row of flags known collectively as the Flags of Primm. The courtyard was one of only two locations in Primm with a gazebo showcasing all the enclave flags; the other flagged gazebo was known as the South Gazebo, and it stood in the center of town at the southern end of The Lawn. Each triangular pennant flag was poly burlap in make, burlap in color, with the name of an enclave embroidered in black above a touch of elegant black scrollwork at the pointed end of the flag. Enclave names were spelled out, with three exceptions: Castle Drum Tower’s flag read CDT; the Gilman Clear enclave was simply Gilman; and Parallax, though not especially long, so fit wasn’t an issue, was rendered with two Ls and nothing more, to match the gilded Ls in the cresting of the village carousel.

“Ella?” Car still running, Holly shifted into park.

“What?”

There were still plenty of Dillydally and Castle Drum Tower kids at the bus stop, moms and dads snapping photos as one by one, the mixed-age smattering of kids boarded the bus.

“Grab your backpack. You’re boarding that bus.” Holly ran around to open the passenger-side back door and unbuckled Ella.

“What’s happening?” Ella, wide eyed, kept shaking her head no. “Where are we going? Is the car broken? I’m scared. What’s happening. Mom? What’s happening?”

“We’re catching that bus.”

Holly set Ella on the street, then hoisted Ella’s blue backpack onto her tiny frame. “And I want you to know this is perfectly normal, Ella. People catch buses this way all the time. But don’t tell Daddy. Okay?” She took hold of Ella’s hand. “Okay, now. Run.” Off they went.

They were almost to the bus when the last Dillydally Tower child climbed the steps, and the bus driver closed the door. Dang it. Red traffic light about to turn green, Holly let go of Ella’s hand. “Stay here.” She hoisted her onto the grass. “Stay on the grass. Don’t step onto the sidewalk, and definitely don’t step into the street.” Holly ran fast to bang on the bus door. Bang, bang, bang!