Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(77)

So this is my sidekick for the day? My partner in crime? This might not end well.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Rosie offered her hand to Holly’s mother. “My name is Rosie McClure. Your granddaughter, Ella, is a very sweet little girl.”

“Well, she has a great mom.” Greta winked at Holly. “It’s nice to meet you, Rosie McClure.”

Holly was shocked. Her mom? Nice to a woman on the other side of a counter? Now there was a first.

Rosie led them through a narrow hallway to a small conference room, then called Miss Bently.

“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Banks.” Miss Bently entered the room, checking her watch. “My apologies. I only have a few minutes. The children are in the library with Mrs. Holiday.”

“Thank you for calling,” Holly began, her emotions a tight knot in her throat. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m Ella’s grammy.” Greta extended her hand, shaking Miss Bently’s with vigor. “Anything you want to say in front of Holly, you can say in front of me.”

Okaaaay, thought Holly. Then take off the aviator goggles, Mom. You look ridiculous.

“Ella failed her vision test,” Miss Bently announced. “We routinely check incoming kindergarteners for vision, as many pediatricians don’t check at this young age. A child who can’t see the board has difficulty in most subjects.”

“Ella’s vision failed?” Holly was shocked. Second day of school and Ella flunked her first test? “So what does this mean?”

“It means she’s blind!” Greta threw her hands in the air. “Oh, this is terrible!”

“It means she probably needs glasses,” Miss Bently said. Distracted by Greta’s shenanigans, she focused on Holly. “You should take her to an ophthalmologist.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Holly agreed. “Right away.”

A vision problem? Ella? Holly hit rewind. Scrolled back through her memories, searching for evidence of a vision problem she might have missed. Holly told Miss Bently, “She does stand close to the television . . .”

“Ella watches a lot of television?” Miss Bently opened a folder, wrote something down.

“What? Um . . . no. You see, I—um.” Now Holly was flunking a test. “Rarely, if ever. Ella never watches television. We don’t allow it. Nutrition . . . literacy. And cello! I mean . . . she plays the violin.” Holly crossed, then uncrossed her legs. “Suzuki method. So no time for TV. Sorry. Ella hasn’t watched it in days. Weeks! It’s been weeks.” Holly glanced at Greta. “Months, actually.”

“Are you sure?” A crooked grin spread across Greta’s face. “I believe I saw her watching the Science Channel. Astrophysics, was it?”

“Ella tells me she enjoys watching My Little Pony,” Miss Bently offered. “She’s made quite a few friends talking about Pinkie Pie and Applejack.”

“Really? Ella’s making friends?” Oh, sweet Ella. Holly was so happy she thought she might cry.

“Yes, of course.” Miss Bently positioned her pen above her notebook. “Does that surprise you?”

Greta leaned in. “Yeah, Holly. Why are you surprised?”

“Well, because we’re new in town.” Holly blinked. “I assumed making friends would be difficult.”

“Ella doesn’t seem to think so,” Miss Bently reported. “She’s making lots of friends.”

“See, Holly?” Greta brushed it off with the wave of her hand. “You worry too much. The kid may be blind—but she’s got plenty of friends to point the way.”

“Mom, stop.” Holly reminded herself she needed to forgive her mom. Start doing that “forgive us our trespasses” thing.

“Holly was a mess growing up,” Greta explained to Miss Bently. “Always so anxious. Slow to trust people.” Greta whispered, “Let’s just say she’s not the best judge of difficult circumstances.”

“Mom!”

“And she acts impulsively,” Greta muttered. Eyebrows tipped toward Holly. “Never thinking things through. She’s like a bull in a china shop. With vertigo.” Greta shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, well. What can you do?”

“Seriously, Mom?”

“You hate change, Holly. Own it. But it’s not Ella’s fault.”

“No one’s saying it is.” Holly turned to Miss Bently. “Will you excuse us?”

She motioned for Greta to join her in the hallway, but Greta refused.

“I’m not going with you.” Beneath aviator goggles, Greta delivered an incredulous look. “You look angry. I’m staying with her!” She pointed to Miss Bently.

Holly grabbed Greta’s ukulele and left the conference room. And just as Holly thought, Greta followed. Holly spoke through clenched teeth. “You’re sabotaging my parent-teacher conference. Maybe you should wait outside.”

“But Holly,” Greta pleaded her case, “that woman is trying to make you feel bad. She called you all the way to school for something that could be sent in an email.”

“Stop,” Holly hissed. “This is none of your business.”

“Sure it is.” Greta had no expression on her face. “Ella is my granddaughter.”