Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(79)

Holly stopped. Shoulders slumped. “Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry. I remember—Dad was always pulling you into court. Calling you ‘unfit.’ But you fought. You fought for me. Me? I hit a school bus. And I’m not going through a divorce—at least, not anymore. Turns out it was just a combo meal. Jack and me? We’re fine. Great, actually. Except there might be some legal trouble. But don’t worry. We won’t die in the end. Brad and Angelina didn’t die in the end—well, okay, maybe sort of. But not in the movie. In the movie they were fine. Perfectly choreographed.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Greta moved her ukulele to pull Holly close. “Shhh, it’s okay, Holly Tree . . . gimme a bear hug.” And then, with a lisp and a croak in her throat, Greta imitated a crazed drunk person—who was actually her, way back when. “Ais me, hit’s your mom, Holly. Comes to Mommy.”

Holly leaned into Greta, resting her head on Greta’s shoulder as Greta wrapped her arms around Holly. “Dad moved away.” Holly sniffed. “He took his fish tank. Little Poops. Big Poops. The puffer fish . . . and Bubba.” Holly smiled beneath tears. “Don’t forget Bubba. But I don’t blame—”

“Excuse me?” Miss Bently waved a hand, lifting her pen in a sign of surrender. “What’s going on here? Am I being punked? Am I on hidden camera?”

Wait. What?

Holly and Greta separated.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Greta explained. “Just another moment brought to you by our sponsor, Lifetime television.”

Holly smiled. “I went to film school.”

“Yup,” said Greta. “It’s true. She went to Northwestern.”

“Mostly student loans,” Holly explained. “But go on, Miss Bently. What were you saying?”

Miss Bently said nothing at all for quite some time. Just looked at Holly and Greta, presumably still wondering if she was being punked. Wondering if there was a hidden camera in the room. Which in fact there was. “Professors warned me about losing control at a parent-teacher conference.” She scrawled something in her notebook. “Here. Dr. Sue Melo. Pediatric ophthalmologist. Her office is one town over.”

“Let me guess.” Holly read the contact information, and sure enough: Dr. Sue Melo—Southern Lakes. “Anyone closer? Anyone in the Village of Primm?” Because Holly’s husband might lose his job in a few hours. Because Holly wanted to pretend her life existed only within the confines of this sweet little village—where porches had potential, where Gary-Gee’s “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah” filled the town square as villagers prayed for the life of a peahen.

“I’ll check with the school nurse.” Miss Bently set her pen down. Ran her hands across the fabric of her skirt. She appeared nervous.

“Uh-oh.” Greta nodded her chin in Miss Bently’s direction. “I’ve seen that look before. That’s a bad sign.”

“Is something wrong?” Holly asked Miss Bently. “Was it something I said?”

“Actually, Mrs. Banks, it was something you did.”

She knew about the bus. “I blame Mary-Margaret!”

“If you have something you want to tell me, Mrs. Banks, please speak directly to me before going to Principal Hayes.”

What? I’m confused.

“I’m sorry, Miss Bently. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You sent an email to Principal Hayes about my supply list. You asked if it was the work of someone who enjoys torturing others.”

Greta’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, that. Oh, gosh. I feel terrible,” Holly gushed. “I thought someone planted a bogus school supply list in my daughter’s backpack. Elmer’s disappearing purple? Athletic socks? Tennis balls? That was crazy. I was like fu—”

“I’m new here, Mrs. Banks.”

“Q.”

“I grew up in Southern Lakes, but I’m a newcomer to Primm Academy. I’m trying my best,” Miss Bently said. “That list was a rough draft. Something I wrote quickly in a stream of consciousness and was meaning to edit. It was never meant for circulation, but Rosie copied it along with a set of other papers, and well, I put the photocopied packets into the backpacks. When I realized the mistake, I emailed the parents, but I didn’t have your email. In fact, I don’t have any of your forms. Did you receive a back-to-school manual?”

“Is that the same as the back-to-school handbook?” asked Holly. Same handbook Mary-Margaret mentioned? “Or the Proper?” The tip sheet? Because Mary-Margaret mentioned that too.

“No.”

“The Primm Gazette?” No, that was Penelope. “Wait! Don’t tell me.” Holly snapped her fingers. “The back-to-school packet!” The packet Rosie mentioned. Was that it?

“No,” said Miss Bently. “It’s a back-to-school manual.”

“Oh. Well then, no. I don’t have that either.”

“At any rate,” Miss Bently continued, “it was never my intention to torture you with a back-to-school supply list. And I’d appreciate it if you’d speak with me first before alerting Principal Hayes when there’s a problem. I love my job, and I don’t want to lose it.”

“Understood.”

“Yes. Well. Thank you. This has been . . . interesting. But I’m needed in the library. The Little Kids, Little Zoo play is about to begin.”