Lie, Lie Again(23)
Sylvia grimaced as she thought of the sadness that had always flooded Nadine’s eyes when she spoke of Jonathan. It had been quite a surprise that Sylvia had befriended a woman older than her own mother. Nadine had invited her in for a cup of coffee and homemade cookies when she’d turned in her rental application. “I like to get to know prospective tenants. There’s only so much a credit report shows me,” she’d said, her eyes bright.
Sylvia’s radar had gone up, and she’d nearly left. The thought of having coffee and cookies with an old woman who smelled of cupcakes wasn’t on her agenda. But Nadine’s warm smile and I-won’t-take-no-for-an-answer aura had lured her to the table. She was curious about this woman who seemed so at ease with herself. The coffee was strong and the cookies were sweet, and as it turned out, not unlike Nadine herself.
Tightening her gaze on Sylvia, Nadine had said, “I like you. And one of the great things about having this old place paid for is that I can charge whatever I want for rent. I don’t need much. I’d rather find tenants whose company I like than those who can pay me a hefty check every month.” She’d tapped the table with a finger. “My son heartily disagrees, but I’m the one living here.” She’d met Sylvia’s eyes. “If you can promise to help me carry the odd package of bottled waters up the stairs, maybe join me for a cup of coffee now and again, I’ll let you tell me how much rent you’re comfortable paying.”
The offer had been too good to pass up, so she’d said yes on the spot. Oh, Sylvia had assumed she’d help with groceries every time Nadine asked, but she’d planned to avoid the coffees and chats. She wasn’t one for scheduled commitments.
But week after week, she’d found herself looking forward to her visits with Nadine in a way that was entirely foreign to her. The woman was sharp as a tack. Funny too. They’d laughed like old friends. Sylvia was the one who had taken Nadine to all her doctors’ appointments. Jonathan had been strangely absent until the end. Then he’d wanted to put her in a home. He’d called it “one of the best assisted-living facilities,” but Sylvia knew it would be a prison for Nadine.
“How about I check in on you, just like I do now, and if the time comes when you need more help, we find a devilishly handsome young man to be your nurse?”
Nadine touched the back of her hand to her forehead and gave Sylvia a dramatically exaggerated sigh. “Be still my beating heart. I do believe that’s the best idea I’ve heard all week.”
“It’s settled.” With wide grins, they shook on it.
And then the universe decided Sylvia had been rewarded with Nadine long enough. Though they had been concerned about Nadine’s heart, it was a ruptured brain aneurysm that had taken her life.
She should’ve known happiness like Nadine was fleeting. Good things had a shelf life. That had been shoveled and dumped into her heart with painstaking regularity. Was her time with Hugh up too?
She stood abruptly. The blanket fell to the floor, and she dropped it back onto the sofa before marching to the fridge and selecting a half-full bottle of wine. Yanking the cork out with her teeth, she spit it into the kitchen sink. For a moment, she considered drinking straight from the bottle, but she wasn’t her mother’s daughter. She set it on the counter and took a glass from the cupboard. Pouring with her left hand was a bit of a challenge. On the upside, her left arm would get a workout like it hadn’t seen in ages. The pour was a heavy one, but that was for the best as well. Where are you, Hugh? she wondered as the wine slid down her throat. Even if his plane had taken a detour halfway across the country, he would’ve been home by now. Something wasn’t right.
She was treading a very fine line between worry and anger. A small voice in her head begged her to tiptoe away from the anger—to leave it quietly before she woke a sleeping monster.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Saturday, March 11
Dear Room Fourteen Families,
I hope you’re all enjoying this rainy weekend! I wanted to take a moment to address the concerns some of you have about the leprechaun traps. As I stated in the letter I sent home, this project aligns with our unit on fairy tales and folklore. Nonetheless, I understand this assignment upsets some of you. I respect your feelings on the matter and want to create a situation that is acceptable to all of you. Therefore, I’m making it optional. If your child would like to participate, great! If not, that’s great too.
I received some emails that weren’t part of the chain, in which parents expressed concern that some of the nonbelieving children might tell the “believers,” for lack of a better term, that the leprechaun isn’t real. To sum things up, they fear this will lead to discussions they aren’t prepared to have about other mythical figures. They want to protect their children’s beliefs for a few more precious years.
For those of you who would prefer to have your child skip the assignment, I’m asking you to please discuss the importance of not sharing the “cold hard facts,” as one parent put it, with the students who are participating.
With best wishes,
Miss McFarlan
Riki hit “Send” and closed her laptop. She’d had enough of the leprechaun discussion. What she needed was a dose of reality, of home. She picked up her phone and dialed her parents’ number.
“Hi, hon! You’re up bright and early for a Saturday.”