Pretty Girls Dancing(6)
“Poor dear.” The sympathy was automatic, but Claire’s mind was elsewhere. Had Janie told her about the chemistry test? It was difficult to recall, but she thought not. David was the one who checked the school’s online grades to keep tabs on Janie’s academic progress. Claire focused on making sure her daughter went to her appointments with Dr. Drake and took the medication the man prescribed—a task she’d been failing miserably this school year. No one outside the family realized just how stubborn her socially reticent daughter could be. “Maybe we could work a trade, and Becca could help Janie with English. She’s having an awful time with Mr. Latham.” Mostly because the man was an absolute sadist who was lax about accommodating for Janie’s social anxiety disorder.
“Oh, everyone has a terrible time in his class.” This from Mimi Swenson, a small dark-haired woman who pecked at her salad like a finicky wren. “When I was in high school, he had me in tears weekly. I’m going to make sure Lizbeth doesn’t have him when she’s a senior. I hear he’s turned into something of a lech.”
“Kelsey was a whiz in science, too, if I recall.” Claire stiffened slightly as Barbara continued to chatter. “Of course, she excelled at most things.”
On some level, Claire realized what her friend was doing and was grateful for it. She was one of the few people who wasn’t afraid to mention Kelsey’s name. Most people acted as if she’d never existed, carefully avoiding a mention of her so as not to bring up unpleasantness. Barbara understood that it was like sharing a treat with someone starving.
But the gratitude was filtered by pain. As always, it was the verb that stopped her. Kelsey was. Not Kelsey is. Not Kelsey will be. For the first few years, every time she’d heard her baby referred to in the past tense, it had been like a knife to the heart. And the first time she’d unthinkingly uttered it herself, Claire had cried for days.
Because talking about Kelsey in the past tense meant that she’d finally given up hope. That she no longer believed that someday, somehow, her daughter would come home to them. Occasionally, she’d see a news show about a reunited family. And the mother would always say, “I never stopped believing. I always felt like I’d know if my child wasn’t still out there.” After seven years, Claire hadn’t given up hope, either. But she hated that it was getting more and more difficult to summon.
“Yes,” she said belatedly, her hand reaching for her glass again. “Both the girls must have gotten their math and science acumen from their father. Heavens knows neither subject was my best.”
“How fortunate that Janie shows an aptitude for science,” Karla Ferin chimed in. “In that field, she might be able to avoid public speaking altogether.”
There was a nervous titter around the table at the comment, and Claire hid her quick burst of indignation behind a rueful smile. “I know it’s hard to believe, but she shows no qualms about debating household rules at great length. Maybe I should insist our discussions take place outside the school building. I might just win an argument once in a while.”
Laughter alleviated the tension. Karla was a relative newcomer to the group, having moved to West Bend to take a Realtor’s job a couple of years ago. Claire had never cared for her. She had a sly manner of faintly couching criticisms in humor. Just minutes earlier, she’d been complaining about her son’s laziness, although from what Claire had heard, lack of ambition was the least of the boy’s sins. He’d dropped out of school and had been in and out of trouble with the law.
“Is Josh looking at getting a GED, Karla?” This from Barbara, as she pushed aside her salad plate with a sigh. “I think he can do part of the work online these days so it wouldn’t interfere with his job.” It was a well-orchestrated dance; Claire defusing hurtful words with self-deprecating humor and Barbara following up with a jab at the offender, cloaked in solicitude. Claire felt a sudden burst of affection for her friend. David often complained about the dog-eat-dog world of marketing, but these weekly luncheons required skilled verbal thrust and parry that was its own type of warfare.
Two faint spots of color rode high on Karla’s cheekbones. “Yes, of course, we have a school psychologist looking into it.”
“At least you know where he is,” Susan Prescott put in from across the table. “Isn’t it horrible about that missing girl over in Saxon Falls? They still haven’t found her, and it’s been all over the news.”
Susan’s words yanked Claire from humor to dread with whiplash speed. And for the first time that afternoon, all the snippets of conversation congealed into the same topic.
“It was Helen DeVries’s granddaughter. My hairdresser does Helen’s hair, and she’s just distraught.”
“Probably took up with some boy . . .”
“She’s been gone three days already . . .”
“I hear the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigation was called in. The locals aren’t wasting any time, especially after what happened to—ow! That’s my toe!”
“I’m so sorry, Mimi. How clumsy of me.” Barbara made a production of fussing over the other woman, seated on the other side of her. “I had such a cramp in my foot, but I didn’t mean to set it down on you. Are you all right? I swear I’m such a klutz sometimes. Why, just the other day . . .”
Claire became belatedly aware that her fork was suspended in midair and had been since the topic had been introduced. Slowly, as if disconnected from her body, her hand lowered it to her plate. Released it.