True Confessions of the Stratford Park PTA

Judy smiles apologetically, clearly at a loss for what to do, clearly wanting to accommodate Barbara.

“I’ll have to make some calls. But let me see what I can do. Why don’t you and umm…” she glances at the paperwork “…Sarah. Why don’t you and Sarah have a seat over there? This may take a few minutes, Mrs. Woodall.”

Mrs. Woodall.

The words knock the breath out of me. Since Tim’s death, it feels as if Mrs. Woodall is someone else. I have no idea who I am. But I nod anyway.

Sarah sits on a sofa across from the desk.

Barbara touches my arm. “I have to go make some copies in the PTA office. Do you want to come with me?”

I glance at Sarah ensconced on the couch with her arms crossed defensively, her backpack at her feet.

“Thanks, but I’d better wait here in case they need some more information—”

“Good morning, Barbara.” The only blonde in the building who is not wearing a tennis outfit walks up and touches Barbara on the arm. She’s dressed in a smart black pantsuit and carries a slim briefcase, which is not big enough to hold a racket. She’s almost pretty—if not for the pallor of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes that she’s trying to cover up with thick concealer.

“Oh, Elizabeth, you’re here. Good. I want you to meet my niece, Margaret Woodall. She and her daughter just moved here yesterday from Asheville and will be living in the carriage house.” Barbara turns to me. “Elizabeth Deveraux and her husband Andrew live across the street. They have a seventh-grader named Anastasia. I’m sure she and Sarah will just love each other. We’ll have to get them together once you’re settled in.”

Elizabeth smiles. “We’ll have you all over for dinner next week.”

“Thank you. That would be wonderful.”

“Barbara, do you have a minute for me to go over something before tonight’s meeting? The music department changed their request for funds and I want to make sure you agree with my counterproposal before we put it to a vote tonight.”

“Sure, I do. Margaret, honey, I’m going to talk to Elizabeth and then go make my copies. Hopefully, by then they’ll have everything in order. She’s enrolling Sarah in school. You know how those things go nowadays.”

The two women disappear behind a door that’s next to the front desk. I sit down next to Sarah, who is busy watching Stratford’s middle schoolers stream down the main hall. My daughter looks so fragile sitting there in her pink blouse and slim denim capris; her fine-boned features devoid of makeup and enhanced by the way she’s swept her blond hair off her face into a ponytail.

I have a sudden flashback of what it’s like to be thirteen years old, on the outside looking in. It wasn’t until Tim and I moved to Asheville that I began to feel part of something—part of a community. I want to hug her and tell her it won’t always be this painful.

But I don’t dare.

Soon enough she’ll be in the flow, right there in the thick of things.

The kids at school are mean.

I blink away Mary Grace’s words, but find myself scrutinizing the children as they walk by: a group of five girls dressed cute—one in a Hollister T-shirt, another in a Roxy—walking shoulder to shoulder, sporting pastel messenger bags slung across their chests, rather than backpacks.

They whisper and giggle.

One squeals, “No way!”

Then they whisper and giggle some more.

Mean or nice?

They’re just girls. Girls being teenage girls.

Two boys stop five feet in front of us. I look to see if they notice Sarah— Hey, she’s cute and she’s the new girl. There’s value in being the new girl whether she realizes it or not—but they’re too busy play-punching each other to look in our direction.

A man dressed in a white polo and khaki pants—probably a teacher—breaks up their roughhousing.

“Don’t you boys have somewhere to be?” he says. “First bell rings in seven minutes. If you’re not in your seats, you’re tardy.”

Strict. Not necessarily a bad thing.

The boys move on.

As the throng of children starts to thin, I can see out the glass doors to the car line where parents are dropping off the last-minute arrivals.

Mercedes.

BMW.

Jaguar.

Lexus.

This is public school? A different breed than I’ve ever known.

“Mom, if they don’t hurry and figure this out I’m going to be tardy.”

I touch Sarah’s arm—that soft, smooth skin. “It’ll be okay. The teacher will understand since it’s your first day and all.”

She yanks her arm away. “How would you like it if you had to walk in in the middle of class?”

She’s so angry and I don’t know how to help her. It breaks my heart a little more because I know that feeling of just wanting to disappear. I wish there was something I could do to comfort her.

“I’ll check on things.”

By the time the administrators figure out what to do with us, school’s been in session for more than an hour.

“You’ll go right to second period since first hour is already over.” Judy glances at Sarah’s list of classes, then hands her the schedule. “Geography is your second class. It’s in room 234. Just go upstairs and turn left, you’ll see the room on the right. Your mom can walk you to class if you want.”

Sarah flashes me a don’t even think about it look. My heart sinks, but I bolster myself with the thought that at least she has enough confidence to navigate these strange halls alone.

“See ya.” She turns to go without a hug. I reach out for her, but she’s already gone.

“I’ll pick you up right here after school, okay?”

She doesn’t look back. Just walks straight ahead down that long, empty hallway.

CHAPTER 5

Elizabeth

I hadn’t planned on telling Andrew about the baby today. But I awoke this morning knowing I couldn’t put it off. Just as this child is growing in my belly, the need to tell him has gotten so huge, I feel as if I’m about to burst.