Bad Connection (17 page)

“Hey, Samantha,” says Kellie. “What's up?”

“I wondered if you could use some help this afternoon. I have a couple of hours to kill and—”

“Man, did you come to' the right place!” She grins. “We're just starting to work on Christmas presents this week.” She holds up a plastic bag filled with white powder. “Handprints set in plaster of Paris. Kind of messy. Some extra help would be fantastic.”

So the next thing I know, I'm wearing a bright-colored apron and helping kids to plant their paws into the plaster goop forms that Rachel, another teacher, has all ready for them in the eating area. Then, keeping their hands off the walls and chairs and other children, I usher them back to the bathroom to wash up before their fingers get hard and stiff. After that I escort them back to their classroom where Kellie is just starting story time. It's like a three-ring circus.

“I'm so glad you stopped in,” Kellie says when we're finally done and the kids are starting to get picked up by their parents. “It would've been crazy without you.”

“Hey, it was fun. And it helped to pass the time.” ft

“How about coming back to work here during Christmas break again this year?” she suggests. “You were great last year.” 3

“I didn't know you needed help.”

“Well, Rachel just announced that she wants time off to o go back east to see her family, which means we'll be seriously shorthanded for a couple weeks. I'd figured on hiring subs to fill in, but we'd much rather have you. You know how the kids love you.”

“Sure,” I tell her. “That sounds great, and I could use the extra money.”

“Couldn't we all.”

So as we're discussing details and schedule, my mom pops her head into the day care center. “I'm here to pick up my little girl.”

“Hi, Mommy!” I say back in a childish voice, which makes a couple of the straggler kids laugh. “I'm ready to go home now.”

I feel hopeful that Mom might be happier now, knowing that Zach is in treatment and life is calming down some. But as we drive home, I can tell that she's still pretty uptight. My first clue is when she starts griping about the traffic and some of the drivers' less-than-stellar driving skills, and eventually, as we get closer to home, she's complaining about the weather, which has turned windy and cold. And finally she's just grumbling about Christmas and work and basically everything about life in general.

“Something wrong?” I finally ask, knowing I could be sorry for this inquiry later.

“Do I sound that bad?”

“Sort of.” I sigh. “I thought maybe you'd be feeling good today. I mean, knowing that Zach's okay.”

“Yes. I should be thankful, shouldn't I?” Still I can hear the bitter edge to her voice, and I don't respond.

“It's not that I'm not glad about Zach getting some help, Samantha. Really, I am. It's just that this is
not
how I imagined my life would go. You know, at this stage of the game, well, I didn't see myself working so hard at my job, or that my husband would get shot and I'd be a single mom struggling to make ends meet. Or having a kid who's a junkie and gets picked up by the police to go into rehab. It's just not the life I'd planned for myself.”

“I guess no one really knows how things will turn out.

She glances at me. “Well, besides you anyway.”

“I don't know much of anything. I mean, unless God shows me. And He never showed me anything regarding Zach.”

We're home now, and Mom just lets out a long exasperated sigh. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't vent on you like that. It's just that I don't have anyone else to let my hair down with.”

“It's okay.”

“No, it's not. Maybe I'm just tired. What with Zach and Saturday's late night trip to Seattle, this was a long weekend.” She dumps her coat and bag onto the bench by the door.

“Why don't you just relax? Take a hot bath or something. I can make us something for dinner.”

“Oh, that sounds great, Samantha.” She gives me a small smile. “I appreciate it. Sorry about my little pity party.”

“It's okay. I understand.”

In fact, I may understand even better than I realized. Because now, as I go into the kitchen and try to find someo thing that can be transformed into something that will resemble a meal, I start feeling kind of like Mom just described. Kind of like, this isn't very fair. I mean, this isn't exactly the sort of life I had wanted either. I don't enjoy having a grumpy full-time working mom. And it's not easy losing your dad when you're only twelve. And pile up Zach's drug problems on top of everything else, and suddenly I feel the need to have a little pity party all of my own.

Instead I dig in the freezer until I find a packaged lasagna dinner that looks slightly frostbitten. But I figure it's worth a try, and maybe I can put some extra cheese on top. Then as the oven is preheating, I pull out my Bible and open it up to a familiar passage.

As I set the table for Mom and me, I run these thoughts through my head. I ponder what it means to live freely and lightly as I get some frozen peas ready to be nuked in the microwave. Finally I decide that this is a Bible verse I should memorize, so I write it down on one of the index cards that I keep especially for this sort of thing. Then I set it on the table by my plate. Maybe I should even share it with my mom before we eat our dinner. I think she's in need of it as much as I am.

The next few days pass rather uneventfully. I try not to worry about the girl in my dream; instead, I find myself praying for her. Her name, Elena Maiesa, seems to be engraved into my memory, along with her face. But so far I've heard nothing from Ebony about her. In fact, I've heard nothing from Ebony at all. I've been tempted to call her, but I figure she'd have called me if anything new had happened. More likely she's involved in something else. Maybe something more important.

I continue to pray for Kayla too. But more and more I'm thinking that maybe I was all wrong. Maybe Kayla is perfectly fine. Maybe she's already married to her Colby friend and living happily ever after. Yeah, right.

I go to Olivia's winter concert with her and am pleased when Conrad comes and sits beside me. I'd started to give up on him too, but it seems like he's still interested in me. Afterward, he invites Olivia and me to meet him and Alex for coffee. And without even checking with Olivia, I
accept for us. But when I meet her backstage, she seems happy about the news.

“Really?” she says with bright eyes. “Alex too?” q

“Yeah. Great concert by the way. Your solo was awesome.”

“Thanks.” She looks down at her black concert dress. o “Man, I wish I'd brought something to change into. I didn't know we'd be going out for coffee afterward.”

“Hey, you look beautiful. Glamorous. Like a star.”

She grins. “Lay it on, Samantha.”

“Seriously, you really do.”

“Well, let me get my coat.”

And then we drive over to Lava Java, where the guys are already waiting for us. Okay, it's not a date, but it feels like the beginning of something.

“Good job tonight,” Conrad says after we've ordered coffees and joined them. “You did a fantastic job on that solo.”

“Yeah,” adds Alex. “That was the best song of the whole night.”

Olivia is beaming now, but she simply says a calm “thanks,” and then changes the subject. “Mr. Lowry said this might be the last year to do songs like 'O Holy Night.' Some lady on the school board is talking about banning all songs of religious nature from the curriculum.”

“Right,” says Alex. “So you can just sing songs like 'Jingle Bells' and 'Frosty the Snowman.' That'd be pretty sophisticated.”

“Or The Twelve Days of Christmas,'” adds Conrad. “There's a song with substance.”

“Hey, I like The Twelve Days,'” I protest. “We used to sing it with my dad on our way to get a Christmas tree when we were kids. It was our tradition.”

“Speaking of that song,” says Conrad. “Alex's family had the weirdest thing happen last Christmas. Tell the giris what happened.”

Then Alex proceeds to tell us how his family got these strange anonymous thank-you cards for gifts his family had never sent. “The first ona was just kind of odd. It said something like: Thank you so much for your thoughtful gift of a partridge; he is a very lovely bird. However, we're not quite sure what to do with the pear tree since it is winter and too early to plant right now.'”

We all laugh.

“But then it just kept going. We got a new thank-you each day. And of course, they toved the five golden rings and said something like, 'Oh, you shouldn't have…' but then the thank-yous started getting a little irate. Like they'd say, Thanks a lot for those seven geese and all those eggs, but enough already. They're making a mess of our backyard and harassing the six swans, and the neighbors are complaining about the noise from those four calling birds. Please, stop this nonsense immediately, or we shall contact the authorities!'”

By the time Alex reaches the end of his dramatically told story, we're all laughing so hysterically that Olivia and I have tears running down our cheeks.

“No way” Olivia says as she wipes her eyes. “They really sent those to you?”

He nods. “My mom saved them. It was really weird.” ft

“Did you ever figure out who did it?” asks Conrad.

“My dad insists it's this crazy dude at work, but the guy denies it.” He laughs. “It's a mystery.” 3

“What a great joke,” says Olivia.

Finally, it's time to go, but as we leave, Conrad and Alex both suggest that we get together again. “Maybe during winter break,” says Alex.

“Cool,” I tell him.

“You guys ever go ice-skating?” asks Olivia, who used to take lessons.

“We used to play hockey,” Alex says with a slightly cocky grin.

“But it's been quite a while,” admits Conrad.

“I haven't skated in years,” I say. “But it used to be fun.”

“Let's do it,” says Conrad. Then he winks at me. “I'll give you a call, Samantha.”

We wave good-bye and head off to our cars. “That was so cool,” Olivia says as she unlocks her car.

“Yeah,” I admit. “The most fun I've had in ages.”

“And it wasn't really a date.”

“Nope, it wasn't.”

And as she drives us home, I'm thinking I could use a few more fun times like this in my life. It seems the past few weeks have been heavy and hard. And I appreciate the fact that God wants to give us some breaks. He wants us to laugh and play and have a good time, and hey, I could get used to this.

W
inter break officially began last Friday, and now I'm working at the park district day care center. Okay, it's not exactly a glamorous job, but it's kind of fun, and the kids do like me, and it helps to pass the time. Plus, I'll get paid.

The first several days of “vacation” pass fairly uneventfully. Just work and life and nothing out of the ordinary. No more dreams or visions or much of anything unusual. And I still haven't heard a word from Ebony about either of the missing girls, nothing about Elena or Kayla, but I continue to pray for them daily, if not more.

However, I'm starting to think that my dreams and visions may have been nothing more than my overactive imagination. And in a way, I suppose this is a relief. I have no problem living like a regular high school girl.

In fact, last night, Olivia and I actually met Conrad and Alex for a prearranged ice-skating debut. I hadn't skated since before Dad died, but with Conrad's patient help and coaching, it slowly came back to me. Meanwhile, Olivia and Alex really cut up the ice like a couple of pros. By the time the evening was over and we reconvened at Lava Java for something to warm up with, we were all
exhausted but thoroughly happy. I never mentioned the ft blisters on my heels. It was worth it. And Conrad hinted that we should all go see a movie together this Saturday. No complaints from me there either.

But then as Mom and I are driving to work this morning, and I'm feeling only half-awake and just blurrily looking o out the window, I see this billboard with a travel ad promoting the Southwest. Mom's stopped at the red light, and I just blankly stare at the billboard.

Then instead of seeing the red-golden mountains, a big cactus in the foreground, and the bright aqua-blue sky behind it, I see a girl lying on her side in the dirt. Just like in my previous dream, her mouth is taped with duct tape, but her face is bruised and so swollen that I can't tell who she is. As before, her hands and feet are bound. But her long hair is matted with dirt and dust, so much that I can't tell what color it is, just a dull sandy brown color. But the skin on her bare arms and legs looks pale, as if the blood is drained out. Somehow I know that this girl is dead. I gasp loudly just as Mom pulls into the intersection.