Curse of the PTA (27 page)

“Hey, Mom.” Jenna waved as she walked to the back of the store.

“Hi, honey,” I said. Or at least that’s what I intended to say. My mind was exploding
with ideas and projects and possibilities, and for all I know, I told her that dinner
was in my pants pocket and we’d be eating after the PTA meeting next week.

The door bells jingled and Lou and Mary Margaret Spezza walked in, hand in hand, wide
smiles on their faces.

“We want to thank you,” Lou said.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “For what?”

“For getting us back together.” Mary Margaret snuggled up to Lou and put her head
on his shoulder. “If it hadn’t been for you, I would have left town the other night.”

I frowned. “But you said you were about to knock on his door.”

“Yeah, well, that was a lie. I was too scared. I’d decided it was up to him to come
back to me.”

Lou slung his arm around her. “And I’d decided I wouldn’t go back for her until the
store turns a profit. That’ll be Thanksgiving, at the earliest.”

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. “Like I care about that.”

“It’s not about you, sweetheart,” he said. “A man’s got his pride, you know? If I
can’t keep you in furs and sports cars, I’m not doing my job.”

“And where would I wear a fur coat?”

He kissed the top of her head. “Anywhere you want, my sweet, anywhere you want.”

Most of me listened as they talked about the plans they had for Lou’s store, about
how they hoped to become part of the fabric of downtown Rynwood, and how did I think
a haunted house would go over?

Part of me, though, watched their obvious delight in each other’s company and was . . .
well, not jealous. No, the emotion tugging at me was more a wistfulness, a yearning
for that rare relationship that made two separate people one happy whole. Early on
in our marriage, my former husband and I had been like that, but it had withered under
the daily pressures of life.

Not these two. I smiled as they started arguing about what to order for the Christmas
season. Even in full-tilt argument, they were still hand in hand.

Loyalty. It was everywhere, once you started to look for it.

The bells jingled and Summer and Brett Lang walked in. They, too, were holding hands.

“Can we talk to you a second?” Summer asked. “Or is this not a good time? I mean,
you look kind of busy.”

“Nah, we’re just here taking up space,” Lou said. “C’mon, honey, I want to show you
that catalog of maple syrup candies.”

But Mary Margaret was ignoring him and introducing herself to Summer and Brett.

“Lou’s wife?” Summer asked. “Really? I didn’t . . .” She turned a prickly shade of
red.

“Didn’t know he was married, did you?” Mary Margaret jabbed her husband in the ribs.
“See what happens when you tell lies? You get caught and look like an idiot.”

“I didn’t lie to anyone,” he protested. “I maybe didn’t tell the whole truth, is all.”

Brett grinned. “Big difference,” he said. “Both ways can get you into trouble, though.”

Lou, Mary Margaret, and Brett launched into a vaguely philosophical discussion about
lies and truth, complete with anecdotes and hand gestures. Summer detached herself
from her husband and pulled me away.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said. “For the way I’ve been the last few weeks. No,
let me finish, okay? I’ve been a wreck, and it’s all because of that stupid money
I won. It was messing me up six ways from Wednesday, and you were right. There’s no
way I should have kept any of it a secret from Brett.” She grimaced. “I don’t know
what I was thinking. I really don’t.”

I did. What she’d been thinking was that her husband had no right to tell her what
to do. Which was both right and wrong at the same time.

“So, anyway,” she said, sighing, “after we heard on the news about Melody—speaking
of which, you getting her arrested must mean that stupid PTA curse is lifted, right?—anyway,
that’s when I told him about Destiny and the casino. About everything.”

I glanced at her husband. “He doesn’t seem too upset.”

She laughed, an easy run of happiness. “Oh, he was mad. All red-faced and feet stomping
at first, but then he got sad.” Her face went quiet. “That was worse, really. I started
crying, and he started crying, and oh, geez, don’t tell him I told you that, okay?
That’s when I saw what all that lying had done.” She pressed her lips together. “How
could I have been so stupid? No weekend with a girlfriend is worth a single lie to
my husband. How could I not have known that?”

“But you do now.” And their marriage would be the stronger for it. Plus I was getting
the sense that Destiny wasn’t on Summer’s A-list of friends any longer, and that could
only be a good thing.

“What about the money?” I asked.

“I gave it to him,” she said simply. “Every penny. I handed it over and told him he
could do anything he wanted with it.”

I stared at her. “Summer, that’s . . . that’s . . .” I hunted for the right thing
to say.

“Brilliant?” she asked, laughing. “The best idea ever?”

Since I’d been thinking more along the lines of “worst idea ever,” I smiled and didn’t
say anything.

“Know what he’s going to buy?” she asked. “A motorcycle.”

I took in a quick breath. Two wheels on pavement were not nearly as stable as four
wheels. And gravel, rain, bugs—nothing to a car, but all hazards to a motorcycle.
“You’re okay with that?”

“It sounds great to me,” she said, grinning. “As long as I get to ride along.”

I shook my head. “You’re a braver woman than I am.”

Summer looked at me, a curious expression on her face. “You really think that?”

“Well, sure. There’s not enough money in Wisconsin to convince me that getting on
a motorcycle would be a good idea.”

This time it was Summer who laughed. She laughed so hard that I didn’t hear Marina
come in the door. She looked at Summer, who was wiping tears from her eyes, then looked
at me. “What’s so funny?”

I shrugged. “No kids this afternoon?”

Marina dusted off her hands. “Got rid of the last one ten minutes ago. Ran over here
right off the bat because I want to commend your genius master plan to hire Flossie.
Smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Last week you said teaching Jenna how to launder her hockey uniform was the smartest
thing I’ve ever done.”

“And now you’ve topped that. Excellent work.” She clapped me on the shoulder. “Guessing
what you’re going to do next is what gets me out of bed in the morning.”

“And you think I believe that?”

“Nope.” She gave me a crooked smile. “But maybe you should.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Say,” she said, “you do realize the PTA curse vanished like the mist when Melody
was arrested, right?”

“I’m not overly familiar with the behaviors of curses.”

“Well, neither am I, but since I started that one, accidentally of course, I decided
I can finish it. Soon as I heard about Melody, I started blabbing about the end of
the curse on Facebook and Twitter. And you know what Claudia said? She said there’s
no such thing as a curse, just runs of bad luck, and that the Tarver PTA will be stronger
than ever.”

Truly, wonders never did cease.

I introduced Marina to Mary Margaret and saw the instant spark of friendship. Peas
in a pod, those two. The only question was, would the similarities bond or repel them
from each other? I was smiling, listening to their discussion of the best roller coasters
in the country, when the bells on the front door jingled once again.

“Hi, Mom!” Oliver bounded to my side and wrapped his arms around my middle.

“Goodness! Hello to you, too.” I held him close and looked through the crowd for Pete.
“I hear Mr. Peterson picked you up at Mrs. Neff’s this afternoon.”

“Yeah. When we were cleaning his garage last Saturday, remember I went over there?
Well, he said I could call him anytime. He even gave me his card and wrote his cell
phone number on it.” Oliver’s voice was full of awe. “No one ever gave me a business
card before.”

Bless Pete. “So you called him this afternoon?”

“Uh-huh. At school, Mrs. Jefferson said it’s important to talk about stuff that bothers
us, and that a . . . a trusted family friend can sometimes be the best person of all.”

And bless Millie. Tomorrow morning I’d send her a thank-you note. And chocolate. Lots
of chocolate. “That sounds like very good advice,” I said.

“Yeah.” He gave me one last squeeze. “So I called Mr. Peterson and told him about . . .
about . . .” He swallowed.

Gus appeared at Oliver’s side as Pete came out of the crowd and stood at Oliver’s
other side. Both men put a hand on one of my son’s shoulders, giving him strength,
rooting him in honesty and goodwill.

“It’s okay, Oliver,” Gus said. “You can tell her.”

“I’ll help you start, if you want.” Pete said. “It’ll be easy once you get going.
Ready? One Saturday, a little after school started, I rode my bike downtown. . . .”

Oliver’s thin shoulders curved forward. “Do I have to?” he asked.

“The sooner you tell it,” Gus said, “the sooner it’s over.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. I rode my bike downtown.
I know I wasn’t supposed to without permission, but, I don’t know, I was just out
riding around the block and then, like, I was downtown all of a sudden.”

I bit back the words I wanted to say so badly. “And then what?”

He kicked at the carpet. “And then I went into the gas station, you know, the one
Mr. Jarvis owns? And I . . .” His voice dropped low. “And I took a candy bar.”

“Took? You mean you didn’t pay for it?”

His head hung low. “I . . . stole it.”

I stared at my son. Where was the mother manual when you needed it? I supposed at
some point I’d be grateful that the theft of a simple candy bar could have caused
him such mental trauma, but that point wasn’t even visible from the current point,
which was me being appalled.

“Well,” I said, then didn’t know what to say next.

Gus stirred. “Oliver, why don’t you go in the back with your sister while I talk to
your mom a minute?”

I nodded, and Oliver scampered off.

“When I was ten,” Pete said, “I stole a soda and a bag of potato chips.”

Gus chuckled. “I took a pack of gum.”

I looked from Rynwood’s police chief to the forensic cleaner and back again. “He shoplifted!
Don’t tell me you’re condoning this.”

“Of course we’re not,” Gus said, unperturbed by my outburst. “But before you decide
on a punishment, hear us out.”

Pete put his hands in his pockets. “When Oliver called, he was crying. Said he didn’t
want to be a thief anymore, that he wouldn’t ever eat candy
again. Took me a while to get the whole story out of him. When he finally did, I said
we’d have to go to the police.” He smiled. “Thought I’d lost him for a minute there,
but he bucked up and said okay.”

Gus picked up the story. “They came into the station a little while ago, and I’ve
never seen such a long face on a youngster. Oliver told me what he’d done, and I told
him he’d have to confess to Mr. Jarvis.” He laughed. “His face went even longer. I
wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

The poor boy. “What did Randy say?”

Gus smiled. “I called Randy when these two were walking over. Told him what was going
on and asked him to take it seriously, to give the boy a little lesson.”

“So when we showed up,” Pete said, “Randy played like he was sad and angry at the
same time. Oliver was shaking so hard, I thought he was going to fall down, but he
stepped up and said he’d pay him back as soon as he got his allowance. Then he asked
if he’d go to jail. Randy told him no, not if he came in and swept the floor on Saturday.
Then you know what Oliver did? He pulled a crumpled, beat-up Snickers bar out of his
coat pocket and put it on the counter.”

“He never even ate it,” I whispered.

Pete shook his head. “Too guilty. You’ve got a good kid there, Beth.”

His smile warmed my heart. “He’s not bad,” I said. “Thanks, Pete. You’re the best.
I’m not sure what I would have done without you.” As he made a mild protest, I peered
at him. Was he blushing? No, why would he? It must be the heat in the room, that’s
all, gone up from so many people in the store.

“Hey, Mom, look at what I drew!” Oliver ran up and thrust a piece of paper at me.

On it was a picture of what I assumed was our house. Next to it, standing approximately
fifteen feet tall if the house was drawn to scale, was an assortment of people and
animals. There was George, looking like a black meat loaf. There was Spot, floppy
ears and all. There was Oliver, there was Jenna in her hockey gear, there was me with
books in my arms, and standing next to me was . . .

I pointed. “Who’s that? Your dad?”

Oliver smiled. His real smile, the one that had been hidden for weeks, the one I’d
longed to see, the great big contagious smile that lit the world. “It’s Mr. Peterson.
It’s okay that I drew him in with us, isn’t it?”

I looked at Pete. His gaze met mine, and the intensity in his eyes went deep down
inside me, down into a quiet space I’d never even known was there. Then I blinked,
he turned away, and the connection was gone.

“Mom?” Oliver tugged at my elbow. “It’s okay, right?”

“Of course it is,” I said vaguely.

And wondered how I could have been so blind.