Getting Warmer (25 page)

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Everyone’s nibbling on the veggies and dip. Can I peel the potatoes?”

She rummaged through a drawer until she found a peeler. “That would be really helpful.”

Dinner was served an hour and a half later than planned—at six-thirty rather than five. Outside the window, the orange trees looked black against the night sky. For dinner, in addition to the turkey and stuffing, there were mashed potatoes, rolls, broccoli, candied carrots and cranberry sauce. Janet had brought a yam casserole topped with marshmallows. “Would you like a roll?” I asked her, passing the basket.

“No, thank you. Paul and I are trying to limit our glutens.”

Elderly Mrs. Schroeder sat on the other side of me. “Will you be staying in Phoenix for long?” I asked her.

“Oh, no, I hate Arizona!” she chuckled. “Never go there if I can help it. My husband, Larry, keeps trying to get me to move to Sun City, but I’m not budging. Have you met Larry?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“He’ll be here any minute. He went out to get milk.” I did a quick scan of the table. I wondered where Larry was going to sit.

Across from me, Paul was saying to Jeff, one of the Clausens’ sons, “The trick is to bring twice as much water as you think you need. And to turn around before the sun starts getting hot.” Jeff was in his last year of college, applying to medical schools. The Clausens’ other son, who taught history to underprivileged seventh graders in Washington, D.C., was spending the holiday with his wife’s family.

“Paul and I like to put in at least six miles on weekdays,” Janet piped in. “More on the weekends. Last Sunday morning we were out of the house before five.” So much for breakfast in bed.

“Janet hasn’t run one marathon,” Paul announced.

“We won’t hold that against you,” Jeff laughed.

Janet leaned forward and grinned. “That’s true. I haven’t run one marathon—I’ve run
three
. Paul, you are
so bad
.”

“Aargh!” Mrs. Schroeder shrieked. Conversation stopped dead. “There’s something wrong with the yam casserole! The marshmallows taste like dirt!” We all stared at the orange mound on her plate.

“Those aren’t marshmallows,” Janet said, blinking furiously. “It’s tofu.”

“
Why
? Why would you do that?” Mrs. Schroeder’s eyes bugged out. Her hands shook.

“Paul and I like to limit our sugar intake,” Janet murmured.

Mrs. Clausen stood up. “The casserole is delicious,” she said firmly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put the pies in the oven.”

I snuck a peek at Mrs. Schroeder. She looked calmer, though her hands were still shaking a bit. I took a tiny bite of the yam casserole. She was right. It needed sugar.

“Are you from California?” Mrs. Schroeder asked me.

I checked her face. She was smiling pleasantly, all traces of irritation gone. “No, Massachusetts, actually.”

She picked up her wineglass, took a tiny sip and put the glass carefully back in place. “How do you like California?”

“California? It’s, um, nice, I guess. I’ve only been once.”

“But you’re here now!” She picked up her fork and took a delicate bite of the yam casserole. “Tasty,” she said.

When we’d all finished eating, I ignored Mrs. Clausen’s admonition to stay seated and started carting dirty china into the kitchen. Soon, the counter was covered with half-empty serving bowls, sticky wineglasses and china plates coated with large portions of uneaten yam casserole. “I’ll deal with this mess later,” Mrs. Clausen said once the table was clear. “Let’s just serve the pies and get this over with.” I’d never imagined Mrs. Clausen could be anything but composed. Tonight she looked downright twitchy.

“It’s too bad your father couldn’t be here tonight,” I said, picking up a stack of dessert plates.

She stopped moving for a minute. “Natalie, my father couldn’t be anywhere tonight. My father died thirteen years ago.”

I took a deep breath. At some level, I’d known this. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

She sighed. “Don’t be. My mother told you he’d gone out to get milk, didn’t she?” I nodded. “Most of the time, she’s okay. Or, at least not too bad. The medicines they’ve got these days—they’re amazing. But the minute the sun goes down . . .” She shook her head. “She used to be so sharp. So charming. This disease—it takes the person away but leaves the body behind. It’s cruel.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said again, overwhelmed by the inadequacy of my response.

She shrugged with resignation and then smiled sadly. “My mother had a lot of good years. I’m thankful for that.” Then she drew herself up. “How are your parents doing? Are they holding up okay?”

“Yes,” I said, swallowing hard. “They’re healthy. Perfectly healthy.”

“Good. Then appreciate them while you can. Now, let’s get this dessert out there before my mother really loses it.” Oven mitts on her hands, she picked up the pumpkin pie. “Robert didn’t sneak any tofu in here, did he?”

Mrs. Clausen sent me home with a brown bag of leftovers: a bag of turkey, some rolls, and the last two pieces of pumpkin pie. “Let me help you with that,” Paul said, taking the bag and walking me to my car. Janet had gone to “freshen up” before heading back to Ahwatukee. I unlocked my car doors and took the bag from Paul, placing it carefully on the front passenger seat and strapping it in.

He laughed. “Do seat belt laws apply to turkeys?”

I smiled back. “I don’t know, but I’ll be living off that food for days. I don’t want it falling on the floor.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets. “It was nice to see you again.”

“You, too.” I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. It had been warm during the day, so I hadn’t brought a jacket.

Paul tilted his head to the side. “Can I call you some time?”

“Um, sure,” I said, trying to figure what he’d ever need to call about. “Why?”

He laughed nervously. “To, you know, see you.”

“You mean, like—on a date?”

“Well, yeah.”

I squinted at him. “You have a girlfriend.”

His eyes flickered involuntarily back to the house. “Not really. We’re just . . . friends. Well, more than friends. But we’re just dating. It’s not exclusive or anything.”

“Does she know that?” I asked.

He was quiet for a minute. Then he sighed in irritation. “Just forget it,” he said. “I thought you might be lonely. I was just trying to be nice.” He turned and started back up the Clausens’ front walk.

“Paul!” I called out. “Wait.” He stopped and turned. I spoke clearly but not so loud that the neighbors would hear. “Just so you don’t think I’m talking about you behind your back, I want you to know something. I think you’re a jerk. And since you’ve probably found the only woman in the world who finds you interesting, you should probably stick with her.”

My heart thudding, I strode around to the driver’s side door and got in, shutting the door with a satisfying thud. As I drove away, I snuck a peek at the house, but Paul had disappeared inside. In the front window, though, the curtains were drawn back, and a pale face peered out at me. I wasn’t sure, but I think I saw Mrs. Schroeder smile.

I’d been awake for at least twenty minutes when Jill called. “Oh, sorry—did I wake you?”

“No, I was up.” My froggy voice cracked a little.

“Go back to sleep—I’ll call you later.”

“
I was up
.” I cleared some morning phlegm from my throat. I should never answer the phone before my first cup of coffee. I’d turn off the ringer in my room—but what if there was an emergency? What if Jonathan called?

Jill kept her voice light. “I just wanted to see if you had any interest in shopping. The day-after-Thanksgiving sales and all. I was thinking about checking out Fashion Place, though parking could be tough. There’s always Nordstrom Rack if that doesn’t work.”

I checked the clock next to my bed: nine twenty. “No, thanks,” I said.

“It would just be the two of us.”

“
No, thanks.
”

Two cups of coffee later, I almost wished I’d said yes. Four days away from school had sounded like such bliss. I would watch movies, soak in the spa, sip my coffee at leisure. The problem was, I’d watched three movies since Wednesday, and if I drank any more coffee, my stomach would start to hurt. A few days ago, the idea of soaking in a spa alone had seemed indulgent, but now the reality struck me as pathetic.

I did some laundry, changed my bed, read
The Arizona Republic.
That took me almost to lunch. Finally, I came up with a plan. During the remaining three days away from work, I would, well—work. I was behind on my grading. I was behind on my planning. If I couldn’t be happy, at least I could be productive. Unfortunately, I’d left a pile of ungraded essays in my classroom, along with my grade book. I had a key to my classroom, though; with any luck, the building would be open.

The road to school was almost eerily empty. Everybody must be at the mall. Maybe when my parents came back to town my mother and I would spend an afternoon at Fashion Place. I would splurge on cosmetics at whatever counter was offering a free gift. For lunch, we’d eat at Café Nordstrom.

At the first traffic light, I fished my cell phone out of my purse and dialed Shelly’s number. My mother answered.

“Happy Thanksgiving plus one,” I said. (My parents and I had traded messages the day before, but we’d never had a chance to talk.)

“Are you driving?” my mother asked. “You shouldn’t use your cell phone when you’re driving.”

The light turned green. I pressed the accelerator. “There’s hardly any traffic.”

“There’s always traffic in Scottsdale. It’s getting to be like L.A.”

“When have you ever been in L.A.?” I flicked on my blinker and began to change lanes. An SUV sped up to block me. “Jerk,” I muttered, swerving back into my lane.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you want to call me later? When we can talk?”

“I can talk now.” The SUV passed me on the right. I slid in behind him.

“I have something to tell you.” Her voice sounded serious.

Adrenaline flooded my head. I thought of Mrs. Schroeder. I thought of irony. Of cruel justice. “Is everything okay? You’re not sick, are you?”

“Of course not. I’m fine. Your father’s fine. It’s Shelly we’re worried about.”

I thought of Krista. “Is something wrong with the baby?”

“No, the baby’s fine.
He’s
fine, I should say—we found out on Wednesday.”

“A boy. Wow.” The thought of a tiny penis growing inside my sister’s womb seemed intimate and beautiful and grotesque all at once.

“But Frederick’s not coming back,” my mother continued, “and we don’t think Shelly is up to doing this alone.”

“Doing what? Giving birth?”

“Not just giving birth. Giving birth is the easy part. Taking care of a baby—feeding it, making a home. Natalie, your father and I have decided to move to Rhode Island.”

A car horn blared. I realized too late that I had run a red light. I checked my mirrors frantically: no sign of a police car. My heart thudded in my chest and up through my throat.

“Natalie? Are you there?”

“I’m here,” I said. “I’m still here.”

 

 

I sat in the faculty parking lot for a good fifteen minutes. There were only two other cars in the lot, one of which I recognized as Dr. White’s silver Ford Taurus. The other was a beat-up two-door sedan that probably belonged to a janitor. In front of me, the school building loomed blocky and anonymous, the spiky succulents in the landscaping making it seem even more forbidding. If I moved away, would I miss the school? Would I miss the woodpeckers in the saguaros, the lizards on the stones? Would I miss anyone? Would anyone miss me?

Moving was my mother’s solution. “There are plenty of teaching jobs in Rhode Island.” I couldn’t see living in Rhode Island, but I could always go back to Boston. I still had some friends there, though others, like me, had moved away to start their “real lives.” I had followed my parents West. I could follow them back East. At what time, though, would I stop following my parents and start leading my own life?

The front door was locked, but it didn’t take long to find an open side door. Ahead of me, the corridor loomed long and empty. It looked like the setup for a slasher movie. If someone jumped out of a doorway and slit my throat, no one would hear me scream.

But there were no slashers at school today. Presumably, they had gone to the mall like everyone else.

The knob to my classroom turned before I’d even put in the key. Darn it. Nicolette had locked up; I should have told her to jiggle the knob. A glance through the glass panel told me that the room had been undisturbed, however: my stack of papers was in place, as were my tape dispenser and stapler. Really, there wasn’t much in here worth stealing.

I pushed open the door. The smell hit me immediately. I stuck a hand over my nose. I stepped back into the corridor and stared at my classroom. Nothing seemed amiss. I crept in slowly, my hand still over my nose, my eyes darting around for the source of the odor. It seemed to be coming from my desk.

He’d left it on my chair: a Ziploc bag filled with feces, the top unzipped. The bag was one of those special holiday kind, a design of orange and yellow maple leaves trailing across the front. A perfect bag for holding pumpkin cookies or sunflower seeds. Or shit.

I had to get it out of there. I rummaged through my drawers until I found a plastic Safeway bag. I managed to get the Ziploc bag inside without touching it. I scurried down the hall and out the door, flinging the bag in a Dumpster. I stood there for a moment, just staring at the blue Dumpster, until I realized that I had left the door to my classroom open. Anyone could go in. Who knows: maybe someone was waiting in there now, had been waiting there since Wednesday. I flung open the school door and ran down the hall, breathing hard. The door to my room as still open. My tote bag lay untouched on my desk. Aside from the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the room was quiet. It stank.