Identity Issues (8 page)

"Yeah, I know. But if Rob wouldda put it in his locker, he’d be in even bigger trouble than me. If his mom found out he took that magazine from home, he’d get killed. You know Rob’s mom." Nick ate voraciously now. He never became too upset. Amazing to me that he willingly took the hit for a friend. A tough nut to crack, this kid of mine.

"Nick, you’re a very loyal friend. And while that’s admirable, I’m still concerned. First of all, I understand that women’s bodies are fascinating to boys your age, but I want you to become the kind of man who respects women as people, not see them as objects."

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Rex, his front paws on the kitchen counter, jaws opening over Jon’s plate of leftover roast beef.

"Rex, no!" I shouted.

Nick laughed. "Way to go, Rex."

"Nick, knock it off." I took a breath and refocused. "Hear me on this," I continued, "Playboy Magazine does not belong in school. It doesn’t matter who brought it. I expect you to come up with a solution for your note from the principal. Mr. Schneider does not expect students to bring pornography to school; neither does he expect you to tell him that you’re just doing a friend a favor. You know better than that."

"Playboy is not porn, Mom. It’s just pictures of naked ladies. Rob’s dad says you’re supposed to tell people that you like the articles," he argued.

"Nick, that magazine is porn. It portrays women as sex objects." When he smiled, recalling a favorite photo, no doubt, I asked, "Do you want people to look at your sisters that way?"

"Mom, that’s gross."

"Yes, it is gross, but think about your sisters every time you see a magazine like that."

Nick looked green. "Aw, Mom, now I’ll never be able to look at one of those magazines again without thinking about Lizzie, Annie, and Marie."

"Excellent," I said. "My job is done."

"Awright," Nick conceded. "I’ll tell Mr. Schneider that I won’t look at magazines like Playboy, ‘cuz it’s demeaning to women and I respect women like my mom and my sisters. And, heck, I’ll even tell him that I won’t do it ever again. I suppose you want me to write an essay, too."

"Nick, don’t just give me lip service here. I’m serious about this. And ask Mr. Schneider to call me after you two talk."

"Geez, Mom, you don’t trust me?"

"Finish your breakfast." I got up from the table, wished that the coffee was a little stronger, and noticed Jon headed out the door with his suitcase. The girls stumbled downstairs to breakfast.

"Morning, ladies," I greeted.

Annie, not a morning person, demanded, "What’s so good about it?"

Lizzie on the other hand carried a bright smile amidst her tangled golden locks. "Hi, Mom." She threw her arms around my waist.

"Don’t we have any good cereal?" Annie complained.

Jon returned for a quick kiss to the kids and me. Off to the airport, leaving me behind with the kids, the maniac dog. Typical. T–Y–P–I–C–A–L. I was beginning to resent it.

"Where’s my breakfast?" Jon looked surprised.

"Rex," Nick told him, failing to squelch a grin.

"Good boy, Rex," Jon said. "He’s a meat eater. Smart dog, huh, Nick?"

Always time for a male bonding moment.

At least it was Friday. Not always the case, but the week had gone by quickly. Di and I walked down to lunch together, aware that the teacher’s lounge wouldn’t allow us the privacy to talk. Ben appeared first, his usual hung–over self.

"How’s your day going, Ben?" I asked.

"Fine, if you like teaching math to a class of kids dumber than a bag of rocks. What a bunch of morons. I hope they aren’t making change for me in a couple of years."

"Teaching isn’t what it used to be," I added.

"No Child Left Behind," he muttered.

"Why did you become a teacher, Ben?"

"What other profession guarantees the summers off and three weeks of vacation a year on top of that? You know, you don’t have to work hard when you’re a teacher. You just show up at 7:00 a.m., leave by 3:00 p.m.," he said sarcastically.

I smiled.

"By the way, Stitsill, do you still want me to tutor before school?"

"That’d be great, Ben. I’ll put you on the schedule. Thanks."

I had recently implemented a program that allowed kids to be tutored in the mornings before school. Ben was my first volunteer.

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich later, I left the trashy teacher’s lounge for the trek to the office before afternoon classes. The door opened and closed behind me, and I turned to find Di in my wake.

"How’re you doing?"

"Still a little freaked," she said. "How about you?"

"Same, but I’m trying to stay calm."

"I was exhausted last night. The emotional toll got to me."

"I know what you mean."

"Have you thought any more about the Stitsill situation?" she asked.

"I think we need to back off for a while," I said quietly.

"I agree."

"Got any weekend plans?"

"Maria Stewart wants me to go out with her brother. He’s single, never been married, and supposedly good looking."

"What’s he do?"

"
He’s a software engineer for one of the computer outfits downtown, but he lives in Worthington Heights."

"Are you going?"

Di had about given up on dating. Since her divorce she had dated one guy long term, but recently realized she didn’t love him. Not much point in continuing the relationship. I felt for her. It wasn’t easy to meet eligible men when you spent your day in a middle school and your evenings going to the gym, then home to correct a stack of test papers.

"I told her to have him call me. I’ll talk to him and decide if he’s someone I could chat with through an entire meal without wanting to bolt. He’s supposed to call tonight, but I don’t know if it’s even worth the trouble."

"You like coffee, so why don’t you meet at a bookstore with a coffee shop attached? That way, you can talk about books you’ve read and you won’t have to try to come up with a scintillating topic."

She brightened. "Good idea."

I glanced at my watch. "Gotta run. If I don’t see you before the day’s over, have a good weekend."

"You, too."

I found the wedding photographs in my dresser drawer when I got ready for bed that night. Jon must have deposited them inside after dinner the other night.
Thank you.

I opened the folded paper and stared at the photo of Jon Stitsill, the impostor. His long arms reminded me of their pendulum motion as he’d purposefully walked down the street two nights ago. How could I ignore this?

I couldn’t help but wonder why Rosita would ask me if my Jon was her husband when she thought the guy in the picture was dead? Was she part of a cover–up? Was he a drug dealer using his kids as a foil to conceal his activities?

I decided to take the pictures to school on Monday and show them to Di to confirm my suspicions. We both knew what we’d seen, but this would make the reality indisputable.

My anxiety bubbled to the surface again. My heart raced as I considered telling Jon about Stitsill’s very real appearance outside of Rosie’s house. I couldn’t be sure how he’d react. Not that the option presented itself. Six thousand four hundred eighteen miles apart, I couldn’t tell him even if I wanted to. I hated to keep secrets from him. In fact, I couldn’t recall that I’d ever kept anything from him. This was a simple postponement. I fell asleep amidst a myriad of scenarios playing in my head. My best honed skill? Making myself crazy.

S
ATURDAY MORNING I awoke to the chatter of five scheming children. I plodded downstairs, hoping that the murkiness in my head would clear after some strong coffee. I fried bacon while I waited for the coffee to brew, then set the table, praying all the while that they’d quiet down until I had a chance to fully wake up. When the coffee didn’t work its magic, I headed for the shower, leaving the kids to clean up and watch cartoons until I returned.

Once fully soaked, with my hair lathered up with shampoo, and shaving cream slathered on my legs, Lizzie came banging on the bathroom door.

"Mom, hurry, it’s an emergency!" she shrieked.

Oh, great! What now? I wondered. But I calmly asked, "What is it, sweetie?"

"Annie’s hair is stuck in the vacuum!" She continued to shriek and beat on the door.

"You can stop the pounding. I hear you, and I’m coming."

I pulled on sweats over my dripping body and wrapped a towel around my still soapy head.
Good Lord, why couldn’t I catch a break?
I opened the door to a hysterical mop–headed kid.

I rested a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Where’s Annie? Take me to her. Don’t worry, she’ll be okay."

Lizzie led me down the steps at break–neck speed. I certainly felt more awake now, and uncomfortable. My clothes stuck to my body and my ears were plugged with suds.

Seated on the family room floor in her flannel nightgown with her brothers and sisters gathered around her, the hand vacuum sucked at her temple. I squelched a chuckle. A scene out of a slapstick movie, her siblings’ mouths agape. No words emerged. The kids had never been this quiet.

"Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on?" I bent down next to Annie to assess the damage.

No one spoke.

Annie’s hair was long and flowing, like Rapunzel’s. Now wrapped around the roller of the hand vac, it reminded me of the tape on a lint roller. I unplugged the cord and began to pray. This required divine intervention. The darned thing was stuck to her head, at the scalp no less. I couldn’t even grasp enough to loosen a single lock of hair.

"Will, hold the handle of the vacuum very still. Nick, turn on more lights. Marie, put Rex outside and find me a comb. And Lizzie, hold your sister’s hand." Annie wore a look of shocked horror. Tears tumbled down her cheeks as she cried, "My hair, my hair."

C’mon, I prayed. Help me out here.

"Don’t worry, Annie, we’ll get you loose."

I thought that the real solution might take the form of a pair of scissors and that bald style of some of the 80’s female rock stars.

Angels flew to my side, the roller suddenly wobbled, and I freed almost all of Annie’s hair. The few strands we lost, I quickly hid in my pocket.

"Can we call that enough excitement for one day?" I asked as I rubbed Annie’s head. "A shower and shampoo will make you feel better."

Thank you, God.

Monday, a swimming day, would be another missed one for me. I drove the kids to the neighbor’s and made it to school just under the wire. As I dashed down the hall to my room, I spotted Di as she emerged from the office.

"Hey, just the person I wanted to see," I said. "Did you go for coffee?"

"Yes, and you were right. It was a good idea. I like him." Di smiled that smile that all women recognize. The smile that speaks…possibility.

"Are you going to see him again?"

"This weekend." Di looked more than a little enamored.

"Well, good for you. Tell me more about him at lunch."

"I will. I wanted to talk to you, too. I found a phone message in my mailbox this morning from Rosita Stitsill. She wants me to call her."

"What about?" I asked.

"Tutoring. I’ll try to call her on my prep, then let you know."

"By the way, I found the photographs. They’re in my bag. I have to tell you, once I looked at them it brought back the willies. It made it so much more real to look at the photos and realize it was the same man. Every time I think about it, I want to throw up."

"Are you headed to your room?"

I nodded.

"I’ll walk with you. I want to see them."

Once safely in my room and sure we were alone, I showed Di the pictures. I’d feel horrible if Joey walked in and saw us looking at a photo of his mom and dad.

Di’s eyes widened. "That’s him."

"Yeah, that’s what I think."

"This is spooky!" She shivered. "What the hell is going on?"

"I’m wondering the same thing. Do you think Rosita knows he’s still alive?"

"I don’t know." She looked pensive.

"Here’s the thing. If this guy is still alive, who died in the car that night? I need to get a copy of that death certificate."

"Sam, be careful. If that was really him and he’s still alive, what’s to say he isn’t dangerous? Watch your step. Ask Jack what he thinks. Did you tell Jon what we did the other night?"

"No, I didn’t want to upset him, and he left for another trip on Friday morning. I feel bad not leveling with him, but he’d worry."

"He’d be right to worry! You need to back off.
I’m nervous
. Let’s just let it go."

I couldn’t blame her. I feared the situation was escalating. The whole thing.

"I’ll talk to Jack," I said. "And you’re right. I’ll just back off and let it go." At least, I’d leave her out of it from now on.

"I’d better get going. I hear the kids coming inside, and I want to get organized before the bell rings."

"Listen, I’m sorry for dragging you into all of this," I said.

"Don’t worry about it. Just drop it. Promise me. I’m worried that someone will get hurt."

"I know." I nodded.

Alright, I admit it. Concerned, in over my head, and clueless about my next move, I remembered that old saying about curiosity and cats.

D
I STOOD WAITING for me as I entered school the next morning. It seemed that developments in the "Stitsill" mystery transpired on a daily basis. Despite the fact that we had promised each other we’d give this up, the intrigue and events contained a momentum of their own.

"What’s up?"

Her furrowed brow said it was important and serious. "Rosita called," she whispered.

"Again?"

"She’s persistent when she gets an idea and wants immediate results."

"I can identify with that. Patience is a virtue that we don’t all possess." I giggled as Di grabbed an armload of my bags, and we headed toward my classroom.

"She’s having chemo treatments and can’t drive on those days or for a couple days after. She wants me to come to their house to tutor Joey."