Round Robin (10 page)

Michael muttered something, gave Diane a dark look, and motioned for his friends to follow him inside.

Diane went inside, too, after stopping by the deck to retrieve the quilt and glare at Mary Beth's house. If Mary Beth thought she could scare Diane into taking down that ramp, she was more foolish than Diane had given her credit for, and Diane had never been stingy when it came to estimating Mary Beth's faults.

By Tuesday evening, the parents of Michael's friends had inspected the ramp and had given their children permission to skate there. Diane enjoyed meeting them, especially Kelly's mother. “For weeks it's been Michael this and Michael that around our place,” Kelly's mother said, shaking her head and smiling. “Kelly says Michael's the first boy she ever
met who doesn't think it's odd for a girl to skate. He told her that boys who say girls can't skate are just worried about the competition.”

“Really?” Diane was pleased. Somehow she'd raised a feminist. Gwen would be proud of her.

On the following night Diane joined the other Elm Creek Quilters for a staff meeting at the manor. Afterward, she updated her friends on the saga of the skating ramp. “I used to think like Mary Beth,” she admitted. “But when I look at Michael now, it's hard for me to imagine why I ever disliked skateboarding. He hasn't seemed this well adjusted since the second grade.”

“It isn't the skateboarding per se,” Gwen said. “It's the attention you and Tim have been paying him lately.”

“Thank you, Dr. Spock, but Michael's never lacked parental attention.”

“But this is positive attention for an activity he enjoys. He's probably thrilled that you finally support one of his pastimes.”

“You expect me to encourage his usual hobbies?” Diane shot back, thinking of the heavy metal music, the vandalism at the middle school, the fights with Todd. “Besides, it's not like you have any experience dealing with this sort of mess. Summer never gave you a moment's trouble.”

Gwen held up her hands, apologetic. “You're right. I'm sorry.”

“I used to get in trouble a lot when I was Michael's age,” Judy said. “Talking back to the teachers, skipping classes, fistfights, you name it.”

“Fistfights?” Bonnie said. “You? I can't believe it.”

“It's true.” Judy smiled wryly. “I got picked on a lot at school. The other kids would go like this”—she put her fingers to the outer corners of her eyes and stretched the lids into slits—“and tell me to go back to China.”

“Their grasp of geography is depressing,” Gwen said.

“You try explaining the difference between China and Vietnam to a bunch of obnoxious adolescents. They'd do Bruce Lee imitations and steal my lunch, saying I couldn't eat it anyway since I didn't have any chopsticks.” Judy shook her head. “It sounds silly and stupid now, but at the time it was very painful. I guess I acted out because I didn't have any
friends, anyone to support me. I didn't want to complain at home, because my mom had already been through so much.”

“So what happened?” Diane asked. “You obviously straightened out somehow.”

Judy shrugged, and her long, dark hair slipped over one shoulder. “My dad figured out what was going on and had me transferred to another school. No one teased me there, so I didn't need to cause trouble anymore.”

“Do you think I should have Michael transferred to another school?”

“That's probably not necessary,” Bonnie said. “Wait and see. It sounds like things may be turning around already.”

“And making him leave his friends might make everything worse,” Carol said. “The more advice you give your children, the more you try to help them do what's right, the more they insist on going their own way.”

Sarah gave her a sharp look. “Sometimes parents try to help too much when no help is needed.”

“Sometimes children don't know what's best for them. Sometimes they'd be wise to learn from their parents' mistakes instead of fumbling around on their own.”

“Who's fumbling?” Sarah asked.

Carol said nothing, and an awkward silence descended on the foyer until a group of new campers arrived, sending the Elm Creek Quilters back to work.

The next day's classes kept Diane so busy that she had no chance to ask any of the Elm Creek Quilters about the strange exchange between mother and daughter, so she put it out of her mind. On the way home, she stopped at the grocery for a few things for supper and more cookies. The night before, Todd had complained that Michael and his friends had eaten all the snacks in the house, leaving nothing for Todd's friends.

“There's fruit,” Diane had said, but Todd had scowled and muttered something about how things sure had changed around there. It was obvious he did not mean they had changed for the better. Diane hoped that an ample supply of snacks would appease him, if only temporarily.

As she pulled into the driveway, Diane saw the curtain in Mary Beth's
living room window move aside. Her eyes met Mary Beth's before the curtain fell between them. Diane frowned and parked the car. Didn't Mary Beth have anything better to do all day than to spy on her neighbors? She carried the bag of groceries into the kitchen, then returned outside to check the mail. In her peripheral vision she saw Mary Beth's curtain draw back again, but she ignored it. That woman really needed a hobby.

Diane collected a handful of envelopes from the mailbox and leafed through them as she walked up the driveway. Credit card application, bill, bill, credit card application—and a thick envelope with a return address of the Waterford Municipal Building. She stopped in the middle of the driveway and opened the envelope, dreading the news. Rumor had it that the property taxes in their historic neighborhood were going to be reassessed, despite residents' complaints to the Zoning Commission.

The first line made it clear that the letter was not about taxes, but her relief soon turned to dismay. The Waterford Zoning Commission had received complaints that the Sonnenberg family had erected a skateboard ramp in their backyard. Since that structure met the definition of an Attractive Nuisance, and since they had not applied for the proper building permits, it must be razed within forty-eight hours.

“Is this some kind of a joke?” Diane exclaimed, gaping at the letter. The ramp was on private property. The Zoning Commission couldn't force them to tear it down, could they?

Diane looked up, her mind racing—and saw Mary Beth watching her through her living room window.

She crumpled the letter in her fist and marched across the lawn to Mary Beth's house. She could see the panic in her neighbor's face—before Mary Beth quickly hid behind the curtain. Diane stormed up the porch stairs and pounded on the front door. “Mary Beth,” she shouted. “Get out here, you vicious little troll! I know you're responsible for this.” She paused, but there was no response. She hammered on the door with her fist. “I know you're in there. Come on out!”

Mary Beth wisely remained inside. Eventually, Diane gave up and returned to her own house, seething. The nerve of Mary Beth, to turn Diane's family in to the Waterford Zoning Commission! “May her fabric
bleed, her rotary cutter rust, and all of her borders be crooked,” Diane muttered, slamming the door behind her and storming to the kitchen to call Bonnie. Diane was reluctant to interrupt her at Grandma's Attic, but this couldn't wait, and she wasn't going to risk getting a busy signal later that evening because of Craig's constant web surfing. Bonnie had served on the commission in the past as a representative from the Downtown Business Association. If the Sonnenbergs had any options, Bonnie would know what they were.

Quickly, Diane explained what had happened, then asked, “I know there are certain restrictions because this is a historic neighborhood, but is there anything I can do?” She steeled herself. “If I crawl over there on my hands and knees and beg Mary Beth to withdraw the complaint, and if by some miracle I manage to persuade her, would the Zoning Commission let us keep the ramp?”

“That's not how it works,” Bonnie said. “Once the commission has made a ruling, the original complaint no longer matters. You have two options at this point. You can either comply with their request and tear down the ramp, or you can file for an exemption. That means you'll have to present your case to the commission at a public hearing.”

Diane couldn't believe it. “You mean the kind of hearings they hold when someone wants to build a new mall or a new road?”

“I'm afraid so. According to their bureaucratic way of looking at things, your ramp is no different than a major construction site. You'll have to convince the commission that the skateboard ramp isn't a hazard to local residents, doesn't create unnecessary noise or traffic problems, and doesn't destroy the aesthetics of the neighborhood.”

Diane groaned. “I know. I remember that part.”

“I don't understand why Mary Beth went to the authorities instead of trying to work things out with you personally. Maybe you two aren't friends, but you are neighbors.” Then Bonnie paused. “What do you mean, you remember?”

“Look, I have to go. Michael's going to be home from school any minute, and I have to figure out what I'm going to tell him.”

“Oh, no, you don't. You're not hanging up until you tell me what you meant by ‘I remember.'”

“Mary Beth has been a thorn in my side for too long.” Diane sank into a chair, propped her elbows on the kitchen table, and let her head rest in her palm. “She never would have known about that ordinance if not for those stupid wind chimes.”

“What?”

Diane's anger faded into chagrin. “Two years ago, Mary Beth hung some wind chimes outside her kitchen window. I swear to God, they were the wind chimes from hell, clanking and banging with the slightest breeze. They must have had amplifiers or something. They scared away every bird for miles—”

“Miles?”

“Well, yards, anyway. And they kept me and Tim awake all night. The only way we could escape the noise was to shut every window facing the backyard, and that wasn't fair. So I asked her very nicely to take them down—”

“Oh, I bet you did.”

“I did, I swear. Whose side are you on? Naturally she refused, so I called the municipal building and asked them about noise ordinances.”

“And when you found one, you called Mary Beth and threatened to turn her in, didn't you?”

“Of course not.” Diane paused. “I went over and told her in person.”

Bonnie burst out laughing.

“But I only threatened to turn her in,” Diane protested. “I wouldn't have done it.”

“Either way, you're the one who started it, and now it's come back to haunt you.”

Bonnie's amusement was exasperating, mostly because Diane knew she was right. “I'm glad you find this so humorous, but you're not helping. My son's going to lose his skateboard ramp, remember?”

“I'm sorry. You're right.” Bonnie made a strangling sound as if fighting to contain her laughter. She promised to help Diane file for the exemption
and prepare for the hearing, if that's what she and Tim decided to do.

When Diane called him with the news, he came right home. They talked about it as they made supper, while outside Michael and his friends zoomed up and down the skateboard ramp, unaware that their fun could be short-lived. Diane and Tim considered the time and effort it would take to file for an exemption, the stress and publicity the hearing would generate—but most of all, they thought of Michael and how he would be affected by the loss of his skateboard ramp and by the knowledge that his parents had meekly submitted to the Zoning Commission's first and only letter.

“If we want to keep the skateboard ramp, we'll have to fight for it,” Tim eventually said, and Diane agreed, but she had an additional motive. She wanted to fight because she refused to let Mary Beth win so easily. She'd give up quilting before she'd hand that woman an uncontested victory.

During supper, they told the boys about the letter and what they were prepared to do to keep the skateboard ramp. Michael's expression changed from alarm to relief when he realized they weren't going to give in, at least not until they had to. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

“I'll let you know what Bonnie suggests,” Diane said. “It'll be a lot of work, but with all four of us helping out, we'll take care of it.” Michael nodded, but Todd muttered something, nudged his plate away, and put his elbows on the table. He had hardly touched his supper, and suddenly Diane realized that he hadn't said a word since she brought up the letter. “Is something wrong, Todd?”

“Why do you just assume that everyone wants to help? Maybe I don't care about this stupid skateboard ramp. Did you ever think about that?”

Startled, Diane turned to Tim, who looked back at her with the same surprised helplessness she was feeling. “But—but Michael is your brother,” she stammered.

“So?”

“So?” Diane stared at him, disbelieving. “So we help each other. That's part of what makes us a family.”

“What about helping me? How come nobody thinks about me?”

Diane was at a loss, so Tim stepped in. “What do you mean, son?”

“Did you ever think about what it's gonna be like at school?” Todd's voice was high and thin. “Why does she have to fight with Brent's mom all the time? I'm not gonna have any friends left thanks to her.”

Tim's mild voice grew stern. “Don't talk about your mother that way. Apologize this minute.”

“But it's true. She's gonna ruin everything.”

“I said, apologize.”

Todd glared at the table and clamped his mouth shut as if afraid an apology might slip out by force of habit.

Tim's eyes sparked with anger. “Go to your room. Now.”

Todd shoved his chair back from the table and stormed away.