September Canvas (18 page)

Used to waiting while Miranda figured things out, which could sometimes take days, Deanna unpacked the picnic basket. Faythe reached for the cooler, avoiding eye contact with Miranda.

Deanna checked her watch. It had taken Miranda less than ten minutes to come this far. Was this a day for miracles?

“Nice person?”

“Excuse me, honey?” Deanna said, turning toward Miranda again. Miranda didn’t repeat her question, but instead tugged at Irene’s shirt. “What is it, Miranda?” Irene enunciated.

Miranda took more flowers from a plastic bag and pushed them together on the table. She tugged at Irene’s shirt again. “Nice person.”

“Oh. I see. Well, here you go, Miranda.” Irene gave her a plastic ring and some nylon strings.

Miranda stuck the tip of her tongue out the corner of her mouth while she created another napkin ring. When she was done she sat with it between her motionless hands, not looking up at either one of them.

Irene caressed Miranda’s soft, feathered hair and waited. Deanna held her breath.

“Nice…person.” Miranda suddenly pushed the napkin ring lined with flowers toward Faythe. “Here-you-go.” Irene nodded at Faythe.

“Thank you, Miranda. This is beautiful. You’re very talented, like your sister.”

“Deanna.”

“Yes, like Deanna.” Faythe grinned and looked at Deanna. “You’re both artists.”

Deanna watched Miranda mull this over, though anyone who didn’t know would think she was lost in her own world. Letting Miranda alone, Deanna arranged the last of the food they’d brought. Miranda wasn’t picky about food, but she carefully examined everything she put in her mouth, which was time consuming.

“Good to meet you, Faythe,” Irene said. “I wanted Miranda to take her time and finish her initial greeting before I said hello.”

“I understand. Nice to meet you too, Irene. You’re one of the teachers?” Faythe extended a hand to Irene.

“Not officially,” Irene said. “I’m Miranda’s special contact between her and the floor staff in her wing. I’m also an assistant teacher in the arts program.”

“And Miranda’s a natural, isn’t she?”

“She is. She perceives space and pays attention to detail extremely well. She can search for hours for the right blade of grass or flower petal.” Irene looked over at Miranda, who nodded solemnly. “And when you do, you can create just about anything, can’t you, Miranda?” Irene looked proudly at her student.

“Hm-mm-hm-mm-hm-mm…” Miranda drummed her fingertips against the table as she hummed her odd little tune.

“What’s the matter, honey?” Deanna asked and looked around.

“Something wrong?” Faythe asked.

“Oh, Lord,” Deanna heard Irene whisper. “I’m sorry, Deanna. I had no idea.”

“Mother and Percy…and they brought the brats.” Deanna spoke between clenched teeth. She couldn’t believe her mother would so blatantly disregard everything Deanna had written in Miranda’s folder.

Determined not to cause a scene that would make things worse for Miranda, she stood as her mother, stepfather, and his two teenage daughters approached. If her mother wouldn’t put Miranda’s needs before her own, Deanna would make sure she herself would.

“Mom,” she greeted her small, elegant parent now less than ten feet away. Miranda focused on a croissant, and hadn’t noticed the newcomers. “Why don’t we walk over to the parking lot and discuss this initiative of yours.”

“Discuss?” Angela Moore stood defiant in front of her. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m visiting my daughter on the yearly picnic as I always do.”

“You are unbelievable.” Deanna hissed low enough for Miranda not to hear, but everybody else did. “You show up, without even notifying the staff so they could prepare her, and you bring
them
.” She snapped her head in the direction of Percy Bodell and his two daughters.

“Pipe down, why don’t you?” the closest one, a pretty, but sullen, blonde said. “It’s not like we
wanted
to come.” Her voice carried easily over the sound of people talking at the tables around them.

“Trista!” Percy growled. “What did we say before we left the house?”

That they’d get another pair of Prada shoes if they came along
and played the nice sisters?
Deanna was ready to throttle Trista, but the girl backed off when her father glared at her.

“Apologize to Deanna,” Percy insisted. Trista blushed furiously and Deanna wished he hadn’t pushed it. Didn’t he know his own daughter?

“I won’t.” Trista raised her voice again. “She’s not part of our family.”

“Deanna?” a small voice said from behind. Deanna whirled and saw Irene Costa there with Miranda in her arms and Faythe right next to them. Miranda was breathing in fast, shallow breaths. “Deanna? Mama? It’s Saturday.
S-Saturday
.”

“Gawd, look at her. What a waste,” Trista said.

“
One
more word out of you…” Deanna said quietly, and her obvious vehemence seemed to find its mark because Trista paled and took a step back. Turning to Miranda, Deanna held out her arms.

“Honey, it’s all right. Come here. It’s all right.”

“No…not all right. No napkins. No plates. It’s Saturday.” Miranda stood there shaking, her mind obviously trying to take everything in.

Deanna looked at her mother. “Why did you have to do it this way? She’s working herself up to a state.”

“You’re the one who started shouting,” Angela said angrily.

“Not true,” Deanna said so quietly she was nearly whispering. “Lower your voice and Irene might just help her through this without having to sedate her. She’s looked forward to this picnic for a long time.”

“Sedate her? Is that what you do here? Drug her senseless?” Angela was obviously too angry by now to lower her voice, and Deanna’s heart broke when Miranda cried out behind them.

Faythe had never seen such fury on Deanna’s face, or anybody else’s. Pale, she pressed equally white lips together as she stalked toward her mother, who stumbled back as Deanna towered over her. “Angela,” Deanna said, “you’ve caused enough trouble with your thoughtlessness. Take Percy and the kids and
leave
.”

“You’re the one causing a scene,” Percy chimed in. “If you hadn’t, we’d be all having some barbecue by now.”

“Percy, shut up.” Deanna was trembling visibly as she gestured in Miranda’s direction. “Can’t you see?”

Miranda had stopped wailing, but was whimpering like a wounded animal. Faythe reacted without thinking and moved closer to Irene and the distraught girl. “Hey, Miranda,” she whispered, and plucked a few leftover flowers from the table, while balancing on one crutch. “Here, sweetie. Hold on to these. They’re yours, aren’t they?” Miranda, still sobbing, reached out for the flowers and held them gently in her hand. She let go of Irene and cradled her other hand around the flowers in a protective gesture.

Irene came to the rescue also. “Faythe, why don’t Miranda and I move to the other side of the lawn? The last wildflowers are still in bloom. Take your time on those crutches. We’ll be right over there.” She pointed at a small cluster of maples. Nodding curtly toward the Bodells, she guided Miranda across the lawn. Faythe shuffled on her crutches behind them.

When they reached the maples, Miranda simply sat down in the grass, caressing the stems up to the petals.

“Good thinking, Irene.” Faythe maneuvered into a sitting position on a stump, trying to ignore her throbbing foot.

“Comes with experience and from knowing Miranda. It was clever of you to distract her with the flowers. Have you worked with autistic kids before?”

“No, only come across them very briefly.” Faythe glanced at Miranda. “She’s a sweet girl. She shouldn’t be exposed to all those rampaging emotions.”

“I know. They rarely visit on the same day. I can understand Angela wanting to be part of the picnic celebration, but I never thought she’d blatantly disregard her agreement with the clinic and Deanna.”

“Jesus, I thought they would throttle each other.” Faythe couldn’t forget Deanna’s fury. “Will you be okay looking after Miranda here? Now that she’s out of earshot, Deanna probably won’t hold back. She needs to consider the other kids here too.”

“You’re right. Why don’t you go be the peacemaker and I’ll stay with Miranda?” Irene touched Faythe’s hand briefly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Faythe wanted to caress Miranda’s beautiful hair, but knew better. She patted Irene’s hand quickly instead, got up, and hobbled back to their table. Nobody was there. Deanna had maneuvered her family back toward the parking lot where the two teenagers, obviously bored, sat on a nearby bench, occupied with a cell phone. “You’ll never change, will you, Deanna?” Angela sounded tired and upset. “No matter what I do, or don’t do, you’re going to cling to your grudges and blame me.”

“I’m not out to cast blame on anyone. You made your choices years ago, knowing full well the repercussions.”

“Your vindictive attitude—”

“Vindictive!” Deanna flung her hands up, looking suddenly so hurt and exasperated that Faythe had to act. Using her crutches to lengthen her stride, she stood next to Deanna in seconds.

“Miranda is doing better. No need for any sedation. Irene is helping her pick flowers.” Faythe put on her best professional expression, shifted one crutch over to her left, and extended a hand to Angela. “We haven’t been properly introduced. No time, I guess.”
Before all hell
broke loose.
“My name is Faythe Hamilton.”

“Oh, shit, Dad. It’s
the
Faythe Hamilton. On morning TV!” Trista snapped her cell phone shut and rushed up from the bench, followed by her sister.

“Watch your language, Trista. Ms. Hamilton. What an honor. I can’t imagine how you know Deanna.” Angela’s politeness barely masked her distress.

“We’re neighbors and good friends.” Faythe greeted the rest of the family the same way. Trista raised her cell phone after flipping it open again, obviously intending to take a picture. “Please, Trista. I’d rather you not. I’m here as a private person, not in my capacity as a TV reporter. If you ask me some other time, I’d be glad to pose with your sister while you take a picture.” Pleased with herself for the smooth, reprimand, Faythe glanced at Deanna, who wasn’t quite so pale anymore. “You okay?” she murmured.

“I’m fine. Thanks.” Deanna took a deep breath. “Angela,” she said, her voice low but steady. “I’m not trying to be difficult. This isn’t about me. Not at all. We’re here for Miranda’s sake. It’s her school picnic, and the staff have spent months preparing her and the others for this day so they could enjoy it. If Irene Costa or I had known you were coming, we could have both prepared Miranda for this type of change, you on your visiting days, I on mine. As for bringing Trista and Laney, maybe it would’ve been better to let them stay home and not force them to come. They’re not here because they care about Miranda but because you made them come. I can’t even begin to imagine why.”

“They’re part of the family. How can Miranda ever know her other sisters if she never sees them?” Angela sobbed. “All you do is criticize me. You find fault with everything I do.” Percy wrapped a steadying arm around her.

“Miranda can’t handle two selfish teenagers. If they came here because they care, one at a time on a regular basis, she might be able to cope, but since that’s not the case…” Deanna pushed her hands into her jeans pockets. “I thought you read my note last time you put Miranda through a last-minute change.”

“There you go again! It’s like you accuse me of not caring, of not loving my own daughter.”

The conversation was going downhill fast, and Faythe was about to ask a question when a group of people in formal business suits came down the broad steps from the main entrance. Faythe thought she heard Deanna moan and glanced her way.

“Mrs. Moore?” A blond woman stepped away from the group and came up to them. “We’ve met a few times a while back. Your daughter is making fantastic progress.”

“Thank you.” Angela shook the woman’s hand, looking intimidated yet impressed. “This is my husband, Percy Bodell, and his two daughters, Trista and Laney.” Angela glanced at Deanna. “And my oldest daughter, Deanna, and her friend Faythe Hamilton.” She blushed faintly. “I’m terrible with names. Mrs. Mueller, isn’t it?”

“Gloria Mueller.” The smile on the bright pink lips faded marginally. She raised an eyebrow at Deanna. “We’ve met.” Faythe had to dig her nails into her palms to keep quiet. So this was Deanna’s nemesis. Or one of them, at least. Elegant in a frosty sort of way, Gloria Mueller was a stunning woman in her late forties.

She wore a dark blue skirt suit, with a crisp white blouse. Her hair was swept up in an elaborate twist, and the makeup was flawless, if a bit bright and too pink. She appeared to be tough, not a person you wanted in the opposite corner. But having Gloria
in
your corner actually sounded worse.

“Faythe Hamilton?” Gloria studied Faythe for a moment and clearly made the connection. “As a representative of my hometown, I want to welcome you to Grantville, Ms. Hamilton.”

“Thank you.”
Claiming the whole town as yours, eh, lady?
Faythe searched for weaknesses or flaws in Gloria’s perfect appearance but couldn’t spot any. “I was here many times as a child. I love it here.” She stepped closer to Deanna, seeing no reason to explain how well they knew each other and that they lived next door to each other.

“Vacationing, I understand? You must come pay me a visit before you head back. I can arrange for a special tour of the city hall and its surrounding park.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Faythe said cheerfully, trying to make her voice sound sugary innocent. “Deanna and I would love to. Perhaps next week?”

Gloria looked like she had herniated something. “Ah, next week? What a pity.” She squinted and shifted her briefcase from one hand to the other. “We’re having maintenance before the autumn season kicks off. I’ll have to get back to you, Faythe.” Faythe knew no invitation would ever come unless it was for her alone, which was beyond rude. She wrapped an arm around Deanna’s waist, smugly satisfied when Gloria’s eyes narrowed and she looked like she would be sick.

“How lovely to meet a member of the school board.” Angela studied Deanna closely and looked back and forth between her and Gloria. “We can’t thank you enough for what the staff at Tremayne’s does for our Miranda.”