The Way Back to Happiness (33 page)

Monday morning after home ec, Stuart approached Bev’s desk. She noted that he was wearing a
Cats
T-shirt, which couldn’t be a coincidence. “I like the shirt,” she said.

“Alabama gave it to me. Isn’t it cool? It was really nice of her.”

“I’m glad you two are talking. She was depressed all last week because she thought you were mad at her.”

“I was, at first. I wish she hadn’t said anything. She promised not to.”

“Do you feel that way still?”

He nodded. “I wish you wouldn’t make a big thing about it at the school board meeting tonight, Ms. Putterman. It won’t change anything.”

“You don’t think so?”

He shook his head. “People are the way they are. I know that. But I’ve already overheard some things they’re going to say at the meeting—my dad got a call from Keith Kerrigan.”

She frowned. “It can’t be worse than things they’ve said about you already.”

He shook his head. “Not about me. About Alabama.”

“I don’t care if Kevin said that she’s a woman scorned. That’s nonsense.”

“But he’s also going to say that Alabama’s crazy. That she’s been mentally disturbed since her mother died and has been seeing a shrink because she’s unbalanced and promiscuous, and—”

Bev had to stop him. She felt nauseated. “Where did they come up with this? They can’t say things like that!”

“Why not? It’s true that her mother died, and she’s been depressed, and she saw a psychiatrist.”

“Twice!”

“But there’s enough truth to make it hold up in the minds of a lot of people,” Stuart said. “It would make life pretty miserable for her.”

Bev slumped in her chair. She’d never thought grown men would stoop to slandering a girl. A girl who’d been through a tough year already. Just the thought of it made her ill.

“Maybe it sounds self-serving,” Stuart said, “but I really wish we could drop the whole thing.”

For the first time, she felt defeated. And she saw his point—the point Mr. Looney had been trying to make, too, when she’d talked to him. He just wanted to protect his child from more hurt. That’s how she felt now. She wanted to protect Alabama.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll . . . well, I’ll think about it.”

His lip twisted into a frown. “I’m sorry this all happened. I should have kept it to myself.”

She reached out to him. “No. That’s the one thing you shouldn’t have done.”

For the rest of the morning, she dragged from chore to chore—from hall patrol to health class to lunchroom duty—barely able to keep her head up. She was capitulating, and it felt awful.

At the end of lunch, Glen approached her. “Are you okay?”

She brought him up to speed.

“So you’re
not
going to the school board meeting tonight?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It irks me to see the Kirbys and Kerrigans of the world win, the bullies, but what can I do?”

His brow clouded with what seemed like disapproval. “I guess I see where you’re coming from, but still . . .”

“I know. I’m supposed to fight the good fight. But if doing that hurts the people I want to protect, who will I be fighting for?”

After school, she went home and made vegetable soup and cornbread, the best fall-winter comfort food of all time. Cooking was usually a welcome distraction, her after-school release valve, and she loved chopping up all the winter root vegetables—parsnips, rutabagas, and turnips. Foods so old-world and earthy that they were almost exotic.

But her mind wasn’t really on cooking. Her gaze kept roaming to the sweep of the cat clock’s tail. She watched the minutes tick by, creeping ever closer to seven, the time when the school board meeting would start.

At six thirty, Alabama came out of her room. She gave Bev an up-and-down look, showing dismay for her pleated jeans and Keds. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Bev rolled her eyes. “I know you think I’m nerdy, but after all, it’s my own house.”

Her niece lifted onto the balls of her feet. “I don’t care about that. But you’re not going to dress like that for the board meeting, are you?”

Bev went back to stirring the soup. “I’m not going.”

Alabama gaped at her. “But you have to go. You said you would.”

She shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

Alabama’s eyes widened fretfully. “Why?”

“Because . . .” Bev said, trying to think of something. She should have been prepared for this moment, but she hadn’t thought Alabama would care all that much. Given what Stuart had told her today, Bev would have thought a part of her would be relieved. But maybe Stuart hadn’t told Alabama what he’d told Bev. Maybe he’d wanted to spare her that.

“I don’t think it’s worth dragging your and Stuart’s names through the muck and creating a big brouhaha, just because some spoiled boy—”

“But the controversy’s already been created,” Alabama said, interrupting. “You said you’d be at the meeting.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Well if you won’t go, I will!”

Before Bev could stop her, Alabama turned and ran for the front door. She had slammed it behind her before Bev had even turned off the burner under the soup. She hurried to her room and threw her school clothes back on, forcing her feet into pumps without hose.

She didn’t see Alabama on the street—she had probably run halfway to downtown by now—so she got in the car and drove to the community center where board meetings were held. To her surprise, as she approached the community center there was a crush of people at the front door. She hunted down a parking spot and hurried up the walkway to the center. The first person she spotted on the outskirts of the crowd waiting for the doors to open was Cindy.

What was she doing here?

“I thought you were afraid of losing your job,” Bev said, concerned. She didn’t want to be responsible for a friend’s diminished income.

Cindy gave her a hug. “Well, Glen told me since it’s only one class, I don’t really have a whole lot to lose. He’s right.”

Glen?
“What are all these other people doing here?”

She spotted neighbors who’d been avoiding her eye for days, faculty members whose arms she’d twisted to no avail, and even a big group of her students. Maybe some of these people were here to support Kevin . . . although she didn’t catch any hostile glances from the crowd. Many gave her bracing touches, as if she were a prizefighter heading to the ring.

“Glen probably convinced them,” Cindy said. “He was making phone calls all afternoon.”

He must have been. Bev’s jaw dropped. Even Oren was here!

“Hey, Bev,” he said, a little sheepishly.

All at once, the crowd quieted down and turned in unison toward the parking lot, like a school of fish. Several board members, including stocky Keith Kerrigan and Lon Kirby, were coming up the walkway together. A defensive line of local power. The crowd parted for them, but there was no warmth in any of the few greetings. For the first time ever, Bev saw a look of genuine worry pass across Lon’s face.

Glen appeared at her side, and they made their way to the front of the crowd.

Opening the door, Lon tossed her a sour look. “Yes, you might as well come in first, since you’re the one who’s causing so much trouble,” he said.

“The trouble was caused by the bully, Lon,” Glen said. “Bev’s just hear to remind you of that fact.”

From the top step of the community center, Lon scanned the crowd, his frown deepening when he saw the Looneys, especially. Bev spotted them at the same time. Mr. Looney wore a grim expression and held a rolled-up piece of blue poster board. Near him was Alabama, standing next to Stuart. Alabama sent a supportive smile Bev’s way.

Lon had apparently counted on the Looneys not showing up. His lined brow indicated that he realized his whispers and threats hadn’t been enough to keep people away, or to silence the accusers. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he looked like a man who knew he was about to be soundly beaten.

“What are the rest of you here for, then?” he asked petulantly.

Glen took the last step up and stood eye to eye with Lon on the threshold, as did Bev.

“I imagine they’re here because they’re against bullying, and they want to stand up for Stuart Looney,” she said.

“And Bev,” Glen added. “We’re here to stand with Bev.”

A
ccording to Stuart,
Out of Africa
was the best movie ever. Bev and Glen took them the night it opened, and Stuart was practically walking on air as they left the theater.

“I loved that scene in the airplane,” he said. “When Robert Redford reaches forward to grab Meryl Streep’s hand.”

“She reached back, you mean,” Alabama said.

His brow crinkled. “He leaned forward.”

“It was the other way around. She was in front of him. How could she have known that he was holding out his hand? It was noisy and windy up there. That would have been impossible. She
had
to reach back first.”

They were so absorbed in their argument that they outpaced Bev and Glen by a block, and had to backtrack down the sidewalk. Even though they’d gone to the earliest showing of the movie, it was dark now that they were out, and cold. Alabama wore only her red jacket, and her teeth chattered as she approached the empty storefront Bev and Glen had stalled out in front of.

“Glen thinks this is the best spot for Bev’s House of Craft,” her aunt said.

“The old pharmacy.” Stuart cupped his hands around his eyes and leaned against the glass. “The long counter’s still in there, and all the shelves. Would you keep the soda fountain?”

“I don’t know if ice cream floats and my craft supply inventory would make a good combo,” Bev said. “I’d certainly keep that polished oak counter, though. It would be perfect. There’s lots of storage room in the back, too.”

All month, Bev had been considering the possibility of opening the store. She hadn’t lost her job—in fact, the paper had written a glowing feature on her speech at the school board meeting. In the end, Kevin Kerrigan had only been suspended three days—the same as Alabama had been—but the menacing signs had stopped, and the school board was considering a zero tolerance policy for bullies. At least it sent a message to the other kids that they couldn’t act that way. Maybe they would anyway, occasionally, but now they’d pay a penalty for being jerks.

Plus, it had just felt good knowing that the whole town wasn’t part of the dead rat brigade. That had been a minority. In fact, Alabama suspected that it might have all been Kevin and Marvin.

But even though it looked like Bev was going to keep teaching home ec and health, she was still contemplating starting the craft store. She’d been reading books on opening a small business and had even had an interview at the bank to see about the possibility of a loan. Wink and Gladdie wanted to put money up front to get her started, and Bev even had several people all ready to turn in their applications to work there, including Cindy, and Mandy, the waitress from Lewanne’s. Yet Bev remained on the fence.

“I’d be so busy all the time,” she said.

“We’re still youngsters,” Glen said. “And think of it this way—you wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with all those boring summers off anymore.”

“Right.” Bev laughed. “It’s always
so awful
being at loose ends for those three months.”

Alabama and Stuart exchanged glances. She was pretty sure they were joking. Teacher humor didn’t always compute in the brain of a normal person, but Bev and Glen seemed to crack each other up. In fact, ever since the school board meeting, the two had become inseparable. They even held hands in public, like now. They stood close together, and Glen nuzzled Bev’s ear—which was nothing Alabama wanted to see.

She and Stuart walked ahead again to give them privacy.

“I bet Mr. Hill asks your aunt to marry him next year.”

Alabama’s lip twisted. Not that she minded Glen, but . . . more change? And Glen would be like a father. She’d never had one of those.

But he was really nice, and if he made Bev happy . . .

Of course, Stuart thought it would be great. He’d had even more access to all of Glen’s play collection, and the inside scoop on what productions the school would be doing in the future.

They got back to the house way ahead of the lovebirds. Alabama grabbed the mail out of the box and opened the door. The house greeted them with the smell of evergreen from the newly decorated Christmas tree, and when Alabama switched on the lights, the living room seemed to blink to life. Next to the tree, Rhoda Morgenstern stood in a red Santa coat and hat, courtesy of Stuart.

Alabama tossed the mail down on the table and sat down, staring at the tree. Its star tipped the ceiling, and everything about the decorations was gaudy, blinky, and cheerful. Yet the sight of it all lit up never failed to bring a lump to her throat. Last year she never would have guessed this was where she’d be spending Christmas this year. More than any gift in the world, she wished her mother could be here on Christmas day, that they could all be together as a family. Everybody—Bev, Gladdie, Wink, Glen, Stuart . . . all the people she considered her family now. All those years, she’d been part of a duo. She’d lost half of herself this year, but she’d found so many new people, too. She wished her mother could have lived to be part of that, and share it with her. It seemed so unfair that some people, for whatever reasons, never found lasting happiness in life.

“Can I have some eggnog?” Stuart asked.

“Yeah, sure.” She got up and went to the kitchen with Stuart.

A few minutes later, Bev and Glen came in, and Bev called to her. “You got a letter, Alabama. Did you see it?”

Alabama peeked her head out the kitchen door. “Who’s it from?”

“Houston.”

Frowning, she took the familiar cream-colored envelope from her aunt and opened it. “It’s from Granny Jackson.” Bev and the others were looking at her expectantly, so Alabama read it aloud.

Bev laughed.

When she finished reading, the room was quiet. They all stood around the dining table, staring down, their faces changing color in the reflection of the Christmas tree’s blinking lights.

Finally, Stuart broke the silence. “Wow! It actually worked.”

“What?” Bev asked.

“Alabama’s crazy plan to find a benefactress. You did it.”

Alabama’s cheeks burned. There was something not quite right about the way she felt. She kept her eyes focused on the letter so she wouldn’t have to look at the hurt in Bev’s eyes. Because she knew there would be hurt there.

Her gaze fell on the section that troubled her most.
The only thing I would ask in return is that you change your family name to Jackson, in honor of Tom. I don’t think anyone, least of all you, should object to that.

Well, she did object. She didn’t think Gladdie or Bev would feel good about it, either. And her mother would definitely have seen it as a betrayal of who she was. In fact, if she went along with Dorothy Jackson’s plan, she might as well change her name to Alabama Jackass, because that’s how she’d feel.

“It is a generous offer,” Glen said. “Except . . .”

Bev shook her head and nodded all at once. “It’s very generous. She could offer you so much—great schools, probably any lessons you wanted, clothes . . .”

True. And what was the alternative? Three and a half more years in New Sparta, Texas, with flaky Aunt Bev, going to New Sparta High and cheering on the Fighting Jackrabbits.

And being friends with Stuart, and visiting Gladdie and Wink on weekends. And staying close to the people who knew who she really was, and understood what she’d been through. People who knew why she would want to cling to her odd-sounding name.

Alabama Putterman. For better or worse, that’s who she was.

“You know I’ll love you, whatever you decide.” Bev’s eyes shone. “Really, you’d have to be crazy not to take her up on the offer.”

Alabama nodded. “Right.”

Dot Jackson had said it best: All Puttermans were crazy.

Slowly, Alabama folded the letter again and started shredding it into strips, and then tinier and tinier pieces. “So . . . it’s all settled, then.”

Maybe I am crazy.
God knows, she’d had years of experience, so she should know it when she saw it. But maybe the real insane move would be leaving the people she knew truly loved her. That had been her mother’s mistake. She didn’t want to make it hers.

She looked into her aunt’s eyes and smiled. “I guess you’re stuck with me.”

She tossed the shredded letter into the air, and the pieces caught the Christmas light and rained down on them like homespun holiday confetti.