Cutting Teeth(15)
A murmur of appreciation. Mary Beth glances over at Miss Ollie again to see if she’d guessed the punch line. Erin stares, rapt, yes, genuinely emotional.
“Children are our future,” he says, easing back into his slow-honey cadence. “But when I tell you the most shameful part of my past was seeded in my childhood, you’ve got to believe me. And that’s why it’s our responsibility, our duty, to take our youth in our arms and carry them across the finish line to adulthood, so that they can arrive unscathed.” With a flourish, he unveils the blueprint. “Many of you know I’ve been spearheading this initiative almost since my arrival, and that’s why I’m overjoyed to have something concrete to share with our committee today, never before seen. It’s going to take a lot of time, effort, and, frankly, expense,” says Pastor Ben. “But I believe our children are worth every penny.” He receives a hearty hear-hear from the group.
After, he shares the figures that have been set aside by the church so far, numbers already reaching into the six figures, but they’ll need more. A lot more if they’re going to build it. That’s why they’re gathered, to float ideas. Where will the money come from?
“We haven’t chosen a cause for this year’s Trike-a-Thon,” Mary Beth points out. “If she agrees, Miss Ollie and I could suggest it. I actually think parents might be even more generous than they are with children’s hospitals, though those are very worthy causes as well.”
Pastor Ben claps. “Yes! Now those are the kinds of ideas I’m talking about.”
Mary Beth blushes. Before the end of the meeting, she’s more than earned her keep. “Easy,” she tells the group. “People, especially parents, want easy. Make it so they can just sign a form and they’re automatically billed as part of their tuition and—bingo—they’re in. Maybe even a QR code. Point and click and the money pours in.” She beams.
Miss Ollie doesn’t say much, but at least she agrees with everything Mary Beth proposes. After the business of the meeting wraps and Mary Beth is flush with visions of dollar signs dancing in her head, Pastor Ben lopes over and offers her a high five. A high five!
When she slaps his palm, he grips his fingers around her hand, again, the second time today, and they wind up in a secret handshake of sorts. Her nervous system reacts. “Good chat,” he says.
* * *
After, Mary Beth packs up her day planner and ballpoint pen. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Lola and Noelle when you have a minute,” she says to Miss Ollie, scooping the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. She feels emboldened. “Doesn’t have to be now.”
Miss Ollie’s eyes are unfocused, her mind elsewhere. Mary Beth can see her dragging her attention back from wherever it went.
“I think that’s—that’s a good idea.” Miss Ollie runs her fingers through her glossy hair. “Actually, I asked Darby to come in Thursday before pickup. Can you make it then?”
Mary Beth hesitates. “For us all to meet together, you mean?”
Erin scratches her arm, leaving white nail lines across the pink bump of a mosquito bite. “It’s easier if we’re all on the same page.”
“It’ll be picture day.” Mary Beth already has Noelle’s outfit laid out—a blue-and-white-striped dress with a Peter Pan collar from Mini Boden. A splurge, but she would always prefer to spend money dressing her girls than herself.
“That never takes long.” Erin reaches her arm over her head, stretching for a spot between her shoulder blades. Her shirt lifts, exposing her belly button and the taut skin just beneath it.
“Here, let me get that,” says Mary Beth. She eases around Miss Ollie’s side and digs her nails through the fabric as best she can. “Better?”
“Much. Thanks.” Miss Ollie nods and relaxes finally. “Do you mind if I ask what you think of Ben?”
“Ben?” Mary Beth’s fingers freeze on the young teacher’s back. “Oh,” she says. “Pastor Ben, right. I … think he’s a good speaker and he’s doing great work in the church.”
Miss Ollie frowns but adds nothing.
Oh. My. God.
She’s starting to feel very itchy herself as the revelation that single, twentysomething Miss Ollie would have her eye on Pastor Ben—sorry, just Ben to her—breaks over her.
“You know what?” Mary Beth says. “I think I need to visit the ladies’ room on the way out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Without waiting for a reply, she flees to the bathroom, which is bare-bones and reminds her of middle school, with its dirty grout and penny-round tiles the color of pink Tums. She slumps down onto the toilet seat and drops her sweaty forehead into her open hands.
It’s not fair. She can’t even be mad properly. She can only feel stupid. Her children deprive her of any ability to feel remotely sexy and the moment she does feel the slightest bit hot and bothered, sensuous, flirtatious (fine), in waltzes their teacher.
Pain has started to shish kebab her right eyeball. Go away, she wills it. Not now.
She removes a fistful of toilet paper and dabs at her nose and around her eye.
The socket throbs, agony dancing around the rim of bone. She feels like she’s brought it on herself somehow. It’s not full-blown yet, this terrible head implosion with which she’s becoming all too familiar. Nevertheless, she persists, she thinks, with only a touch of irony. Because isn’t that what motherhood is? Tiny acts of heroism and daily sacrifice. Where is her Purple Heart?