My patience had worn thin. I honked the horn for the umpteenth time. God, why couldn't you make teenage girls move faster? Orientation began at one, and I needed to be back to work before two o'clock.
I pulled down the vanity mirror. Why had gravity played such havoc with my face as well as my body? Lines crossed my forehead, and parentheses surrounded my mouth. One good thing about being overweight—at least I didn't have loose jowls. I slammed the visor back into place and stared at the front door, willing my daughter to appear.
Anthony, my youngest, stuck his head out the door. Wrong kid. "She's coming!" he yelled before he raced back in.
Please God, don't let them tear my living room apart while I'm gone. I focused on my green-and-white house. It had been so warm and inviting when first bought. Now the paint peeled and the roof leaked. Fifteen years of wear and tear would do that. Me and the house, both old and coming apart at the seams.
I glanced down at my stomach. Fifteen years and three babies. I poked my finger into the muffin gut hanging over my belt. Maybe I should reconsider tucking in my shirts.
"Come on, come on." I honked again.
Two minutes later, Sarah ran out of the house. "I'm coming!" She climbed into the Honda.
"What took you so long?" I jerked the car out of the drive.
"I wanted to look presentable." She stared out the window. "It's not like I have new clothes to wear."
"We've discussed this. Matthew needed clothes more than you. He's outgrown all of his from last year. Poor Anthony has oversized hand-me-downs from his brother."
"I know, but I'm about to burst out of all the shirts I own." Sarah glanced down at her blouse. The small buttons stretched to capacity from the stress of her size 36C chest. A safety pin closed the gap between. "How will it be if my boobs fly out all over?"
I gripped the steering wheel. "It's not my fault. I'm doing the best I can."
"He called," Sarah whispered.
I knew who she meant, but I didn't want to admit it for fear my eyes might roll like hers do when she thinks I've said something stupid. Instead I murmured, "Who?"
"Dad. He's getting married." Her voice, barely audible, made me glad I didn't have a hearing problem.
"I hope he'll be happy," I lied, but you don't say bad things about a father to his kids. Emotions twisted my stomach. Not because I still cared for Michael as anything other than my children's father, but because I knew once he formed another family, I'd never see the back child support he owed. I devised a plot of revenge in my mind. When I discovered the date of his wedding and the invitations were printed, I'd get my lawyer to set a court date on the same day. I pictured his beautiful and surely young bride-to-be, sobbing as Michael got hauled off to jail because he refused to take care of his children.
Fat chance on that happening any time soon. He hadn't paid up yet, even with all the threats of jail.
Sarah interrupted my thoughts of retribution. "He wants us to come to the wedding. It's in December, at Sawgrass in Ponte Vedra Beach."
My knuckles whitened. I couldn't afford nice clothes for the kids. I won't go without lunch for his wedding. If he wanted them to look presentable, he'd either have to pay up or buy the clothes himself. My shoulders drew nearer to my ears with each silent rant.
I glanced over at Sarah. She frowned, her gaze focused downward. I followed her line of sight to the little white button.
"Maybe we can set aside some extra money from this week's budget and get you a new shirt for your first day of school." I hoped if I changed the subject we'd both feel better. I felt for her. It was hard to have a father who bounced in and out of her life whenever it suited him.
The Honda sputtered around a corner, until it choked and coughed to a stop. I slapped the steering wheel. It took two tries before it started back up.
"It's okay. I can make do." Sarah gave me a weak smile. "Besides, you need to get the car fixed."
"But you shouldn't have to wait." Because of him.
We coasted into a parking space at the school as the car stalled once again.
****
When did freshmen get to be so tall? Teens had been shorter when I'd been in school, I was sure of it. Of course, I hadn't grown since I'd hit five foot one in my sophomore year. I jumped aside as three girls rushed by. They screamed, acting as if they hadn't seen me.
Most of the parents had been relegated to waiting outside while their kids went in and out of the school buildings, gathering books and schedules. I held three of Sarah's books, which weighed a ton. Now I know how a pack mule feels.
The aroma of azaleas wafted over me. The plant beds along the side of the first school building appeared well mulched and weed-free. Maybe I should find out what type of mulch they used to keep the weeds out. I could get the boys to help me redo our garden. Who am I kidding? I hate yard work.
The sun blazed overhead. I wished I'd put on sunscreen. My nose would be deep red by the time I got done. Temptation urged me to head back to work—I'd lost track of Sarah almost fifteen minutes ago. Then I saw a friendly face. Rachel's head appeared above the crowd of people. Next to her stood Scarlett and Jory. I bounced around two kids and proceeded in their direction.
"Deb, you look a little bit haggard." Scarlett adjusted her yellow sunglasses as she slid her compact back into her purse. Strands of her blonde hair blew in the wind.
"Get lost, did you?" Rachel teased.
"It's easy in this crowd. I'm afraid I'm going to get stepped on." I shifted behind Rachel for protection as more kids plodded by.
"Well, you hang with me. I'll keep you safe." Rachel pulled me in front of her five-foot-nine-inch frame. The stark contrast of my ghost-white skin against her tanned arms made it clear I needed to get outside more. How do I fit in with these three? Rachel's the smart one, Scarlett's the Southern belle, and Jory's the athlete. I guess every group needs a token loser.
"I wish they'd figure another way to do this," Jory complained. "This seems so disorganized."
"Did you get all your books and your schedules?" Scarlett hollered to the four chatty teenage girls a few feet away. Sarah stood among them.
"Yes," her daughter, Victoria, replied. "We still need to get our lockers, and then we're done."
Sarah grabbed hold of Victoria’s arm and said, "Let's try to get them all together."
I glanced at my watch. Great, late already. My heart quickened at the thought of the dressing down I'd get once I returned to work.
"You girls go. We'll wait out here." Jory curled her short blonde hair behind her ear. Her raised arm showed her tight triceps. I always made a point to not raise my arms in even the slightest breeze. People might mistake me for a flying squirrel.
The teens started to walk off when Victoria stopped mid-step. Two of the other girls bumped into her. "Oh my, who is that?" she cooed.
"It's Wes Nasmith," Sarah answered. Despair hung in my daughter's eyes. Could this be her first crush? Just what I needed, teen angst.
"He changed over summer." Victoria wiggled her fingers in the air toward the boy.
"Yeah. No more glasses and his acne's cleared up." Sarah pulled down her top to cover the gap at her breasts. A lump rose in my throat as my daughter struggled to feel comfortable in clothing too small for her.
"He's gotten cute. Come on. Hey, Wes!" Victoria hollered and headed in his direction. "How was your summer?"
"This school has changed so much since we went here." Jory pointed toward the brick two-story building, its red color faded from the sun. "We had the one building. Now there are two, along with three portables."
"Can y'all believe how much the children have grown? Feels like yesterday they were in kindergarten." Scarlett placed her hands on her hips. "I remember when boys had cooties and Victoria wouldn't go near them. Now they're all she thinks about. She's already mentioned getting her learner's permit. Boys and cars are not a good combination."
"So true." Rachel concurred with a nod. "Kendra had me pick up the Driver's Ed book last week. She'll be gone before I know it." She let out a sigh of regret. While I longed for days to be alone, Rachel dreaded them. Maybe because her husband left her a widow and mine hadn't.
"The kids are growing up," I remarked. "Pretty soon they'll be off to college." My stomach burned. My kids would have to earn scholarships and work their way through college. Matthew had better get his grades up.
"Do you realize it's been nine years since we all first met at PTA?" Jory shook her head.
"Now I do feel old. Thanks, Georgia." I bumped her with my hip and she lurched over a step. She might have been athletic and able to beat me in a race, but with all my extra padding, if I landed on her I'd win.
"I miss those old meetings. Things were simpler back then," Jory moaned. "There seemed to be less to worry about."
"Yeah, like making sure your daughter didn't throw her dress up over her head so everyone saw her mermaid panties." Rachel nudged Scarlett with her elbow.
"I wish Victoria still wore those mermaid panties." Scarlett leaned in closer to the three of us and lowered her voice. "The other day, she had me buy her a thong. Can y'all believe it? What does a fourteen-year-old girl need with a thong?"
"I spend all day trying to keep my panties out of my backside." I wiggled my hips to demonstrate. "Why would anyone purposely shove them in? It's like a permanent wedgie."
"It's because they don't show panty lines," Jory explained. "They aren't uncomfortable at all."
Rachel smacked Jory's butt. "Well, we all know who in this group wears them. Don't we?"
I caught sight of Sarah heading my way. "Did you get your locker?"
"Yeah," she said.
"Are you finished?"
"I think so."
"Well ladies, I guess I'll see you on Saturday after next for the card game. I've got to head back to work."
I stared at the school in the rearview mirror as I drove away. Jory was right. Things had been so much simpler back then.
****
"No, no, don't do this," I pleaded as the car stalled at the light. The digital clock clicked over to three o'clock. I turned the key with no luck. "Great."
Vehicles honked as they flew by. I tried starting it again and prayed a miracle would happen. Still nothing. A black truck sped past, music blasting out the open windows. The driver honked and waved his middle finger at me.
"Yeah, I got stuck here on purpose to tick you off," I blurted. Bass drums still pounded in my ears. "I have absolutely nothing better to do with my time but find ways to make your life miserable."
The truck drove out of sight. I called my auto club, and then climbed from the car. I lifted the hood of the 1993 Honda and stood staring. My knowledge of cars was limited—you put the key in, you fill it with gas, and it goes. I had no idea what I was looking at. Frustrated, I walked around and kicked the front driver's side tire.
"If that works, let me know," a voice said from behind. A tall, muscular man in jeans and a black tee shirt approached.
My heart stopped. Brandon. Those deep brown eyes were unmistakable. I prayed he didn't recognize me. I had my hair pulled back in a braid, and my floral skirt and red blouse looked much better than the sweatpants and windbreaker he'd met me in. Also today the sun shone, and I had no cake on top of my head.
"What's the trouble?"
"I don't…" I choked on fumes as a delivery van passed. "I don't know. It just stopped."
It had been two weeks since we'd met, and he was just as handsome as I remembered. The tee shirt stretched across his back as he leaned over my car. My heart beat faster. He sure knew how to wear a pair of jeans. I brushed sweat from above my upper lip.
Stop it! the angel over my left shoulder whispered. Remember, you're a Christian woman.
Yeah, but she ain't dead. The devil on my right shoulder always got me into trouble. I wished she'd leave me alone.
I jumped when Brandon spoke. "Crank the engine," his deep voice ordered as he leaned farther under the hood.
I crawled into the car and tried the key. The vehicle choked and sputtered, but would go no further. I watched Brandon through the slit beneath the hood as he twisted and turned things in the engine. He hollered for me to try again. Still nothing.
Brandon walked up to the car door. "I think you might need a new fuel pump. It'll run you a couple hundred."
"That's all I need," I muttered under my breath.
"I might be able to do the repairs," he offered. "I've got some experience working on cars."
"How much would you charge?"
"You pay for the parts, and let me take you to dinner." He cocked his head to one side.
Inwardly I preened at the invitation, until reason took hold. He might be handing me a line. I didn't have much experience with men, since I hadn't gone on many dates in college and had married Michael shortly after. If Brandon behaved anything like my ex-husband—a conceited, lazy womanizer—I couldn't care less about the request, no matter what type of food might be involved.
"I'm new to town." Brandon rocked back on his heels. "I don't know a lot of people here. Besides, you're one pretty lady."
My insides trembled as I envisioned being alone with this man. What would we talk about? I'd make a fool of myself. "I've already called the auto club, and I have my own mechanic, but thanks anyway. Besides, I don't make a habit of going out with men I don't know."
"Very well." He glanced around. "We need to move your car out of the middle of the road before you get hit and end up with more problems than a fuel pump. Put it in neutral and turn the steering wheel sharp to the right. We'll take the car into the parking lot across the way. I'll push."
I put the car in gear while he got behind and pushed with his hands on the trunk. A blue Buick stopped, and the passenger got out to help. Within a minute or two my car sat parked in the lot.
I rolled down the window. "Thanks for your help." The other man gave me a wave and walked back to his car.
Brandon leaned over the window with one arm on the car. "No problem. By the way, what church do you go to?"
"How do you know I go to church?"
"The cross around your neck."
"Oh." I reached up and touched the pendant. It had been a gift from my mother before she'd taken off with the mailman for parts unknown. "Oceanview Methodist."
"I've been looking for a place of worship. Maybe I'll see you there." His dark eyes sparkled mischievously. "By the way, you look as good without the cake as you did with it."
****
"I know, I know, Tommy. I'm late." I rushed past Thomas Vance, owner of Vance's Auto Sales, the largest used car dealer in the area. The clock over my desk read five past four. "My car broke down."
"We need to talk." Tommy motioned with his finger for me to follow him into his office. He stood at five foot six, but acted ten feet tall when it came to lording over his employees. I would have told him years ago where to put his toupee, but I needed the job.
"I don't usually take time off," I argued once the door closed. "And this was a school thing."
"It's got nothing to do with you being late." Tommy sat on the edge of his desk. One foot remained on the floor, the other dangled. An intense glare flashed in his eyes. "I need to cut your hours. We don't need you here full-time when things are slow."
A large thud landed in the pit of my stomach. "I need the money. I've got kids to take care of. I need the insurance."
"I know. I'm talking about dropping you down to three days. I'll keep your health insurance for now, but it's the best I can do."
"I can't afford to lose two days of work."
"I'm sorry. I wish I had better news for you." Tommy walked around his desk to the high-backed chair three sizes too large for him. "Maybe you can find something else to offset the loss for a while until things pick back up." He gestured toward the door. I was being dismissed.
Nausea overcame me. Things were tight already. How would I pay my bills now?
"Deb, phone call, line one," the receptionist announced when I walked from Tommy's office.
I picked it up. "This is Deborah Zimmerman. How may I help you?"
"Ms. Zimmerman, this is Roy at Sam's Auto Fix. You were right, your car does need a fuel pump. It'll run you $625.00."
After I agreed to the repairs, I slammed down the phone.
"Darn you, Michael. This wouldn't be a problem if you'd do what you're supposed to do." I fought to keep tears from coming, but it did no good. I slapped a hand across my eyes. If Michael would catch up on the three years back child support, I'd be fine. Why can't they force him to get a job?
I grabbed a tissue and raised my eyes to the ceiling. "God, a lightning bolt in Michael's butt would sure make me feel better right about now."