Chapter 11

Monday morning, over breakfast, I forced Mom to engage in meaningful conversation. “Mom, Jamie’s coming to dinner tonight like you wanted. I think I’m going to fix fettuccine Alfredo, salad, and garlic bread, okay?”

She made an affirmative noise.

“And I’m still going on my coffee date with him, like I said, because after all, you’ll be on the premises on your coffee date, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

She looked up from her oatmeal. “Why do you want to spy on me while I’m having coffee with Gill?” Mom’s no dummy, in case I hadn’t mentioned it.

“Look, I don’t want to interfere with your personal life—”

She cut me off. “You can’t interfere with what doesn’t exist, dear. What’s really going on? I’m just having coffee. Yes, you might feel awkward because it’s your principal, but I promise I won’t do or say anything to embarrass you.”

“It’s not that,” I responded but then realized I couldn’t exactly explain the problems with Mr. Bellamy. I dropped the topic, and we both headed out the door.

Ember was waiting for me down the street. Mr. Black and Ms. Anders had asked me not to tell anyone at school about our Sunday afternoon meeting-slash-strategy session. I had agreed, but I also knew I’d tell Jamie. After all, he wasn’t “at school.” It was a technicality, but I was my mother’s daughter after all. Technicalities were our lifeblood.

The day seemed to drag on endlessly, until Ms. Anders’ class.

“I’ve made some specific assignments for your midterm grades,” she announced. “We’re going to move away from Italy and look at France during the first half of the fifteenth century. It was a fascinating time. I especially want us to focus on Joan of Arc and her comrades-at-arms during the Hundred Years War. To that end, I’ve made group assignments for reports on individual personages.”

I repressed a shudder when I saw my five-person group, which included Ember, was assigned Gilles de Montmorency-Laval, a Breton knight born in 1404. What was Ms. Anders thinking? Why hadn’t she mentioned this historical person with the non-coincidental name the day before? What dangerous game was this, making our investigation into a group assignment? My mind raced with possibilities.

Ember spoke up, puzzled. “I’ve never even heard of him.”

Ms. Anders gave a faint smile and looked over at me. “He is an interesting, though unsavory, historical figure, Ember. In fact, he was a close comrade of Joan of Arc and fought beside her, but later he turned toward the occult and became a serial killer of children. By all accounts, including his wife’s, he was a demon-worshipper.”

My entire group perked up, and two of the guys high-fived. Apparently, they were excited to receive a Satanic serial-killer assignment. I stared down at my desk, sick and horrified.

I didn’t see Mr. Bellamy at school Monday. After school, Ember went to marching band practice, and I headed downtown for my coffee date. Jamie was there when I arrived, seated at the same table. He stood up when he saw me. Nice guy, good manners, and so cute. I figured I’d won the boyfriend lottery.

I glanced around the coffee shop. My mom and Mr. Bellamy were nowhere in sight.

“Same thing as last time?” Jamie asked, smiling.

I nodded, grinning like a dork. He went up to the counter and ordered from Gordon, who gave me a friendly wave. As Jamie arrived back at the table, Mom and the evil principal came in. He held the door for her. They went up to the counter, and Jamie and I both watched them. Gordon took their orders, and as they turned away from the counter they spotted us. Mom must have warned Mr. Bellamy because he seemed unsurprised. Although not much does seem to surprise him.

They settled at a table near the door, as far away from us as possible. Gordon looked displeased to see my mom with someone. He was looking at her and sort of frowning, and Gordon never frowned. He was one of the mellowest and happiest people around. I remembered my vague thought of trying to fix Gordon up with my mom and filed the thought away as part of the still-amorphous plan to separate Mom from the evil principal.

Then my thoughts scattered when Jamie reached across the table and took my hand. His was large, warm, and a little bit rough. It had been a while since I’d even held hands with a guy, and Jamie wasn’t just any ol’ guy. We smiled at each other, and then Gordon came up to the table, bearing our lattes.

“Who’s the dude with your mom?” he inquired, still frowning.

I decided to put subplot A of the unformed plan into immediate effect. I was a journalist, and I should be able to improvise, right? “That’s our new principal, Mr. Bellamy. He’s from the South.” I knew Gordon would assume Mr. Bellamy was conservative, based upon geography, which would be strike one. “He’s not a nice person, either. He’s said some harsh comments to kids at school for no reason.” I was making that one up, but it was a definite strike two.

Gordon scowled. “So why’s your mom with him? He doesn’t sound like her kind of guy at all—not that I know what her kind is or anything.” He was looking over at Mom, and he was overtly perturbed. This was going to be easy.

“I’m not sure. It’s been a long time since she’s been out with anybody, and he sort of surprised her into coming to meet him for coffee. I don’t think this is going anywhere. At least I hope not. Though Mom maybe does need some grown-up company.” I was afraid I was being transparent, but I was doing my best to plant some seeds.

“Well,” Gordon mused, “I better go fix their coffees and see what’s what.” He strolled away.

Jamie looked at me, amused, and let go of my hand to pick up his latte. “What was that about?” He took a sip, and I explained my thought that Gordon liked my mom, had liked her for a long time, and maybe he could assist in my desperate need to get Mom away from the principal from Hell.

Jamie glanced over at my mom. “Doesn’t seem like it should be hard to fix your mom up with him. She’s really pretty. She looks a lot like you. Or vice versa.”

I blushed a little. I knew a compliment when I heard one, even when it involved a comment on my mother’s physical attractiveness. I gave myself a mental shake and got back to the matter at hand. “There’s a whole lot I have to tell you about. I’m not sure this is a good time with them sitting a few feet away, but maybe we can leave in a few minutes, and I can tell you while we’re walking to my house.”

“Sounds ominous,” Jamie responded, but he didn’t sound flippant or sarcastic, just concerned. He reached out and took my hand again. “So, let’s talk about something more normal. What kind of music do you like?”

I smiled at the change in subject. “I have pretty broad tastes. What about you?”

“That’s a vague answer. I guess I better tell you if I catch you listening to any Katy Perry or Taylor Swift, we’re done. I’m a classic rock guy.”

“How vintage.” I took a sip of my coffee and heaved a big sigh. “I guess I’m going to have to delete all my music. Not.”

“My dad was—is—a big Springsteen fan. He always said good Springsteen was like listening to good poetry. He also said there was no bad Springsteen.” Jamie smiled a little. “When he lost his last job, he was using a lot, always high, sort of out of it, and he’d go around singing ‘The Ghost of Tom Joad.’ He always had a great singing voice. Even when he was high.”

“So do you hear from your dad much while he’s…away?” I hoped I wasn’t being too tactless.

“He writes. My aunt sends him a calling card once in a while. Ethan won’t talk to him or write. Ethan says he’s got no use for him and he can’t forgive him.” Jamie paused for a thoughtful moment. “Dad says he’s sorry. He says he’s a different person. I tell him I want him to be the person he used to be. Before. That’s all.” Jamie smiled, a sad little smile. “Since we’re sharing, what about your dad? I’ve never heard anything about him.”

“He’s dead,” I replied, trying not to sound too short. “I didn’t know him, and I don’t talk about it.”

“Okay.” Jamie scrunched up his face a little. “I hope I didn’t upset you.”

“No, it’s just there’s really nothing to tell, you know?” I switched the topic back to music, and the subject of fathers, dead or imprisoned, didn’t come up again. I wasn’t being fair to Jamie, who’d opened up to me about his life, but I couldn’t talk about my father, not yet and not with my mom sitting a few tables away with Mr. Bellamy.

After we finished our lattes, we headed for the door. We stopped by the table where Mom and Mr. Bellamy were talking. Mom was smiling, absolutely glowing. It made my skin crawl, but I didn’t know if I could disguise the wave of negativity roiling through me.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bellamy,” I said brightly. “Mom, I wanted to introduce you to Jamie. Jamie, this is my mom, Nora Baker. And this is the new principal, Mr. Bellamy. Mr. Gilles Bellamy.”

Using Mr. Bellamy’s full first name wasn’t a good call on my part. His eyes darkened. I’d read the phrase all the time, that someone’s “eyes darkened,” but I’d never seen it. In Mr. Bellamy’s case, his pupils got bigger and bigger, almost swallowing the irises of his eyes.

“Indeed, Lauren, that’s my given name. Such good manners, Nora. You must be proud.”

I thought Mom would blow up at the overt sarcasm in his voice, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Yes, Lauren does have good manners. You didn’t tell me that was your given name. French? It’s an unusual name.”

Mr. Bellamy’s gaze met mine for a moment. “Yes, French. I’m surprised—and impressed—that Lauren knew the correct pronunciation. Have you taken French, dear?”

Oh, surely Mr. Bellamy was striking out with my mom, big time. She despised it when men were patriarchal or condescending, and he was hitting both with his tone and his words. Except again Mom didn’t seem to notice.

She flipped her hair and smiled. “You might remember, Gilles, the high school hasn’t been able to offer French since last year. Lauren was only able to take it as a freshman. Wasn’t that discussed at your interview with the school board? How the budget cuts had impacted foreign language options? Maybe you can do something about it. You have so many wonderful ideas for the school.” Mom’s voice was so sweet I was in danger of a diabetic coma.

I decided to leave before I upchucked my latte. “Jamie and I are going to head to the house and start dinner, Mom.”

She nodded. “I’ll be right there.”

As Jamie and I went out the door, she was gathering up her purse. And when I glanced back, Mr. Bellamy raised her hand to his lips while Gordon scowled from behind the counter.