Charlie said he’d eat at Bernie’s tonight. She could work straight through until the budget-cut meeting if she wanted. He’d meet her there. Why couldn’t he be the one to speak up in a public forum? Why did he slip into it’ll-all-work-out mode when her life stood in the crosshairs? So much for knight on a white horse. But he would be there. She didn’t have to wonder if he’d show up.
She needed a new office chair. One that didn’t groan when she moved. Or was that sound coming from her soul?
Two hours later she pushed away from her desk and closed the lid of her laptop. She shouldn’t head into the meeting with an empty stomach. But it might be emptied by the outcome of the gathering, barring divine intervention. So she had no clear choice.
Divine intervention. Nothing short would move a woman like Evelyn Schindler, who approached budget cuts with the ruthlessness of a self-guided chain saw.
***
“It’s difficult to take your perspective seriously,” Evelyn “Chain Saw” Schindler said, leaning too far into her microphone. She jerked back, as if she’d chipped a tooth in her enthusiasm to make her point. Straightening her posture to a stiffness well past at ease, she added, “You’re the music instructor, Mrs. Tuttle. Is there any doubt where you’d stand on the issue? Those overly passionate add a skewed perspective to the subject at hand. I think we can all agree on that.”
The woman nodded to the board members on her left and right, some of whom nodded back. Others dropped their gaze. And their opportunity to disagree. Lucy’s friends, some of them. People she’d known since her father held the position she clung to now with a free-climber’s fingertips-only grip.
Nothing but air at her back. Hundreds of feet above the sun-baked canyon floor. Toes pretending the quarter-inch crack in the rock is enough. Fingertips stretching skyward, muscles straining to hold out for a dependable ledge.
“Mrs. Tuttle.” The board president’s voice sounded like one reserved for the detention room.
“What?”
“You can lower your hand. We’ve heard your opinion. There are others waiting to have their say.”
Lower her—? That’s what she needed. Another reason to be embarrassed. She slipped her hand down and bent to retrieve her bottled water from the floor. It bought her enough time to refocus.
Charlie patted her knee. Could have been his “Steady, girl,” or “There, there now,” or “Way to go, honey.” Probably one of the first two options.
The next speaker’s rabbit trail wandered so far afield, Lucy feared his point had already crossed into the next county without him. Hope followed—a string of community members, many of them parents of her students—voicing logical, well-expressed reasons to look someplace other than art and music for the necessary cuts.
For a small town like Willowcrest to maintain a private school without federal funding for more than four decades, they’d danced to the edge of tough decisions more than once. The seriously sports-minded usually transferred to a Woodbridge school. But thanks in large part to Lucy’s father’s influence, the music program kept students in Willowcrest.
That point worked its way into the next speaker’s impassioned plea. Ellie’s mom. And the next. A parent from a student long graduated.
Lucy watched as the panel of school board members scribbled notes—or graffiti—onto memo pads. Evelyn Schindler’s shoulders sagged. Could the tide be turning?
The next community member given the floor presented an anti-music-education argument so flawed, it drew snickers from the crowd. He grabbed his frayed baseball cap from his folding chair, pointed toward the board and said, “You know we got no choice.” His exit brought Lucy relief she assumed was shared by others, judging from the expressions on the faces of more than half of the attendees.
Who was that leaning against the wall near the exit? A reporter? Mid-twenties, she guessed. Not someone she’d seen around the community, that she could remember. From where Lucy sat, she could pay attention to the proceedings and keep an eye on the intense young man, too, if she turned a few degrees in her chair. Charlie took that gesture as a reason to put his arm around his wife.
“When did Olivia get here?” she whispered into the better of Charlie’s ears.
“She’s here?” He swiveled his head toward the standing room only spot not far from the reporter. He waved like a second grader might wave to his parents in the audience.
“Charlie!”
“What?”
Evelyn Schindler made her microphone squeal. “If we could have everyone’s attention? Time limits being as they are, we’re going to need to wrap this up for tonight. The board will agree with me, I’m sure—”
Don’t they always?
“—that we’ve been given more than enough food for thought in this matter. As always, we remain open to your comments via e-mail or personal contact. Let’s call it a night, shall we, folks?”
Well. No pronouncement of doom. Had Lucy’s music program dodged another wrecking ball for the moment? She glanced back toward Olivia, who stood talking with the reporter guy. What did her daughter have to say to him? What was he asking? Lip-reading would come in handy at a time like this.
Part of Lucy’s brain allowed her to converse with community members voicing their ongoing support while she watched Olivia and the note taker leave. Together.
***
Lucy texted Olivia on the short drive home. “Cute guy. Someone special?”
Olivia texted back, “Could be. We’ll see.”
“You coming over?”
“Heading back to Woodbridge now. See you soon. Praying for you, Mom.”
“Thanks.”
Lucy had to admit texting came in handy once in a while. It kept her better connected with her kids.
“Nice of Olivia to show up,” Charlie said, adjusting his rear view mirror.
“I haven’t talked to her for a couple of days. Thought maybe she’d spend the night.”
“She isn’t?”
Lucy unlooped the lightweight infinity scarf around her neck and tucked it into her purse. “Heading back.”
“I should have asked her to go out for frozen custard with us.”
“Them.”
“What?”
“Should have asked them. She was with someone.”
Charlie’s eyebrows registered his surprise.
“You’re not suggesting you want to stop for custard, are you?”
“You don’t want to?” His voice wavered as if she’d told him he couldn’t have a puppy.
“Could
