“Baby, your hair looks nice. When did you do that?”
“On Saturday, Mama, remember?”
Lorraine frowned. “Was I there when you got it done?”
“No, Mama. I borrowed your car and drove into LA. I met Chantay and she helped me with a makeover.”
“How’s Margaret?”
Gwen’s shoulders slumped and it became harder to hold on to her happy facade. “Chantay’s mother died last year, Mama. I flew home and we went to her funeral together.”
Lorraine frowned slightly, placed the magazine on the seat beside her, and folded her arms. “Margaret sure loved going to bingo. Maybe I’ll call her and go this weekend.” She looked up as if Gwen had just walked in the room. “I like your hairstyle. Is that new?”
Gwen fought back tears as she walked over and hugged her mother. The conversation had been similar to several she’d had since arriving the past Friday afternoon: repeated questions, mention of people either dead or long since moved away, and the behavior that had scared her brother on his last visit enough for him to call and ask for her intervention. Strongly suggested may have been a more accurate description. Even begged wouldn’t have been too exaggerated a verb. Both her brothers were married with children, one living in Seattle, the other in North Carolina. It made sense that Gwen was the one best able to step in and help their mother transition to another way of living.
Gwen reached for the phone, called her mother’s neighbor, Mary Walker, told her she was leaving for the interview and asked that she keep an eye out for any potential wanderings of the Lorraine kind. After making sure the gas line to the stove was turned off, she felt the home safe enough to leave her mother alone.
“Here, baby, wear this.” Lorraine unpinned a brightly jeweled brooch in the shape of a butterfly from her blouse and held it up to Gwen.
“It’s pretty, Mama, but you know I’m not much of a sparkly jewelry wearer. I like simple stuff.”
Lorraine’s eyes misted over. She rose from the couch and headed toward her bedroom. “You used to like wearing my jewelry,” she mumbled.
“I’ll wear it, Mama,” Gwen called out. She didn’t bother to remind her mother that while Gwen had played dress-up with her mother’s hats as a child, it was Chantay who always coveted her mom’s jewelry, and to this day wore big gaudy earrings and enough bracelets and necklaces at the same time to open a pawn shop.
Lorraine turned and brought back the brooch, smiling as she pinned it to her daughter’s lapel. “There, you’re all set. Your hair is usually curly. I like it straight.”
“Thanks, Mama.”
Twenty minutes later, Gwen pulled into the neat and pristine parking lot of Sienna Elementary. She was immediately impressed with the playground, which sat to the right of the L-shaped building. Brightly colored swings moved in the breeze. Sandboxes and hopscotch imprints dotted the asphalt landscape. Several jungle gyms sat between a half basketball court on one side and soccer field on the other. A jogging track surrounded the playground, and a colorful mural of playing children painted on the school’s wall lent a spirit of whimsy to the scene. Whoever designed this area really knows children, she thought, as she mounted the four steps to the school’s front doors. If what she saw on the outside was any indication of the attention to detail on the inside, Gwen knew she’d like teaching here.
The first person she saw was a young, perky woman with fiery red hair and a bright, white smile. Joanna Roxbury, who also taught first grade, welcomed her to Sienna Elementary and pointed her toward the executive offices.
“Mr. Johnson is gonna love you,” she chuckled, as she took in Gwen’s stylish suit and modern haircut. “Be careful to keep your wits about you, or from what I hear, he’ll talk you out of your pan—I mean…cast his amorous spell.”
Gwen laughed. She felt she’d found her first ally at Sienna. “Oh, don’t worry. Adam, rather Mr. Johnson and I, go way back. We graduated from the same class over twenty years ago.”
“You’re kidding! I mean, it’s just that you don’t look that old.”
“Forty is old to you? You must be twenty-something.”
“Twenty-six,” Joanna replied sheepishly. “And it’s not that forty is old, it’s just that, well, you look my age.”
Gwen cut her a sideways glance.
“Well, maybe a few years older, but midthirties, max. I hope I still look as good when I’m…”
“Old?” Gwen finished the sentence with a laugh.
“Boy, I sure know how to make a first impression, huh?”
“No worries. I accept what I’m sure is a compliment in the manner it was given.”
“You know,” Joanna whispered, moving closer to Gwen. “I bet you’ve got all kinds of juicy stories about the teenaged Adam Johnson. I hear he was quite a character, though no one wants to give specifics.”
They reached the end of the corridor. Joanna stopped. “My classroom is this way. Hey, let’s get together once your position is official. I’ll be pulling for you, although seriously, your competition is slim to none.” She reached inside her purse and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my cell number. Call me when you get settled in. Lunch is on me.” Then, with a wink and a smile, she was gone.
Gwen walked down the colorfully painted hall and made a right at the end of the corridor. She entered an office with posters covering almost every inch of wall. A white-haired lady sat behind a counter. Clearing her throat as she reached the barrier that separated guest from employee, Gwen straightened an already perfectly fitting suit coat.
“Yes, may I help you?” the elderly lady asked.
“My name is Gwen Smith. I have an appointment with Mr. Johnson.”
“Ah, the first-grade teacher,” the woman said as her blue eyes brightened. “My name is Mrs. Summers. Come right this way.”
Gwen walked behind the counter to a short hall with doors on both sides. She stopped as her escort knocked on the first one. A familiar voice rang out from within. “Yes?”
Mrs. Summers cracked open the door and stuck her head inside. “Mr. Johnson, the first-grade teacher, uh, rather the candidate is here.” Without waiting for an answer she nodded her head, extended her hand, and motioned Gwen inside.
Gwen tried to still her rapidly beating heart. It had been a long time since she’d seen Adam Johnson, the man she’d fantasized about, along with half the school’s female population. She felt fifteen again, her hands clammy and throat dry. She swallowed, trying to calm the nervousness, but her feet remained planted to the floor and it wasn’t until Mrs. Summers spoke that she was propelled out of immobility.
“Mrs. Smith, ahem, Gwen? Right this way?”
“Oh, yes,” Gwen finally responded. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Summers.”
Mrs. Summers stepped back. Gwen closed her eyes and swallowed once more before stepping through the door. She could barely contain herself as every image of the chocolate-drop jock Adam Johnson
