Masquerade (12 page)

CHAPTER TEN

“There you go, making me cry again.” Celeste stepped out of a hug. What a warm woman—that Barbara Kelly.

“It’s so good to have you back in class.” The older woman studied Celeste’s face.

Amelia, with books in tow, appeared from the adjoining room. Mouth curved into a grin, she set the stack on the counter and took Celeste in her arms. “Welcome back. We all missed you.”

That was a surprise, coming from Amelia—a woman of few words and not one to show a great deal of affection.

“Thanks. It’s good to be back. I was going stir crazy all by myself after a month at home.” She clamped her mouth shut. Enough said. Time to focus on her children, not herself for a change.

“If you ever need some company, give me a call.” Barbara picked up a wooden puzzle from a table. “And I mean that.” She flashed a trigger finger at Celeste.

“Gotcha.” Celeste pivoted at the scuffing sound and faced the door.
My children.

With open-mouthed grins,  Mark and Linda nearly

tackled her. Luke, Jocelyn, and the other students huddled around, smiling shyly, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Group hug.” Celeste motioned with her hands, and all the kids shuffled close. All except Teddy, who stood by the door rocking. Amelia ushered him to his seat by the blackboard.

              In the midst of the embrace, a petite woman with mousy brown hair popped in the door. “Mrs. Tatem?”

Ignoring the grief that swept through her at the mention of Tatem, she released the group and offered her hand to the woman. “I’m Celeste, head teacher for this class,” she said as Barbara and Amelia coaxed the children to their seats.              

“Sonya Miller, and this is Lily.” She placed her arm around the little girl’s shoulders.

Striking blue eyes peered up at Celeste amidst a crop of golden curls which framed the child’s round face. No blank stare in those penetrating eyes. From all appearances a capable mind rested beneath that angel hair. A perfectly-formed little girl, except for one thing—a shriveled left arm hung limp at her side. The sweater she wore empty from the elbow down, indicating nothing but a stub, virtually half the length of her right arm.

“Ah, Lily, nice to meet you. What a lovely name.” She glanced about the room. “Mrs. Kelly, would you help Lily find a seat?”

Golden Girl tottered toward the aide.

“Sit here. Sit here.” Mark clapped a hand on an empty chair beside him.

Sitting across the table, Linda cocked her head and

smirked. “Ah, Mauk. Shut up.”

“Amelia, would you read the class a story or two while I step out to speak with Mrs. Miller?”

Amelia selected a book from the stack on the counter and walked to the front of the classroom. “Okay, boys and girls. This story is titled
Pumpkin Patch.
How many of you have pumpkins at your house?”

Hands shot up.

Celeste quietly closed the door behind her and led Mrs. Miller to a round table in the cafeteria. An industrial mixer from the adjoining kitchen whirred in the background. Trays clattered while water sprayed.

“Glad to have your daughter join us, Mrs. Miller.” Celeste brushed a hand over her peasant skirt.

Laughter wafted from the kitchen, along with the aroma of yeast rolls.

“Sonya . . . please, call me Sonya.”
Her poker straight hair parted around her ears, giving her a monkey-like appearance. Pinkish pock marks dotted her cheeks, perhaps the aftermath of a bad case of adolescent acne.

Golden Girl must look like her father.

“Of course, Sonya.”

“And I’m not her mother, although I’d love to be.” Her mouth formed an awkward grin, revealing more gum than teeth.

Celeste raised her eyebrows.

“I’m her foster mom.”

“Oh, I see. Is there anything you’d like to share that might help me work with Lily?

“She loved learning at home, but the caseworker thought it was time to place her in a school setting. I, uh . . . I’ve been extra tired lately, and she felt I could use a break.” Red tinged her face. “Anyway, no one seems to want to adopt this beautiful little girl. I guess they take one look at her arm and shy away. And of course, her IQ is low, somewhere around 60 or so. But there’s just something about her. I don’t know, a sort of magical sparkle, intuition, something.” She tugged on the sleeve of her denim shift. “My husband, Sam, and I have five other children. We love Lily,” her gaze traveled to the table, then back to Celeste, “but financially, it’d be hard for us to adopt her. My husband already works two jobs to make ends meet, so I can stay home. Of course, Social Services funds much of Lily’s care.”

Hmm . . . love for Lily or lust for more money? Celeste scooped a hand over her ponytail. “Well, Mrs. . . . uh, Sonya, we’ll talk more at a scheduled parent-teacher meeting. But thanks for the introduction. Rest assured—we’ll do our best to teach Lily.” She rose and offered a hand.

Sonya reciprocated. “I guess you’re wondering why we took on another child with five of our own.”

She did, but now was not the time to discuss it. The class waited. How many stories had Amelia read by now?

“It all comes down to a verse God gave me a few years ago about rescuing the fatherless.”

Great. That’s all she needed—a sermon. “And is that what you think you’ve done, Mrs. Miller? Rescued

Lily?”

She sighed and gripped her denim purse. “I hope so. At the very least, we’ve given her a chance. But in truth, she rescued us. Until we met Lily, our lives were mundane, you know? Going to work, rearing the family. Don’t get me wrong”—she threw out slender fingers—“all good stuff. But Lily brought meaning to each of us.” A tear glistened in the corner of her eye.

Pain stabbed at Celeste’s chest. She’d snuffed out life. But the doctor said it was just tissue. Not to worry. She fought against a panic attack. Pain go away . . . go away. This was simply too much. Her baby and Joe gone. And now this woman with grandiose ideas of rescuing.

Who did she think she was?
Run, Celeste, run, before you say something you’ll regret
. 

“And Lily will continue to bring meaning. But I really must get back to the class now. We’ll talk more another time, okay?” She backed away from the woman.

“Yes, of course.”

Though her heart beat fast, her feet maintained a steady pace toward the classroom.

Morning activities and lunch complete, Celeste and the aides walked their groups to the bathroom for grooming time. Each child carried a milk carton crafted into a kit which housed a toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, a washrag, bar of soap, a brush, and a comb.

In the boy’s restroom, Celeste positioned a child in front of each of the four sinks.

At the first sink, Mark goggled at himself in the mirror,  preening  his  wiry  hair  like a pheasant. He rum-

maged through his kit. “Hey, where’s my toothbrush?” He thumped his fists on his hips, faced Luke at the second sink.

Eyelids at half-mast, Luke chewed on his toothbrush and pointed his finger at Mark.

“Okay, boys.” Celeste peeked inside Mark’s kit, pulled out a red toothbrush. “Here it is.”

“That’s not mine.” Mark pressed his hands on the sink edge and shook his head.

“Luke, do you have Mark’s toothbrush?”

              Green toothpaste oozed out of his mouth when Luke grinned.

              Celeste held out her hand. “Let’s see your brush.”

              Luke whipped it out, spraying specks all over Celeste’s shirt. She swiped at the mess.

              “Green. That’s
my
toothbrush.” Mark stiffened, hands balled into fists. “Gag me with a spoon, Luke!”

              “And where is
your
brush, Luke?” Celeste crossed her arms.

              He shrugged, dropped the toothbrush on the counter and grinned, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth, immune to brushing.

              Celeste emptied Mark’s kit. “Are these your items?”

              “Luke, you bad boy!” Mark snatched the other kit, hugged it to his chest.

              Luke stood grinning, one hand splayed at his side, the other stuck in his jeans pocket.

              “We’ll get you a new brush, Mark.” Celeste picked the  end  of  the  toothbrush  up with her index finger and

thumb and dropped it in the plastic trashcan beside the counter. “Go ahead and wash your face.”

              At the third sink, Lewis moved the washrag over his face at a snail’s pace. No soap.

              “Here, Lewis, let’s get this rag sudsy.” She ran the cloth under the water, rubbed the bar over it, and handed it back to the poker-faced boy.

              Teddy, at the last sink, moaned and rocked.

              She took a deep breath. After she fished for Teddy’s toothbrush, she applied paste, gently anchored his arms, and scrubbed. A loud nasal sound bounced off the green block walls.

              “It’s okay, Teddy. You’re gonna get a turn, buddy.” She held her ground.

              Gargling at the other end of the line.

              “Luke’s drinking mouthwash.” Mark’s voice rose above Teddy’s high-pitched wail.

              She wrapped Teddy’s fingers around the toothbrush and moved his hand to his mouth. In two strides, she stood between Mark and Luke. She eyed the Scope bottle. How much had the boy drunk?

              Scuffing sounds in the hallway. Voices. Barbara stuck her head in the bathroom door, Lily beside her with face scrubbed to a shine. “We’re on our way back to the room.”

              Celeste scrambled over, leaned in to the aide’s ear. “Luke just drank mouthwash.”

              Barbara’s eyes widened.

              “Take my kids back to the room. I’ll alert Sue to call his mother.”

              “Ipecac?”

              “Maybe, but probably not needed.” She turned to the boys. “Okay, guys, follow Mrs. Kelly.” She stuffed items back in kits, urged each child toward the hallway.

              Down the hall to Sue’s office, an image sprang into Celeste’s mind—Joe, standing at the bathroom sink, Listerine bottle in hand. That silly grin all over his face. She shook off the pain evoked by the memory.

              One foot in front of the other. Just keep moving.

              Sue alerted, Celeste returned to the classroom. The children sat at the tables listening to the song, “Pop Goes the Weasel,” on the record player. Her hand flew to her mouth when she spotted Luke. Green circled his lips.

              Amelia walked over and whispered in Celeste’s ear. “Marker. Sorry, I should have caught him before he grabbed the pen off the shelf.”

              What was with that kid today?

              Celeste placed a hand on the aide’s shoulder. “Perfectly understandable. We’ll brief his mother when she picks him up.”
Not looking forward to that.

              “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he actually put the pen in his mouth.”

              Celeste sighed and moved to the front of the class. Off-pitch, Mark bellowed out the lyrics. Linda puffed out her cheeks and rolled her eyes. Sitting at the end of a table, Lily tilted her face, serene and sunny, toward the ceiling. But what she gazed at, Celeste didn’t know. It was as if the little girl looked to something beyond the drop-down tiles. In her own world, it seemed.

              The song over, Celeste set the needle to the side of

the record and opened her mouth to speak.

              “Rainbow.” Lily pointed.

              On either side of her, Jocelyn and Linda squinted and gaped at the ceiling.

              Celeste joined them. Sure enough, a prism of colors danced where the wall and ceiling met. She walked to an oval crystal hanging by a golden thread in the kitchen window. “This is what’s making your rainbow, Lily.” She twiddled the crystal.

              “Well, look at that.” Barbara smiled and squared her shoulders, hands folded in front of her chest. “We’ve got our own rainbow, boys and girls.” She held Celeste’s gaze.

             
Don’t start with me, Barbara.
It’s merely a reflection. There’s no rainbow promise. No loving God who’s here to comfort. Maybe no God at all.

A sinking feeling crept from her head to her feet. But if there was a God, perhaps Joe’s death was His punishment for taking her child’s life.
Is that how God works, Barbara?
If so, Celeste wanted nothing to do with Him.

###

              The smell of paint still clung to the spare bedroom when Celeste opened the closet door. She pushed a box to the side and lowered to the floor amidst Joe’s shoes. A mix of leather and something musty accosted her nose. Clutching her knees, she stared at the box which contained a variety of odds and ends tossed in during their  move.  Joe  promised  he’d  sort  through  the  mess