Masquerade (4 page)

Helping these handicapped kids eased Celeste’s pain, at least in part. But lately guilt ate away at her, a tapeworm ravaging her stomach. If only she could pluck the painful memory of that day from her brain and be done with it once and for all. Shaking herself, she prodded Teddy and Lewis toward the table with the colored blocks.   

That  afternoon, tummies  full,  Celeste,  her  aides,

and the children joined for speech class in the front room. The aroma of pizza still lingered in the air.

Celeste sat in the back as Lorna guided the class through an array of verbal exercises. A nice break from the frenetic activity of the morning. Normal stuff, really, for a class full of handicapped students. Lewis wet his pants. Teddy faced the wall, howling and refusing to budge. Sarah grabbed Mark’s pizza. As a result, he delivered a full-blown temper tantrum, face turning red to match his hair, white fists pressed against his legs, left foot stamping the floor.

Raking a hand through her hair, Celeste blew out air. All in a day’s work. As much as she enjoyed teaching, she’d be glad for the weekend break. Rats, Joe had to work late. She’d forgotten all about that. Oh well, perhaps that would give her a chance to sort through another box or two. Maybe even get to bed a little earlier. Make up for the sleep she lost last night.

“Okay, children, what is this?” Lorna’s voice drew Celeste back to the classroom. The pathologist held a large card with a picture of a dog on the front.

“Dog.” Mark grinned and elbowed Linda. “Dog, Linda, do-o-o-o-o-g.”

“Stop that, Mauk,” Linda yelled, her words thick, as if her mouth were full of marbles. Like a mad goat, she tossed her head back and forth.

Celeste slipped over and sat between them.

“That’s all for today, boys and girls. Have a great weekend.” Lorna tapped the stack of cards on a table in front of her. “Mrs. Tatem?”

Celeste rose and walked to the front of the classroom. “Thank you, Mrs. Lane.” While she instructed the aides to line up the children for the bus, Lorna breezed out the door, her loose blouse billowing around her.

After everyone left for the day, Celeste straightened shelves and set out a box of activities for the coming Monday. When she settled into a chair to jot notes in her planner, Lorna walked in and retrieved a Coke from the fridge. “You still here?” She rummaged through a drawer and located a bottle opener.

“Just tidying up some loose ends before I go home.” And it would be nice if I could do it in silence so I can get out of here.

Lorna popped the cap on her bottle and lowered onto a chair across from Celeste. Her hefty hips lopped over the wooden seat. Her clothing choices, typically baggie blouses and skirts, did little to camouflage her size. “What ya gonna do this weekend?” She took a sip and set the bottle on the table. A single stream of condensation crept down the side.

Celeste sat back in her chair and pressed her hands against her legs.

Squinting, Lorna leaned across the table. “Girl, you look tired.”

“Long week.” And other things, but she really didn’t want to get into her personal life right now.

“Isn’t that the truth?” Lorna jiggled her pinky finger in her ear and sniffed.” School has just started and I’m already behind. Too much paperwork, I say, docu-

menting this student and that. But hey, I get paid extra for pushing paper, so I’ll suffer through it.” Her face split into a grin. Whenever she smiled, the tip of her straight nose hovered over her thin lips.

Celeste closed her planner. “So, what are you and the girls doing this weekend?” She’d be nice. Humor this newly-divorced and very needy mom who had full custody of two daughters, ages five and seven.

Lorna dug her fingers into her scalp and fluffed her chin-length hair, dirty-blonde with bangs swept to the side. “Go cruisin’ for men?”

“Come on, Lorna,” Celeste snorted.

“Nah, since that scumbag of a husband dumped me for another woman, I’m not sure I can trust men anymore. Besides, between school and caring for the girls, I don’t have much time for relationships, if you know what I mean.” She slapped her leg. “No, I hope to do some serious kicking back this weekend. The kids are spending the night with some friends, so voila”—she flung out her arms—“I’m free. But no men.” She shook her head. “Absolutely no men. Unless I decide to pop in at the corner bar and strike up a friendship with some stud muffin.”

Celeste wouldn’t put it past her. Lorna often said one thing and did another.

“Guess you won’t be relaxing on weekends for a while with a new house to set up.” Lorna took another swig of Coke and dabbed the corner of her mouth.

“Most likely. After I get everything unpacked and put  away,  I  want  to  paint  the  bedrooms.  Baby  blue, I

think, for the master bedroom.” Baby . . . no maybe not baby blue. Too much of a reminder. “Then again, I might paint it a soft peach shade. That would go well with the tweed carpet.”

“And what about the baby’s room?” Lorna lifted her pencil-thin eyebrows.

“Baby’s room?”

“Yeah, you’re holding out on me.” She tossed a side-ways glance at Celeste. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you? That’s why you look so tired and haven’t been eating much lunch since school started. Are you feeling sick? You know, when I was pregnant I always kept crackers and cheese slices handy to nibble on. Kept the nausea at bay. That might help you, too. And you might—”

Celeste put her hand up. “I’m
not
pregnant.”

“All right. Okay. No spazzing out on me.” She patted the air with her hand. “This is a touchy subject for you. I can see that.”

Celeste glowered at Lorna. “I can’t have children. Period.”

“How long have you known?”

“Oh, about a year, I guess.”

“A year?” Lorna’s eyes flared. “And you never told me?”

The janitor strode in whirling an industrial mop over the floor. “Uh, sorry, ladies. I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

Celeste struggled out of her seat. “That’s okay. We were just leaving.” She locked eyes with Lorna.

“Yeah,  we’re  on  our  way out.  Have a good week-

end, Mr. Porter.” Lorna picked up her Coke and walked toward the door.

“Now how many times have I told you to call me Max?” The gangly man grinned, revealing a space between his two front teeth.

“Max. That’s right,” Lorna said as Celeste joined her at the door, tote bag slung over her shoulder.

Walking together through the cafeteria, Celeste stooped to retrieve a spoon from the floor. She placed it on the counter alongside some stacked trays.

Except for an agitated voice coming from another classroom, the dimly-lit hallway was quiet as they approached the exterior door. Martha Filbert must be laying into somebody again. Known for giving her aides a hard time, she never seemed satisfied. No matter how hard they tried to please her by arriving on time, feeding the disabled students, reading, and playing with the children, Martha always found something to harp about.

Celeste and Lorna exchanged smirks.

“Please tell me I don’t treat my aides like that.” Celeste reached for the door handle.

“Never. You’re the epitome of kindness and generosity.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Martha’s a wannabe.”

Celeste arched her eyebrows.

“A wannabe wife. A wannabe director. You name it—she wants to be top dog. Have it all.” Lorna inched Celeste over to the wall. “But hey, off topic. What makes you think you can’t have children?”

Not now, Lorna, and not here. “The doctor.”  Why was she allowing herself to be swept up in this conversation?

“Who else knows?” Lorna ran her hand up and down her bottle.

Celeste released a gush of air. “Nobody.”

“Nobody? You haven’t even told your mother? Surely she’s been wondering.”

              Her mom wouldn’t dare ask her about children. Not after what she forced Celeste to do.

              “How’s Joe feel about all this?”

              A classroom door closed, and Martha along with an aide approached the outside door. They breezed by, nodded, and exited without a word.

Was it that obvious she and Lorna were in deep conversation? Hopefully, the other women hadn’t overheard anything. If they had, it’d only be a matter of time until the whole center knew about Celeste’s dilemma.

“Joe’s . . . good.” Celeste tugged on her satchel. “Look, Lorna, I need to get home.” She scooted to the door and pushed her way out, Lorna trailing behind her all the way to the Plymouth.

Like a barnacle to a boat, Lorna gripped the car door as Celeste settled behind the wheel. “Joe’s not good and neither are you.”

Huffing, Celeste squinted at her and turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered to life.

Lorna took a step back. “Joe doesn’t know, does he?”

A pale yellow Honda pulled out of the parking lot, idling long enough for the driver to wave. Martha. Shifting her gaze to the floorboard, Celeste didn’t wave back. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. Another job sounded good right about now. Somewhere . . . anywhere away from these snoopy women.

She flashed a fake smile and slammed the Plymouth door. Who’d Lorna think she was? Phil Donahue?

CHAPTER THREE

“Hmm . . . smells good.” Sam pecked Sonya on the cheek and set his lunchbox on the Formica counter. The unmistakable odor of gas clung to his gray uniform and mingled with the cinnamon, butter, and brown sugar melting in a sauce-pan. “What’s for supper?”

Hands deep in dough, Sonya peered over her shoulder. Sam rummaged through the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of iced tea. “Spaghetti and meatballs.” She blew a wisp of hair from her forehead. Perspiration beaded under her arms and trickled down her sides. 

“Great, I’m starving.” He reached into a cabinet beside her and retrieved a tumbler.

The screen door slammed and in charged Anthony. Behind him, Matthew lunged for his shirt tail. “You little dork, give me that!” Matthew’s arm flailed, threatening to punch his brother. Quicker than butter melting on a hot crescent roll, the boys sped over the linoleum, into the foyer, and up the creaking stairs.

“Stop it, you two!” Sonya punched the dough. “You’re gonna wake up Tommy.”

Giggling burst from under the drop-leaf table, then scuffling.  “Mama, Hannah  won’t give  me my paper doll,”

Mia whined.

Sonya’s shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. “I can’t take much more of this.”

In the living room, Lily struck a single key on the piano. Over and over again. The child was clearly fascinated with middle C.

Sam’s gentle hand touched Sonya’s arm and her eyelids popped open. “I’ll take care of this.” He set his cup on the counter, then peered under the table. “Hannah, Mia, come out, please.”

Sonya turned to see the girls inch their way out, chagrin etched all over their faces. Like crayons in a box, they stood side-by-side, hands covering their backsides.

“Hannah, give your sister her doll, and both of you go upstairs to your room and play quietly until supper,” Sam said.

A clatter erupted overhead, then a bounce. Sonya’s gaze jumped to the ceiling. Those kids are playing jacks. And the baby a light sleeper. Any instruction she gave those boys sailed right over them like the proverbial kite on a windy day.

Sam slapped his knees and rose. The girls skittered away without argument. Tommy let out a scream from his crib.

Dried goo sticking to her hands, Sonya dropped into the cane seat of a wooden chair.

“They’re kids, sweetheart.”

She covered her face with her hands and released the tears she’d been holding in all day.

Sam rubbed her shoulders. “I’ll get the baby.”

“I just put him down before you came in.” She sniffed and looked up at her husband. “He’s been cranky all day. I hope he’s not coming down with something.”

His round face split into a grin. He threw back his head and laughed.

“What’s so all-fire funny?”

He squeezed his mouth with a beefy hand. “Your face.” He flicked a piece of dough off her cheek, and it stuck to his finger.

She reached for the hand towel. “Great.”

Tommy’s crying intensified. Sam thumbed over his shoulder. “Got the baby.”

After he left, Sonya stared into space and fingered the hem of the towel. In the span of ten hours, she’d considered both homicide and suicide. If they could just afford to hire a maid. She frowned, shook her head. How could she even think such a thought? After all, she grew up in a large family. She should be able to handle her household. Her mother never collapsed under the strain. And neither would she. She couldn’t, for Sam’s sake, for the children. For Lily. If Social Services ever detected the slightest hint of instability, they’d . . . no, she couldn’t think about that.