What a Mother Knows (6 page)

The next morning, Michelle looked out the kitchen window at the children swinging their lunchboxes on their way to school. She used to love sending her kids off with peanut butter sandwiches cut in the shape of a heart. She and Drew had given up their apartment close to the beach and moved to the Valley because it was supposed to be the best place to raise children. Now, she wasn't so sure.

A car horn honked and the pace quickened as parents hurried their children to the playground before the first bell rang. Michelle was eager to get going too, but Elyse was still playing show-and-tell, matching each new sleeveless shift to a cardigan that would disguise her scarred arm.

“The actress from that HBO show bought this beige sheath in bright red. Poor thing had to duck the photographers outside of Saks, but the dress is classic.”

“It's lovely,” Michelle said, running out of polite adjectives. She followed her mother to the bedroom, where Elyse spread a navy ensemble on the bed.

As soon as Elyse left to give her privacy, Michelle shoved the sliding closet door open and found a garment bag. She pulled down the zipper, relieved to find her old uniform of black blazers and little black dresses, armor for the daily battles she'd fought in Hollywood. The suit hangers were too heavy for her left hand, so she yanked off the closest jacket and hoped the notched lapel was still in style. She struggled to slip the sleeve over her left arm only to see that her mother was right. She looked like a little gray-haired girl playing dress-up. Or worse: a little old lady.

By the time Tyler returned from walking the dog, Michelle was dressed in the navy shift and ballerina flats as if she was going to a Junior League luncheon. Her mother was thrilled, and frankly, Michelle didn't care anymore. She gave her blessing to her mother's plan to buy makeup and waited for the taxi to leave. Then she hurried Tyler to the car.

Michelle tried to relax and enjoy the scenery en route to the high school. She used to dream of living here, back when she shoveled gray slush from her mother's driveway in Ohio. Whenever the Buckeyes played in the Rose Bowl, she'd put on another sweater and watch the lollipop palms wave from the blue sky on the television screen. When Nikki learned in California History class that they weren't native, Michelle was disappointed. Michelle wasn't native either, yet she had dug her toes in the sand. She prayed to the palms in the blue sky now: let Nikki be okay. She didn't have to cure cancer or fly to the moon. Let her just be okay enough to go to college and get married and have a normal life. Let her be happy. Was that too much to ask?

At the stop sign, Tyler pulled out his inhaler and sucked on the plastic spout. Michelle was looking out the window at the lost cat flier stapled to a telephone pole. His words came out in a rush. “Dad calls those coyote menus.”

Michelle patted his knee. “I remember. They come down from the hills to hunt on hot summer nights. Had to take your baseball bat on walks when Bella was a pup.” She looked at Tyler. “Did you post fliers when your sister disappeared? Was there a reward?”

Tyler steered the car onto the busy main street. “That's the first thing we did—in the mall, at school, all over the neighborhood.”

“What about the private detective? How long before your dad gave up?”

“He didn't give up; he just stopped looking for her. At least, that's what he told me. He said it was his job to worry, not mine. Then he did it all by phone.”

“What do you mean?” Michelle looked at him.

“When we went back to New York, he put me on the train and told me to focus on school. They don't play baseball year-round there, so I signed up for basketball.” He put his arm up and tipped his wrist as if shooting a ball. “I suck.”

“Two hands on the wheel,” Michelle commanded. “What do you mean,
back
to New York?”

“We went for the holidays that year. You bought plane tickets way early, remember? You wanted us to have a white Christmas? After you were, you know, asleep, Dad said it would be good for us to go.”

“Was it?” she asked, imagining them riding a snow-covered horse-drawn carriage through Central Park without her. Tyler nodded. Of course it was—they ended up moving east, didn't they? But that was temporary. Now that they were visiting the high school, Michelle would ask about transferring him back.

A neon scrawl on the sign above the school entrance announced the upcoming Spring Dance, SAT tests, and sporting events. Tyler braked, then jockeyed to park the Volvo between a dented Kia pickup and a gleaming black Mercedes. This was Michelle's place in the order of parents who believed enough in democracy to put their children's education on the line in public school. Either that, or they couldn't afford private school, either.

She looked across the cement courtyard and empty planters in front of the low brick building. When Tyler pulled on his Rutgers Prep letter jacket, she wondered if Elyse was helping with his tuition. That might also explain why Drew had refinanced the house to pay her medical bills instead of asking her mother for a loan. Michelle smoothed her dress to her knees and tried to feel grateful for the new clothes. The shift was a respectable length and the sweater hid her arm. If only the flats didn't pinch her toes.

Inside the glass doors of the main corridor, the blue floor was waxed to a blinding gloss and there wasn't a speck of trash in sight. In fact, there was no one in sight; only a trophy case, the bell schedule for short Fridays, and a sign-up for reality show auditions. As soon as Tyler signed in with the security guard in the front hall, a bell clanged as if he'd given the wrong answer on a quiz show. Michelle covered her left ear while classroom doors banged open and a multicolored stream of students flooded the hall.

A sea of sweatshirts and jeans, midriffs and miniskirts, surrounded them. Enormous boys bopped to exotic beats and shouted across the crowd in Spanish, Farsi, Vietnamese, and English. With four thousand students, somebody must know something about Nikki. It was strange to picture her shy little girl among these rowdy teenagers. They parted around Michelle as if she was a rock in a rushing stream. She squeezed her arm to her side, but no one even nudged her. She was a parent, invisible.

Tyler, however, was not.

“Hey, Mason, is that you?” A tall boy high-fived Tyler and dashed off, pausing to make some sort of hand signal from atop the stairs. Tyler understood the language. He understood the language of girls, too, purposely ignoring the cheerleaders giggling past, then glancing back to check them out. Just as quickly, the students vanished, leaving a trail of body odor and trashcans overflowing with notepaper.

They found the office for the dean in charge of the eight hundred students with last names from
K
to
R
, then squeezed past a dozen students making origami with hall passes as they waited in a line against the wall to see her. Michelle perused the colorful display of pamphlets warning about the evils of drugs. While Tyler studied a poster for the PTA silent auction featuring autographed electric guitars and Emmy-winning television scripts, she snatched a copy of each pamphlet.

When the door finally opened, the Dean's red glasses peeked out. “Excuse me, do you have an appointment? These students have been waiting.”

“It'll only take a minute—it's an emergency,” Michelle said. She stepped quickly inside, beckoning for Tyler to follow. Dean Valentine sat down behind her massive desk. “Thank you,” Michelle said. “I'm Nicole Mason's mother. She used to be a student here?”

Dean Valentine tucked a loose thread back into the sleeve of her peasant blouse. “And?”

Michelle glanced at Tyler, but he was studying his cuticles as if they held the mystery of the universe. She dropped the pamphlets in her lap and folded her good hand around her bad one, hiding her arm beneath the navy sweater. Why was she so nervous? Her children didn't even attend this school anymore.

“I'd like a copy of her attendance records.
M-A-S-O-N
. She'd be in the current senior class. With the fall birthday, we should have held her back, but when it was time to decide about kindergarten she was excited and I was working full time, so…” Michelle caught herself rambling and shut up.

The Dean clicked the keyboard on her aging computer and read the screen. “Nicole Mason dropped out shortly after being suspended.”

“Wrong Nicole.”

“Mother is Michelle, father is Andrew, middle name Deveraux. We may have four thousand students, but we keep accurate records. Apparently she slammed the metal door of a PE locker in another girl's face.” She printed out a copy.

Michelle looked back for moral support from Tyler, but now he was pretending to be invisible. Now she understood: this woman was scary. “Of course, but I don't remember any locker accident.”

“I don't believe in accidents, Mrs. Mason.”

Michelle nodded. Her mother used to say that.

“We have a zero tolerance policy for assault. That's why we suspended Nicole.”

Michelle looked at Tyler for confirmation, but he just shrugged. “When did this happen?”

“November. The year before last. We sent a note home.”

“I was in the hospital.”

“Regardless, you're lucky the Levines didn't sue when their daughter required rhinoplasty. They asked only that we hold her place on the cheerleading squad.” She studied Nikki's attendance report. “Nicole was readmitted the following week, but only attended class for a few days before going truant. After thirty days, we confiscated the contraband found in her gym locker.”

“Contraband?”

“As her legal guardian, it's your property. May I see your ID?”

Michelle forced a smile. “Sorry, I…forgot my purse.”

The dean appraised Tyler. “Weren't you in Little League with my son?”

“Yeah, but I heard he quit for surf team.” Dean Valentine nodded. Tyler stood up. “I'm gonna hit the john,” he said and escaped.

The dean looked back at Michelle. “We generally don't hold confiscated goods beyond the school year, so you can sign a release for it. However, if Nicole wishes to re-enroll, you'll need to petition the district.” She circled Michelle and went out to the main office, leaving the door ajar.

Michelle tried to read the attendance slip upside down while she waited, but the ringing phones and shouting teenagers outside the door made her nervous. She scanned Dean Valentine's degree certificates and autographed celebrity photos until an Abba ringtone drew her attention to the patchwork purse on the shelf behind the desk. Beside it was a photo of three towheaded boys with surfboards and a mug identical to Michelle's that read, World's Best Mom.

Dean Valentine returned and opened the clasp of the bulging envelope while Michelle scrawled the
X
that passed as her left-handed signature. She peered inside, then pulled out a baggie and opened it, spilling several dusty white pills onto the desk. Then she pumped antiseptic cleaner from the desk dispenser and washed her hands.

Michelle put her hand on her heart to steady herself, then picked up one of the pills, hoping it was only Midol. Stamped on the side was a word she couldn't read. She could, however, squint enough to decipher the first letter:
V
. The white tablets were familiar now. They were Vicodin, the painkillers Drew used to take for his back. “She probably brought this for the girl who got hurt. Misguided, of course, but well intentioned.”

“Mrs. Mason, are you familiar with our antidrug policy?”

“‘Just say no?'”

Dean Valentine opened Nikki's folder and held up a card with Michelle's old signature. It wasn't as elegant as her mother's, but it was better than an
X
.

“Perhaps you'd remember it better had you read it before signing.”

Michelle waved the antidrug pamphlets. “I read everything, Dean Valentine, which is how I know Vicodin is not a gateway drug.”

“No, but it is illegal without a prescription. Students who require medication during school hours must have a physician's note on file.”

Tyler slipped back in. “Yes, I recall the red tape for Tyler's asthma inhaler. But I'll bet you still don't have a registered nurse here every day.”

“Our parent volunteers are fully capable. How you parent your children at home is none of my concern, but when it affects my students, it is. Perhaps you would benefit from our seminar series on Practical Parenting for Teens.”

Michelle slapped the pamphlets on the desk but kept her voice under control. “Maybe if you spent more money on the students, and less on seminars, you wouldn't be so paranoid.”

“I don't control the budget, Mrs. Mason.”

“You don't control much of anything, do you? You get your kicks from terrorizing kids. The last time my daughter got in trouble, it was for reading a poetry book during biology lab. How dare you enforce such bullshit?”

Tyler gasped.

“I beg your pardon.” Dean Valentine stood up.

“Nikki is a good girl!”

“Every child is at risk.” A commotion rose in the hall, then there was a knock on the door and Dean Valentine hurried out.

Michelle hesitated. Zero tolerance? She had zero tolerance for being in this office another moment. But she wanted Nikki's report. She heard the dean shouting in the hallway and decided not to wait. She handed the bulky envelope to Tyler, then snatched the attendance sheet. Michelle led Tyler down the hall past students craning their necks to see a fight, then race-walked down the corridor.

Tyler caught up as she slowed by the security guard at the entrance. “Did you just steal that?” he whispered.

“Shhh,” Michelle said as he held the front door open. A few steps into the windy courtyard, the attendance report slipped from her hand, paragliding across the pavement to the curb where the Volvo was parked. Tyler shoved the fat envelope beneath Michelle's arm and chased after the paper.