Page 31 of The Night the Lights Went Out
Luckily, all the Windwood moms seemed to be buzzing about that morning’s announcement at the parents’ meeting about the fall gala. It was the school’s biggest fund-raiser and also, according to Heather, the social event of the year. She was, of course, the head of the gala committee, and before the headmaster had even finished speaking Heather was already tapping people on the shoulder about being on the committee. Seeing the opportunity to bolt, Merilee had left before Heather could pull her into agreeing to do something she had absolutely no interest in or time to be involved with.
She spotted Lindi at the door and waved her over. “Sorry I’m late,” Lindi said as she sat down. “I got a call during the morning meeting about an issue at work and I just now hung up.” She dumped her large tote on the floor and smiled at the enormous ceramic coffee cup in front of her. “Wow, thanks. How did you know I like it black?”
“I passed Jenna and her class on the way to the media center as I left the meeting and asked her. I’d seen you leave and thought you might be a little late.”
Lindi took a long and grateful sip from her cup. “I think you’re my new BFF.”
Merilee leaned forward. “You might have to fight Heather for that position.”
Lindi’s eyebrows raised. “Really?”
“That’s what she said at her party, but she probably says that to everyone. She has a lot of BFFs, from what I can tell. Or maybe she didn’t want me to sue her because of Lily. Although I’m pretty sure Lily hurt herself after Heather said that.” She tapped her fingers on the lid of her laptop. “Have you read the most recent blog post?”
“Yep. Read it this morning over breakfast.” She raised the cup to her lips, her eyes thoughtful. “Nothing really inflammatory, I don’t think. Just observations—all pretty accurate, if you want my opinion. I liked the part about euphemisms—I might have actually laughed. And the writer is vague enough that not everybody is aware of who’s being discussed—or they don’t recognize themselves, which is more likely. Most people don’t see themselves the way other people do. Still no idea who might be writing it?”
Merilee shook her head, her gaze casually scanning the other occupants of the crowded room, smiling in response to a few waves from other moms from school—including her new carpool partner, Sharlene Cavanaugh. They weren’t starting with their new driving schedule until the following week, but Merilee had her doubts. For starters, Sharlene had problems remembering Merilee’s children’s names and kept referring to Colin as Connor. Her optimism wasn’t strengthened by the fact that this morning Sharlene was wearing flip-flops that appeared to be several sizes smaller than her own feet, as if she’d forgotten to put on shoes when she left the house and had found her daughter’s in the backseat and made do.
“I don’t have a clue,” Merilee said. “I don’t really know anybody well enough to guess. I know Heather the best, but she’s so involved I can’t imagine her having the time to write a blog and also squeezing in time to sleep.”
Lindi took another sip of coffee, holding the giant cup with both hands. “Well, it’s a very good thing you’re on Heather’s nice list. Your life—and your kids’ lives—would be torture if you weren’t.”
“What do you mean?” Merilee leaned forward so they wouldn’t be overheard.
Lindi shrugged. “Oh, you know. Invitations get ‘lost’ in the mail so you or your kids are never seen socially, or the committee you wanted to head either disappears or gets absorbed into a committee that’s already being run by you know who. It’s silly, and we’re totally too old for this kind of behavior, but it happens. Heather likes to be in charge and call all the shots, and most of the time she does a really good job and tries to be as inclusive as she can—she even invited me to be in on the selection process for the new middle school science teacher, although I think it’s because I’m on the board. But still. A little diversity would be nice.”
Lindi turned to see who’d just come in the shop, then looked back at Merilee. “Dealing with some of these moms makes me feel like I’m back in high school, you know? Hoping to be invited to the popular table to sit with the mean girls. I have a law degree from Yale, for crying out loud, yet I always feel as if I don’t quite measure up.” She sat back in her chair, frowning. “Sorry—I don’t mean to dump on you. It’s just that Bailey has been giving Jenna a hard time—you know, excluding her from recess games and telling her where she can and cannot sit in every class they share together. It’s just that in my experience, mean girls always learn it from their mothers, who were undoubtedly mean girls when they were younger.”
The coffee on Merilee’s tongue suddenly tasted bitter, but she held it in her mouth, unable to swallow. A memory of a much-younger version of herself on a school bus headed to summer camp, a plump brown-haired girl with thick eyebrows sitting next to her, the girl’s sweaty thick thighs pressed against hers, had erased for a moment the coffee shop and the groups of women that surrounded her. But not the memory of the horrible things she’d said to that girl who’d made the mistake of sitting next to her. Things about the girl’s appearance that, in retrospect, Merilee knew she’d had no control over. But she’d said the words. Had even made the girl cry, forever branding the episode onto Merilee’s subconscious, from where it would emerge from time to time to keep her up at night. Merilee forced down her coffee and managed not to cough.
The sound of metal scraping against cement brought everyone’s attention to the window facing the parking lot, where a giant and very ancient baby blue Lincoln had rolled its enormous front end over the sidewalk. The driver took a while to open the door, probably because the door was bigger than most cars nowadays and built of solid steel.
Lindi was already standing. “I should go help her.”
Merilee looked back at the car and thought she recognized the white puff of hair over the steering wheel. “Is that...?”
Merilee knew Sugar had a car, but it was usually kept in the carport on the other side of Sugar’s house from hers, so she hadn’t recognized it.
“Sugar Prescott,” Lindi said, heading toward the door with Merilee close behind her. “I’ve offered a thousand times to take her car shopping for a more manageable car. Sadly, it’s in perfect working order and she sees no need to replace it until it falls apart.”
“How do you know Sugar?” Merilee asked.
“Everybody knows Sugar. We both volunteer at the senior center’s jumble sale twice a year and are in charge of organizing all the donations. She finds a lot of good deals there, apparently. She has quite the selection of Christmas sweaters now.”
Before Merilee could raise her eyebrows or question Lindi further, they’d reached the car and Lindi was holding open the car door. “Sugar—good morning!”
Sugar frowned up at her. “It was until I got here. Could barely find parking—why are all these people here?”
Merilee extended her hand to help her out, then quickly withdrew it when Sugar simply glowered at it. They waited a few moments as Sugar rocked herself a few times to get up enough momentum to propel her from her seat.
“There was a meeting at the school, so the moms are running about an hour later than usual,” Lindi explained.
Sugar stepped up on the sidewalk and stopped to dig for something in her purse as Merilee shut the car door. “Let me see—maybe I can come back tomorrow.” She pulled out a clipped coupon from an ancient purse that seemed to be of the same vintage as the car and thrust it at Merilee. “When does this expire?”
“Today.”
Sugar sighed heavily as she looked through the window at the long line of patrons waiting to be served. “I don’t even like coffee.”
Lindi and Merilee’s gazes met over Sugar’s head.
