published minutes of the school board—anything that might give me a clue as to the identity of the parent who’d spoken out against Mrs. Axeworthy. I found a quarter-column-sized article about it in the local paper, but all it said was that a teacher was being investigated for improper behavior at the school; it didn’t mention the group or who had complained. When I pulled up copies of the school paper as well as the published minutes of the school board meetings, I could find nothing substantial.
The only evidence that there had been a situation at all was one notation in the board minutes advising that Mrs. Axeworthy had been given two weeks of unpaid leave. But there was no reason noted. There had to be something about it somewhere. I just couldn’t think of where else I could go to research.
The last few days rushed by as I dug and dug but found no information at all that might help us. Friday came, and I knew I had failed.
Again.
Brad, Jennifer, and Sammy waited with me outside the meeting, though we knew what the outcome was going to be. Brad stopped me more than once from barging inside and starting a scene. It was a good move on his part, because we all remembered how the last time I tried to interrupt the school board went.
Finally the doors opened, and the members of the school board stalked past us. Most ignored us as adults are wont to do with kids, but Mr. Raymond locked eyes with me and gave me a scowl like he was ready to hit me. I swear the temperature dropped a dozen degrees as he passed by.
My mom walked out with Brad’s mom and Mrs. Axeworthy, which kind of stunned me.
“How did I know you guys would be sitting out here waiting?” my mom asked me, smiling.
I did not feel like smiling back. “How bad did it go?”
Mrs. Axeworthy looked at me and grinned. “That’s a funny story.”
D OROTHY A IMES
T HERE ARE things in life that you can never ready yourself for.
I mean, you grow older and you see things and you think, “Well, there is just nothing else in the world that can surprise me.” And then life has a way of coming along and proving you wrong in ways you can barely survive.
I had never been one of those women who believed getting pregnant was going to get in the way of living my life. When I was a little girl, I didn’t dream only of growing up and being someone’s wife: I knew I had other plans. What I’m saying is that I wasn’t one of those women who insisted year after year that they weren’t ready for children. “I’m not ready yet. We’re not ready yet.” That didn’t even occur to me. When I was told I was pregnant, such a joy came over me that I knew there was nothing in the world that would ever compare with that feeling, so why bother trying?
William wasn’t as ready, but he didn’t shy away from being a parent either. The further along I got, the more he embraced it, until the end when he was easily as nervous as I was. I can tell you I had a life before that day in April when I was wheeled into Foster General feeling like I was going to explode. I had dreams and wants and friends and desires, all of them very real to me.
Right up to the point where they handed me my son, and I realized my life was just starting.
We ended up selling our part in one of the larger ranches outside of town and using the money to buy a place big enough for the three of us. From that home base, William and I set out to fit into the tax bracket we felt was ours. I wish I could tell you that trying to make friends with the women who were born into that tax bracket was easy, but I think I’ve lied enough for one life. I have fake boobs, fake hair, fake eyelashes, and a pretty convincing fake smile, so a little truth shouldn’t be that painful.
There is a rather large group of people who live in and around Foster with money, and more than a few had children the same age as Kelly. We began to throw parties, attend fund-raisers, and Will took up golfing, all in the