Plotting at the PTA Read Free

and gone. Or maybe she’d never been scared in the first place.
    I considered the idea, then discarded it. Motherhood equals fear. No other possibility existed. A year and a half ago, when my children had brushed up against the ugly reality of bad guys and death, I’d sworn off poking my nose into things that didn’t concern me. My vow had worked, more or less, and keeping my children safe and sound was the only thing that really mattered. Well, that and having the Children’s Bookshelf turn a profit. And making this year’s big PTA project a success.
    Jenna stirred out of her nap. “How much longer?” She rubbed her eyes and flipped over to face me.
    “Two hours,” I said, but she was already back asleep.
    Softly, gently, I rested my hand on her shoulder. Bone and muscle, skin and ligaments. If love was what it took to see this daughter of mine safely through adolescence, then I was all set. If it needed more than love, well . . .
    Maybe I should summon Darlene’s advice and try to apply it. “Don’t be scared,” I told myself. “Don’t be scared.”
    It was good advice, really. What had the angels said to the shepherds outside of Bethlehem? “Fear not.” If I’d actually paid attention in Sunday school I’d know the quote exactly, but it was something along those lines.
    I caressed Jenna’s hair, and wished I could do the same to Oliver’s. My children, my heart, my life. The whole trip had been a pleasure from start to finish. In spite of the fact that two weeks ago I’d assumed I’d have a week without children and had planned to repaint both their rooms, clean out their closets, and have the carpets cleaned, I didn’t regret one minute of this time away from home.
    I’d been sitting at the kitchen table making lists of what to pack in their suitcases when my former husband had called.
    “I got a job,” he’d said.
    “Oh, Richard, that’s wonderful!” Relief had flooded through me. No more worry about Richard’s severance package running out, no more worry about the child support payments dwindling to nearly nothing, no more worry about selling the house; hardly any worries left at all. “Which job is it?”
    “Not the one in Madison, unfortunately.”
    A chill had leached into my bones. “The one in Georgia?” The kids would hardly ever see their father. He’d become a near-stranger. They’d never learn the lessons that only fathers can teach; they’d—
    “No, not the one in Atlanta. I’m going to be working in Milwaukee.”
    Since I’d already been sitting down, I couldn’t sit down again, but the second wave of relief made me want to slide to the floor and find a wall for support. Life was so very good.
    “I’ll be on the west side, heading up a new branch of Smithwick Insurance.”
    “That’s great, Richard. Just”—I had searched for the proper word and couldn’t find one—“just great.”
    “Yes, I’m pleased.”
    “Are you going to move?” Richard owned a condominium just outside Rynwood. “That’ll be what, an hour and a half commute?”
    He’d chuckled. “The way you drive, yes. The way the rest of the population drives, it’s closer to an hour. But the way the housing market is these days, I don’t anticipate being able to sell for anything close to the purchase price. Besides, it’d be easier on the kids if I stayed.”
    “You’re a pretty good dad,” I’d said softly.
    “They could do worse,” he’d replied, reminding me of why we’d gotten divorced. “There is one small issue we’ll have to deal with, however.”
    “How big of a small issue?” I’d asked cautiously. To Richard, a “small issue” could mean anything from being half an hour late to knee surgery. “On a scale of one to ten.”
    “Four.”
    Four wasn’t bad. Four I could deal with.
    “They want me to start working next week.”
    “That’s gr—” I’d stopped. It was great. But it was also bad. “That’s spring vacation.”
    “Yes, I know, and there’s a