The Color of Ordinary Time Read Free Page B

you sleep with anyone before Dad? Is it possible I was the product of an unwise affair? I don’t think that’s going to play well in Charity.”
    “Why not work his name into the conversation? Just see what she says. Approach it slowly. Give her lots of time to come clean with you, or at least admit she knew him back in the day. You’re probably going to get more truth from her if she doesn’t feel attacked.”
    “The indirect approach.”
    “Yes.”
    “I always hate that. It seems like I’m trying to trick her,” said Ivy.
    “You aren’t trying to trick her. You are trying to give her some unpleasant information gently.”
    “I don’t think I’m going to get any information that way,” she said with a scowl. I was relieved to see her scowl. She was slowly pulling out of heartbroken and getting her fight back. Even the color was coming back to her face.
    “You need to remember that whatever did or did not happen may not be any of your business. It may be something private that Dylan Morris should never have brought up. You need to be prepared not to get all the answers right away, or ever.”
    She glowered and glared. I met her gaze without flinching. “You know I’m right.”
    “Yeah,” she said, finally.
    For a while we both leaned on the railing. A change of topic seemed necessary. “You know, on average, new teachers quit after three years in the classroom.”
    “I’d heard,” said Ivy.
    “I’m thinking of quitting after next year.”
    “I’m not surprised. It’s not your thing.”
    “I’m not sure what else I’ll do.”
    “Maybe what you need is a younger grade. High School can be difficult.”
    “No. I’m a really bad teacher. I’m not patient. I spend time day dreaming about being able to hand out corporal punishment. I’m not even sure I really like kids anymore.”
    Ivy laughed. “I’m not sure all of that makes you a bad teacher. I’ve wanted to spank a couple too.”
    “I’m pretty certain it’s not a good sign.”
    “You could always go back to school.”
    I shrugged. “Seems like a waste when I don’t really know what I want to study.”
    “We’ve got three weeks, we’ll put our heads together and come up with something.”
    I looked up at her and smiled. She’s tall, I’m not. “What we lack in practicality, I’m sure we’ll make up in quantity.”
    “I’m scared,” Ivy said, going back to our previous topic without preamble.
    “I know. But you can’t find the answers you want up here. So what are we going to do?”
    “How am I going to face her?”
    “What’s the worst that could happen? We’re talking about your mother here. The woman who is — right now — pacing from the kitchen to the living room window and back, waiting for you to come home. Do you think she would disown you for asking a few questions?” I asked.
    “I’m pretty sure Dad makes those stories up.”
    “I don’t think he does.”
    “You know we’re not close. Not friends. Just mother and daughter. She’s always liked the boys better than me.”
    “She loves you. She’s just not good at communicating with you.”
    “Kay Kay, what if it’s the worst possible explanation?”
    “Which would be what?”
    “I’m not Dad’s daughter.”
    In a way I was relieved. Whatever the truth was it would be easier for her to deal with if she’d prepared for the worst. In a way it saddened me. A beautiful daughter, three good looking sons, parents that loved each other, and who loved their children. The Brandts’ were my idea of heaven when I was little. They were, in my mind, still the picture of a happy family. How I had envied Ivy her family. I’d been careful to hide that particular sin from my father. My craven little covetous heart. Always accepting the scraps of the love that encompassed my best friend and which she accepted as her right.
    Ivy was watching me carefully as I started off into the distance trying to find some words of comfort. I was coming up low on the