Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) (11 page)

“We’ve already been to Clarice’s,” Priscilla tells her.

Amy turns to me, smiles, and shrugs sympathetically. “Nothing in your size?”

Fifth-grade teacher kills kindergarten colleague with bare hands… news at eleven
. I grit my teeth and clench my hands behind my back. They’d put me away for years and yank my teaching license. Not that I would need one. No fifth graders to teach in prison.

“Actually, Clarice’s did have some jeans just like yours,” Priscilla continues. “Patty put them back.”

“Too expensive?”

My ears prickle at the thinly veiled smirk in Amy’s voice. Maybe a jury would rule it justifiable homicide.

“It wasn’t the price that stopped her.”

Ohmigod. If she tells Amy those jeans were too tight, I’ll be facing murder charges for sure… because I will kill Priscilla with my bare hands.

“The jeans fit fine, but we thought they made her look cheap. That’s not Patty’s style.” Priscilla wrinkles her nose. “Although I suppose it doesn’t matter what
you
wear. It’s not like any of your kindergarten students would notice.”

God bless Priscilla. I could just kiss her.

“Bravo, well done,” I whisper as we turn our backs on Amy and fly down the corridor. “I owe you big time.”

“What are sisters for? Besides, she deserved it.” Priscilla’s eyes flash. “I hate the way she always makes fun of you. She hasn’t changed a bit since we were in school. She’s still the same mean girl she always was.”

“Priscilla Perreault, I’m shocked.” I take a playful poke at her ribs. “You, of all people, talking like that. What will people say?”

“I don’t care. Besides, it’s the truth and you know it as well as I do.” The ghost of a smile flits across her face as she slows to a walk. “Do you think she’s still watching?”

“Who cares? Just keep moving.” I pull her along, resisting the urge to turn around and look. “I’ll hear about it soon enough on Monday morning anyway.”

Priscilla halts. “I never thought of that.” A guilty look creeps across her face. “Do you think she’ll make problems for you?”

Guaranteed, but Priscilla doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m sorry. I never should have said what I did.”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” I shake her arm. “Sticking up for me like you did took courage. Besides, I’ve got big shoulders. I can handle anything Amy dishes out.”

“Sure you’re not mad?”

“Don’t be silly. Besides, I’m the one who owes you an apology.”

She blinks. “Why?”

“We lost Dr. Brown.” I scan the busy corridor, but Priscilla’s boss is nowhere to be seen.

“Good.” The relief in her voice is evident. “I can’t imagine what he’d think, us chasing him like that.”

“I think it’s about time I met the man who’s been the chief topic of your dinner conversation the last few months.”

“Do I really talk about him that much?” A pretty blush stains her cheeks.

Priscilla’s smitten
. Good God. Who would have thunk it? My twin’s never been the type to indulge in the pursuit of men. For years, her chosen companions have been a digital thermometer and inhaler—just in case— plus a box of Kleenex to ward off sniffles. Most of her childhood was spent inside the house, coddled by Mama. Once she hit high school and then when she enrolled at our community college the telephone never stopped ringing. But after a few practice forays into the world of dating, for reasons unknown, Priscilla turned up her nose and turned them all down. Nowadays her ventures outside consist mainly of visits to the clinic plus weekly excursions to the grocery store. Men trail her through the aisles, trying to play flirty peek-a-boo with a disinterested beauty amidst golden bunches of bananas, plump juicy strawberries, and mounds of sweet, lush peaches.

As for me? I’m the one they ask when they’re looking for the kitty litter.

“I’ll introduce you to him soon, I promise. You’ll like Dr. Brown. Just the other day, he told me that I present some intriguing medical maladies. He’s very interested in checking me out.”

I hold my tongue. Sounds like I should check this Dr. Brown out for myself… the sooner, the better. Mama would never forgive me if I didn’t make sure he’s suitable for Priscilla. He’s been in town less than a year and all we really know about him is that he’s a physician in the clinic’s practice group. That fact alone makes him suspect in my book. Doctors hold positions of authority and Priscilla’s grown up in a sterile little universe. She doesn’t know much about men and how cruel and conceited they can be. This Dr. Brown could be worse than most.

Take care of your sister, Patty. She’s too good and trusting
. Mama’s voice rings in my ears.

I need to keep my eye on Dr. Brown. He could prove to be trouble. Big trouble.

“When are you going to see him again?”

“Monday morning.” Priscilla’s face brightens. “I have some files that need to be returned to the clinic. I thought I’d do it personally.”

“Be sure and tell me what he says.”

“I will. And that goes for you, too. I want to hear everything.”

“About what?” We reach the revolving door of yet another department store. Whoosh! We’re swept through the entrance into air-conditioned comfort.

“What Amy says. Don’t forget.”

As if I could. Guaranteed Monday will start off with a bang with Amy’s verbal fireworks in the teacher’s lounge. And after school, I’ve got an appointment with Sam in his office. I’m not looking forward to what will probably end up being a tedious discussion about the woeful state of my finances… just like I’m especially not looking forward to the beginning of our meeting. The one that starts off with an apology from me. I owe Sam that much after cutting him down in front of Nick, then standing him up over dinner.

Good thing tomorrow is Sunday and a day of rest. Because come Monday morning, I’m going to need every ounce of energy I have… and plenty of courage.

# # #

Sam’s suite of offices are airy and attractive. I follow him down a plush, carpeted hallway; past glass and wood partitioned cubicles; and interested so-that’s-the-girl-he’s-been-talking-about smiles on the faces of his colleagues. He leads me into a spacious office and closes the door. Sleek modern bookshelves loaded with industrial-strength-looking tax manuals and IRS codes line the walls. Thank God for people like Sam with a penchant for math. I doubt I’d be able to lift one of those books, let alone make it past the first page.

“Make yourself comfortable.” He waves me into one of the two upholstered leather chairs positioned in front of his massive desk. It looks like a natural extension of Sam—sturdy and dependable, capable of carrying a heavy burden.

Does he still think about me that way? Or has he cleared off his desk and shoved me in a drawer somewhere, to be filed away and forgotten?

I smooth down my skirt and take a seat. My stomach drops as I see my name affixed in one corner of the thick manila file centered squarely on his desk.

“I’m glad we finally got a chance to have this meeting.” He settles back in the leather chair and taps one finger lightly against my file. “I’ve been going through your paperwork and I’ve come up with a few ideas we can toss around. Things might not be as bad as you think they are.”

“If you don’t mind, there’s something I want to say first… before we get into all that.” I swallow over the sudden lump in my throat. I’m not sure which will be worse—talking finances, or apologizing for standing him up for the chance to spend some time with Nick. The greasy pizza wasn’t even that good. I ended up with a bad case of heartburn.

“It’s… it’s about the other night,” I add.

His eyes narrow and suddenly it feels like I’m hovering on the shore of James Bay in January. The water’s still open but ice crystals are already forming on the frigid waves lapping against the beach. If I take the plunge, there’s no guarantee I’ll survive the numb, chilling coldness. But if I don’t do this, I’ll never be able to live with the guilt.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting at the restaurant. I had every intention of making it in time, but—”

He holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

I straighten in my chair. He’s tossed off my apology like an empty, crumpled sack of chips. Obviously he doesn’t want to hear it. Maybe it would be better to simply let it go. If it doesn’t bother him, why should it bother me? Maybe it shouldn’t.

Yes, it should. It does.
I can’t let myself off so easily and neither should Sam. My stomach still rolls when I remember that night, how he waited for me at the restaurant. He waited two hours and I drove away. The guilt has tugged at my heart all week. Ditching someone isn’t my style. At least, it didn’t used to be. When and how did things change?

Sometimes I don’t like the new me.

“I should have called. I should have told you I was running late.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he says. “I figured you got caught up with something.”

With someone else, you mean.

“I felt terrible. And I meant to come in, but—”

“Forget about it.” He shrugs. “I only waited about fifteen minutes. Once you didn’t show up, I ordered take-out and went home.”

But that’s not true. I saw his car. Why is he lying? We both know the truth. “But…”

The sudden realization slaps me into silence. Sam doesn’t realize I’ve caught him in a lie. He never saw me at the restaurant that night. He was inside while I cruised the parking lot. So why doesn’t he admit it? Why doesn’t he tell me,
yes, I waited
. He’s got every right to make me feel guilty. I’m the one who stood him up. Why doesn’t he do it? He’s smart. He’s got the embossed diplomas, the accreditations, and framed certificates lining the wall behind his desk to prove it. He knows the way things work. He’s got no reason to lie.

No reason except one.

I’d have done the same if I’d been waiting for Nick. I’d have stayed until the restaurant closed if I thought Nick might show.

Is that the way Sam feels about me? The way I feel about Nick? The question makes my gut tighten and my heart pound; especially since I know the answer. I’ve known the answer all along. That’s why I drove away from the restaurant that night. Because I couldn’t face the truth. I didn’t want to face the truth.

The truth I saw in Sam’s eyes when he visited my classroom. The truth that he’s interested. The truth that he likes me. He was about to kiss me when Nick interrupted us.

And I like Sam, too. But he’s not the one I want to kiss.

“Then I’m glad it all worked out and you didn’t wait long.” The lie slips easily from my lips. Why embarrass him with the truth? He’s much too nice a guy. “You know how it is when you’re working late. Sometimes things happen and you can’t get away.”

He nods. “And the other night was one of those times.”

“Exactly.” The huge dollop of relief is frosted with guilt and sticks in my throat. So much for a diet of honesty and truth. Sam’s offered me an easy way out and it’s better that I take it… for both our sakes.

“Suppose we get down to business.” He flips open the manila file.

I wince at the mound of familiar paperwork. I hate looking at the stuff. Every foray into the financial quagmire leaves me more confused, and Priscilla isn’t any help. When it comes to math, our brains are identical.

“Why don’t you give me your take on things?” Sam grabs a yellow legal pad and an expensive-looking pen. “What do you see as the biggest problem facing you right now?”

Fitting into that new pair of jeans for tomorrow’s field trip
. I squirm in my seat and try to focus. “It would have to be the house. It’s like an enormous bucket with a hole in the bottom. We spend money patching it up and it springs another leak. The house needs major repairs and we don’t have the money.”

“You’ve got a home equity loan. That should help.”

“I don’t want to touch that anymore. We’re already in deep enough with the bank as it is. It’s going to take forever to pay off the loan.”

Sam plucks out a photograph I provided of the house from the file. “It would be a shame to let things slide. The place has nice curb appeal.”

“Maybe someone will buy it—I’d rather have a condo like yours. Do you like it?”

“My condo? Sure, it’s nice enough. A two-bedroom, with all the amenities.” His face relaxes for the first time since our meeting started. “I bought it five years ago as an investment property and thought I’d live there awhile, let it appreciate in value. After the economy crashed, I decided to stay put, hang on to it awhile longer. When the market starts to swing, I’ll sell.”

“Our house will never sell,” I predict. “Someone would have to be crazy to want it. The furnace alone must be fifty years old. Swear to God, someday it’s going to explode and take everything with it, including me and Priscilla. We’ll shoot straight through the roof and end up on the neighbor’s front lawn.”

His grin only encourages me.

“The house used to be beautiful, with real turn-of-the-century charm. Priscilla and I found some old pictures of when we were little girls playing dress-up in the attic. Remind me and I’ll show them to you sometime.”

Suddenly it’s hard to swallow. No matter how much I might want to move, the house has always been home.

“Mama made a big mistake when she bought that house. She had the money, but not near enough for the kind of upkeep a place like that requires. Over the years, things started to slide. People used to come around, make her offers, but she always refused. One thing about Mama: when she made up her mind about something, she was one determined woman.” I smile, thinking of Mama, how much Priscilla takes after her. “And when it came to the house, she was determined not to sell. She used to say that living there made it seem like we were still a family, even though my father was gone.”

I shut my eyes and drift for a moment on a cloud of hazy memories… two little girls cuddled close to Mama, listening to a story of lazy Sunday afternoons spent on meandering drives through neighborhoods of spacious homes and happy families… a story of a man and the wife he loved playing their make-believe game called
let’s pretend we live there
…