The Second Sister Page 21

  I turned on the faucet and rinsed out my cup.

  “What kind of a time frame are we looking at?” I asked.

  He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. That’s the tricky part. I need it by December twenty-second. My client is leaving for a three-month world cruise on the twenty-fourth and wants to see everything beforehand. A package with research materials, proposed schematics for the subdivisions, and background information on the company is already on the way to you, rush delivery. Should arrive by three o’clock today, assuming the sled dogs don’t get lost.”

  “You expect me to start today? Joe . . .” I protested, but he didn’t pay any attention.

  “I’m flying to LA for the presentation on the nineteenth,” he said. “Thought I’d stay on and spend Christmas in Malibu. If you weren’t busy serving your sentence in the Frozen North, I’d ask you to join me.”

  “Joe, are you kidding? A full-scale campaign, something that’s ready to present to a client, will take at least eighty hours!”

  “Ummm . . . I’m thinking more like a hundred. Look,” he said, his tone turning from jovial to apologetic, “I know it’s a lot to ask in a short time, but you’re the absolutely best person for the job. Nobody on my staff has your instincts on this kind of thing—that’s why I wanted you to come work for me. You understand how to organize people, how to cast a vision, and then get everyday Joes and Janes working together to make it happen.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not asking me to cast a vision for the common good. You’re asking me to make people think they’re supporting the common good when what they’re really supporting is something that is only good for Mr. Deep Pockets Cruise Around the World Real Estate Developer.”

  “Lucy,” he said, drawing out my name, his voice low and placating, “what’s so terrible about creating housing options for senior citizens?”

  “Tell me something: What’s the price of the lowest-priced unit in this development?”

  Joe was quiet for a moment. “Six hundred and twenty-two thousand dollars.”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Wait! Don’t!”

  I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t hang up either. We’ve been friends a long time, so I at least owed him the courtesy of listening to him.

  “Lucy, I could really use your help. We’re swamped and half my staff is leaving on vacation in the next ten days.”

  “But I’m already on vacation. Remember?”

  “I know. But this isn’t a real vacation, is it? I mean, it’s not like you’re lying on a beach in Hawaii. You called me yourself, whining that you were lonely and bored.”

  “Okay, first off, I never whine. Second, that was three weeks ago. Now I’m enjoying the time off. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had the time to even take a deep breath?”

  “Couldn’t you breathe deeply while you work? If you move your desk to the window you can stare out at the tundra and watch the reindeer herds running by.”

  “Very cute. This may not be a beachside paradise, but there are things to do here and I’m busy doing them. Alice’s friends helped me start making a quilt with her old fabric. Do you know something?” I said, hearing the surprise in my own voice as I asked and answered my own question. “I like them. Daphne is a high school dropout who quotes Shakespeare and has happy hour with chickens. Celia is a twenty-five-year-old middle school art teacher and is working on an installation for walls of the town hall featuring old dial-up telephones she’s decorated with paint and beads and feathers and any other weird thing she can find. Rinda is a black, evangelical, recovering alcoholic who moved here from Chicago.”

  I laughed. “I’ve got to tell you, Joe, these aren’t the kind of people I thought I’d find in Nilson’s Bay! But then again, I didn’t expect to find myself here, ever again. That’s why I like them, because we’re all a little bit . . . off. We get together to sew twice a week. If I don’t finish this quilt before I start my new job, I probably never will. And I want to finish it, as sort of a testament to Alice. This way, even after I sell the cottage, I’ll have a piece of her. It will be kind of like we made it together.”

  Dave rolled onto his back and stretched his front paws up over his head, signaling that he wanted his tummy rubbed. I squatted down and obliged him, smiling as he closed his eyes and started to purr.

  “For the first time in years, I’m going to have a real Christmas,” I said. “With a tree, decorations, and everything. I’m even thinking of hosting a little party. The Swensons had me over for Thanksgiving. It would be nice to reciprocate.”

  “The Swensons,” Joe said. “They’re the ones with the son, right? Your boyfriend from high school? So you’re going out with him now?”

  “Peter wasn’t my high school boyfriend,” I said, “and we are not going out. He’s a nice guy with a nice family who was also Alice’s lawyer. He was just elected to the town council.”

  “Oh, no. So he’s a politico?” A grumbling groan came through the line. “I know you dumped Terry Boyle, but I figured you’d take a little time before finding a replacement. Especially after all those very sage insights I made regarding your unfortunate relationship patterns. Luce, if you have to revert so rapidly to type, couldn’t you pick a boyfriend who has at least some chance of making the cut long term? Somebody with at least a little ambition, who doesn’t live on the dark side of the moon? Sure, I guess you could have chosen an even lower-level public servant from an even more remote region, but it’s hard to imagine who—an assistant sheriff from the wilds of Wyoming? A dog catcher from Ketchikan?”

  “Quit being such a snob! There’s nothing wrong with serving on the town council. Considering how thankless and miserable those jobs are, it’s amazing anybody is willing to serve in local government—especially anybody as smart as Peter. But thank heaven they do, because somebody has to.

  “And I told you, Peter is not my boyfriend. Don’t you ever listen? He’s just an old friend who has been kind enough to help me out after Alice’s death and to keep me from getting bored while I’m stuck here. Did I tell you that he coaches hockey for five-year-olds? They’re adorable. I went to watch one of the games last weekend. They looked like a squad of drunken bumblebees, buzzing around the ice and bumping into each other, falling down and then getting back up. Peter is incredibly patient with them. This weekend, he’s taking me ice fishing.”

  “Ice fishing,” Joe deadpanned. “As in standing around a hole in subfreezing temperatures waiting for fish to bite?”

  “It’s not quite that primitive. There is some kind of a shelter to keep you out of the weather. But yes,” I said, frowning a little as I realized what kind of picture I was painting, “that’s more or less the idea.”

  “Uh-huh. And you find that more appealing than staying in your nice warm house and working on an interesting project that will net you a few thousand dollars?”

  “It isn’t an interesting project, Joe. It’s a scheme to help one rich man get richer by skirting a whole bunch of very good laws. And even if it weren’t, I’ve made up my mind to spend my time here doing things that I enjoy with people I enjoy.”

  “Like your friend Peter. Well,” he sighed, “at least we know he really is your friend and not your boyfriend. Can’t see him trying to make a big move on you while ice fishing.” He let out a short laugh.

  “But really, Lucy, are you sure that you couldn’t spare just a few days to knock out this campaign? If you pulled a few marathon days back to back, I bet you’d have it done in a week. I know how you can produce once you get into the zone, Lucy. You’re a machine.”

  “Yeah, and when I get to Washington I’m going to have to be a machine again for the next four years. Maybe eight. Which is why I’m going to relax and enjoy myself while I can. Life is short.”

  “All right, all right. I won’t beg. I know your implacable voice when I hear it.” He groaned. “I hope you enjoy your Christmas season. Mine has just gotten a lot more complicated.”
>
  “I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it.

  “At least one of us will have happy holidays,” he said.

  “Hey! Did I tell you? The library is sponsoring a snow sculpture contest! Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

  “Snow sculptures? Ice fishing? Quilts?” Joe made a tsking sound with his tongue. “Who are you and what have you done with my friend Lucy? Don’t tell me you’ve gone off and decided to be happy. What a waste of a promising career.”

  “Ha-ha. It’s a break, Joe, not a lifestyle transformation. And I intend to enjoy it while it lasts. In another month, I’ll be back to work and back to my cranky, overwrought, overworked self. Promise.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. All that homespun happy talk was starting to make my teeth hurt. Just too sweet.” He laughed. “Well, I’d better let you go. Have a nice Christmas, kiddo. See you in DC. Oh, wait! Speaking of DC, have you talked to Ryland lately?”

  “No, not since the funeral. But I didn’t expect to. He’s got a few things on his plate, you know. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” Joe said quickly. “I was just wondering if he’s been calling to check in. He’s always depended on your advice.”

  “He has armies of people to advise him. More now than ever.”

  “Bet their advice isn’t as good as yours. You’ve always known how to handle him.”

  “I never handled Tom Ryland. I may have nudged him now and again, but I didn’t handle him. He didn’t need it. He’s a pro.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure you’re right. Well, I’d better let you go. See you in a few weeks. And, hey! Next time you talk to the office, put in a good word for me, will you? I want good seats at the inauguration.”

  I smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chapter 29

  Shoveling the driveway took a little longer than I’d thought it would, and so I didn’t get to the school until about ten minutes after eleven. Mrs. Swenson, bundled up in a coat, scarf, and snow boots, was standing in front of the entrance, pacing.

  “So sorry I’m late!” I called as I jogged up the sidewalk to the door. “You didn’t have to come out to meet me. It’s been a while, but I still remember the way to your classroom.”

  I laughed and gave her a hug. She gave me a quick hug in return and off we went, walking quickly past the principal’s office and the trophy case. I would have liked to have slowed down and have seen if they still had the plaque that listed Alice as captain of the 1995 girls’ track team, but Mrs. Swenson was holding on to my arm, propelling me down echoing, empty corridors that smelled like floor wax, cafeteria taco meat, and disinfectant. Every high school I’ve ever been in smells just the same. It’s weird.

  “Lucy,” Mrs. Swenson said as we rushed down the hallway, “I probably should have asked if it was all right beforehand, but . . . I told one of the other teachers that you were coming. I just couldn’t help myself. I’m so thrilled that you’re here! Anyway, she asked if she could bring her students too. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” I said. “A few more won’t make any difference.”

  It was a small school so the news that one more class would be joining us wasn’t a big concern.

  “How many is she bringing? Ten? Fifteen?”

  “Well, that’s just it. I told that one other teacher, but she told a couple more, and then somebody went and called the superintendent, and next thing I knew . . .”

  I stopped in the middle of the hallway. I wasn’t moving one more inch without better information.

  “Mrs. Swenson? How many kids are we talking?”

  She turned around to face me, took in a breath, her lips pressed tight together, and then blew it out. “All of them. Every student from ninth grade on up. From both schools.”

  “Both schools? What are you talking about?”

  Mrs. Swenson spread out her hands helplessly. “The superintendent decided we should include the students from Sturgeon Bay too. She thought it wouldn’t be fair for them to miss out. Oh, Lucy! Don’t look at me like that. You can’t blame her for being excited. To think that you grew up right here in Nilson’s Bay, went to our schools, sat in my classroom! And now you’re going to work at the White House! You can’t blame us for being proud.

  “The buses from Sturgeon Bay arrived about twenty minutes ago. We moved everything to the auditorium. Wait till you see! There’s not an empty seat in the house!”

  I felt beads of sweat popping out on my forehead. “The auditorium?” I asked weakly. “How many does it hold?”

  “Three hundred and twenty-five, but we’ve got a few more than that. Some of the teachers had to stand in the back with the reporters.”

  “You invited the media?”

  “I didn’t invite them. They just showed up. Not too many, maybe six or seven. But,” she said in a voice that was meant to be reassuring and then grabbed my arm again and started pulling me along, “I told them that you’re only taking questions from the students. They can listen and take pictures, but that’s all!”

  “Mrs. Swenson, you really should have told me about this before.”

  “I know, I know. But I honestly didn’t realize things had gotten so out of hand until yesterday, when the superintendent called. At that point, I thought telling you ahead of time might make you nervous. Also,” she said, a slightly sheepish expression on her face, “I was worried that you might cancel.”

  She knew me too well.

  Taking questions from a handful of teenagers was one thing, but speaking to an audience that numbered in the hundreds and doing so in front of a gaggle of reporters was a whole different ball of wax! I’ve never enjoyed public speaking. I can do it if I have to, but I don’t love it, not like Tom. He always found it energizing, but I’m always drained after giving an interview or a speech, even to a small group. That’s why he’s the president-elect and I’m happy to stand in the background. Far, far in the background.

  We reached the double doors of the auditorium. I could hear the rumbling murmur of voices and shuffling of feet coming from inside.

  Three hundred and twenty-five people! Wasn’t there some way to get out of this? But after taking another look at Mrs. Swenson’s face, I knew there wasn’t. She really was excited, and proud that I’d been one of her students.

  Let’s hope that she felt the same way an hour from now.

  “Ready, dear?”

  “Oh, I doubt it.”

  “Lucy,” she said, in a tone that was half-scolding and half-mothering, “remember when you took my debate class? You always got so nervous, but you never lost a debate. Not one. This is even easier than that. Everyone in there is on your side, excited to hear what you’ve got to say. Trust me. You’re going to be fine.”

  “If you say so.”

  Figuring there might be a photographer in there, I brushed my hand quickly across my jacket to make sure there weren’t any unsightly flakes on my shoulders, and ran my tongue over my teeth to feel if there might be anything stuck there. Then I took a big breath. I could do this.

  “Okay. Ready.”

  Mrs. Swenson reached for the door handle. “Oh, Lucy. One more thing. Right before your talk? They’re going to give you a key to the city.”

  My eyes went wide. This was really too much! But before I could protest or change my mind about changing my mind, the doors swung open and I was greeted by the sound of three hundred clapping, stomping adolescents, who, I was sure, were way more excited about missing their third-period class than they were about listening to some old broad gab about government. Though cell phone coverage is lousy in Nilson’s Bay, it seemed like every kid in the room had one and was using it to snap pictures of my entrance.

  When my eyesight recovered from temporary flashbulb blindness, I walked toward the stage at the front of the room. And who was waiting there to greet me? Peter Swenson.

  He had a big silver key in his hands and a big smirk on his face. He knew that I was hating this, and yet there he stoo
d, enjoying my misery.

  If there hadn’t been so many witnesses, I’d have walked right up there and kicked him in the shins, maybe even higher. But there were a lot of witnesses, so instead I walked up the stairs, shook his hand, accepted the key, and posed for pictures.

  It honestly wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated—or would have anticipated, had I known about it in advance. Maybe it was a good thing that Mrs. Swenson hadn’t told me about it until the last minute. Still, even though things turned out for the best, she should have told me ahead of time. So should Peter; it was his fault that I’d gotten into that mess in the first place. At least . . . I thought it was. Okay, maybe not his fault exactly, but Mrs. Swenson was his mother and so, somehow or other, that meant he was responsible.

  Anyway, it went off pretty well. My throat felt really dry at first, so I took a big drink of water from the bottle on the podium, choked, and started coughing, but after that, I was okay. The kids asked good questions—really intelligent questions about the nature of partisanship, the two-party system, the influence of money on government, and how we can get people from all points on the political spectrum to work with common purpose instead of spending all their time wrangling and harassing one another. I don’t know that I had any deep insights or real solutions, but, as I told the kids, the fact that they’re concerned about this even at their young ages was a really good sign because change is created by the people who care enough to ask questions and show up.

  Juliet was sitting in the fourth row and gave me a shy little wave when I stepped up to the podium. I winked so she’d know I’d seen her. She didn’t raise her hand during the presentation, but afterward she came up to talk to me. I had the feeling she wanted to ask me something, but her boyfriend—I think his name is Josh, but Daphne just calls him The Sloth—came up and stood next to her, sighing and shuffling his feet, and generally making his boredom clear. After a minute she looked at him and then at me and asked if it would be all right if she came over to the cottage sometime. I said yes. Daphne’s right. She’s a bright kid. She could do anything she wants with her life, as long as she manages to untangle herself from The Sloth.