After pulling out a chair, I flopped down, opened my notebook, and willed myself to concentrate.
Grant sat on the edge of the kitchen table near me, his leg nearly brushing my arm. “Do you not like your mother’s haircut?”
Was my reaction that obvious? I’d have to be more careful. “It’s perfect for her.”
“A very precise and noncommittal response. Is anything else wrong?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Certainly.” He leaned over and stared at my paper. “What are you doing?”
I looked up at him. “Why?”
“Humor me. Is it Middle English?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Would you care for some assistance?”
“Do you know Middle English?”
“Fluently.”
Of course he did. How incredibly lucky for me. “Is it on the house?”
“Indeed,” he said with a sigh. “I should like to help you, Chief. May I?”
“Cool. I accept.” Tutoring by an expert and it didn’t cost me anything. Maybe I’d get to bed before midnight for once. I patted the empty chair next to me. “Have a seat.”
He slid onto the chair and dropped his arm along the seatback behind me.
This evening was ending so much better than I could’ve imagined. I smiled at him. “How many languages do you know?”
He smiled back. “All of them.”
Status Report #13
Wednesday’s Wish: Haircuts
Dear Boss,
I received an injury today. Suffering is a human experience that I do not care to repeat. At least physical pain heals with hardly a trace.
Chief was kind throughout the ordeal. I can never recall anyone offering to delay a wish on my behalf. It was extraordinary.
Though anxious to start her homework, she remained at my side until the pain eased. I reciprocated by allowing her a quick nap and a brief bit of tutoring.
She was shocked by her appearance after the haircut. How can she be so utterly unaware of her own beauty?
This day has been the most productive of my assignment.
Humbly submitted,
Grant
A
fter school on Thursday, Kimberley and I planned to meet and practice with the kitchen utensils for our demo. But we’d have to get them first, and they were at the college. She asked me to wait for her in the media center.
I arrived first, so I pulled out my pre-calc book and did my best with the homework assignment. It only took about two minutes to tear a hole through the paper because I’d erased the first problem so many times.
A chair scraped beside me. “Hey, Lacey,” Sean Tucker said.
I glanced around the room. There were plenty of empty seats. He’d come to this table to talk to me. Interesting. “Hey. How are things?”
“Fine.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “No, that’s a lie. I’m not fine, because Sara’s not fine. She’ll be here in a minute.”
“Why?”
“So the two of you can talk.”
“Sara wants to talk to me?”
“She doesn’t know yet.”
I felt a twinge of disappointment. “How is she going to feel about this chance encounter?”
“It’s not chance.”
“How’d you know I’d be here?”
“Kimberley.”
My newest friend might struggle with poor memory, but she had a good mind for everything else. Sometimes I wondered if her body had overdeveloped her perception as compensation, because I’d never said anything to her about my feud with Sara. “I’m not in the mood for hostility.”
“Look, Lacey.” He did a quick survey of the area around us. Nobody was within hearing range. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and my sister. But could you be nice when she shows up?”
It was the first time he’d really talked with me in months, or mentioned the thing between his twin and me. I could understand him taking her side, but did he have to assume
I
would be unreasonable? “I’m always nice to Sara.”
“Right. Whatever.” He frowned. “It’s just that…things are tough at our house right now.”
“Like what?”
“Sara will tell you one day. Just…be patient.” He bobbed his head sharply and then tapped my textbook. “Having problems?”
I looked down at the book. Should I go along with the change in topic? Yeah, I should. No use taking this out on Sean and, besides, I could use his help. “It’s pre-calc. I don’t understand my homework.”
He looked over my shoulder at the page. “Who do you have?”
“Mrs. Leech.”
“It’s not you. It’s her.”
“Glad to hear it.” I was willing to accept his explanation.
“Let me show you.”
“Sure.”
He hijacked my pencil and proceeded to finish my homework. Not much learning on my part, but he did talk out loud as he went. In theory, when I stared at his calculations later on, I would absorb them.
I leaned back and studied his profile. He seemed thinner and paler than I remembered. The Tuckers had a beach house up near Nags Head. Maybe they hadn’t spent much time there this summer.
From the corner of my eye, I saw someone approach. Sara hurried toward our table, focused on her brother. When her gaze flicked to me, she stopped, her nose wrinkling as if she smelled something gross.
“Sean?” She glared at her brother. “Ready to go?”
The pencil kept scratching. “In a minute.” His bony elbow jabbed me in the side.
I didn’t like this situation any better than Sean, but did he have to be so obvious? Still, I was going to play along, if I could think of something to say that wouldn’t lead to an argument. “Hey, Sara.”
“Hey.”
She hadn’t exactly ignored me, but close. “When did you start working for Mrs. Bork?”
“A couple of months ago.”
That was a longer answer—and it had been polite. A little progress. “She seems like she’d be a nice boss.”
“She is.” Sara hugged her backpack and looked around the media center, as if searching for someone. “But I won’t be there much longer. I’ll work for my mom when her store opens.”
“Your mom has a store?”
“Yeah.” She swung back around to scowl at me. “Is that a problem?”
“No, I’m just surprised.” Mrs. Tucker was the world’s most perfect mother. She had a gorgeous home that she cleaned herself. She cooked multi-course meals from scratch. She threw the best parties ever, and she didn’t do it for show. She loved being surrounded by people. But in the whole time I’d known them, the only paid work Mrs. Tucker had tried was a couple of terms on the town council.
Sean put the pencil down. “Our parents have separated.”
Sara smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Shut up. It’s temporary.”
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
He looked at me with a
no it isn’t
expression.
Was this what Sean had meant earlier? Because if it was, the news surprised me. It was true that Mr. Tucker wasn’t at home very much, but that had never seemed to bother any of them. Maybe Mrs. Tucker had finally gotten tired of being alone. “What kind of store does your mom own?”
Sara met my gaze coolly. “Did Sean put you up to this?”
“Not exactly. I was ambushed like you.”
“So why do you keep asking questions?”
My smile dimmed.
Her brother shot out of his chair. “Grow up, Sara. It’s not Lacey’s fault that Dad’s a jerk and Gryphon’s an–”
“Stop, Sean. Don’t say it.”
His eyes narrowed. “If you have to be pissed at someone, go after me, but leave her alone.”
They stared at each other, seething and silent. A long moment passed.
Sara caved first. “Okay, okay, I’ll be nice. For now.” She turned to me. “Mom is opening an upscale consignment shop.”
I wasn’t sure how much to trust her rapid change of attitude, but I was genuinely curious about the store. “For clothing?”
“Yeah.” Her voice lightened a little. “We’ll also carry home décor.”
It was a great idea. Anyone who knew Mrs. Tucker would love to get her advice on decorating or fashion. “When will it open?”
“In October. We’re still painting and setting up the showroom. The store is one block off the town square, on Peach Street.”
“The old Harley House?” A beautiful, historic landmark in this town.
“Yeah.”
That hadn’t come cheap. “Good luck.”
The suspicious gleam in her eyes faded slightly. “Thanks.”
Sean nudged me and pointed at my notebook. “I’m done with your homework. Do you understand?”
Not at all. “Sure. Thanks.”
Kimberley passed the Tuckers in the entrance to the media center. When she joined me, she was smiling. “Everything okay?”
“It is.” I gathered my stuff. “So you plotted that with Sean?”
“We did.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I think he’s hot. What do you think?”
He wasn’t hot in the gorgeous sense. But I knew what she meant, because Sean’s kind of smart could be sexy. “I agree.”
“We’re learning the waltz in PE, and Sean’s the best partner in the class. He’s just…wow.”
We exited through the exterior door. Mrs. Rey was leaning against her silver SUV, waving us over. We were hardly inside before she screeched out of the parking place and drove like the wind, talking nonstop about a new mural she wanted to paint. Once we reached campus, she puttered along, bounced violently over two evil speed bumps, and parked without hesitation in a space marked RESERVED in front of the Administration Building.
I waited until Mrs. Rey was ahead of us and out of hearing range before asking, “Why did your mother park in a reserved spot?”
“Don’t worry. It belongs to Granddad.”
Very interesting. “Is he here today?”
“Yeah. He likes to walk to work.”
We entered the main building and crossed to a glass door with “Office of the President” painted in black. Inside the lobby, it was quiet, cushioned by thick carpet and decorated with paintings of landscapes looking like smeared storms. A beautiful woman sat behind a chrome desk, which was too neat for her to get any work done. The woman kept her gaze on her computer screen for a few seconds before glancing our way. She dismissed me without hesitation. But when her eyes fell on Kimberley and her mother, they widened in recognition. “Hello, Mrs. Rey. Miss Rey. Is Dr. Carpenter expecting you?”
“He should be,” Kimberley replied in an equally formal tone.
“I’ll let him know you’re here.”
It was a jaw-dropping exchange. Dr. Carpenter was Kimberley’s grandfather? Baird Carpenter, President of Piedmont College?
“Ladies, you may go in.”
I stumbled after them, taking in this unexpected information. We stepped into his office, an elegant room with floor-to-ceiling bookcases holding leather-bound books, an entire wall of glass overlooking the main quad, and uncomfortable chairs sprinkled about. The desk was huge, made of dark wood, and covered by messy stacks of folders and journals, plus a series of mismatched coffee mugs.
A man bent over this desk, a pair of half-glasses resting at the end of his nose. He was reading a magazine, his brow furrowed in concentration, his face pinched into a forbidding glare. When the door swooshed open, he looked up.
“Kimberley. Teresa,” he said. Pushing the magazine aside, he rose and flung his arms open for my friend. She launched into him.
The transformation in Dr. Carpenter was astonishing. He’d gone from intimidating professor to adoring grandfather in a second. Mrs. Rey crossed to his side and they kissed the air near each other’s cheeks.
“Hey, Granddad. This is my friend Lacey.”
“Nice to meet you, Lacey.” He extended his hand.
“Hello, Dr. Carpenter.” As I shook his hand, I soaked in details. The expensive gold watch obscured by a starched white cuff. Manicured nails. Dark tailored suit and boring tie. He looked exactly the way I would’ve expected the president of an ultra-expensive private college to look.
“You’re helping Kimberley with the history project.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, shooting a miffed glance at Kimberley. Why didn’t she warn me that we were coming
here
? I looked like a refugee from a homeless shelter today, except for my hair, which was still gorgeous.
She scrunched her forehead, puzzled, and then turned to her grandfather with a shrug. “We’re here for the kitchen tools.”
“Excellent.” He reached behind his chair and hauled out a small duffel bag. It clanked as he set it on the desk. I watched in fascination to see if any of the piles of paper would fall over, but they held their position.
While Kimberley was handing her tablet to me, Mrs. Rey was pulling a sophisticated digital recorder from her purse. It didn’t take much logic to figure out who the film crew was.
The next fifteen minutes were spent in demonstrations of how the tools operated. Kimberley seemed as engaged by those metal rods as her grandfather. The only thing that was missing was a hearth and fire.
When they were done, she hauled the bag of utensils to her mom’s car and loaded it into the back. Mrs. Rey twisted around to look at us. “Kim, didn’t you want to ask Lacey something?”
“About what?”
Her mother nodded her head meaningfully. “The handyman?”
I bristled. Nope. Not a topic I wanted to discuss with them. I looked away from Kimberley and watched the houses blur past on the way to my neighborhood.
“How did you find the handyman?”
I debated whether to ask them to butt out, but maybe a few simple answers would be enough. “We met at the flea market.”
“Do you often pick up strangers at the flea market and bring them home to live?”
That was an obvious follow-up question that I’d never thought of before. I had to stall for time while my brain caught up. “Why are you asking?”
“He seems suspicious.”
I didn’t like this conversation a bit. Whipping around, I met her gaze with a look that ought to intimidate her into shutting up. “He’s a good guy.”
“How can you be sure?”
“He’s been nothing but nice. Everything we ask for, he does perfectly.”
“That’s great, but the whole thing still doesn’t make sense.” She shrugged. “He’s the world’s hottest handyman. Even though he doesn’t look old enough to have graduated from high school, he’s an expert at everything. And he doesn’t get paid, yet he won’t work for anyone but you.”
“He’s part of a group that helps families in need. It’s like a local Peace Corps.”