Shadow Dancer (The Shadow Series Book 1) (36 page)

Bridgette had turned a dangerous shade of red, an automatic indicator that she was mortified beyond belief.

“So anyway. She’s a nurse in the emergency room over at Grier Mountain Medical Center. She’s a really bad cook, but she’s really good at other stuff. Like football, even though my dad was a star quarterback here, my mom is the one who taught me how to throw a ball. And ride a horse. But the biggest things my mother ever taught me were, don’t take life too seriously and to stick up for what is right.”

As Shane concluded, Mrs. Mitchell thanked him and introduced the next presenter. “Thank you, Shane. Nice job and very entertaining. Thank you, Mrs. Kilpatrick. You can both take a seat. Next up, we will have Thomas Morrow. Come on up, Tommy.”

Tommy strode up to the stage still laughing at his cousin’s presentation. He put his white foam board on the tripod, smoothed his shirt collar, and said loudly, “Okay, old man. You have to come up here.” Rolling his eyes in the back of the auditorium, Jack got up and started to limp slowly to the stage. Bridgette, who was now standing on the side of the stage steps, helped Jack get to the top before taking her seat next to Frank in the back.

“
Man
, took you long enough,” Tommy said jokingly to his father.

“Keep it up, tough guy,” retorted Jack, though smiling.

“Just joking, just joking. Good morning, everyone. I’m Tommy Morrow, and this is my dad, Jack Morrow. When I was told I had to do this assignment on my old man, I gotta say, I wasn’t so excited. I
mean I could think of at least 10 other people in our family I would rather research, but now I’m glad I did.”

Jack watched his son nervously. He didn’t know what to expect, and the presentation could go either way. It would either turn out well, or it would turn into a public roast.

“My dad was born Jacob Angus Morrow on December 2, 1955. He was born in Fox Hollow, at the farm. He is the oldest of four kids. He is an especially stubborn fellow. He has to have things his way. But, he gets stuff done, and he hates letting people down. He didn’t get straight A’s like my aunt, but he did get on the honor roll just about every semester at Steeplechase. He was on the football team like me. After high school he went to trade school for carpentry, married my mother, and had five kids, the coolest of all being me.”

At this point Jack was staring at him with in disbelief, arms crossed over his chest, while Tommy bragged about just how awesome he is.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. In all seriousness though, something about my dad that I always found interesting. He had the opportunity like my uncles to go to college and take on a different trade. My uncles decided to be lawyers, but Dad chose to stay local, stay at the farm. Family is important to him. Fiercely important. He always says, ‘You can’t pick your family, Tommy, but even so, I think we made out pretty damn good.’ He’s protective of us. The biggest thing my father ever taught me is family comes first. Before friends, before money, before anything else. Loyalty might not mean a lot to the world out there, but to us, it means everything. We might joke a lot, complain a lot, but when it comes down to it we
are
loyal to each other, and that’s all that counts. So I can make fun of my family… but don’t
you
dare!”

Tommy grabbed his foam board and walked off the stage with a laugh, leaving Jack gawking at him. Under his breath he mumbled in shock.

He actually has been listening to me. I can’t believe it.

Mrs. Mitchell checked her clipboard, and called Blake’s name. Blake got up from his seat, a single VHS tape in his hand. He handed it off to Mrs. Mitchell before climbing up the steps.

“I’m going to do something a little different. My subject is my Uncle Frank.”

Suddenly the overhead projector showed a grisly picture of Frank that could have been a mug shot. In the photograph, he is wearing his work uniform, his forehead is wrinkled, eyes and lips curled into an irritated look. As soon as the picture graced the screen, the audience begun to laugh. Frank, who was walking up the center aisle at the time, stopped in his tracks.

“Oh, hell.”

Blake, laughing behind his hand, waved his uncle on with the other. Frank decided to be a good sport, smiled and waved at everyone as he announced, “Don’t I look dashing up there!”

“The man on the screen is my uncle, Frank Kilpatrick. He might look cranky, but he’s a pretty cool guy.” Frank, now standing directly to the left of the projector screen, stood with his arms crossed and gave the audience a dubious look.

“Uncle Frank was born Francis Eamon Kilpatrick, and he was born in Innerweck, Scotland -“

“Inner
wick
!” Frank corrected.

“Oh, right. Innerwick, Scotland and he lived there until he was seven. Then he came here. His dad and my grandfather were work partners at the farm for a long time, so it was only natural that he and my dad hit it off. To this day, they are inseparable.”

Blake switched to a photograph of a pair of scrappy looking kids together, giving each other a high five on a baseball field.

“Look at these two misfits. The kid on the right with the freckles, blue t-shirt and scabby knees would be Uncle Frank and the boy on the right with the missing teeth and dirty face is my father. They are still best friends. Uncle Frank didn’t get straight A’s, but he is smart as a tack.”

With a matter-of-fact tone, Frank proclaimed loudly enough for everyone to hear: “I didn’t test well,” gaining some mild laughter from the crowd.

“After high school, he briefly enrolled in the Navy. He saw some action, but fortunately enrolled only six months before the end of the war. He was discharged at the end of the Vietnam War. When he came home, he married my Aunt Bridgette, and they had a kid. Some crazy kid named Shane. Now he splits his time between his job at the Department of Transportation and our farm.”

“Are we done yet?” Frank asked impatiently, as Blake seemed to be wrapping up.

“Not quite. Unpause the video.”

Mrs. Mitchell pushed play and the video continued to stream on the project screen.

“For years I could never understand what my uncle had ever did to earn the nickname Bulldog. Though a lot of people think my uncle is threatening-looking, he’s actually a very nice guy. Much like myself. Let’s watch.”

The video showed the kitchen of the Morrow house where Frank was sitting at the kitchen table reading a newspaper with a disgruntled look on his face.

“Uncle Frank?” asked Blake, trying to get his attention. Frank grunted, engrossed in his newspaper.

“Uncle Frank?” asked Blake again.

“Yeah, kid?” responded Frank, attention still on his newspaper.

“I have this project I have to do, where I have to interview one of the family members.”

“Oh, you should ask Aunt Bridgette. I’m sure she’d have a lot to say,” answered Frank, face still in the paper.

“Yeah, the teacher said I had to write a report on you.” Finally, putting his paper down revealing his arm sling and bruised face.

“Me?! Why the hell would they do that to you?!” Blake shrugged behind the camera.

“And it’s gotta be on film?” Frank asked, eyeing the camera suspiciously, conscious of his injuries.

“I think it would be fun.”

“Oh, um, okay. What do you want to know?”

“What is the most important lesson you have ever learned?” Frank took in the question, and smiled slightly.

“Don’t be afraid to be yourself. The people who love you, will love you regardless. And the people who don’t? Well, they can kiss my you-know-what.” Blake started to laugh behind the camera.

“In all seriousness? The biggest lesson I have ever learned is that this life is too short not to cherish every minute. You stand up for what you believe in, you protect those who cannot stand up for themselves, and you love life. You only get one, kid, and I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’ve had a pretty good one so far.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything else?

“No. I think that will about do it.”

As the screen went black, Blake said nothing more, confident that his presentation did all the talking for him. Frank followed behind him, face still red from laughing.

“All right. Only one left to go. Nice job, everyone. We’ll pick up in a minute.”

Mrs. Mitchell picked up her grade book and marked down the grades of her students thus far. Cole had received an A for his heartfelt tribute to his departed mother. Tommy and Shane both received an A- for their entertaining presentations, and she just marked Blake down for an A+ for innovation and creativity.

“Tristan, if you’re ready…”

Tristan calmly rose from her seat, quietly making her way down the center aisle with a stack of index cards and a single VHS tape.

“Good morning, everyone. My name is Tristan Morrow, and I will be discussing the life and achievements of my mother, Catherine Morrow.” The
auditorium went completely quiet. Everybody knew the names. The adults recognized Catherine’s name from a highly publicized criminal case, and everyone recognized Tristan’s name thanks to Joe Piedmonte’s brilliant sign placement.

She had no props, no flashy poster boards, and she definitely didn’t have any jokes to tell. She stood at the project screen, dressed in a muted heather gray sweater, and black slacks. Her long curls pinned away in a sleek chignon. She looked like Catherine on the stage. Even Jack did a double take.

“Two weeks ago, I knew nothing at all about my mother, other than the fact that she wasn’t around. Due to a series of events that I would rather not discuss, I learned the truth about my mother. I learned that the rumors that flew around town about her were utterly false. Forget what you know. This is the Catherine you should be remembering.”

Mrs. Mitchell pushed play on the VCR as home videos began flashing across the screen. Birthdays, celebrations, Christmases, smiling faces; Catherine surrounded by children,
Catherine dancing with Jack on the porch in the summertime. A happy life.

“She was born Catherine Elizabeth Westfeld and she was born in Philadelphia to an art curator and his wife. She came to the Elkhart area when she was thirteen, living with my grandmother. Here she attended Steeplechase, embraced her artistic ability and made a lot of friends. A lot of people have said
that my mother was a recluse. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was popular when she went here. Even afterwards. But living so far away, and having all the people she loved most at home, she didn’t have much reason to leave the house. She had many friends. But when someone makes you fear for your life, you’ll do anything you have to protect your family and the ones you love. She enjoyed travelling, enjoyed learning, but most of all she loved spending time with family. Watch the clips. She was a kind woman whose life was cut short. The more I learn about her, the prouder I am to be her daughter. Don’t remember her for her shocking death. Embrace her for the wonderful person she was when she was here. Just out in the hallway, there are four art awards that she earned for the school prior to graduating. On the third floor, outside of Mr. Corlander’s classroom, there is a painting that she created when she was a senior here at Steeplechase. I’ve been told by many people that I look just like my mother. My only hope is that my soul is as good as hers, too. In all that has happened, I’ve learned several major lessons from her. First, be careful who you trust. Second, when you love, love with all your heart. And thirdly, when you believe in something, fight with all your might until there is no fighting left to be done. Live life with courage, and with faith.”

As Tristan walked away from the stage, and up the center aisle, she ignored the applause, she ignored the high fives from the people who wanted to be her friend after recent events. She walked up the aisle not looking anyone in the eye, treating them as if they didn’t exist at all. She leaned in to give her father a kiss on his tear-stained face, before departing the auditorium.

* * *

As the 3:00 school bell rang, children flooded the schoolyard at Steeplechase. Liam, waiting patiently for everyone to exit the school, glanced at his watch in irritation. Noticing a speck of white paint on his hand, he tried scratching it off.