She gave him a long look as he seated himself. “Yes, it will.” She quirked an eyebrow at me, that questioning look so easy for another woman to interpret, even if the women in question were forty years and almost two generations apart.
I shrugged, shorthand for
Flossie nodded. “Tell me about the meeting last night. Dan Daniels stopped by for milk early this morning, and he looked ready to take on the whole school board. And when Kirk Olsen came in for doughnuts, I had the phone in my hand in case of a stroke. His face was that red.”
Dan was CeeCee’s husband. He was a nurse at Sunny Rest Assisted Living and worked the afternoon shift, so he rarely made meetings, but clearly his wife had passed on the news. Too bad. Dan was one of those people who changed personality in and out of the workplace. As a nurse, he was caring and considerate and kindness itself. As a PTA member, he fought against any idea he hadn’t conceived himself.
And Kirk Olsen had certainly been busy. Kirk was often out of his office on errands unrelated to his insurance business, and it was a mystery to all how he managed to keep his company afloat.
“It’s an Agnes Project,” I said sadly.
“Oh, great, merciful heavens,” Flossie said. “Is there any chance for us? Is there any chance for Agnes?”
We laughed, Evan looked politely puzzled, and we ordered our meals.
“I had macaroni and cheese for lunch,” Jenna announced. “I could eat mac and cheese every day and not get tired of it.”
“What did you have, Oliver?” I started the car and backed down Marina’s driveway. In the rearview mirror I saw his small form slide into a slouch.
“Hamburger,” he muttered.
“Was it good?”
“No. It was gross.”
Jenna and I exchanged looks. Oliver loved hamburgers. “Did you tell Mrs. Krenz you don’t like mustard?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Did it come without mustard?”
“Yeah.” He slouched so low that I couldn’t see him any longer.
“Then what was wrong with it?”
“Nothing.”
Jenna rolled her eyes. “So why was it gross?”
“It just was.” He sounded three steps away from tears.
“What’s the matter, Oliver?” I asked softly. “Is Toby Stillson picking on the little kids again?” There was nothing but silence from the backseat. “Did you have a spelling test?”
“No.”
At least he was talking. “What is it, Ollster?”
Either the pet name got to him, or he was ready to crack, anyway. “They wouldn’t let us play!” Tones of outrage rounded out every vowel.
I looked at Jenna. She shrugged.
“Who wouldn’t let you play?” I asked.
“It’s the place we always play every single recess, and they wouldn’t let us!”
They? I immediately had a picture of a cabal of fifth graders standing shoulder to shoulder, forcing Oliver and his friends to slink away. “Did you tell your teacher?”
“Yes!” he shouted. “She said they were right and we couldn’t play there again. Ever.”
This didn’t make sense. “Who?”
“The men.”
Trying to get a story out of this kid was like sweeping sand with a bad broom. “What men?”
“I don’t know. They were mean. They had hammers and colored hats and big papers.” He stretched his hands wide.
My foot moved from gas pedal to brake. “Show me.”
Five minutes later, Oliver was trudging across the playground. “See? Robert and I always play marbles there. And now we can’t.” His lower lip trembled and I pulled him close.
The back side of Tarver Elementary was similar to many primary schools, with swing sets and slides and dirt packed hard by hordes of children. But tonight there was something new—a small forest of fresh wood stakes. Bright pink plastic tape fluttered from the tops of waist-high strips of wood, cryptic handwritten lettering marking each one. Things like “10’ off NE B Cor,” and “12” WM,” and “10’ off SW B Cor.” The pink ribbons flapped noisily in a sudden north wind, and I shivered.
“Mommy?” Oliver pressed against me. “Can you fix it?”
Oh, how I wanted to say yes. Oh, how I wanted to fix everything that had and ever would go wrong for my children.
I pulled out my cell phone and started dialing.
The playground had never seen so many adults. I’d called Marina and Erica. They’d each called four people. Each of those people had called four more. Within minutes of my red alert, parents started arriving. Claudia Wolff had brought her friend Tina, who had brought her husband, Tony, who had brought Don the dry cleaner, who had brought Kirk Olsen. Instead of six degrees of separation, Rynwood had more like three.
“Did we miss anything?” Claudia Wolff charged up. “Hey, who was that handsome hunk we saw you with this noon? You sly cat, you. Do your children know?” She winked at Jenna.
“I’m pulling out these stakes!” a burly man shouted. “Every time she puts them in, we’ll pull them out.”
A murmur of assent ran through the group; I was suddenly sorry I’d called anyone. They called Madison “Mad City” for a reason, and Rynwood was close enough to Madison for the city’s history of civil disobedience to be contagious. “Um . . .”
No one paid attention to me. The crowd was turning nasty, and I sincerely hoped Agnes didn’t make an appearance. These people were ready for a witch hunt. Give them pitchforks and torches and they’d set upon Agnes even if she lacked the black dress and pointed hat.
“Pull them out!” Claudia yelled. “We’ll pile them on her front porch.”
Jenna tugged on my coat sleeve. “Mom, I’m hungry.” I looked at her face and knew the tightness had nothing to do with a delayed dinner.
“Me, too.” Oliver ducked his head under my arm and snuggled close.
It was past time I took the kids away from this. “Me, three,” I said. Jenna smiled, and I felt Oliver’s giggle against my hip bone. “How about a treat tonight? What do you say to Hot Dog Heaven?”
A single shout became a chant. “Pull them out! Pull them out!” Mob rule took hold, and the pack surged forward.
My children and I went in the opposite direction, hand in hand in hand.
“My tummy is all happy now,” Oliver said as I was starting the animal good nights.
“I’m glad.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Will Robert’s dad get into trouble for taking out those little poles? The men who put them in said to leave them alone or the police will put us in jail.”
“Robert’s dad isn’t going to jail.” I supposed the surveyors had been trying to keep their stakes intact, but scaring children was a poor way of going about it. “I promise.” And one day soon I’d have to figure out who Robert’s dad was. “Time to sleep. It’s way past your bedtime.”
“I know.” He grinned, and my heart went mushy around the edges. “But you made us go out to eat.”
