for a twelve-year-old
boy, and a pair of psychedelic, tie-dyed pajama bottoms. Funky Grammy. A
gnarled finger thrust up to the tip of my nose, making my eyes cross as I tried
to follow it.
“Who the hell are you? What do you want with my Rissa?”
“Um. . .”
“Gosh darn it! I’m tired of people thinking they can just
walk all over her!”
Behind her, Karissa laughed, enjoying the show.
“No, no. I’m not,” I said.
“You gosh darn better not be!” She whipped around, tilting
her head back to glare at her granddaughter. “Get in the house, missy. Don’t
just stand here in the doorway letting her push you around. Get inside.”
The puff of wind from the slam of the door blew several
strands of my hair around my face. Stunned, I meekly returned to my car and sat,
trying to figure out what had just happened. Attack-by-grandma had been
remarkably successful. Between the two, I hadn’t stood a chance.
As I looked back at the trailer, I saw a grey head pop up in
a window, every wrinkle in her grizzled face shaped into a mighty frown. I saw
her mouth move silently, behind the glass pane. I didn’t need to be a lip
reader to know what she was saying. The very un-grandma-like middle finger
salute clarified, in case I had any doubts.
I left. But just before I drove away another head appeared
in a window farther down the side of the trailer. Mikey. At least he waved with
all of his fingers.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I hated getting
up early on a Saturday, especially when I hadn’t been sleeping well lately, but
I couldn’t miss the board meeting. I almost didn’t bother with business clothes,
but forced myself into a pair of decent slacks and an autumn-colored sweater
when I remembered I was trying to impress people with my professionalism.
While I’d been out prowling, Sue had left a voice mail
telling me she’d tracked down the board member, Beth Collier, and filled her in
on my situation. She said Beth had been receptive, but couldn’t promise
anything until after she’d met me and heard the shelter’s concerns.
Great. An ethical alcoholic. Why did I have to keep tripping
over all these ethical people these days? I wished I’d had a chance to talk to
her myself. Living an honest, sober life sure made navigating problems a lot
trickier. Took more energy, too.
On the flip side, I wasn’t waking up with sweaty jitters and
puking my way across town to the meeting. Pros and cons to everything, I
guessed.
The board met in the group therapy room. Based on the varied
appearance of the members I could have worn whatever I pleased. There were six
of them—an even split of three men, three women. Two of the men, crisply
suited, looked as though they were hustling back to the office as soon as they
could wrap things up here. The third, however, wore baggy shorts, an
eye-jarring Hawaiian shirt, and leather thong sandals. His thinning hair was
pulled back in a grey braid as thin as my pinky.
The women had taken the middle road, casual, although there
were wide differences in the amount of money each seemed willing to spend on
achieving that effect.
I recognized Beth from the newsletter photo. Stylish,
auburn-haired, and decked out in a trendy, boucle jacket, she winked at me as I
came in. I smiled back.
Clotilde and Lachlyn were already seated. Just for giggles, I
tried picturing Lachlyn as a nun, mentally cloaking her in the habit she’d been
wearing in the newspaper photo. The effort made my head spin.
Astrid trotted in, balancing a tray of fresh baked cookies,
a fistful of yellow pencils, and a stack of papers clamped under her armpit. The
papers started an ominous slide, forcing Astrid into a strange contortion as
she tried to clamp harder while not losing any cookies. I hurried over and
rescued the papers just as they slithered free. Beth saved the cookie tray, and
between the three of us, we managed to get the supplies over to a side table
where a large coffee urn bubbled
boy, and a pair of psychedelic, tie-dyed pajama bottoms. Funky Grammy. A
gnarled finger thrust up to the tip of my nose, making my eyes cross as I tried
to follow it.
“Who the hell are you? What do you want with my Rissa?”
“Um. . .”
“Gosh darn it! I’m tired of people thinking they can just
walk all over her!”
Behind her, Karissa laughed, enjoying the show.
“No, no. I’m not,” I said.
“You gosh darn better not be!” She whipped around, tilting
her head back to glare at her granddaughter. “Get in the house, missy. Don’t
just stand here in the doorway letting her push you around. Get inside.”
The puff of wind from the slam of the door blew several
strands of my hair around my face. Stunned, I meekly returned to my car and sat,
trying to figure out what had just happened. Attack-by-grandma had been
remarkably successful. Between the two, I hadn’t stood a chance.
As I looked back at the trailer, I saw a grey head pop up in
a window, every wrinkle in her grizzled face shaped into a mighty frown. I saw
her mouth move silently, behind the glass pane. I didn’t need to be a lip
reader to know what she was saying. The very un-grandma-like middle finger
salute clarified, in case I had any doubts.
I left. But just before I drove away another head appeared
in a window farther down the side of the trailer. Mikey. At least he waved with
all of his fingers.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I hated getting
up early on a Saturday, especially when I hadn’t been sleeping well lately, but
I couldn’t miss the board meeting. I almost didn’t bother with business clothes,
but forced myself into a pair of decent slacks and an autumn-colored sweater
when I remembered I was trying to impress people with my professionalism.
While I’d been out prowling, Sue had left a voice mail
telling me she’d tracked down the board member, Beth Collier, and filled her in
on my situation. She said Beth had been receptive, but couldn’t promise
anything until after she’d met me and heard the shelter’s concerns.
Great. An ethical alcoholic. Why did I have to keep tripping
over all these ethical people these days? I wished I’d had a chance to talk to
her myself. Living an honest, sober life sure made navigating problems a lot
trickier. Took more energy, too.
On the flip side, I wasn’t waking up with sweaty jitters and
puking my way across town to the meeting. Pros and cons to everything, I
guessed.
The board met in the group therapy room. Based on the varied
appearance of the members I could have worn whatever I pleased. There were six
of them—an even split of three men, three women. Two of the men, crisply
suited, looked as though they were hustling back to the office as soon as they
could wrap things up here. The third, however, wore baggy shorts, an
eye-jarring Hawaiian shirt, and leather thong sandals. His thinning hair was
pulled back in a grey braid as thin as my pinky.
The women had taken the middle road, casual, although there
were wide differences in the amount of money each seemed willing to spend on
achieving that effect.
I recognized Beth from the newsletter photo. Stylish,
auburn-haired, and decked out in a trendy, boucle jacket, she winked at me as I
came in. I smiled back.
Clotilde and Lachlyn were already seated. Just for giggles, I
tried picturing Lachlyn as a nun, mentally cloaking her in the habit she’d been
wearing in the newspaper photo. The effort made my head spin.
Astrid trotted in, balancing a tray of fresh baked cookies,
a fistful of yellow pencils, and a stack of papers clamped under her armpit. The
papers started an ominous slide, forcing Astrid into a strange contortion as
she tried to clamp harder while not losing any cookies. I hurried over and
rescued the papers just as they slithered free. Beth saved the cookie tray, and
between the three of us, we managed to get the supplies over to a side table
where a large coffee urn bubbled
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