genealogy lesson. “Anyway, you and Alston are the same age and both entering the eighth grade. Alston is already enrolled at Ashley Hall, your grandmother’s alma mater—and mine, too—so we thought this would be a good way to find out more about the school before your admission interview.”
“Admission interview?”
There was a hint of panic in Nola’s voice, and I instinctively took a step toward her, remembering my own sense of panic each time my father had announced yet another move to a different army base. “Didn’t Amelia tell you about this?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Nola shrugged. More quietly, she said, “I didn’t think I’d still be here to deal with it.”
I stilled. “Where did you think you might be?”
She shrugged again, avoiding my eyes. “Anywhere but here.”
I saw my mother open her mouth but I quickly shook my head. Turning back to Nola, I asked, “What made you change your mind?”
With her gaze glued to the floor, she mumbled, “Mrs. Houlihan makes good tofu burgers.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I’ll take your word on that.” I found myself clenching my hands together, my nails biting into the skin as I tried to find the right words that would tell her I understood without sounding too emotional. The one thing I’d learned about Nola was that she didn’t allow emotions to guide her in any decision, and it bothered me to consider what she’d gone through in her short thirteen years to make her that way. I’d at least had thirty-three years of maternal abandonment as my excuse.
I recalled watching part of a music video on MTV when the cable guy had come to install my DVR. It was a live concert where kids were throwing themselves into a crowd with raised arms, trusting that somebody would be there to catch them. I’d found myself holding my breath, sensing the danger, but feeling somehow bereft, too, knowing that I’d never known that kind of security, especially not as a teenager. Taking a deep breath, I said, “You must feel like you’re jumping into a mosh pit at a Slipshod concert, not really sure where you’ll land or who will catch you.”
She lifted her eyes to mine and her expression could only be called a scowl, but I saw the brightness in her eyes again, and I couldn’t help but feel I’d hit the mark. “The band is Slipknot, Mellie. Nice try.”
My mother took my elbow. “Come on. Let’s not keep Amelia waiting. Come down when you’re ready, Nola.”
Twenty minutes later, the three of us turned from where we were sitting in the parlor when we heard loud clumping coming down the stairs, then watched with matching stunned expressions as Nola appeared wearing the same outfit she’d been wearing earlier—complete with combat boots and short, ruffled skirt.
Amelia quickly stood and gave Nola a hug. “You certainly have a sense of style, dear, and one that even your old grandmother can appreciate.” She left her arm around Nola and faced us, the older, elegant woman in the St. John knit suit and Ferragamo pumps next to the beautiful teenager dressed in an outfit that looked like it came out of a ragbag. I had the absurd impulse to jump up and high-five Amelia for knowing the right thing to say.
My mother and I stood and gathered our purses. As I held open the front door for everyone as they exited, Nola said, “I hope this stupid café has food I can eat.”
Amelia didn’t bat an eye. “Alluette’s is known for its organic and vegan menu. That’s why I chose it.”
And another point for you, Amelia, I thought as I locked the door behind me. Aloud I said, “I hope they have food for the rest of us.”
My mother sent me a look that I’m sure was meant to remind me of my manners. I rolled my eyes in response as I dropped the keys into my purse, then followed them to Amelia’s car.
I sat in the back of the Lincoln with Nola, Amelia and my mother up front. I’d never ridden in a car with Amelia Trenholm before, but for the first time in
“Admission interview?”
There was a hint of panic in Nola’s voice, and I instinctively took a step toward her, remembering my own sense of panic each time my father had announced yet another move to a different army base. “Didn’t Amelia tell you about this?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Nola shrugged. More quietly, she said, “I didn’t think I’d still be here to deal with it.”
I stilled. “Where did you think you might be?”
She shrugged again, avoiding my eyes. “Anywhere but here.”
I saw my mother open her mouth but I quickly shook my head. Turning back to Nola, I asked, “What made you change your mind?”
With her gaze glued to the floor, she mumbled, “Mrs. Houlihan makes good tofu burgers.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I’ll take your word on that.” I found myself clenching my hands together, my nails biting into the skin as I tried to find the right words that would tell her I understood without sounding too emotional. The one thing I’d learned about Nola was that she didn’t allow emotions to guide her in any decision, and it bothered me to consider what she’d gone through in her short thirteen years to make her that way. I’d at least had thirty-three years of maternal abandonment as my excuse.
I recalled watching part of a music video on MTV when the cable guy had come to install my DVR. It was a live concert where kids were throwing themselves into a crowd with raised arms, trusting that somebody would be there to catch them. I’d found myself holding my breath, sensing the danger, but feeling somehow bereft, too, knowing that I’d never known that kind of security, especially not as a teenager. Taking a deep breath, I said, “You must feel like you’re jumping into a mosh pit at a Slipshod concert, not really sure where you’ll land or who will catch you.”
She lifted her eyes to mine and her expression could only be called a scowl, but I saw the brightness in her eyes again, and I couldn’t help but feel I’d hit the mark. “The band is Slipknot, Mellie. Nice try.”
My mother took my elbow. “Come on. Let’s not keep Amelia waiting. Come down when you’re ready, Nola.”
Twenty minutes later, the three of us turned from where we were sitting in the parlor when we heard loud clumping coming down the stairs, then watched with matching stunned expressions as Nola appeared wearing the same outfit she’d been wearing earlier—complete with combat boots and short, ruffled skirt.
Amelia quickly stood and gave Nola a hug. “You certainly have a sense of style, dear, and one that even your old grandmother can appreciate.” She left her arm around Nola and faced us, the older, elegant woman in the St. John knit suit and Ferragamo pumps next to the beautiful teenager dressed in an outfit that looked like it came out of a ragbag. I had the absurd impulse to jump up and high-five Amelia for knowing the right thing to say.
My mother and I stood and gathered our purses. As I held open the front door for everyone as they exited, Nola said, “I hope this stupid café has food I can eat.”
Amelia didn’t bat an eye. “Alluette’s is known for its organic and vegan menu. That’s why I chose it.”
And another point for you, Amelia, I thought as I locked the door behind me. Aloud I said, “I hope they have food for the rest of us.”
My mother sent me a look that I’m sure was meant to remind me of my manners. I rolled my eyes in response as I dropped the keys into my purse, then followed them to Amelia’s car.
I sat in the back of the Lincoln with Nola, Amelia and my mother up front. I’d never ridden in a car with Amelia Trenholm before, but for the first time in
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