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Spring 1981
“MRS. GIFFORD?”
“Yes?” Anita winced at the formal title because it could mean only one thing—the phone call was from the middle school.
“This is Debbie Nelson, calling from Monroe Middle School,” the woman said in a stern tone.
The twisting in Anita’s stomach told her it wasn’t a good-news call. She walked with the receiver, its cord stretching, to look out the large front window at the small yard and cracked sidewalk beyond.
“I’ve called with regretful news.” Debbie paused. “Your daughter Carly has misbehaved, and she’s been given a suspension by our principal, Mr. Mortenson.”
As if Anita didn’t know the principal’s name. They’d had more than one meeting...“What happened?” Her tone sounded sharp, but it was too late to change that now.
“Carly and a group of her friends decided to ditch second period and raid the kitchen.”
“Raid?”
“What someone does when they steal food that doesn’t belong to them,” Debbie Nelson said.
Anita dragged in a breath and focused on using normal words that didn’t involve any cussing. “Where is Carly now?”
“Waiting to be picked up by a parent,” Debbie said. “She said it was only her mom since there’s no Mr. Gifford in the picture?”
Anita tightened her hold on the receiver and wondered if it would be too childish to pick up one of the picture frames on the bookcase and throw it. Or maybe she should throw a book. Something. Anything.
Another steadying breath. “No, there’s no Mr. Gifford in the picture, Ms. Nelson. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Anita hung up the phone and closed her eyes for a handful of seconds, trying to keep the scream of frustration inside. How had this become her life? Living in Seattle as a single mom? A year ago, she and Carly had been best friends, bosom buddies, doing everything together. Then Carly turned fourteen, started ninth grade, and poof. It was all gone. She had been swept into a new friend group and undergone a complete personality change.
“Meow.” A furry head bumped against her ankles.
“Me too, Sassy,” Anita mumbled, opening her eyes. The gray tabby meowed again, then trotted to the front door, waiting to be let outside.
She replaced the phone receiver, then grabbed her car keys off the top of the fridge. Her hands trembled, not because she was nervous or cold, but because her anger was making her shake.
Carly had been given everything in life—well, everything Anita could provide as a single mom. She’d been able to make a career out of her creative talents so that she wasn’t an absent parent. She was at home every day after school. She was there every morning to fix school lunch and see her daughter off. Anita scrounged up fun things to do on the weekends, plus stayed flexible with what Carly wanted to do.
Mostly, they’d go on short road trips to check out a hiking trail, a park, a zoo, or a botanical garden. Sometimes they’d stay overnight, or drive late to get back home. Anita’s favorite thing to do was to not have a particular destination or agenda. Just get into the car and drive, letting adventure come naturally. Although lately, Carly had wanted to stay home on weekend nights, talking on the phone, if she wasn’t hanging out at a friend’s house.
Anita had even budged on the curfew. Eight on school nights and ten on weekends.
All these thoughts spun through her mind as she opened the front door, and Sassy zoomed outside. Anita headed toward her Volkswagen Bug that had seen better days. She’d bought it with her first few art commissions when Carly was a baby, and the car had been treating them well. Except for this week. She’d had trouble starting it.
She eyed her sky-blue Bug as she approached. Would she be a good girl today?
“Hello-oo!” a woman’s voice called. The singsong tone was unmistakable.
“Hi, Phyllis,” Anita said to her neighbor, who stood by the mailbox between their properties. She was a seventy-something widow who seemed to always be around when Anita stepped outside her door.
“Want me to grab your mail?” Phyllis pushed up her gold-framed glasses. “If you’re in a hurry, I can keep it at my house until you return.”
Anita hid a grimace. Her nosy neighbor had just outdone herself. “Oh, it’s fine. I have time to grab the mail.”
“Oh, hello there, Sassy,” Phyllis said as the cat rubbed against her calves. She bent to give the cat a scratch.
As Anita approached, her neighbor stopped petting the cat and snapped open Anita’s mailbox and plucked out the handful of letters that were probably bills.
“Thank you.” Anita held out her hand.
