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“Good luck with that. Kids are way more mature since the advent of social media.”
Sammy only got social media when we found out about the bullying. We wanted to be able to track her tormentors. “Sammy has private accounts, and I follow them.” She also isn’t allowed to post anything yet. So far, she just uses it for surveillance purposes.
“You guys are going to love it here,” Anna says. “Elk Lake Junior High has fewer than three hundred students so the staff can keep a close eye on everyone.” I briefly wonder if Paige told Anna about Sam’s history.
Bringing the topic of conversation back to why I’m here, I ask, “So how soon can I start looking at houses?”
“I only have four that meet your criteria. I can probably get appointments made as early as this afternoon if you’re available.” I give her my phone number and tell her that any time after two works. I don’t want to miss out on lunch with Sammy.
After leaving the realtor’s, I decide to leave my car and explore the town on foot. I walk over to a park bench and have a seat. The day is already warm, but there’s an underlying scent that lets you know fall is on the way.
I sit for several minutes before pulling out my phone. After typing Beth’s name into the search bar, I click on pictures. I don’t let myself do this often, but I feel like I need to remind myself that Sammy’s mom is a stranger to me. Now that we’re starting over in Elk Lake, I need to make sure that whatever connection I once felt for Beth is good and truly severed.
My heart doesn’t start racing at the sight of her, and my palms don’t sweat. All appears to be as it should until I spot a picture I’ve never seen before. That’s when my blood starts to boil.
CHAPTERELEVEN
MELISSA
Anna and I spent an hour exchanging messages with Tim Ferris last night via the Catch.com website. Here are the things he remembered about me from school: I couldn’t tie my own shoes until the second grade, I wore braces longer than any kid he ever knew, I threw up on the bus on a sixth grade field trip to Chicago, and I twisted my ankle when my high heel broke as I crossed the stage at graduation to receive my high school diploma. It's clear he only noticed me when something embarrassing was happening.
I briefly wondered if he caught that time I sat on a dirty bench on the playground and walked around for the rest of the day looking like I’d pooped my pants. But as he’s already amassed a list of my worst moments, I assume that was one memory he was too nice to mention.
Tim asked if I was available for lunch today. I nearly said no when Anna pulled the laptop away from me and answered that I’d love to. I was so mad I barely said another word to her until she left. Her parting jab was, “I’m serious about you finding a good guy, Missy. Even if you’re not.”
While getting ready for work this morning, I call Paige to fill her in on last night’s activities. “You should have told me. I would have loved to have started a profile with you.”
“I thought you were waiting for the Midwestern Matchmaker to come to town.”
“That’s not until next season, and it’s only my backup if I don’t find someone else first.”
I run a wide-tooth comb through my hair before adding a dollop of curl cream. “Come over tonight and we’ll work on your profile.”
“I can’t. I promised my parents I’d watch them in the seniors’ pickleball tournament. They’re in fifth place and if they win tonight, they go to the championships.”
“That’s exciting,” I say for lack of anything else coming to mind. Pickleball is not my cup of tea.
“It’s the second most exciting thing that’s happened to them all year.” Before I can ask what the first was, she reminds me, “It’s not every day you win forty-seven dollars in Powerball.”
Getting to the point of my call, I ask, “Do you remember Tim Ferris from school?”
“Vaguely.”
“Vaguely, my heinie. You know darn well who he is.”
“I try not to remember the boys we had crushes on who never gave us the time of day.”
After putting on my light pink sundress with the full skirt, I tease, “So you don’t remember any guys from school?”
“Ha, ha, ha. I remember Hank Jones.”
“Who?” Now it’s my turn to be clueless.
“He played trombone in the senior marching band.” Unlike me, Paige was in the high school band.
“Was he the kid who used to eat his own boogers in third grade?”
“That’s him.”
