“This is Vice Principal Stone from Oakwood Middle School. We want to let you know that Sophie did not show up to fifth period today.”
I start to panic. Has something happened to her? Could she have been kidnapped? “Oh my God,” I say to him. “What do we do next?” I ask. Call the police? Search the local hospitals? I think of how I’m going to explain to Rachel that one of her kids was kidnapped while I was on all fours getting a full Brazilian wax by a woman named Titi.
“Well, Mrs. Cole, as I told you the last five times she’s ditched this class, she’s going to fail algebra if she doesn’t start coming regularly.”
“Ditching? She’s ditching school?” I say incredulously. “Are you freakin’ serious?” First slutty clothes, now this? What was going on with her? Has Rachel lost all control over her?
He pauses. “Mrs. Cole, are you okay? This isn’t the first time this has happened. As we discussed before, I called you directly without getting your husband involved.”
“I didn’t want John involved? Why?” I realize I’ve said this out loud.
Principal Stone chuckles, “I learned a long time ago not to ask questions like that. But you told me that you preferred to handle it yourself and not to bother him with these matters.” He pauses and I can hear him shuffling papers on his desk. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Why would she keep things like this from John? “Yes, I’m fine. I can promise you Sophie will be attending all of her classes tomorrow.”
“Very well,” he says. “You can let her know she has a week of detention waiting for her when she does return to school.”
That’s not all she has waiting for her, I think. Wait until she gets home. I consider calling Rachel, but decide against it. I can handle this. Plus, she’s taping right now and I don’t want to mess up her mojo. She’s been doing my job surprisingly well. In fact, there’s a small part of me—make that a big part—that’s hurt that no one can tell the difference. I worked my ass off, sacrificed so much to get where I am. And after a sixteen-year hiatus, Rachel steps into my shoes and they fit perfectly. Maybe I’m even more replaceable than I thought.
I drive home and pay the babysitter in a haze. What am I going to say to Sophie? Do I play good cop or bad cop? I pace around the kitchen as Charlotte watches me curiously. “What do you think?” I ask her. She smiles and claps her hands and suddenly I know what I have to do.
? ? ?
Later that afternoon, Sophie saunters in the door like nothing’s happened, Audrey trailing closely behind her.
She stops in her tracks when she sees who’s waiting for her in the living room. “Dad, what are you doing home?”
I walk over to Audrey and hand her Charlotte. “Can you take her upstairs while we chat with your sister?”
Audrey, seeing the serious expression on my face, takes Charlotte silently out of my hands, but does a double take. “What did you do to your hair?”
Thrilled that someone has finally noticed, I respond, “Oh, just a few highlights, that’s all.”
“Interesting,” is all she says as she turns and heads upstairs.
Before I can determine if that was a compliment or not, John is already tearing into Sophie. “You better start talking right now about where you’ve been all afternoon,” he says as he reaches into her backpack and pulls out a dress that looks like it could fit Charlotte. “And then you can explain what this is and why you were wearing it.”
Sophie’s eyes are as big as saucers, and it reminds me of when she was just a toddler, so sweet and innocent. I know you’re not supposed to have favorites, but Sophie has always been mine. Her fear quickly turns to anger. “Nothing, Dad! Just hanging out with some friends. I hate algebra! That’s why I never go!”
“What do you mean you never go?” he asks and turns to me. “Is this not the first time this has happened?”
“No, it’s not,” I sigh.
“Why haven’t you told me about it?” he says curtly, his anger turning on me. “What the hell? I’m their father. I need to know what’s going on!”
Trying to calm him, I walk over to him and speak softly. “Well, I’m telling you now. We can discuss why I didn’t tell you later. But at the moment, we need to deal with what happened today,” I say, nodding back at Sophie. “Listen, I hated algebra too—” I start.
“You always told me you loved math,” she interrupts.
Damn. That’s right. Rachel was a math nerd.
“Well, maybe hate is a strong word,” I begin again. “But I did struggle with it at your age. And you know who really couldn’t stand it?”
“Who?” she asks, looking down. I’m losing her again.
“Your Aunt Casey.”
“Really?” Sophie looks back up at me.
“Yep, she absolutely hated it. But you know what? She still showed up every day.” I try to read her face, to see if my words are having any impact.