“Yes.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to. Would you mind telling me what it was?”
“Who are you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Sam Waterhouse. I was her doctor.”
“Oh.” She looked tired, harried, and a lot less huggable up close. “I was only going to say that the children and parents at our preschool adored her. I thought it might bring us some business. Do you have grandchildren?”
He was taken aback by her cold words and sharp eyes—and by her assigning grandchildren to him before his time.
“I have a son in fourth grade.”
“Really?” The single word had an amused tone that offended him, as if it tickled her that a man his age could have a child that young. He thought the woman tactless and unpleasant; no wonder her preschool didn’t have a waiting list.
“I liked her,” he said on Priss’s behalf. “I liked her very much. I thought maybe you were going to tell a funny story about her.”
She snorted and eyed the young women on either side. What she didn’t see was how they eyed each other the moment she turned her attention back to him. “The story I could tell wouldn’t be so nice,” she said. “I fired her last week.” She finally smiled, but it had a smirky edge. “Maybe not the right story for a funeral, hm? What kind of doctor did you say you are?”
“Ob-gyn.”
“Oh. I was sure you’d say psychiatrist.” She smirked again and walked away.
One of the young women went with her, but the second woman lingered and said quietly, “Don’t pay any attention to her. She was always jealous of how much the kids and parents liked Priss more than her. And she’s still furious about what Priscilla did.”
“What did she do?”
“She read a couple of parents the riot act. Which they so had coming!”
“When was this?”
“The day she died.” Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s so awful, to think her last memory of us was of getting fired, but I think she knew that the rest of us loved her for it. Susan”—she pointed a thumb back over her shoulder in the direction the floral dress had gone—“won’t cross our parents for any reason, because she doesn’t want to lose their money. It drives us crazy. The parents Priss yelled at used to pick up their kids any ol’ time they wanted to, even if they were two hours late, or even later! No call ahead, no making plans with our permission. No consideration for us at all, and their poor kids felt abandoned, even though we lied and told them their mom and dad weren’t the jerks they really are.”
“And Priss—Priscilla—told them off?”
“Did she ever! It was beautiful! Shocked the heck out of them. And us! They pulled their kids out of the school right then, even though Susan fired Priss in front of them and apologized until I wanted to puke.”
“Did Priss say anything to you about a bucket list?”
“Isn’t that something people do when they know they’re going to die?” Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, my gosh. Do you think she had a premonition?”
“No, no, I just—”
“She did say that telling off those people was something she’d always wanted to do. Well, not always, but you know what I mean.” That sounded very bucket list–like to him, especially when combined with the incidents involving the hot-dog vendor and taxi driver.
He wanted to ask the young woman a question that was going to sound rude no matter how he phrased it, so he just said it plainly: “Why did Priss go to work there, do you know?”
She smiled a little. “You mean, when she had all this?” She swept her right arm in an arc, indicating the signs of money around them, in the clothes, in the hair colors, in the address of the church, in the limos and cabs waiting at the curb outside.
“I guess I do mean that. And also—” He gestured in the direction of the floral dress.
“Oh, she’s nice when she interviews you,” the young woman said. “All cookies and teddy bears. You only find out later how she really is. And we never knew about this.” Her glance took in the crowd. “We thought Priss was just like us, only nicer.” She smiled again, a sweet smile. “All I knew was that she had a degree in early childhood education, and she needed a job, just like us. Well, I guess she didn’t need one, but she wanted it. I have a theory, now that I’ve seen all this …”
He cocked his head, the way he did to encourage patients to tell him all their symptoms.
“I think she walked into DayGlow DayCare and saw the real situation: a witch of an owner, an unhappy staff, the effect that had on the kids. And she decided she could change it. Change us. I think she went to work there because she was one of those people who makes other people feel good just to be around her.”