I never disclose my coffee-drinking plans.
The girls and I are talking about our plans for Martin Luther King weekend. Peetsa tells us she and Buddy are packing up the kids and taking them skiing at Buddy’s parents’ place at Snow Creek. When I mention my big road trip to Wichita to observe the mudder, they are pretty impressed. Ravi says she doesn’t have any plans so I ask if Zach B. wants to join us on our road trip. Selfishly, I know it will go better if Max has a buddy.
“He’d love to,” she says, and then her face lights up. “Oh, my goodness, does that mean I’ll have a Saturday to myself?”
“And a Friday night, if you’ll let him sleep over.”
Just then the bell rings and the kindergarteners start pouring out of the school. Normally they are a pretty wild bunch, but today I notice a lot of heads down and even a few kids crying. When I locate Max’s leopard coat, I can see that he looks very unhappy. When he sees me, his little face crumples and he holds out his arms.
“What is it, baby?” I get down on my knees to hug him. Peetsa and Ravi are doing the same thing with their kids. They both give me a “What the hell?” look.
“Max, sweetie, what happened?” I pull his head away to look him in the face.
“He’s dead. We saw him.”
“Who’s dead?” I’m thinking the class fish.
“Martin Luther King. Someone shot him with a gun and they put him in a box just like Rufus.” Rufus was our pet guinea pig. He died last year of natural causes and he’s buried in a shoebox underneath the wild rhubarb that grows in the backyard.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Where did you see the picture?” I ask as I mentally compose a hate letter to Miss Ward.
“Mrs. Chang showed us.”
“What?” Peetsa, Ravi, and I say all at once.
The boys cry louder.
I really want to go back into the school and find out what the hell happened, but I can’t leave Max like this.
“Did he really die?” Max asks through his sobs. “He was so nice and helpful.”
I can tell this is going to open up the death discussion again, and I’m just not up for it. Memories of Max dealing with Rufus’s death come flooding back to me. He cried for days. Ron was at a loss, so he brought home a book that someone at his store recommended called Something Is Wrong with Grandma. It’s supposed to help kids understand and deal with death, but all it did was convince Max that something was wrong with his grandma. It took him months to get over his fear that my mother was going to keel over any second.
“You know, he died a long time ago, and it was very sad. But he did so many amazing things in his life and when you think about it, he now has a whole day for people to remember how good he was.”
“Where did they bury him?” Max asks me. I give Ravi and Peetsa a desperate look, because how the hell would I know?
Ravi comes to the rescue: “I think he’s buried in Atlanta, right near where he grew up.” That sounds about right. I give her a grateful smile.
Peetsa looks at all three boys.
“Did Mrs. Chang show you a picture of his grave?” she asks, trying to get a clearer idea of what they saw.
“No, it was a picture of him lying in a box with his eyes closed,” Zach T. says. His eyes start to water.
Oh, good God. No wonder they’re traumatized. Showing a picture of a dead body in a casket to five-year-olds. I turn to Max.
“Hey, can you sit with Mrs. Tucci in her car for a minute? I want to go talk to Miss Ward.”
“Why don’t I take all three of you to our place for hot chocolate?” Peetsa offers.
The boys nod and smile. Proof once again that chocolate solves just about all of life’s problems.
“Want me to come with you?” Ravi asks me.
“Sure. P., we’ll be over in a little while.”
“Sounds good.” Peetsa waves as she hustles the boys to her car.
Ravi and I head into the school and march right down to room 147.
“You can do the talking,” she says as we reach the door.
“Count on it.” I wink at her.
As we enter Miss Ward’s colorful classroom, I can see we are not the first parents to arrive. Dr. Evil is leaning over the front of Miss Ward’s desk and speaking in low but severe tones. As we walk in I hear Kim say, “… and I’m sick of it.”
“Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but we have some really upset little boys on our hands.” I look directly at Kim Fancy. “Was Nancy upset, too?”
“About what?” Kim’s slight scowl tells me she’s both annoyed and confused.
“Hi, Jen. Is this about the Martin Luther King presentation?” Miss Ward asks, as if she’s asking how the weather is.
“Uh, yes. Max and his friends came out of school really freaked out from seeing a picture of a dead body.”
“A what?” Kim and Miss Ward ask at once.
“Weren’t you here for Asami’s presentation?”
“No.” Miss Ward actually looks contrite. “I, um, had some papers to grade, so I went to the teachers’ lounge while she did it. When I got back, she told me she had already dismissed them.”
“Seriously? You let a parent dismiss the kids?” I’m a little surprised. I’m also wondering what kind of papers a kindergarten teacher needs to grade.
“Well, I wouldn’t normally, but she seemed to have things under control. You say she showed them a dead body? Whose?”
“Martin Luther King’s,” I say, exasperated. “He was in his coffin. Max is completely traumatized. He came running out of school crying.”
Miss Ward and Kim look at each other. Kim shakes her head and walks out of the classroom. What the hell?
“Well, I will certainly talk to Asami about it and find out what happened,” Miss Ward assures me. She pauses and smiles sardonically.
“Jenny, it’s so funny to have you complaining about her. She complained about you constantly.”
“Yes, it must be hilarious for you.” I turn quickly and almost hit Ravi as I’m walking out. I totally forgot she was with me.
As we head down the hall, Ravi seems to read my thoughts. “I can’t believe she left the class alone with a parent. Is that normal?”
“Depends on whose world you live in.” I sigh.
12
Saturday morning at 7:50 sharp, Garth arrives at my house, his usual ten minutes early. I’m just clearing breakfast away for Max and Zach B. They are bleary-eyed from their sleepover and I predict a car nap in the not too distant future.
“Hey, Garth. Want some coffee for the road?”
“No, thanks. Brought my own.” He holds up a Starbucks cup. I immediately think of Don and laugh to myself.
“What’s your poison?”
“Grande triple-shot latte with extra foam.” He smiles and cheers me.
“Well, that will put some punch in your pumpkin.” I cheers him back with my mug. “We’ll be ready in five.”
I’m halfway up the stairs when I yell over my shoulder.
“Okay, boys, lock and load. Wheels up in five. Bring a couple of pillows. Let’s move it, monkeys!”
I hear Zach B. say, “Your mom talks weird.”
I check my phone and find a text from Don: