It wasn’t Susan’s fault that Charlotte had blown off Ruby, Karen reasoned. And yet, here she was, devoting her precious free hours to the PTA; it hardly seemed fair that her reward should be the ostracism of her daughter by the president’s daughter. Was it any wonder Karen was feeling surly and standoffish when Susan opened the door?
“Karen! I’m so sorry to make you travel in this weather,” said Susan, pleasant as ever. Per usual, she was dressed in upscale athletic wear.
“It’s fine,” Karen said with a tight smile, following her inside.
“I hear our girls have a sub today.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I try and support the teachers’ union,” Susan went on, unprompted, “but considering they work only nine months of the year and get to go home at three, I think they get way too many days off!”
“Yeah, well, it’s a pretty grueling job,” said Karen, thinking that it was somewhat rich of Susan to be complaining that teachers didn’t work hard enough when she appeared not to work at all. Judging from her outfit, she was probably en route to some “important” kettleball class. Or was Karen, in shortchanging the essential if unbillable work that Susan performed on behalf of both her family and her local public school, being the worst kind of sexist? She followed Susan into the living room.
“Karen—this is my husband, Nate,” she said.
Karen looked up and then down. To her astonishment, her eyes landed on a clean-shaven, square-jawed, middle-aged Caucasian man seated in a wheelchair with padded grips. His large biceps were straining against the sleeves of a bright red polo shirt. The lack of a cast on either leg suggested to Karen that whatever ailed him must be permanent. Suddenly, it all made sense—the elevator at the back of the living room, the half marathon for a paraplegia charity she’d read about on the web. He must have completed it in his chair. “Oh, hi!” she said, trying to mask her shock and embarrassment with verbosity. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’m Karen and I’m a new parent at the school, and I’m also helping Susan plan a fund-raising picnic for the PTA. Our daughters are friends, which is how I met Susan. She was actually the first parent to invite my daughter over for a playdate, so I’m indebted to her forever…” Karen rambled on and on. It was exactly the opposite of how she’d intended to act. But when she got flustered, she had a tendency to talk too much. Besides, under this new and unforeseen set of facts, how could she justify being a bitch?
“Well, it’s nice to meet you” was all Nathaniel said, but he was eyeing her strangely. Or maybe Karen was imagining it; maybe he simply had an odd facial expression on account of whatever condition he’d fallen victim to. In any case, guilt flooded her body, not only due to her original theft, but because she’d dared to pass judgment on this family and their work habits. That she’d piggybacked on the life of a man who couldn’t even walk was another issue. Nathaniel Bordwell’s paralysis reminded Karen that money was not everything, not even close. Even the affluent suffered. And because their expectations for what constituted a successful life were so much higher, they were sometimes the unhappiest of all. Nothing was as simple as, well, black and white.
Except when it was.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get some breakfast,” he announced while wheeling himself out of the room.
“It was great meeting you!” said Karen.
“Well, you probably have things to do,” said Susan, turning to Karen. “So should we get started?”
“Sounds good,” said Karen.
“Oh, and if you’re wondering about my husband—and most people do when they meet him for the first time—he has a spinal cord injury from a boating accident he was in twenty years ago.”
“Oh my gosh,” said Karen. “That must be very—challenging for all of you.”
“We’re both used to it. But, yes, it has its challenging aspects.”
“I’m sure.”
“We’re very lucky that Nathaniel’s parents left us the house. Otherwise we wouldn’t be living like this. And we have tenants downstairs who help cover our expenses.”
The Bordwells already had tenants? “Right,” said Karen, nodding. “And do the tenants have kids too?” The question flew out of her mouth before she had time to realize how odd it would sound.
“The tenants?” said Susan, squinting at her.
“I was just curious,” Karen said quickly.
“Oh! Well—not that I’ve heard about! I mean, not yet. They’re still in their early twenties, I believe.”
“Right.”
“Anyway, back to more urgent matters—were you able to get a permit from the city for the event? I just don’t want there to be any beef with the parks people when we get there.”
“Yes, it’s all done.”
“Fabulous. And what about the balloon sculptor?”
“Already booked.”
“And the bouncy castle?”
“Same. Though the bouncy-house guy insisted on a three-hundred-dollar deposit up-front,” said Karen, “and I couldn’t be bothered to argue. So I wrote him a personal check.”
“Oh! Well, that’s fine,” said Susan. “I’m just sorry for you! I’ll have to order you a PTA charge card one of these days. In the meantime, make sure to reimburse yourself out of the PTA account. And if you could itemize your expenses in the ledger, it would be much appreciated.”
“Of course. I’m happy to,” Karen told her.
“You don’t have to get really specific, like paper towels—ten dollars. But if you could list the category, at least, that would be great. And if it can’t be categorized, just write supplies or miscellaneous.”
“Not a problem.”
“Terrific. Well, I think that’s all my questions. Sounds like we’re good to go!”
“Now we all just have to pray for sun.”
“Very true,” said Susan, with a quick laugh. “What was the name of the Egyptian sun god?”
“Ra, I think,” said Karen.
“Well, then, let’s both pray to Ra on Friday night.”
“It’s a deal.”