Occult Suspense for Mothers Boxset: The Nostalgia Effect by EJ Valson and Mother's by Michelle Read (2 ebooks for one price) (6 page)

SIX

I couldn’t believe the last week and a half had gone by so quickly.  I
had gotten all of Violet’s school supplies purchased, checked the list a hundred times at least, and was now getting ready for her first day of Kindergarten.

I kept myself busy these last ten days by unpacking what I could of the boxes that were strewn around the house.  As a matter of fact, the place looked just about livable now.  I was able to gather up the remaining “stuff boxes” and stack them cleverly in the spare bedroom.  These were the boxes that were filled with odds and ends that I really had no idea what to do with.  I’m sort of a pack rat, and have a horrible time throwing away anything that was handmade or sentimental.  I even filled a whole box with scraps of paper that Violet had doodled on; the first time she drew a happy face, her first picture of a sun, and my favorite . . . a crude crayon outline of a person with too many fingers on each hand.

“It’s Mommy,” she had mused when it was complete, which brought tears to my eyes.  How could I throw that out?

I could probably wallpaper a room with all of her clippings and scribbles.  Maybe I would do that when she went to college.  Get out everything she ever made and hang it up so I could stare at it.

College.

My heart ached and my eyes puddled again.

I was having a hard time controlling my emotions lately.  I had been bursting into tears all week – every time Violet mentioned proudly that she was a “big girl now”, going to school with all the other big kids.  She amazed me.  She didn’t even seem afraid of the unknown, simply excited at the new adventure.  I wished I could say the same.

The coffee pot clicked off on the kitchen counter and I poured a hefty glass, though I didn’t really need it.  There was an electric sort of vibe running through me this morning and I’d gotten up with ease before my alarm.  No caffeine necessary to kick-start my brain.  This strange feeling was a mixture of excitement, nerves, and the uncontrollable need to be prepared
— along with a whole slew of other emotions that I couldn’t quite place.

I was so buzzed on energy this morning that I had even beaten John up.  I was squeaky clean and dressed already, and he was only just showering.  Surely I would regret getting up quite
so
early later this afternoon when the excitement wore down, but I simply couldn’t stop moving.

All of Violet’s school things were lined up by the door, ready to go, and I was up to my elbows in pancake batter.  I promised Vy a special breakfast on the first day of school and decided on pancakes, which were a snap even for me.  As a twist, I added some red food coloring, and “First Day of School Pink Pancakes” were well on their way to becoming a tradition.

I heated the maple syrup in the microwave, humming to myself.  As I was setting the last of the pancakes onto three large plates, John emerged from upstairs.

“That was a quick shower,” I greeted, without looking his way.

“I brought you something,” he replied, his voice thick and cheerful in the early hour.

I piled the hot pan and spatula into the sink and turned around, wiping my hands on a dish towel.  Cradled in his arms, barely recognizable due to her traditional morning mess of tangles, was our kindergartener.  Still in her pajamas, and more than halfway asleep, she was sprawled awkwardly in John’s grasp.  Her legs and arms poked out in every direction and I was pretty sure I heard her snoring.

John propped her gently into a kitchen chair and sat her upright as best as he could.  She grumbled something incoherently and pawed at her eyes.  I sauntered over proudly and pecked her on the head.  With a big
I’ve been working on this all morning
smile, I set the short stack of Pink Pancakes on the table in front of her.

She eyed them sleepily and groaned, “I’m not hungry.”  And though a tiny part of me – the part of me still covered in batter – had hoped for a song and dance, I just smiled and sat down to my own warm stack of pancakes.  She had actually responded to all my hard work better than I thought she would.  I wholly expected her to fall asleep at the table and end up wearing most of her breakfast to school. 
I’m not hungry
was certainly a step up from that.

I buttered my pancakes — mmmm, anything that can be buttered is a true weakness for me – and devoured them in minutes.  I must have been much hungrier that I thought.  Of course, I
had
been up for several hours already.

“These are delicious,” John uttered between bites
.  “Aren’t they, Vy?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she managed.  Her mouth was full and she was slowly morphing into an alert human being.  A few bites later, she had brushed the hair out of her face and was swinging her feet under the table.

“So how long have you been up?”  John continued.  “Looks like you’re already ready to go.”

“Oh… a while.  And I am.  All we need to do is get that grubby monster ready for her first day of school p
hoto ops and load up the car.”  As I answered him, I felt unmistakably proud of how ahead of schedule we were, and was perfectly sure that I could do it right every morning.

After everyone was chocked full of fluffy pancakes and chocolate milk, I rose from the table and cleared the dishes.  John was behind me in a moment, cradling my waist in his hand as he reached around me, setting his empty glass in the sink basin.

“I’ll go get her dressed if you want to clean up down here,” he offered.  “Finish your coffee and get mentally prepared for all those kids you’ll be dealing with today.”

I had nearly forgotten that not only was this a momentous day for Violet, it was my first day at my new job as well.  I think I kept this thought hidden in the recesses of my mind because I feared it the most.  I quickly pushed the anticipation and apprehension to the back of my brain— knowing that I could only process so many emotions at one time.

Violet and John came racing down the stairs backwards in only a few minutes, laughing as they tripped over each other.  John was holding a hairbrush and a little pink clip in his mouth like a dog as he descended.  There was only one thing in this world that John was not any good at – and refused to do – and that was fixing hair.  Violet won the staircase race and immediately planted herself in front of me for inspection.  Clothes matched, shoelaces were double knotted.

“Looks good,” I remarked.

I pretended not to notice the mop of hair on her head, knowing that if I drew attention to it, she would beg me not to fix it.  John tossed me the brush and clip without her noticing and spun her around for a pep talk.  I tugged and pulled as gently as I could while he distracted her with questions about her big day.

Done.

And no complaints?

Well, this part of the morning routine would probably not be so easy every time.  Thank goodness for John today.

We each grabbed a bag of school supplies on our way out the door, and we were off.  I was so thankful that John had taken off today.  He said that he wanted to be “a part of it all” for the big day and had used a whole day’s vacation at work.  I wondered what he would do with the rest of his day after he dropped us off at the school, but I didn’t ask.  I was afraid that if he told me, I would come up with a million
other
things he could be doing with his free time, and I’m not one to leave him with a Honey-Do list on his day off.

As we rounded the corner, and the little school came into view, I felt my insides begin to shudder.  It wasn’t until John climbed out of the passenger seat, though, fumbling with the camera that I knew the tears could not be stopped.

As he moved around the front of the car, asking me where I wanted the very first picture taken, I lost it.  I stepped out onto the grass, one hand clutching school supplies, the other trembling.  I pointed silently to the flagpole, and when I watched Violet climb the shallow steps there and strike a pose, I allowed myself to blink.  When I did, giant tears flowed from behind my giant sunglasses.  I stood there, holding grocery sacks full of markers and glue, with my shoulders rocking heavily as I cried.  And cried.  And cried.

By the time John had gotten a decent picture, one where Violet wasn’t pretending to be a spider or a cat
, I had run out of tears and was drying my eyes with my shirt.

“Alright, Mom.  You too.”

John motioned for me to join her and was taking the bags from me.  I took the stairs two at a time and reached Violet and the flagpole in four strides.  John snapped the picture and smiled.  I only
thought
I had run out of tears; a new well emerged and a fresh fountain began flowing.  John embraced me firmly when I got back to the car to finish unloading.

“I love you,” he whispered while Violet tugged impatiently on both of our shirts. 

“Let’s go.  Let’s
go
!” she was saying. 

I kissed my husband and walked hand in hand with my daughter to the front door.  Instinctively, we both turned to wave and blow kisses the moment we reached the door handle.  John had stepped up onto the sidewalk only a few yards away and was snapping another picture, waving furiously and smiling.

More tears leaked out from under my dark glasses, and I hoped that John didn’t notice, though he probably did.  He was always quick to notice of each of my emotions, almost as if they were his own.  He was abnormally sensitive that way.  I tried to hide behind a smile anyway as we turned to go inside.

Up to now, the moments of the last several days before school had crept by so slowly that I’d had time to stop and savor each one.  Time to think through each minute, to analyze every one of Violet’s expressions, to squeeze everything I could out of each passing second.  The moment we walked through the school door, however, time suddenly seemed like a luxury – a privilege.

The first word that came to mind was
swarm
.

There were teachers, mothers, children . . . everywhere.  Half of them looked confused and
all
of them looked like they were in a hurry.  Teachers and assistants were directing traffic and pulling parents off of their children to make room for more people.  There was a dull roar throughout the whole place, and my observant nature took in several things at once.

I smiled at the mother that was licking her thumb and giving her son a spit bath before sending him in to class.  I ached for the mothers that were lingering at the doorways, saddened because they had to leave for work, hoping for just a few more minutes with their babies.  I cringed a little at the mother who was panicking because she had left her child’s lunch pail at home.  She was quite obviously a scatter-brained woman, and she reminded me a little of myself.

Violet and I squeezed past the line of mothers and grandmothers just inside the front door.  They were all waiting to sign themselves in so that they could walk their children to class.  Several of them shot me dirty looks as we cut to the front of the line.  I smiled sheepishly and flashed my I.D. badge at the woman sitting behind the sign-in table.  She waved us on cheerfully.

I found my way through the horde of people – eventually – and made it to Violet’s classroom.  She tugged impatiently on my hand and danced around in place as we waited to enter.  I kneeled down beside her and turned her body to face me.

“Are you excited?” I asked, hoping she would tell me no and I could just take her home.

“Yes!” she shrieked.  “I love Mrs. Autry!  She’s so nice!”

Several things were running through my head as I watched her look around at all the passing people, taking in her new surroundings eagerly. 
Of course she was nice when you met her, honey.  It was Meet the Teacher Night.  She was on her best behavior.  What if she’s not as nice today?  What if she’s impatient with you when she shouldn’t be?  What if you don’t like her tomorrow?  I could take you home right now if you asked me to and we could watch cartoons all day...

As I thoughtfully considered home-schooling just so I wouldn’t have to be away from her, Violet interrupted me.

“Can I go in now, Mommy?”

I wanted to say no, but hugged her silently instead.  When I pulled back out of the embrace, I cupped her tiny face in my hands
.

“I’ll see you after school,”
I muttered, and kissed her gingerly on the nose.

She wiped it off – or rubbed it in, the way
I
looked at it – and walked through the crowded doorway.  I squeezed my arm in after her and set the grocery sacks down on the table labeled “School Supplies” that was just inside the door frame.

When I turned to find Charlotte and report for duty, knowing that a clean getaway would be less traumatic for both of us than lingering at the door, I felt something catch my pant leg.  I turned around and stooped down to Violet’s level, her features brimming with some new emotion I had never seen there before.  I could have sworn I saw her bottom lip quiver a little, and there was a look in her searching eyes that I recognized easily.  It was uncertainty – mixed with fear.  The same thing I had been feeling for days was now sprawled across my child’s vulnerable face.

She had just realized, in that five-year-old brain of hers, that I was leaving her here to fend for herself.  Somehow, she had not yet worked out in her mind the part where Mommy doesn’t stay in class with her.