“Still not happening,” Riley said. She turned and hobbled back to her cubicle to wait for her first guest to arrive.
* * *
It was nearly five o’clock by the time Riley made it back to the hotel. She found Maggy sitting on the pullout sofa in their suite, watching television. The room smelled like scorched microwave popcorn.
“Hey, Mom,” Maggy said, not looking up.
“Hi!” Riley had been giving herself a nonstop pep talk during the hour-and-a-half-long commute from Durham. So her first day hadn’t gone well. Okay, it was the worst first day ever. So she hated the job, and the pay was crap, and her boss was a nitwit, and her show was doomed to be a ratings bomb. She and Maggy had each other, and tomorrow would be better. It had to be better, because she really didn’t see how it could be worse.
“How was your day?” Riley asked. “Do you like the new school?”
“It’s okay.” Maggy shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth.
“Are the teachers nice?”
“They’re okay.”
“Do you have any homework?”
Maggy aimed the remote at the television and turned up the volume. “Mom. I’m trying to watch this.”
Riley took off her shoes and sank down onto the bed. She couldn’t ever remember feeling as tired and defeated as she did right now.
“What would you like for dinner tonight?” she asked.
“Pizza!”
“Pizza and salad,” Riley said firmly. She reached across the bed, found the notebook with all the takeout menus of nearby restaurants, and placed her order.
“Dinner by six,” Riley said, yawning. Then she promptly dozed off.
By eight, they’d eaten, and Maggy had taken her insulin, and Riley started to pull out the sofabed.
“Can I just sleep with you tonight?” Maggy asked, curling up on the side of the queen-size bed.
“Sure,” Riley said, trying not to act surprised. She pulled down the covers and plumped the pillow next to hers. Maggy climbed in bed, and Riley clicked off the light.
“Mom?”
“Yes, baby.”
“You never said how your day was.”
“It was … okay.”
“Was your new boss nice?”
“She was okay.”
“Do you have any homework?”
Riley chuckled and gave her daughter’s fanny a whack. “Very cute.”
“Seriously, Mom. Tell me the truth. I’m not a little kid.”
“Umm, it really isn’t very okay. It kinda sucks. Nothing is like I thought it would be.”
“Wow,” Maggy said. Riley felt her daughter’s slight frame mold up against her side, and her thin arm snaked around her waist. She felt Maggy’s warm breath on the back of her neck.
“You know what?”
“What?” Riley said.
“My day wasn’t that hot either.”
“Do you want to tell me about it? Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”
“No,” Maggy said. “It’ll be okay.”
60
The Woodlawn School’s Sanford W. Mangrum Performing Arts Center was a far cry from the school auditorium at Edenton Elementary School, where Riley had spent her formative years.
The biggest difference was that this space did not double as the school cafeteria, and thus did not carry the unforgettable scent of steam table chili-roni and soured milk. No. This space was a state-of-the-art masterpiece, with tiered stadium seating, plush upholstered seating, and surround-sound acoustics.
The lights were already flickering as Riley hurried to her seat at back-to-school night, tardy again, because no matter what time of day she left the Durham studio she always got stuck in traffic on Interstate 40.
She drew annoyed glares as she bumped knees and elbows trying to get to a mid-row vacant seat. “Sorry,” she whispered.
The headmistress, Dr. Ksionzyk, was a pleasant, freckle-faced woman with a tangle of silver hair and just the slightest hint of an upstate New York accent. She gave a warm welcome to new and old parents of middle school students … and that was the last thing Riley was aware of, because she dozed off shortly after the lights were dimmed, awakening only when the parents applauded and the lights went back up, signaling a stampede of parents rushing to beat the fifteen-minute warning bell.
Thankfully, Maggy had delivered a folder to her mother with explicit instructions for back-to-school night. Riley knew she was to report to room twelve at the Dunstan Building at 6:45 p.m. to meet Miss Barlow, Maggy’s homeroom teacher.
She found the room and the desk with Maggy’s name masking-taped to it, but before she could sit, the teacher approached with barely concealed excitement. “You’re Riley from Raleigh! My gosh! What are you doing here?”
“My daughter is in your homeroom. This is where she sits. Maggy Griggs?”
Blank look.
“She has medium brown hair, wears it in a braid? Blue-gray eyes? Thin build? She sits in this chair?” Riley gestured to the desk she was about to sit in.
“Oh, Maggy,” the teacher said, deliberately vague. “Yes, such a sweet girl. I’m looking forward to getting to know her as the school year progresses.”
The teacher stood at the front of the room and delivered a well-rehearsed spiel on school rules, expectations, and what she called “fun facts about the Woodlawn Woodchucks,” which turned out to be the school mascot. Riley surveyed the room as she spoke, counting the desks and the number of parents occupying them. Fourteen desks with fourteen parents. And this teacher had no idea who Maggy was?
After five minutes, the parents were invited to look around and meet the parents of their children’s classmates.
Riley felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around. “Excuse me. Did I hear you say you’re Maggy’s mom?” The speaker was a tall woman with a curtain of waist-length frizzy red hair. “We meet at last! I’m Chantelle Roberts.”
Now it was Riley’s turn to look blank.
“Annabelle’s mom? From Belle Isle?”
“Oh, yes,” Riley said. She’d wondered if the woman would ever bother to call to explain why she’d allowed Maggy to ride her bike home in the dark, alone. “I didn’t know Annabelle was enrolled here.”
Now she wondered why Maggy hadn’t mentioned that her sworn frenemy not only went to her new school, but sat in front of her in homeroom.
“Yes,” Chantelle was saying. “It was a very last-minute thing. Micki started a new job in Raleigh, so here we are.” She paused and lowered her voice. “Listen. About that night on the island. I am so sorry about what happened with Maggy. And I feel terrible that they’re still feuding. I’ve spoken to Annabelle about being mean, but you know how girls are at this age…”
The bell rang. Riley nodded curtly and joined the mad rush in the hallway to make it to Maggy’s first-period class.
An hour later, Riley dragged herself to the last stop of the evening, the Woodlawn School’s Susan B. Foster Dining Pavilion. Here, she knew, parents were supposed to visit booths staffed by club advisors and sports coaches, in order to encourage their children to participate in extracurricular events.
What she really longed to do was go back to her sad hotel room and hug her sad child and forget about her day, about the endless arguments with Jacy about the truly awful Floozys outfits she was expected to wear on-air, about the shameless pay-for-play guests she was supposed to “interview,” and about her adamant refusal to participate in after-hours personal appearances.