Chapter 26

It took a couple of days for Maddie to leave my side. She was as concerned about me as I was about her. All there had been between Maddie and Cheryl was a locked glass door, which seemed entirely too flimsy to me. I hoped this was the closest she’d ever be again to the kind of ugliness that had taken place in my atrium. I finally got her to class the Monday after her dramatic rescue call. I worried that she wouldn’t finish her project, but she assured me she was way ahead and would be ready on Labor Day. One week from now, she’d demonstrate her masterpiece to the throngs who were due at my house for the annual barbecue.

Many of the calls and visits I received during my brief recuperation period included apologies. Allison Parker’s was first.

“I can’t believe what happened, Mrs. Porter. I feel so guilty. I called Cheryl when I got home and told her you were interested in where she got the glue and what brand it was. I thought I was helping you because you said you liked to collect that kind of information for your crafts classes.”

For Allison, it was a short apology. I assured her that I in no way blamed her for my bruised face, raccoon-like black-and-blue-rimmed eyes, sore back, and broken nose. Not to mention my destroyed atrium.

Skip and June took immediate charge of restoring my planter beds and adding a new, magnificent fern to change the look of the atrium.

June felt she should apologize, too. “I didn’t see or hear anything, Gerry. Someone was on your roof and I slept through it all. What kind of neighbor am I?”

“You’re a wonderful neighbor,” I said. “I’m sure Cheryl was visible only for a minute or so.”

“It was quite an impressive performance for a woman her age,” Skip said.

“Do you mean Cheryl or Gerry’s?” June asked. A nice gesture that caused Skip to stammer, “Both, I guess.”

“It’s a piece of cake to get to a roof in this neighborhood,” June said. “The roofs are low and flat and scaling the wall is not that big of a deal. I could do it.”

“I’d like to be here when you do,” Skip said.

June gave him a playful poke. “You wish. What I don’t get is how Cheryl knew Gerry would go to bed and leave the skylight open?”

Skip’s explanation brought me no comfort. “It didn’t have to be open. Cheryl has a retractable system just like Aunt Gerry’s, so she was aware that it could be pried open relatively easily even without the electrical power.”

Nice to know.

Rosie and Larry stopped by one evening with candy and flowers. “These really are from Dad and me, Gerry. It’s not a trick.” Her smile seemed relaxed and her good humor restored. She told me she needed just one more thing before she could start over.

“I’m hoping for your forgiveness, Gerry. I can’t even count the things I should apologize to you for.”

“Don’t bother, Rosie. Just get back to work and get busy with that list of books I gave you last week.”

She gave me a hug, then produced the order for the books. “Done,” she said. “And they’re on the house.”

“For the rest of your life,” her father added.

Every year that I taught I gave an end-of-year prize to the student who’d made the most progress. Today the prize would go to Rosie.

To add to my store of candy, Beverly brought her own homemade divinity, which I loved.

“Gerry,” she started, then teared up. “I’m so sorry-”

I cut her off by stuffing a piece of her own delicious candy into her mouth.

There was no note of apology from Barry for stealing my purse. He’d convinced Skip he had no idea that Cheryl killed David. I believed him and almost felt sorry that he’d essentially lost two of his closest friends. I had a note from Ben Dobson, no return address, saying, Nice work, lady. Sorry if I scared you. I knew I could count on you, which I took to be his admission to leaving the incriminating bank record in my car.

Ben didn’t know that he should have directed his praise to Larry Esterman, who had taken control of that piece of evidence.

One afternoon, Henry and Taylor paid a visit to my specially arranged lounge chair in my atrium. My face had turned a sickly yellow hue. My back was on the mend, but my family decided I needed to lounge a little while longer.

Maddie and Taylor spent most of the time in the kitchen, preparing a special lunch that I wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with. Maddie had cajoled June into taking her grocery shopping, so I had no idea what the menu would be.

“Frozen pizza,” I guessed, when Maddie came by with plates for the atrium table.

“Nope,” Maddie said.

“Hot dogs,” Henry said.

“Nope,” Maddie said.

I thought Taylor might be an easier mark, but when she came in with the napkins, she was humming a song-“America the Beautiful,” I thought.

“Taylor?” Henry said. “What’s up?”

“Maddie told me you’d try to pump me for information, so I decided to sing. ‘… For amber waves of grain…”

With the girls so busy, Henry and I had time to talk. He was an easy person to be with, as was anyone willing to discuss the best way to install lighting in a dollhouse. He seemed delighted to hear that I might need his help-my crafters group had pitched in and bought me a complete, up-to-date lighting kit for my largest dollhouse.

In the spirit of all the apologies floating around my house, I felt that Henry was due one from me.

“I was focused on only one thing, and that was doing whatever it took to exonerate Rosie. Otherwise, I’d have been hanging around your workshop full time.” I cleared my throat. “I mean-”

“You can’t imagine how glad I am to hear that,” he said.

“Lunch is served,” said in unison by Madison and Taylor, saved us from an awkward moment.

What a treat. The girls marched in with a small-scale version of our brunch at the Duns Scotus. They crowded the small atrium table with platters of shrimp, salads, cold cuts, rolls, and fruit. The biggest tray, which needed its own side table, held desserts-brownies, cookies, and enormous éclairs, the likes of which we hadn’t seen outside of a five-star hotel.

I couldn’t imagine what the spread had done to Maddie’s funds. She must have known I’d have that reaction-Maddie leaned over and whispered to me. “Don’t worry, lots of people chipped in to pay for this.”

The girls stood together, hands folded in front of them, cleared their throats, and began an obviously rehearsed performance. “Why did the witch need a computer?” Maddie asked.

Silence, except from Taylor. “She needed a spell check.”

The suspense was over.

The laughter and applause all around filled the atrium as we dug into the best meal of the summer.

I was always glad for the approach of fall, when it was time to return to school, whether I was the student or the teacher. I loved the smell of newly cleaned classrooms and a just-opened box of chalk and the feel of new books and polished furniture.

I no longer taught in a regular school, but once unbearably hot weather and summer vacations were over, my crafts classes at the Mary Todd Home and my weekly tutoring went into full swing. In a week, I’d meet a new GED student to replace Lourdes. I knew she’d need me less and less.

And who didn’t long for the rash of holidays just around the corner, ripe for festive miniature scenes, with witches, turkeys, and Santas galore.

Ken used to say that, like most East Coasters who relocated to California, I missed the idea of seasons, not the seasons themselves. But he’d been thinking of endless chores like raking leaves and shoveling snow. (I managed to romanticize even scraping ice from windshields.)