“You aren't going to work at that school forever, are you?” Grace asked as she hugged me goodbye. She'd gotten herself dressed and ready and with her mismatched clothes and sloppy, lopsided pigtails, she looked like an extra on the set of Annie.

“Yeah, Grace,” Will said, rolling his eyes. “She's gonna work there for the rest of her life. As a volunteer.”

I shot him a look and then turned back to my youngest daughter. “No, of course not,” I told her.

“Good,” she said, her arms tightening around my neck. She hadn't washed her hands after eating and I could feel her sticky fingers on my skin. “Because I miss you. And I want pancakes and eggs and bacon and French toast every morning. No one makes food like you do.”

My heart bloomed with love and I fought back silly tears as the three younger kids trudged out the door with Jake. I couldn't wait for my week to be over and the sooner I finished planning the fundraiser, the better off we all would be.

So I walk ing ed into Prism with a new sense of determination, feeling like I had the energy and enthusiasm and willpower to find the volunteers I needed to put on a talent show that would bring in tons of cash.

Until I saw Harriet Hollenstork waiting in front of the counseling office for me.

Her hair was a new shade of red and it looked like she'd gotten it cut in the short time since I'd last seen her. She wore a bright pink sweatshirt that matched the phone case she was holding, and ill-fitting  jeans and white sneakers completed her ensemble.

She looked up when she heard me approaching. “Well, good morning, Daisy!”

“Good morning,” I said warily.

She flashed a smile at me and I didn't see her invisible braces.“How are you this fine morning?”

“Good, thanks,” I said, not knowing whether to stand there or continue past her into the office.

“I was wondering if you'd given any thought to our previous conversation.”

“Uh, which one?”

“About perhaps using my husband's store to purchase those new computers?”

I sighed. I wasn't sure how else to explain to her that I wouldn't be in charge of purchasing a single pencil for the school, much less thousands of dollars worth of computer equipment. I didn't want to stand there and tell her she was nuts, but I also didn't want to lie to her. So I chose to avoid and evade.

“Right now, I'm just focused on getting the talent show put together,” I said. “I have a ton of work to do.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” she said, nodding. “Yes, I'm sure. And I should let you know – the PTA would be happy to help in any way it can. Selling tickets, publicity, whatever you need.”

It felt like some sort of conditional offer, but I appreciated it anyway. “Thank you.”

She held out a bright white business card. “And I thought I could give you this.”

I reluctantly took the card. It was for Data Dork, with Harold's name and phone number embossed in techno-looking letters that were incredibly hard to read. Maybe that was why he didn't get much business, I thought.

“That's his cell,” she said, pointing at the number. “So you can reach him directly. I told him you'd be calling soon.”

“Harriet, I can't promise—”

“I think he already started looking at prices,” she said, ignoring me. “And checking on delivery times.”

I frowned. “Harriet, I—”

“And he was looking at different models, too.” She continued speaking as if I wasn't even there. “He thought you might want to look at cheaper models in order to bring in more computers.”

“Harriet,” I said firmly. I caught her eye. “Listen to me. Please.”

She smiled. “Yes?”

“I am not going to be buying the computers,” I said slowly. “I don't work here. I'm a volunteer. I'm organizing the talent show. I'll be handing over any money we make to Mrs. Bingledorf. And then I won't be here anymore except to pick up my kid once in awhile. But my role will be over. I'll have nothing to do with the money or the computers or anything.” I paused. “Do you understand?”

Her smile slowly dissolved. “Why is it that you don't want to help me?”

I sighed again, an exasperated one this time. “Harriet, it isn't that I don't want to help—”

“But all you've done is tell me how you can't help me.”

“Because I can't!” I said, my voice rising, unsure of how else to get my point across to her. “I. Don't. Work. Here. I won't be handling the purchasing. Do you understand that?”

She shuffled her feet and her white sneakers squeaked against the floor. “But you could just take the money and go buy them. From my husband.”

She really was insane. “That would be stealing,” I pointed out, trying to stay calm. “And it's not my job. I'm doing this for the school. The money is not mine to spend. The school will choose how to spend it. I won't be involved.” I softened my voice. “So it's not that I don't want to help.”

She snatched the card from my hand. “Fine. If you don't want to help, then never mind.”

I started to repeat myself again, but stopped. There was no point. I was only going to get more frustrated.

“I need to go in and get started,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “If you'll excuse me.”

She snorted, her eyes narrowing to tiny slits. “Someone's getting a little too big for her britches, now that she has her own office.”

I inhaled sharply. I liked to think that I could control my temper – that I could hold my tongue when necessary and make good decisions.

But I also didn't like having my buttons pushed and Harriet Hollenstork had pushed the wrong one.

I looked down the empty hallway to be sure we were alone, then gave her a withering stare. “Harriet, maybe you should get lost before I kick you in your britches,” I said.

Her eyes widened and she started to sputter something but I cut her off.

“Have a great day,” I said sweetly, forcing my way past her and into the office.

I left her standing there in the hallway, red-faced and glaring at me, in her mom britches.

TWENTY

“Well, that had to be a less than stellar way to kick off your morning,” Charlotte Nordhoff said from behind her desk as I walked in.

“You heard all that?” I said, making a face as I set my bag down on the desk. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” she said firmly. “Not your fault.”

I collapsed into my chair. “I'm just not sure why she doesn't get it,” I said. “It's like talking to a rock. That talks back.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, a bit.”

“I mean, any reasonable person would get that I don't have any say in the matter, right?” I said, looking for some assurance that I wasn't the crazy one here.

She nodded. “I just think Harriet has...some other things going on right now and she's a little out of sorts.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Other things going on? Like PTA?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, she does have that going on, but that isn't what I meant. I think she may be a little desperate at the moment.”

I tucked my purse under my desk. “Desperate? Why?”

She hesitated. “The computer store that her husband runs? It's struggling.”

“Badly?” I thought back to what Johnny had told me about Data Dork. Admittedly, he hadn't known much, but he'd said he thought the store might be struggling, too.

Charlotte picked up a folder from her desk and stowed it in one of her drawers. “From what I understand, yeah. And I guess it has been for awhile.” She paused. “I think they might be in danger of losing the business.”

My frustration with Harriet ebbed and I felt flickers of sympathy and guilt. When Thornton and I had divorced, I remembered worrying almost obsessively about finances. It had kept me awake at night for weeks at a time as I did the mental math in my head, trying to figure out where I would live and if I would have enough in savings and through child support to continue to stay home with the kids. I could imagine the pressure her family might be feeling if their store was in danger of closing.