Bring Me Home for Christmas

nodded solemnly.
    He grimaced and looked away. He looked back at her. “Have you been drugged or something? Because there was never a hint of this!”
    “I think maybe there were lots of hints, but you were a little too busy making plans to notice. I’m sorry you came so far for nothing. Really. Sorry for all the inconvenience. And for your messed-up plans.”
    He shook his head. “You turned out to be so completely different than I thought you were.”
    “I did, didn’t I? I’m not going to apologize for that.” She backed away a little bit. “Drive very carefully down the mountain. The roads can be slick.”
    He stepped toward her and, in a purposely controlled and lowered voice, he said, “Becca, you can’t really choose this hick dump over Cape Cod! Before you know it, you’ll be wearing denim jackets, plaid skirts, combat boots and your hair in braids!”
    She smiled tolerantly. “And you’d be embarrassed to take me with you to the Presidential Inauguration. I have to go, Doug. I’m on my way to the church to help them with the children’s Christmas pageant.”
    With that, she began to move slowly toward the church. She heard him behind her as the car door opened and closed, the ignition turned and the car moved down the street.
    She heard the thud of feet approach her and she looked over her shoulder to see Denny catching up to her. “That him?” he asked.
    She nodded, then resumed walking.
    “You sent him away?” he asked.
    “Of course. That’s over. Completely and totally. It wasn’t that much to start with.”
    “He drove all the way up here to try to convince you it was something.”
    “He’s used to having things go according to plan.”
    Denny was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “That’s a helluva car.”
    “I know. But I’m pretty focused on who’s in the car.”

    To Becca’s great surprise, Megan didn’t appear for homework club after school on Tuesday. Since Maron was in her class, she asked, “Was Megan sick today?”
    “No,” the little girl said. “She had a accident and her dad had to come and get her.”
    Becca gasped. “What kind of accident? Is she all right?”
    “She just peed herself. But it made her cry a lot.”
    “Oh, no! Poor Megan! I think that happens to just about everyone. I think it happened to me when I was a little girl. I hope she won’t be too upset.”
    Maron shrugged. “She was in the girl’s line. But she kept wiggling, so Mrs. Anderson put her at the end of the line. Twice.”
    Becca felt her cheeks grow warm, then hot. Surely there was more to the story, she thought. As a second-grade teacher she had encountered that particular problem plenty of times. They kept spare underwear in the nurse’s office for just such emergencies. Kids could lose all track of themselves or just get so caught up in their activities they waited too long. Just as often, someone would throw up with apparently no clue it was about to happen. It was the stuff of elementary school. And Megan was only eight.
    Becca would never put a little girl who was waiting for the bathroom at the end of the line if she was wiggling! That’s just asking for it! “Can’t you excuse yourself to the bathroom whenever you need to?” Becca asked. “Raise your hand? Ask permission?”
    Maron shrugged again. “Sort of.”
    “Sort of?”
    She sighed. “We have bathroom breaks every hour. If you don’t take the break when it’s time to, you can color or paint or talk quietly, but then you have to wait for the next time. And then there’s no talking, playing, pushing or laughing in line…or else. Megan kept saying she really had to go.”
    Becca raised her eyebrows. Nothing wrong with some rules; it was a good idea to help these little ones establish their own limits and boundaries. But dangling “playtime” if they pass on the bathroom break was too tempting.
    “I bet Mrs. Anderson felt really bad about the accident.”
    “I think the whole class always makes her feel bad,” Maron said. She shook her head, then went back to copying her spelling words.
    Can’t get much by kids, Becca thought. It seemed pretty obvious that this particular teacher was not a happy person.
    After the children had gone home for the day, Becca made her way down to Denny’s efficiency. Inside, she heard the shower running. She picked up the phone and called her mother.
    “Remember that teacher I had in fifth grade?” she asked. “Was her name Mrs. Anderson?”
    “No,” Beverly