She started on the long walk home, thinking of Tiffany’s e-mail that morning. Maybe a blond ponytail and blue eyes could do what fate couldn’t.
A brassy car horn broke Ronnie out of her reverie as she waited to cross the street.
“Hey, Ronnie! Need a ride?” An elderly grocer she’d known since childhood was leaning out his pickup trucks window.
“No thanks, Mr. Dugan.” She smiled at the old man. “I’m almost home.”
“Come on, Ronnie. I know you better than that. You still got two, three miles yet.” He leaned over and swung the creaky door wide.
Ronnie hesitated, then sighed and clambered up into the truck. “I am pretty tired. And I do have to work tonight. Thanks.”
“I’m heading past your place anyway. As long as you don’t mind if I take five minutes to drop off some equipment on the way.”
“No problem.” Ronnie sank back into the cracked vinyl seat with a sigh of gratitude.
They rode in silence as they approached the center of town. There wasn’t much traffic. The McDonald’s and the liquor store were doing a brisk evening business, but few cars lined the strip of other storefronts. Even the parking lot of the local supermart—once, the towns main attraction—was sparsely populated. A sheet of plywood had recently gone up over the entrance to the dance studio where she had spent so much of her time.
“So you just come from cheerleading practice?” Mr. Dugan asked.
“No … not exactly.”
“You look like you did.”
“Yeah.” Ronnie looked out the window.
“I’ve known you since you were born, child. What’s wrong?”
Tears crept into the corner of her eyes, and she kept her head turned so the old man couldn’t see her face.
“I just …” She took a deep breath and tried again. “I just lost my last chance at a college scholarship.” She saw Mr. Dugan look sideways in silence, giving her time to form the words. “One of the big state schools has this famous cheerleading team, and they hand out scholarships every year. They just had tryouts. None of us made it.”
“Ronnie, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wanted to go to college.”
“Well, I do.” Tears threatened to erupt again. “I have to. I have to. Look at this place, Mr. Dugan!” She jabbed her finger toward the windshield. “Half the storefronts are boarded up. And all my classmates want to do is hang out in the McDonald’s parking lot and smoke weed.”
She caught herself and glanced sideways. “Oh—I probably shouldn’t say that in front of you.”
He gave her a sad smile. “It’s not like it surprises me, Ronnie.”
“And then they’ll have babies too early, or get stuck in some minimum-wage job at the factory for the rest of their lives.” She closed her eyes. “I want more than that! I want to get out and do something important, something that helps people.”
“Like what?”
Ronnie didn’t answer for a moment, then she continued in a quiet voice. “About three years ago, I hurt my back really bad in that car accident.”
“I remember. You had that cast thing on for a while.”
“Yeah. Well, it only got worse, even though I saw a couple of doctors about it. Finally, someone referred me to this physical therapist. She worked with me for a whole year, until I was back to normal. And she didn’t even charge me the whole fee, only what the insurance would cover from the jerk that hit me. That’s the kind of thing I want to do. That therapist knew so much cool stuff, and she could help people with it! I don’t want to work at the pizza place for the rest of my life. I don’t want to end up stuck here like—”
She caught herself before the words slipped out. Like my mother …
Mr. Dugan glanced at her and then looked back at the road. The wheels of the truck bumped over the entrance to a small parking lot, and he steered the truck to a gentle stop.
“I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Ronnie watched in the rearview mirror as the elderly man began hauling a heavy industrial cooler out of the back of the truck. She jumped out and ran around to the back.
“That’s so heavy! Can I help—”
Mr. Dugan braced the chest against the tailgate and lowered it to the ground. He grinned at her as he slid a dolly under it’s base, secured it with a few straps, and wheeled it away, whistling to himself.
She watched him go, heading toward Big Al’s Fix-It Shop. The other storefronts had worn signs proclaiming Shepherd Christian Books—All Your Christian Needs for Less, Oasis Tanning Salon, and Guns Galore—Guns Guns Guns!
She rolled her eyes and climbed back into the pickup. Maybe she should think about changing jobs. Tiffany had hated working at the tanning salon, but sure had loved looking sun-bronzed in the dead of winter.
Ronnie made a face. Just another dead-end job. Why was it that she was the only one of her friends who wanted to look beyond the next paycheck, the next boyfriend? Last year when she’d had her final back checkup, she had sat in her doctor’s private office and stared, transfixed, at the diplomas on the wall, the books on the shelves behind his desk. She listened, envious, as he rattled off the dosage and instructions for patients’ medicine from memory. Now he was making a difference, and was helping people and making great money at the same time. Just like her physical therapist. They weren’t trapped: they could do anything they wanted to do.
Why on earth were they doing it in this town?
The driver’s door creaked open and Mr. Dugan settled in behind the wheel. “Okay. We’re out of here.”
He started the engine and feathered the clutch just so. As the old pickup got underway, he continued their conversation as if they had never stopped.
“You know, my daughter-in-law—Angela Dugan—is a guidance counselor at your school.”
“I’ve seen her a couple times.”
“Why don’t you go talk to her tomorrow? Maybe she’ll have some ideas for you. I know she’ll appreciate your desire to go to college. She went to college, you know. The only one of us to go.”
“Really? Where?”
“Georgia State.”
Ronnie’s eyes widened. “Georgia State! That’s where—I mean, I had been thinking about Georgia State, too. But if I don’t have a scholarship, I’ll have to put myself through school.”
“Atlanta isn’t cheap, you know.”
Ronnie looked down at her hands. “Yeah, I know.”
A few minutes later, the pickup pulled up a narrow side road and stopped. Ronnie gave Mr. Dugan a quick hug and hopped out by a row of mailboxes down the road from her house, glad that excuse had come to mind.
She waved as the truck drove away, collected a short stack of mail, and headed down the road for home.
“Well, I don’t care what you think!” Ronnie’s eyes snapped across the kitchen. “I can finish high school by GED and start at Georgia State in the fall if I work enough.”
Her mother shook her head, grinding a cigarette into an ashtray on the counter. “You can get a job here and start college next year if you’re still so wild about it. It’s not like you’ve got anything special to offer an employer. So there’s no need to go so far for work.”
Ronnie made an exasperated noise. “Give me a break. You know how hard it is to find a good job these days! And I’m a hard worker, but there’s certainly no work in this town that would pay enough for me to live on, much less save for college.”
“You can live here.”
“No, I can’t. And you know that.” She tried to hold her mother’s gaze, but the tired eyes flickered down and away. The kitchen was silent a moment.
Her mother reached for the half-crinkled pack lying on the counter beside her, and turned slightly to light another smoke.
Ronnie opened the refrigerator door, looking for something to eat. “At least the beer is still here from this morning,” she muttered. “That’s something.”
“Seth bought a new six-pack before you got home.”
Ronnie pulled a lo
ne apple from the crisper drawer, then set about searching the cupboards for the box of macaroni and cheese she knew was there somewhere. She made and ate her dinner silently, sitting at the kitchen table and staring out at the lawn. Her mother retreated into the living room to watch television, leaving Ronnie alone.
Could she do it? Did she have the guts? Would her friends miss her? She looked down at her plate, her stomach sinking. Did she have any choice?
The sound of a souped-up engine broke her spell, and she moved quickly over to the sink, rinsing her plate and putting it in the dishwasher. She heard the screen door slam shut, and Seth’s heavy steps into the kitchen.
“I thought I told you to clean the kitchen this morning.”
She kept her back to him, rinsing a few of the dishes stacked in the sink. “You did. But I had school, and then the cheerleading tryouts. I just got back.”
He walked over and gripped her arm, swinging her unsteadily around. “Don’t you get lippy with me, young lady.”
She yanked her arm out of his grasp and glared at him, her breath catching in her chest. “You’ve been drinking, Seth. Why don’t you just go sleep it off?”
“Why you—” He slapped her across the cheek. “Why don’t you just sleep that off?”
Ronnie stepped back, her face stinging, then pushed past him and headed down the hall. Her mother never looked up from the television.
She swept into her room, closed the door and locked it, then turned and kicked it with her foot, hard. She flopped down beside the bed and pressed a hand to her cheek, trying not to cry. Just another day in the Hanover family. If you could call this a family.
She pictured her coach addressing the rejected cheerleaders, and a wave of despair swept over her. Was she ever going to be anybody? Maybe she was just fooling herself. Maybe she should just accept the fact that there was nothing special about her.
She scooted over to her nightstand, opened the bottom drawer, and lifted out a weathered shoebox. She leaned back against the bed and opened the lid. A white teddy bear, well-loved and worn in patches, stared up at her.
Ronnie smiled and pulled him out. Teddy had a lot of secrets on him, a lot of comforted tears. She set him aside and felt in the box for the folded paper she knew was there.
It was yellowed with age, soft and brown and worn from many creases, many foldings and unfoldings. Ronnie carefully spread the page on her lap, pondering the familiar words, surrounded by little drawings and stickers; perfect for a second-grade child.
Ronnie, I’m very glad you and your father joined us at church today! Although you just came to my Sunday school class for the first time, I can tell there is something special about you. You have a kind heart I watched you help and comfort that little boy when he cut himself and it is clear that you have a gift. A gift of healing of helping people. Just like in the story of the Good Samaritan, you care about other people and it shows.
I don’t know how long you and your dad will be with our church. I’d love to have you every week. But just in case, I wanted you to know that you are a special girl, and Jesus loves you very much. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you.
A chime from the computer made Ronnie turn, and she carefully refolded the page and stowed it in its hiding place. She checked her e-mail and smiled. Now here was another person who had believed in her … even if some of her crazy plots were a little unorthodox. Including the one she was pushing at the moment. Ronnie clicked on Tiffany’s e-mail.
Where are you, girl? I’ve been trying to instant-message you all afternoon!
Listen, you need to stop thinking so much and just do it. Now that your man is history, you’ve got no reason to stay I’ll be back in town on Friday to close my bank account and all that, so you can come back to Atlanta with me. Otherwise, you’ll just have to find a ride or pay for the train, and I know you don’t have the money
One look at the car I’m driving, you’ll wonder why you waited so long. I told Marco and the others that you’re finally considering it, and we can set up an interview as soon as you arrive. I know they’ll love you. I’m only worried that once they check you out, I’m history! Just kidding. Sort of.
Anyway you know you need to get out of there, so make like Nike. I’ll see you Friday.
Ronnie laughed when she reached the end of her friend’s message. Well, why not.
She stood up from the computer and started rummaging in her closet for a duffel bag. Tiffany was right. She thought too much, worried too much, planned too much. There was nothing for her here. Not one of her girlfriends really knew her. And her former boyfriend was pretending she wasn’t even there. She finished loading up her duffel bag, stowed it out of sight, and got ready for another night at her busy, dead-end job.
There was no more reason to stay, and—she shuddered slightly at the thought of Seth’s probing eyes—every reason to go.
“Here you are.” Ronnie slid the round serving tray onto the table. “It’s hot, so watch it.”
The foursome at the table reached for the slices of pizza. One woman looked up. “Oh, can you refill my soda?”
“Sure thing.” Ronnie put on a cheerful face. “Anyone else?”
The others shook their heads, their mouths full of pizza.
As she turned away, a customer at another table caught her eye, motioning at his watch. She hurried over.
“Sir?”
“Remember, I need to be out of here by seven-thirty.”
“Of course, sir. They’re moving as fast as they can in the kitchen.”
“I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes already.”
“Yes, sir, I know, but it is a large order.”
A man at the next table motioned at her, and she held up a finger, indicating she’d be right there. The first man was still talking.
“Well, just see what you can do.”
“I will, sir.”
“And refill my Coke?”
“Certainly, sir.”
She grabbed his glass and stopped by the next table. The customer jabbed his finger toward the pizza in the center of the table.
“This is sausage, and we asked for pepperoni.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Ronnie reached to grab the tray. “It’ll take them just a few minutes to get a new pizza out.”
The customer looked annoyed. “I wish you’d checked before you brought it out.”
“I should have, sir, but we are very busy tonight. I really apologize.”
“We’re short on time, and this is going to cost us. I need to talk to the manager.”
“I’ll get him right away.”
The man nodded and turned back to his family’s conversation. Ronnie hustled toward the kitchen, the faulty pizza in one hand and the two empty glasses in the other. A minute later, she had fresh glasses on the first two tables, and had stopped by the third to reassure them that their pepperoni pizza and the manager would be out shortly.
The front door chimed, and she headed that direction. Too few waitresses tonight, and the customers kept arriving. At least she’d make some good tip money if she didn’t make too many mistakes in her rush.
She saw two grade-school-age kids and slowed. “Are you eating here or takeout?”
A young girl looked up at her. “Here. Mom’s right behind us.”
Ronnie grabbed three menus and looked up as the door chimed again. Her face lit up with astonishment.
“Susan!”
“Ronnie.” A woman in her thirties came toward her, arms outstretched for a hug. “So good to see you.”
“These are your kids?”
“Yes, they are.” Susan introduced them, then gave Ronnie an intent stare. “I didn’t know you were waitressing. You look terrific. How’s your back?”
“Wonderful, thanks to you! I was just telling someone about you today.” Ronnie heard a patron calling to her from a nearby table. “Let’s get you seated, and you can look at the menu for a few minutes, okay?”
“Great. Maybe we can
catch up if you have time.”
Ronnie laughed as she headed toward the beckoning table. “Time is a bit hard to come by, but I’ll find a way.”
For the next hour, Ronnie sped around the restaurant, taking and filling orders, smiling at the customers, refilling glasses, making change, and stashing her tips safely in her apron. The irritated family man left her almost nothing, but everyone else seemed to think she’d done a good job. In the midst of the rush, she brought Susan and her kids their calzones and drinks, but had time for nothing but passing pleasantries.
Later, as Ronnie cleared Susan’s table, Susan said, “Well, you certainly seem to be doing well. Is it always this busy?”
Ronnie nodded. “It’s finally slowing down, thank goodness. Long day.”
“So, how long has it been, Ronnie?”
“I think my final appointment with you was over a year ago.”
“That long?” Susan shook her head. “Time flies. So you graduate from high school in …?”
“In June. I’m a senior now.”
“Any thought about what you want to do afterwards?”
Ronnie set her tray down on the table and crouched down a bit, lowering her voice. “Actually, I’ve decided I want to become a physical therapist.”
“That’s great!” Susan exclaimed. She winced and looked around. “I guess you don’t want your employer to know.”
“No. The owner thinks I’m going to be here forever. I’m going to have to have a difficult conversation with him pretty soon.”
She wiped an imaginary spot off the table, nervous at the thought of how soon.
“Have you decided where you want to go?”
Ronnie grinned. “Where do you think?”
Susan returned the smile. “You’ll love Georgia State, I promise.”
“I know. You convinced me. After all your two-hour brainwashing sessions—disguised as physical therapy—what choice did I have?”
“Well, it’s not just a matter of opinion, you know. They have the best program. And since you’ll get the in-state tuition …” She shrugged.
“It’s a no-brainer, I know. For the first time in my life, I feel like I have a direction.” Ronnie swiped the table for the fifth time, then caught the owner/manager beckoning to her. She sighed. “I have to go. I didn’t even get to hear how you’re doing.”