“Last time I checked, my grandson works in that building. Does he not?”
“Yes.”
“Is his green monstrosity in the shop? Is there some reason he can’t take them home?”
I hide a laugh at her disdain for his Land Cruiser, putting one hand on my hip and crossing my ankles. “Well, he goes to the gym right after work for conditioning.”
She waves this off as a non-issue and turns to her best friend. “Opal, did I raise my grandson wrong? He can’t helphis wife and grandmother out because he needs to pump iron? He’s made a career of catching balls. Toddlers can do that.”
“Kids these days,” Opal agrees with a teasing tsk.
“What did Lisa say to you about this turn of events?” Stella asks airily. Max claims the principal has acted like she has no idea we got married, despite the chatter that ran through the halls for a few days. We know Opal didn’t blow our cover, so I’m curious what Lisa’s thoughts are. Did it catch her by surprise? Does she only care that he shows up and does his job?
Opal laughs. “The only thing she’s said to me is had she known marriage would make him this nice, she would’ve asked you two to get married at the beginning of the year.”
“Really, Nola, how are you ever going to finish this if we’re doing an hour at a time?” Stella has pivoted back to the task at hand, glancing back and forth from the lighting to the lounge chair.
I roll my eyes at Opal as Stella removes her robe and hands it to an employee. I’ve only seen her wear brightly colored kaftans and was excited to show her the fuchsia color I’d mixed up just for her.
Instead, she’s wearing a tea-length, black, off-shoulder cocktail dress. She’s every bit the old Hollywood glam that Max said she once was.
“Stella,” I say, stepping close to check out the delicate lace on the bodice. “This dress is amazing.”
“What’s more amazing, dear, is that I was able to squeeze into it,” she says with a dry laugh. “I’m onto the nutritionists here. They’re trying to fatten us up before we die.” She tosses her eyes at the staff members, sure of her conspiracy. “So many carbs and dessert every night. How is this sustainable?”
I bite my cheek and ask, “How did you want to sit?”
She drops into the chair, knees together, ankles crossed and forearms resting on the armrests. With one eyebrow cocked, she stares me down. It’s terrifyingly stately. Nobody could pull it off genuinely but her.
“It’s perfect. Just verifying, though, no smile?” I tease half-way.
She tuts. “I’ve done that before in other sittings. I’ve had five portraits painted over my lifetime, you know. I’ve done flirty, coy, and fun. This one is my legacy. I am Stella Hutchings and I may have had to give up my spot as Palm Springs royalty, but I’ll never give up knowing that I am power.”
There’s an unspoken, underlying warning in what she’s saying. A battle in knowing that not only is she losing her mind but a fierce loyalty to her grandkids. I’m the person who’s thrown the status quo of her safe cocoon into disarray, and this is the first time we’re alone for her to mark her territory.
Internally, I allow three seconds of self-doubt to creep in. Thoughts of,I thought she liked me. I thought she trusted me with Max and her legacy. Is she only agreeing to this for Max? Has she changed her mind about what she dubbed a fun scheme?flood my brain, then I straighten up. This is only Stella giving her expectations to the artist. It’s business, nothing personal. With the most convincing smile I can muster, I promise, “It’s a perfect vision and I’m going to do my best to capture it for you. You’re in great hands.”
A cheerful voicegreeting me with, “Hey there!” while rapping on my window startles me from my doom scrolling as I sit in the school pickup line. I got to Garnet Charter School ten minutes early, still bouncing between being rattled by Stella and reminding myself she meant nothing by it—besides, it’ll all be over in a few months anyway.
The last thing I need is to be accosted by the PTO president. We woke up to frost, have been treated to snow flurries, and now the wind is gusting. It’s not chitchat weather. Jen’s got an all-too-eager grin on her face. I hold up my device and shout through the glass, “I’ll text you.”
She motions for me to roll down the window and I reluctantly oblige, giving her a gap at the top of two inches. Placing her mouth near the crack, she says, “I noticed you hadn’t signed up for a spot in Wrap the Community with Love.”
“I’m sorry, but do you go out of your way to see if I have signed up for every single school function, volunteer opportunity, and parent engagement event?” I know I’m not being a team player, but the last thing I have time for this month is wrapping a bunch of donated gifts for charity.
There are four evenings dedicated to this during the last week of school before Christmas break. Nobody ever wants shifts on Friday because that’s when there’s an influx of last-minute presents dropped off. Recognizing that is the mostbah humbugattitude in the world, I internally make a note to buy a few extra for the donation pile at home and continue my dismissive stare.
She seems undeterred by my attitude and keeps that plastered smile going. “Anyway, I went ahead and signed you up for next Friday.”
Perfect.
I roll my window back up in response as my phone vibrates with a text.
Max: Hey, I’m aware it’s last minute, but Aaron wants to debrief about the weekend meeting. He’s in town and wants to meet tonight.
I look up at the school and then at my clock on the dash. There are still three minutes until the bell.
Me: Are you texting in front of your students?
