Chapter Four
Allie
I woke again on Monday morning to the cats scratching at the door to be let in. There was a brief moment of panic as I realized it was Monday and I had to go to work again. Sundays never seemed to last as long as I wanted them to, even when I spent them cocooned in a blanket on the sofa sipping warm tea and watching documentaries on Netflix.
I went into the kitchen to make breakfast and turned on the portable TV on the cabinet. The local news was reporting an oil spill in the Gulf just outside of Galveston. I listened with growing interest as I fired up the skillet and stirred my pancake batter.
“The spill appears to have begun at around 8:30pm Sunday, local time,” said anchorman Brian Balleza. “No word yet on what caused this unfolding disaster, but FEMA estimates that 20,000 gallons of crude oil flooded into the Gulf, threatening marine life. The United States Coast Guard and the Environmental Protection Agency have been working overnight trying to contain the mess and have been joined by volunteers from across Texas and Louisiana.”
He cut to an interview with a curly-haired African-American woman who was pleading with tears in her eyes for additional volunteers. “I understand if you’ve got work,” she said, “but this is our water, this is the only world we have. We have to keep it clean, for ourselves and our children.”
The clip ended. Bill, solemnly frowning, said, “The EPA has released a statement saying the spill may take between three to four days to clean up. In the meantime, beachgoers are advised to be on their guard and to immediately report any suspicious-looking materials to this number.” A number flashed on the screen beneath him and Cindy Cisneros.
I reached for the remote and turned off the TV with a mixture of disgust and sadness. Lately, it seemed like you couldn’t turn on the news or get online without being confronted with some irreparable environmental catastrophe. As I thought of all those seagulls covered in black slime, a feeling of dread rose up like a giant fist inside me, squeezing my insides into knots. It didn’t seem right that I had to worry about ecological doom on top of all the other things I was already worried about.
The phone buzzed just as I was leaving the house. Thinking it was Dave, I tore open my purse and rummaged around until I found it. But it wasn’t Dave; it was my friend, Lindsay Armstrong.
“Hey, what’s up?” I said, not particularly feeling in the mood to talk.
“Hey,” said Lindsay in her chirpy voice. “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner tonight after I get out of class.”
Lindsay taught remedial English at Sulphur Springs High School. I had met her a couple of months ago at a bar during an MMA fight. We had both been abandoned by our boyfriends, and it was clear from the looks on our faces that neither of us wanted to be there.
“I think I would like that, actually,” I said as I started my car. “Where did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I would be the one cooking,” said Lindsay. “I just bought several pounds of fish on sale, and I was thinking about frying them with wine and Greek salad. Maybe some sourdough bread. It’s your call.”
“That all sounds great. When are your classes over?”
“Around five, but I’ll need about an hour to get ready.”
“Same. Text me your address, and I’ll meet you there at six.”
I was feeling a bit better by the time I pulled into the clinic ten minutes later. That feeling was quickly dispelled when I walked into the office and saw that Sarah wasn’t there. Dave was standing at the desk in his office frantically stuffing packages of cheddar crackers into a brown duffel bag.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Where’s Sarah?”
“She phoned in sick, not ten minutes ago,” he said. “Looks like she’s going to be out for a few days.” He closed the bag, looked up at me, and drew a deep sigh. “And so am I.”
“Where are you going?” I asked with an ominous feeling.
“I don’t know if you saw the news this morning, but there’s an oil spill on the Gulf Coast that needs cleaning up. The Coast Guard has called for a thousand volunteers, and at present, they only have about 250. My country needs me.”
“Don’t you think your job needs you?” I asked. “You can’t seriously be thinking of leaving me here to run the entire clinic by myself?”
Dave came forward and patted me gingerly on the shoulder. “Allie,” he said, slowly and quietly, “I have the utmost faith in you.” With a curt nod, he picked up his duffel bag and brushed past me.
“Wait,” I said, running after him into the main office. “If you’re going to Galveston or wherever, you should at least take me with you.”
Dave paused and shook his head. “No can do. With Sarah gone, I need someone to stay here and manage the office. Plus, we’ve been working together for nearly three months now. This is your test. I have no more to teach you.”
He walked out the door into the warm summer morning. I watched him leave with a miserable feeling.
“Is it too much to hope,” I said to Tomas, “that no one’s animals will get sick or injured in the next three to four days?” Tomas squawked in reply.
***
Even if you had never met Lindsay, you would have known she was a teacher just by walking into her apartment. There were at least twenty pictures thumb-tacked onto a corkboard on the wall of the dining room, all showing Lindsay kneeling and hugging students. There was no TV, but a bookshelf standing against the back wall sagged under the weight of old college textbooks and one-volume Shakespeares. In the corner by the window stood an easel and a small stool.
“I can’t believe he left you there all day by yourself,” said Lindsay as we stood in the kitchen together cutting vegetables. “From the way you describe him, he seems sort of manic.”
“He is, a bit,” I said. “Luckily the day wasn’t a total disaster. The only person who came by was Patricia Evans wanting me to refill her heartworm medication. I can do that. I didn’t feel remotely prepared to deal with a horse’s broken leg.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re a better assistant than you realize,” said Lindsay. “The first couple of years I worked at the high school, I kept expecting the principal to walk in and fire me at any moment. I figured it was only a matter of time before she realized there’d been a mistake, that I wasn’t remotely qualified to be teaching her students.”
“But you have your degree and everything,” I said, dropping the carrots into a large colander.
“I know,” said Lindsay. “Not that it mattered; I still felt like a fraud.”
“Well, I can guarantee you’re better at running a classroom than I am at running a clinic.”
“Maybe.” Lindsay smiled serenely. “It doesn’t sound like you did too bad today.”
I tossed the carrots and onions into the skillet.
“Anyway,” said Lindsay, “your boss obviously has a lot of respect for you, to leave you in charge like that. Only three months in, and he’s already letting you run the clinic.”
“I don’t think he had much choice this morning,” I said as I reached for the spatula. “He was in a hurry to leave, and Sarah was gone, so he appointed me the veterinarian pro tempore and crossed his fingers that it wouldn’t end in disaster.”
“I remember the first time I was left in charge of a classroom, back when I was a student teacher,” said Lindsay. “I was so sure I was going to forget something important and, I don’t know, cause a fire and accidentally kill twenty students. Teaching is both a lot harder and a lot easier than you think it’s going to be. It’s harder because it uses up so much of your energy. I come home at the end of the day, and I’m completely spent. And it’s easier because you don’t have to be doing something every single minute of the day. There’s a lot more sitting behind a desk than I was expecting.”
She handed me the lettuce, and I began cutting. “I actually wanted to become a teacher back in high school,” I said. “I haven’t completely ruled it out yet. I might look into getting my degree if I realize I don’t want to be a veterinarian.”
“What’s wrong with being a veterinarian?” asked Lindsay.
“It’s mostly my boss,” I said, reaching over to turn down the burner. “His attitude has made me a lot less eager to go into work every morning.”
“Because he’s flighty and irresponsible?”
“That,” I said, “and because he always seems to be flirting with me. Now, I’m not one of those women who thinks every boy who looks at me is hitting on me. He hasn’t exactly been shy about it. Just the other day, he asked me if I was dating.”
“Do you feel threatened by him?”
“A little. And again, it could be just me. My last relationship didn’t end on the best of terms, and I’m wary about getting into another one. Whenever I sense a man is interested, my internal alarm starts going off.”
As if to emphasize my point, the stove alarm went off at that moment. Lindsay reached into the oven and pulled out the sourdough bread. “I’m listening,” she said.
“So maybe I’m being unfair to him. It just feels like I’ve been putting out all these very clear signals that I’m not interested, and he still won’t take the hint. We’re friends on Facebook. I’m thinking about changing my relationship status to ‘in a relationship’ so he’ll leave me alone.”
“I did that with one of my girlfriends in high school,” said Lindsay. “This guy kept harassing her, so we said we were in a relationship on Facebook. Everyone thought we were dating, but he left her alone after that. And nobody asked me out for three years,” she added sadly. “On the other hand, if he’s that interested in you, you ought to consider taking him out.”
I scoffed incredulously. “Me and him? No way!”
“Just one date?” said Lindsay. “It couldn’t hurt anything.”
“Okay, first of all, he’s my boss,” I said, “and just, ew. Second, have you met the guy? I don’t guess you have. He’s at least fifteen years older than me.”
“That’s not a huge deal when you’re an adult,” said Lindsay. “Principal Schreiber’s husband is ten years older than she is.”
“Yeah, but isn’t Principal Schreiber in her fifties? I’m twenty-five. I just don’t think I’m ready for that.”
“Fair enough,” said Lindsay, tearing off a chunk of the bread and breaking it in half. “But you ought to go out with someone, if only to get your boss off your back.”
I took the piece of bread she offered me; it was warm and buttery and melted in my mouth. “I’m not against dating; I’m just not interested in him.”
“Well, do you know any guys besides him?”
“I’ve tried, believe me. But Sulphur Springs isn’t exactly crawling with eligible young men. Most of the guys I meet down at the clinic are old farmers.”
“It’s about the same at the high school. The ratio of male teachers to females is depressing. I tried joining a church singles group, an art club, and a dance club. Surprise! There wasn’t a single boy in any of them.”
“Where have all the men gone?” I asked. “Have they given up on clubs and art? Do they just sit around in their beanbag chairs playing Halo and Call of Duty?” Lindsay laughed, and it made me laugh. “I don’t know what boys do!”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” she said with a shrug. “I keep hoping I’ll meet a handsome young man in the teen fiction section at Half-Price, and that he’ll immediately realize we’re meant to be together. But alas, I never do.”
“Well, here’s to men,” I said, holding up my half-empty water glass.
“To men,” said Lindsay, raising her own glass. “Wherever they are!”