"Looks good." Harry admired the entrance tables. "It's simple. There's nothing to knock over. No centerpiece. They can pick up their badges and go."
"Now, where's the pile of badges for people you couldn't think of, I mean, you couldn't think of anything to say. You'll have to think fast," Chris said.
"They're here in this paper bag on my seat." Harry nervously pointed to the bag. "But I don't know if I'll be able to think of anything."
"Well, since I have no preconceived notions, I'll pop over from time to time and whisper in your ear-things like 'He looks like a warthog!'" She smiled. "Got your dress?"
"Yes. Miranda and Susan hauled me to town. Only have to wear it to the dance. I'm not wearing it the rest of the time."
A whoop from the hallway diverted their attention.
"Harry! You owe me ten dollars," Miranda's voice rang out.
Harry, along with the animals, hurried out into the long, polished hallway to behold Miranda on a skateboard, Tracy just behind her.
"I don't believe it!"
"Ten dollars." Miranda triumphantly held out her hand.
"Did I say ten dollars?" She grinned, then fished in her pocket. She'd forgotten the bet but vaguely remembered a crack about Miranda not being able to skateboard.
"She can do wheelies," Pewter remarked.
"Frightening, isn't it?" Tucker guffawed. "That's a lot of lady to hit the ground."
As though she understood the corgi, Miranda pushed off with her right foot and headed directly for the dog, who had the presence of mind to jump out of the way.
Mrs. Murphy said, "She's lost a lot of weight, Tucker. There's not so much lady to hit the ground. But still . . ."
"Sweetest ten dollars I ever made." Miranda held up the green bill after stopping.
Tracy stepped off his skateboard to put his arm around Miranda. "This girl practiced. She can even go down hills now."
"Mrs. H., you're something else." Harry laughed.
"Never underestimate the power of a woman." Miranda again waved the ten dollars in the air as Susan, BoomBoom, and Chris entered the hallway to see what was going on.
"Hee hee." Mrs. Murphy, eyes gleaming, hopped on Miranda's skateboard, rolling a few yards down the hallway.
"Human. That cat is human," Chris marveled.
"Don't flatter yourself." Mrs. Murphy got off, made a circle at a trot, then hopped on again, picking up a little speed.
Miranda finally took the skateboard from her, putting it behind the door of the cafeteria. Murphy would have pushed it out to play some more but Harry scooped her up to take her home. She was tired, even though the name-tag display hadn't been that trying. It was the anticipation that was exhausting her, that and a tiny ripple of dread.
34
Heart racing, Harry threw another log on the fire in the bedroom fireplace. She crawled into bed, finding the sheets cold. Then she crawled out, grabbed a sweatshirt, pulled it over her head, and slid back under the covers. Keeping an old house warm was a struggle, especially for Harry, who watched her pennies.
"Will you settle down?" Pewter grumbled from the other pillow.
The dry cherry log slowly caught fire, releasing a lovely scent throughout the room.
Harry tilted the nightstand light toward her, picked up her clipboard and reviewed tomorrow's agenda. Mrs. Murphy, cuddled on her left side, observed. Tucker was stretched out in front of the hearth, head on her paws.
"Okay. The tables are already set alongside the gym for breakfast. Susan's having the food delivered at seven-thirty. Bonnie Baltier said she'd be here in time to help me man the check-in table. She understands she has to write something, anything, on the name cards with names only on them. The band will set up tonight when we go home to change. Amazing how many amps those electric guitars and stuff suck up. And I suppose we'll all hold BoomBoom's hand, who's really supposed to be in charge, but by now is Miss Basketcase Crozet High." She parked her pencil behind her right ear. "My second superlative photo didn't turn out so badly. I think it's better than BoomBoom's."
"Me, too," Tucker called up to her.
"Just don't draw a mustache on BoomBoom's, Mom-or at least wait until the end of the reunion."
"Mrs. Murphy, maybe I'll put a blue and gold bow on you for the festivities."
"Won't she be fetching," Pewter meowed.
"Don't be catty," Murphy rejoined.
"Ha, ha," Tucker dryly commented.
"You guys are a regular gossip club tonight." Harry scanned her clipboard, then put it on the nightstand. She put her right hand over her heart. "My heart is thumping away. I don't know why I'm so nervous. I wasn't nervous at our fifteenth reunion." She stroked Murphy's silken head. "People know I'm divorced. Oh, I'm not really nervous about that. They can just hang if they don't like it. I'm hardly the only person in our class who's suffered romantic ups and downs. Don't know. Of course, how many divorced people are dating their exes? Guess it's seeing everybody at the same time. Overload."
"Sure, Mom," Mrs. Murphy purred, closing her eyes.
She snatched her clipboard again. "Fair said he'd be there as a gofer. Everyone will be glad to see him. Half the girls in my class had a crush on him. I think he wants to be there-in case." She again spoke to Mrs. Murphy since Pewter had curled up in a ball, her back to Harry. "Say, can you believe Miranda on that skateboard? Or you, Murphy."
"I can do anything."
"Oh, please." Tucker rolled on her side. "Why don't you two go to sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long, long day."
As if in response, Harry replaced the clipboard and turned out the light.
35
Screams echoed up and down Crozet High School's green halls as classmates from 1980 and 1950 greeted one another. Southern women feel a greeting is not sufficiently friendly if not accompanied by screams, shouts, flurries of kisses, and one big hug. The men tone down the shouts but grasp hands firmly, pat one another on the back, punch one another on the arm, and if really overcome, whisper, "Sumbitch."
Harry, up at five-thirty, as was Tracy, finished her chores in record time, arriving at the school by seven. Tracy picked up Miranda so he arrived at seven-fifteen. Everything was actually organized so Harry sat next to Bonnie Baltier checking people in. Dennis Rablan, three cameras hanging around his neck, took photographs of everyone. Chris assisted him with long, smoldering looks as she handed him film.
Tucker sat under Harry's legs while Mrs. Murphy defiantly sat on the table. Pewter ditched all of them, heading toward the cafeteria for Miranda's reunion. The food would be better.
The class of 1950 arranged tables in a circle so everyone could chat and see one another. Pewter zoomed into the cafeteria, which was decorated with blue and gold stallions built like carousel horses and fixed to the support beams. Miranda had said that Tracy was working on something special but no one realized it would be this special. The beams themselves were wrapped with wide blue and gold metallic ribbons. The room was festooned with bunting. The cafeteria actually looked better than the gym with its huge photographs, then and now, and blue and gold streamers dangling from huge balloon clusters.
Best, to Pewter's way of thinking, was the breakfast room itself. Miranda had sewn blue and gold tablecloths. On each table was a low, pretty, fall floral bouquet.
Pewter noticed Miranda's and Tracy's skateboards resting behind the door. She also noticed that this reunion, forty-two strong, was quieter. There were more tears, more genuine affection. One member, a thin man with a neatly trimmed beard, sat in a wheelchair. A few others needed assistance due to the vicissitudes of injury or illness. Apart from that, Pewter thought that most of the class of 1950 looked impressive, younger than their years, with Miranda glowing. She'd lost twenty-five pounds since the beginning of September and Pewter had never realized how pretty Miranda really was. She wore a tartan wraparound skirt, a sparkling white blouse, and her usual sensible shoes. She also smiled every time she glanced at Tracy. He smiled at her a lot, too.