“That I believe,” Audrey said, “because you are totally uninvolved in the school. Both kindergarten classes were there!”
“Was anyone hurt?” Mom said.
“Thank the Lord, no.” Audrey had a crazy smile. Mom and I share a fascination with what we call happy-angry people. This display of Audrey Griffin’s had just become the best version of that ever.
“OK. That’s good.” Mom sighed a huge sigh. “That’s good.” I could tell she was trying to convince herself.
“Good?!” Audrey shrieked. “My backyard is six feet high in mud. It broke windows, destroyed plants, trees, hardwood floors, ripped my washer and dryer out of the wall!” Audrey was talking really fast and taking lots of breaths. It was like with each item she ticked off, the needle on her happy-angry meter was moving more and more to the right. “My barbecue is gone. My window treatments are ruined. My greenhouse crushed. Seedlings killed. Specimen apple trees that have taken twenty-five years to establish, pulled up by the roots. Japanese maples flattened. Heirloom roses gone. The fire pit that I tiled myself is gone!”
Mom was sucking in the corners of her mouth to keep a smile from forming. I had to quickly look down so I wouldn’t crack up. But any perverse humor we might have found in the situation suddenly ended.
“And that sign!” Audrey said with a growl.
Mom’s face dropped. She could barely utter the words “The sign.”
“What sign?” I asked.
“What kind of person puts up a sign—” Audrey said.
“I’ll have it taken down today,” Mom said.
“What sign?” I repeated.
“The mud took care of that for you,” Audrey told Mom. I’d never noticed how light green Audrey Griffin’s eyes were until they bugged out at my mother.
“I’ll pay for everything,” Mom said.
Here’s something about Mom: she’s bad with annoyances, but great in a crisis. If a waiter doesn’t refill her water after she’s asked three times, or she forgets her dark glasses when the sun comes out, look out! But when it comes to something truly bad happening, Mom plugs into this supreme calm. I think she got it from all those years half living at Children’s because of me. I’m just saying, when things are bad, there’s nobody better to have in your corner than Mom. But this calm of hers seemed only to set Audrey Griffin off worse.
“Is that all everything is about for you?! Money?!” The madder Audrey got, the sparklier her eyes became. “Up here in your gigantic house looking down on all of us, writing checks, but never deigning to come off your throne and honor us with your presence?”
“You’re obviously emotional,” Mom said. “You need to remember the work I had done on the hillside was at your insistence, Audrey. I used your guy and had him do it on the day you specified.”
“So none of it is your responsibility?” Audrey clucked. “That’s mighty convenient for you. How about the sign, then? Did I make you put that up, too? Really, I’m curious.”
“What sign?!” I started to get scared with all the talk of the sign.
“Buzz,” Mom turned to me. “I did something really stupid. I’ll tell you about it.”
“This poor child,” Audrey said bitterly. “With everything she’s had to go through.”
“Whaa—?” I said.
“I’m truly sorry about the sign,” Mom stated emphatically to Audrey. “I did it on impulse the day I found you on my lawn with your gardener.”
“You’re blaming me?” Audrey said. “Isn’t this just fascinating!” It was like her happy needle had busted through the danger zone and was now entering uncharted territory where no happy-angry person has gone before. I, for one, was frightened.
“I’m blaming myself,” Mom said. “I’m just making the point that there is a larger context to what happened today.”
“You think a gentleman coming to your house to give you an estimate for yard work, which is legally required by city code, is equivalent to putting up a billboard, traumatizing both kindergarten classes, jeopardizing Galer Street enrollment, and destroying my home?”
“The sign was a reaction to that,” Mom said. “Yes.”
“Wooowww,” Audrey Griffin said, spreading the word up and down like a roller coaster. Her voice was so full of hate and craziness that it pierced my skin. My heart began racing in a scary way it never had before.
“This is really interesting.” Audrey widened her eyes. “So you think putting up a hateful billboard over my home is an appropriate reaction to getting an estimate for yard work.” She pointed her finger in eight different directions during that last sentence. “I think I understand.”
“It was an overreaction,” Mom told Audrey with renewed calm. “Don’t forget you were trespassing on my property.”
“So basically,” Audrey exploded, “you’re insane!” Her eyes fluttered spastically. “Golly, I was always wondering. Now I have my answer.” Her face froze in demented wonder and she started clapping her hands really fast and small.
“Audrey,” Mom said. “Don’t stand there and pretend you haven’t been playing this game, too.”
“I don’t play games.”
“How about getting Gwen Goodyear to send out that letter about me running over your foot? What was that?”
“Oh, Bernadette,” Audrey said, shaking her head sadly. “You really need to stop being so paranoid. Perhaps if you interacted more with people, you’d realize we’re not a bunch of scary bogeymen who are out to get you.” She held up both hands and clawed the air.
“I think we’re done,” Mom said. “Again, I want to apologize for the sign. It was a stupid mistake and I intend to take full responsibility, in terms of money, in terms of time, in terms of Gwen Goodyear and Galer Street.” Mom turned and walked around the front of the car. When she was about get in, Audrey Griffin started up again, like a movie monster come back to life.
“Bee never would have been accepted to Galer Street if they knew she lived in this house,” Audrey Griffin said. “Ask Gwen. Nobody realized you were the people from L.A. who came to Seattle and bought a twelve-thousand-square-foot building in the middle of a charming neighborhood and called it your home. Where we’re standing now? Within a four-mile radius is the house I grew up in, the house my mother grew up in, and the house my grandmother grew up in.”
“That I believe,” Mom said.
“My great-grandfather was a fur trapper in Alaska,” Audrey said. “Warren’s great-grandfather bought furs from him. My point is, you come in here with your Microsoft money and think you belong. But you don’t belong. You never will.”
“Say amen to that.”
“None of the other mothers like you, Bernadette. Do you realize we had an eighth-grade moms-and-daughters Thanksgiving on Whidbey Island, but we didn’t invite you and Bee? But I hear you had a wonderful holiday at Daniel’s Broiler!”
My breath kind of stopped then. I was standing there, but it was like Audrey Griffin had knocked the wind out of me. I reached for the car to steady myself.
“That’s it, Audrey.” Mom took about five steps toward her. “Fuck you.”
“Fine,” Audrey said. “Drop the f-bomb in front of a child. I hope that makes you feel powerful.”
“I’ll say it again,” Mom said. “Fuck you for bringing Bee into this.”
“We love Bee,” Audrey Griffin said. “Bee is a terrific student and a wonderful girl. It just goes to show how resilient children are because she’s turned out so well in spite of it all. If Bee were my daughter, and I know I’m speaking for every mother at Whidbey Island, we’d never ship her off to boarding school.”