busy life, buoyed by running yet another of a series of successful charity events—and still she’d had time for the occasional night out with Georgia and Amanda. They hadn’t done that in a while, and through no lack of interest on either of the other women’s parts. On each proposed evening, Karen either had a meeting, a sick child, or a headache. Lately, all that remained of her smiles were lines that left her looking tired and tense.
“There’s a bake sale at the school tomorrow,” she explained now. “I told Russ I’d save him the worry and make extra cookies for Tommy to take in.”
“You’re a good soul,” Amanda said in what was probably the understatement of the year. Karen was the designated driver of the parent community, as well as perennial room mother, yard sale chairman, art-day coordinator, PTO head. What with handling all that, plus four children between the ages of fifteen and six, she worked as hard as any woman Amanda knew. Amanda looked up to her for that. She hoped that as a mother she would have half the stamina Karen had—or used to have.
“How are the kids?” Amanda asked.
“The twins’ asthma is kicking up because of the pollen, but otherwise we’re fine. How are you?”
“Not bad.”
Karen raised her brows, inviting news.
Amanda shook her head. “It didn’t take.”
“Oh, Mandy I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. Getting pregnant is so easy for some people. Speaking of which, have you talked with Gretchen?”
“Talked? Not quite. We wave when we pass. That’s about it.”
“I think she’s pregnant.”
Karen recoiled. “Pregnant? Oh, no, I don’t think so. She can’t bepregnant. She isn’t seeing anyone. She doesn’t go anywhere. She’s still mourning Ben.” Her voice went lower. “What makes you think she’s pregnant?”
“I saw her earlier, and she looked it. She’s always had great breasts, but her stomach used to be flat.”
“Yeah. Like a model. Lee tells me not to compare myself to her, but how not to? Our men drool when they look over there. They fall over themselves volunteering to help her with chores. Is that because she’s a riveting conversationalist?” Slowly she shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She looked suddenly worried. “I’ve never seen a car there overnight, but someone might have parked in the garage.”
Possibly, Amanda reasoned. “But wouldn’t one of us have noticed a car coming or going?”
“Maybe not. Maybe he parks elsewhere and sneaks in.” Looking a bit pale, Karen insisted, “Gretchen can’t be pregnant. She really can’t be.”
“Mandy,” Graham hollered across both yards.
“Emergency call,” Amanda explained and gave Karen a quick hug. Her heart went out to this woman who was so unappreciated by those she catered to most—her husband, Lee, being the major offender.
But Karen insisted that he had his good points, and Amanda could do nothing but give her support. Just then, though, a hug was all she could spare. Graham sounded impatient.
She would have jogged home if her stomach hadn’t been cramping again. She didn’t often get calls at night, though between the tension of upcoming exams and end-of-the-year transition issues, the time was ripe for it. And then there were the usual family traumas—domestic violence, parental separation, even death. Affluencedidn’t exempt Woodley from those. If anything, their presence in such a privileged population was all the more stark.
She went up her back steps and into the kitchen; Graham was leaning against the counter, not far from the phone. The look on his face said that he hadn’t appreciated her running out on their conversation—at least, that was the reading her guilty conscience gave it. He seemed upset. He was uncharacteristically idle, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. She would swear he had been standing in the same spot the whole time she was gone, grappling with their problem, waiting to continue the discussion.
“So is
“There’s a bake sale at the school tomorrow,” she explained now. “I told Russ I’d save him the worry and make extra cookies for Tommy to take in.”
“You’re a good soul,” Amanda said in what was probably the understatement of the year. Karen was the designated driver of the parent community, as well as perennial room mother, yard sale chairman, art-day coordinator, PTO head. What with handling all that, plus four children between the ages of fifteen and six, she worked as hard as any woman Amanda knew. Amanda looked up to her for that. She hoped that as a mother she would have half the stamina Karen had—or used to have.
“How are the kids?” Amanda asked.
“The twins’ asthma is kicking up because of the pollen, but otherwise we’re fine. How are you?”
“Not bad.”
Karen raised her brows, inviting news.
Amanda shook her head. “It didn’t take.”
“Oh, Mandy I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. Getting pregnant is so easy for some people. Speaking of which, have you talked with Gretchen?”
“Talked? Not quite. We wave when we pass. That’s about it.”
“I think she’s pregnant.”
Karen recoiled. “Pregnant? Oh, no, I don’t think so. She can’t bepregnant. She isn’t seeing anyone. She doesn’t go anywhere. She’s still mourning Ben.” Her voice went lower. “What makes you think she’s pregnant?”
“I saw her earlier, and she looked it. She’s always had great breasts, but her stomach used to be flat.”
“Yeah. Like a model. Lee tells me not to compare myself to her, but how not to? Our men drool when they look over there. They fall over themselves volunteering to help her with chores. Is that because she’s a riveting conversationalist?” Slowly she shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She looked suddenly worried. “I’ve never seen a car there overnight, but someone might have parked in the garage.”
Possibly, Amanda reasoned. “But wouldn’t one of us have noticed a car coming or going?”
“Maybe not. Maybe he parks elsewhere and sneaks in.” Looking a bit pale, Karen insisted, “Gretchen can’t be pregnant. She really can’t be.”
“Mandy,” Graham hollered across both yards.
“Emergency call,” Amanda explained and gave Karen a quick hug. Her heart went out to this woman who was so unappreciated by those she catered to most—her husband, Lee, being the major offender.
But Karen insisted that he had his good points, and Amanda could do nothing but give her support. Just then, though, a hug was all she could spare. Graham sounded impatient.
She would have jogged home if her stomach hadn’t been cramping again. She didn’t often get calls at night, though between the tension of upcoming exams and end-of-the-year transition issues, the time was ripe for it. And then there were the usual family traumas—domestic violence, parental separation, even death. Affluencedidn’t exempt Woodley from those. If anything, their presence in such a privileged population was all the more stark.
She went up her back steps and into the kitchen; Graham was leaning against the counter, not far from the phone. The look on his face said that he hadn’t appreciated her running out on their conversation—at least, that was the reading her guilty conscience gave it. He seemed upset. He was uncharacteristically idle, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. She would swear he had been standing in the same spot the whole time she was gone, grappling with their problem, waiting to continue the discussion.
“So is
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