You Could Be Home by Now by Tracy Manaster Page A

you on my map.” He tore off down the hall.
    â€œDon’t bother, Tyson,” Ms. Rosko called after him. “Our guests are on their way out.”
    Something had shifted. Lily felt socially short bus. “I hope she’ll be all right. And I think it’s cool she’s in the army. Being a girl and all.”
    â€œYes. Well. I can see how you’d be keen about the army.”
    â€œMona . . .” Gran sounded a lot like Dad before he launched into one of his steely Lily-we-expect-more-of-our-daughter talks.
    â€œThat and marriage. All of those—backbones. The things that keep the rest of us standing tall.” Ms. Rosko’s smile was brief and achingly sweet. It dissolved with a derisive snort and what she was actually saying jostled into place.
    The world doesn’t operate like Forest Park Day.
    Lily had a 3.87 grade-point average. She’d rocked her semester of debate. She should be able to rebut.
    But it was Gran who spoke. “That’s unfair. Lily did your family a tremendous service.”
    â€œLet me tell you about unfair. I grew up here. My granddad was one of the original ranch hands. My folks ran a Feed ’n Seed that folded once you people swarmed down here. Then the taxes alone—” Her words catapulted quickly one into the next. “My husband and I stretched to stay and without warning”—she clapped once, a gunshot of a sound—“he’s gone and I’m on my own and underwater for a place that’ll sell for three-fifths of what I put into it and that’s if we’re lucky.” A breathy hiss. “And now you people want to kick me out and go about your happy little lives.” She shrugged. Like nothing in the world could possibly matter.
    Lily giggled, like she always did at the worst possible moment. When it came to fight or flight she was (c) none of the above, which would easily make the top five if Health and Human Relations asked for a corresponding list of flaws.
    Ms. Rosko shot her a look that could invert nipples.
    Gran’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. “I think an apology is in order. It’s hardly Lily’s fault you overextended—”
    Ms. Rosko turned her back on them. “You want to know where I was when Ty fell? The papers sure do.” She picked up her grandson’s bowl. She rinsed it out and chased a few errant Os down the drain. “Job interview. I covered the earth with resumes. Hundreds of them. Thirty years I ran medical records down at St. Joe’s and I get the one little nibble.”
    â€œNevertheless. That sort of talk isn’t called for,” Gran said. “We’re glad your grandson’s well. Goodbye.”
    â€œHave a lovely vacation, Lily.” The word vacation sounded more bitter than anything Ms. Rosko had said before, which meant it probably wasn’t just the lesbian thing. Lily knew what she looked like. She did the math: the cost of her shoes and her highlights alone.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said.
    â€œLily,” Gran said, “do not apologize to this woman.”
    Forest Park Day School had celebrated its centennial this year. They’d hung banners all over the place. One Hundred Years of Shaping Students. Sierra made the joke, oh so cynical, oh so Sierra, oh so sophisticated. One Hundred Years of Sheltering Students. Dusty sunlight spilled through the windows and across Mona Rosko’s pristine floors. On the off-chance of prospective buyers, she’d have to wipe them once they left.
    Gran let the front door slam behind them. “I had no idea she would be like that.” She wiped her palms on her pants. “If ever a woman was weaned on a pickle.”
    Almost a year now since Lily first came out. Cocooned at school, people fell over themselves to accept her. She was overdue for small-mindedness. Everyone and their dogs called her courageous. If she rose above this, she actually would be.