By Any Other Name Read online

  “Christmas baskets?” I wrinkled my nose.

  “Yes, you know—the baskets we make up at church to give to needy families in town. In fact, your father and I are part of the delivery team this weekend. Would you like to come along and help?”

  I met Mom’s inquiring look, then averted my eyes and shrugged. “Gee, when? I mean, I’ve already made plans to go to the mall with Nancy tomorrow and—”

  “Sunday. We’ll be making the deliveries on Sunday afternoon.” Mom handed me a frosted cookie. “Your Dad and I would be so happy if you’d come with us.”

  I bit into the warm, buttery cookie and chewed slowly. Mom continued to frost the rest in silence. The radio on the counter played Christmas carols in the background. Everything upbeat.

  “Okay,” I swallowed a sigh. “I’ll go with you.” Thumbing through the stack of holiday cards received that day, I added, “So, where’re you guys making your deliveries?”

  Mom wrinkled her nose, “Gosh, let me see. One is to an elderly couple down by Miller’s Creek—I forget just who, but your father knows. And the Coughlins, I think.”

  The kitchen spun, and I had to sit hard in the nearest chair.

  My mother looked at me sharply. “Are you all right, Kate? You look positively green.”

  Chewing on my thumbnail, I shook my head. But the pent-up emotions erupted. “Oh, Mom. It’s the Coughlins. Ever since Rose and Jimmy-John sat next to me on the bus last Monday, they’ve been haunting me.”

  “Haunting you? What do you mean, haunting you? Kate you’re just being silly.”

  “No, Mom, I’m not. Everywhere I look, there’s Rose Coughlin staring at me—following me. She’s everywhere. In all my classes. And every night I dream about the Coughlins. I haven’t slept for a week. My nerves are shot and I can’t concentrate.” Despite my best intentions my voice rose to a wail.

  “Why does that girl have such a hold on you? What, besides the fact she’s poor and unattractive, bothers you so much? I’m ashamed of you, Katherine Marie Merrick. Count your blessings. You have so much and that poor girl has nothing.” Mom was really exasperated.

  “Never mind. You apparently don’t understand.” I shot out of the chair and stormed from the kitchen. Mom let me go without another word.

  Upstairs, in the sanctuary of my room, I flung myself across my bed and let the tears flow. Grabbing a fistful of tissues, I mopped my face and tried to stop. I think the worst thing was that I knew I was behaving like a spoiled brat, and that really irked me.

  “Oh, God, I hate you, Rose Coughlin,” I said into the pillow. “I hate you. Just leave me alone.” Now I had a pounding headache.

  For over an hour, I lay across my bed and allowed dark thoughts to plague me. What would Rose give Claudia at the class party? How would Claudia react? Would she laugh at it? What would Rose feel like if everybody laughed at her gift? Why did I even care? I’d never let it bother me before. It wasn’t like the Coughlins were new in town, or anything. Why was it bothering me now, for crying out loud?

  When Mom called to say that dinner was on the table, I was reluctant to go downstairs. I looked a mess and felt even worse, but I went anyway. For some reason I was just plain exhausted—like I’d run a marathon or something. Dad gave me a quizzical look when I entered the dining room but went on talking about work, what he was going to be doing on the weekend, and how awesome the dinner looked. Sometimes it seemed that he tried too hard to be jovial. After a while it got a little tiresome, to tell the truth.

  “Kath, you’re a prize of a wife, a regular Martha Stewart, a virtual Paula Dean. Honey, that smells wonderful. What is it?” He leaned back in his chair and grinned.

  “A new recipe for meatloaf. I think you’ll like it. It has carrots and red pepper in it,” Mom replied in her usual bouncy manner as she put plates and steaming bowls on the table. “Oh, and a tablespoon of brown sugar and a splash of red wine.” She grinned giddily, and I had to squelch a remark about her sampling the wine as she cooked. For once, I’d the sense to keep my mouth shut. I’d been walking a thin line as it was, but since neither had said anything about me helping dish up or commented on the fact that I looked a mess, I kept still. My parents were both making up for my silence by being noticeably lighthearted and chatty, and, believe me, they weren’t the best actors. Rather cheesy.

  “Mmm, sure does look great. I’m famished. Missed lunch today,” Dad chirped on, helping himself to a thick splat of butter for his baked potato.

  “John. It’s not good for you to miss lunch,” Mom chided.

  They went on and on like that for the entire meal. I tried to empty my mind and relax enough to finish what was on my plate. Turned out I was hungrier than I’d thought. The headache from my crying spell faded, and by dessert, I was actually joining in on the conversation.

  “Dad,” I said around a mouthful of vanilla pudding.

  “Hmm?” He leaned toward me.

  “What do you know about the Coughlins?” I expected a comment from my mother but she remained mute.

  My dad frowned for half a second and gazed at his dessert bowl as if trying to gather his thoughts. “Not much, Katie. Sam Coughlin was a year younger than I in school. He dropped out his junior year. And Roberta Reynolds—Mrs. Coughlin—was even younger so didn’t have much to do with our crowd.”

  “Roberta—Bertie—is three years younger than I am. All I know is that she dropped out of school and ran away at age sixteen to marry Sam Coughlin,” Mom added. “Such a shame, too. It about killed her parents. In fact, I believe that’s the reason they moved away. The entire school was abuzz with the scandal for weeks.”

  “Oh,” I sighed. “The whole thing is disgusting, if you ask me.” I amended that quickly. “I mean, it’s so sad to see how poor they are and, uh, everything, but…” I licked my dessert spoon thoughtfully. “It’s too depressing. Uh, just how poor are they, Dad? Do you know?”

  “Well, I know enough to say that they were extremely grateful when the church offered them a Christmas basket this year,” Dad said.

  I ate the rest of my pudding in silence.

  SEVEN

  Dad dropped me off at the mall at 11:15. I was to meet Nancy in front of the Chick-Fil-A in the food court at 11:30. Nancy’s parents had kindly offered to pick us up at 2:30 by the main entrance so we had three wonderful hours to browse, eat, and guy-watch. All the shops were decorated in bright reds and blues and silvers, and seasonal music blared from hidden speakers. By 11:15, a hefty crowd pushed and shoved to snatch holiday bargains. I loved it.

  Tucking my purse under an arm, I nosed through the crowded walkways toward the food court. Spying Nancy wearing a bright kelly-green sweater, I waved for her attention.

  “Oh, m’god!” Nancy squealed. “I’ve already seen three totally adorable guys.”

  I laughed. “Three? Were they all together?”

  “No. All walking separately. You know, by themselves. Well, one was with a girl, but she didn’t amount to anything special. Too, too filial. Had to’ve been his sister.” Nancy had a gleam in her sparkling green eyes. “Anyway, the place is positively swarming with good-looking male-types. Let’s go.”

  Laughing, we headed down the length of the store—two pairs of eyes ever alert for a new prospect.

  Stopping at a cookie kiosk, we bought one chocolate chip cookie apiece to nibble on while we shopped. As I was trying to hand the clerk my money, Nancy poked me in the ribs with her elbow three times to signal that another “hunk” was going by. I was afraid that by the end of the day I’d be black and blue from her constant jabbing.

  It wasn’t until 1:36 that Nancy remembered she was supposed to be shopping for Molly’s gift and not herself. I’d made my purchase first thing—the gold hoops that were perfect for Julia. And they’d been on sale. Poor Nancy was beginning to get rattled, sure she’d not be able to find anything.

  “What do you want to get her?” I asked with some exasperation as we entered yet another boutique specializing in f
unky earrings and things.

  Nancy sighed. “That’s the problem. I don’t know. Nothing has spoken to me. And I want it to be something nice. Molly’s such a sweetheart. She’s been a really great friend, too. She deserves the best.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I agreed, puckering my forehead in thought. “Does she like earrings? The ones I got Julia are really spectacular. Don’t you think?”

  Nancy shook her head. “Nah, I don’t want to buy her the same thing—too provincial. Not that they aren’t nice or anything. I don’t mean that. But Julia’s different. You know. She lives to wear jewelry. Molly doesn’t.”

  “You’re right. Molly is more subdued and tailored than Julia—in a fun-but-refined way.”

  “I know.” Nancy snapped her fingers. “A gift certificate.”

  “A gift certificate? Isn’t that kind of impersonal?” I leaned against a table displaying assorted handbags and wrinkled my nose.

  “Actually, not at all. These days, people prefer getting gift certificates instead of something they have to return or worse, throw away,” Nancy countered.

  “Okay, fine, but how much are you going to spend? I thought Mrs. Abrams said to keep within the guidelines, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

  “Pooh. I’m not going to spend hundreds, just enough to make a nice gift. I like Molly a lot and she was so helpful on that last project we had to do. C’mon, let’s go.”

  Ten minutes later, the gift certificate safely in her purse, Nancy led the way back toward the food court where we both bought nachos and large Cokes. Finding a table was a hassle, but finally a couple vacated one near the trashcans and we grabbed it.

  “Phew,” Nancy made a face. “This wouldn’t have been my first choice, but with the millions of people here today I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “You said it.” I dipped a corn chip in the glutinous orange-yellow substance the restaurant called cheese. “You know that we are about to consume a zillion calories laced with a pound of cholesterol.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I grinned and popped another cheesy chip into my mouth.

  “Jeez, that trashcan smells like a Coughlin,” Nancy moaned.

  This struck me as hilarious and I almost choked on a chip. “Oh, gosh, you’re right. Except minus the decidedly doggy smell, that is. Trust me. Her sweater smells like a wet dog.”

  “God, do you think it was made from dog fur?”

  “Dog fur? What a thought.”

  Nancy was practically falling off her chair, laughing so hard. Waving one hand while she fought for composure, she thumped the table with the other. “No. No, wait. Who’s this remind you of?” She lowered her head, ran both hands through her hair until it hung over her eyes, and formed her lips into a silly smile that made her look like she was on something or had just hit her head. Too much.

  We laughed so hard that people at neighboring tables were staring. Sobered and back in control, we changed the subject.

  “Well, I think this was a most auspicious day. I am totally excited about my gift. I can’t wait for Molly to open it. It’ll be interesting to see what she’ll buy with it,” Nancy said, sitting back with a dramatic sigh.

  “She’ll probably buy earrings,” I giggled.

  By 2:33 we were standing by the mall’s main entrance waiting for Nancy’s parents. Car after car came by, stopping in the no-parking zone to pick up tired shoppers but it wasn’t until 3:01 that Nancy spied her father’s Honda. We dashed to it and pulled open the doors, still fighting bursts of uncontrollable giggles.

  Mr. Spencer smiled at us over his shoulder. “Got your shopping done, ladies?” he asked.

  “Yes, Dad,” Nancy answered. “Thanks for picking us up.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Spencer. I wouldn’t have been able to go otherwise. I really appreciate it,” I said.

  “Don’t mention it. I know how much you ladies like to shop,” he laughed. “Just part of my job. It’s what I’m paid to do. I am but your humble servant.”

  “Oh, Daddy Dum-Dum.” Nancy giggled. “You’re a mess.”

  I relaxed against the backseat and adjusted my seatbelt. Nancy’s pet name for her dad was obnoxious, but she was so cute and bubbly that she got away with it. I wondered what reaction I’d get if I called my dad something so ridiculous. No way. I wasn’t as cute and petite as Nancy. I had to be more careful of my image. I still had my work cut out for me in the in-crowd department.

  Reputation is a fragile thing, if you want my opinion. You either have a great one or you don’t. You’re either one of the elite or you aren’t. Plain and simple. But I agreed with Nancy that this had been a great day and refused to dwell on the capriciousness of popularity. When I got home, I planned to get on my computer and e-mail my cousin in Illinois. I was now in the Christmas spirit—full-throttle. I leaned back and closed my eyes. All in all, I was blissfully tired, ravenously hungry for dinner, and happily excited about the coming party—inane as it might be. Christmas vacation would be a blast after all.

  EIGHT

  I awoke Sunday morning to a steady rain pounding my windows with tiny fists. The predicted cold front with its accumulating snow had swerved north. The snow already on the ground was a dirty-gray mush. A dreary, stark, and depressing landscape. I didn’t want to get up. This promised to be a long day with something I’d rather not have to do. While I dressed, I thought about the plans for the afternoon. My parents were so happy that I’d agreed to accompany them on the Christmas basket deliveries that I hadn’t the heart to refuse to go now. But as I peered out at the disheartening scene outside, I had some real misgivings.

  After church I couldn’t wait to get upstairs to my room. It occurred to me that if I dove headfirst into my textbooks, my parents might suggest I remain home and continue studying. No such luck.

  At a quarter after two, Dad knocked twice on my door. “Princess,” he called, using the totally tiring nickname again.

  I heard him but pretended to be focused on my studies and waited a moment before responding. “Yeah, Dad?”

  Dad opened the door and poked his head in. “We’re leaving in just a sec. You ready?”

  Tempted to say I had too much homework but knowing that would sound lame, I closed my book with a dramatic sigh and stood. Dad just grinned like he saw through me. I followed him downstairs, where Mom waited.

  “Okey dokey,” Dad said as we piled into the car. “Our first stop is church to pick up the boxes. Hope they’re covered.”

  It took Dad and another man from the church group five minutes to load four large boxes into the trunk of our car. Each box had been covered in bright Christmas wrap and several of the packages inside were wrapped also. I wondered if each family would receive two, or whether we had more deliveries to make than the ones Mom had mentioned.

  The road leading to the house by Miller’s Creek was not paved and a sea of muddy slush, filling a million potholes. After hitting a particularly deep rut, Dad whistled. “Man, this road is impossible. No wonder these old people don’t have much. They can’t leave the place to go shopping.”

  “Will we be able to make it out?” Mom asked with a crease across her forehead.

  “Oh, yeah, but I may need a new transmission.” Dad laughed like he was enjoying the whole thing.

  Mom and I helped carry the things to the front porch of the sprawling farmhouse. It was a nice house. Or at least had been at one time. Now it sat there screaming for a good paint job. I noticed however that the yard was neat. Well, actually there was nothing in the yard except one forlorn oak tree, but at least there wasn’t any garbage and rusty cars like so many places had. Like the Coughlin Place.

  The elderly couple who answered Dad’s knock was sweet. Both were not much over five feet tall and stooped over as if they’d carried heavy loads their entire lives. Both walked with the help of a cane. Their names were Alvin and Edith Schumacher, and both had tears in their eyes, they were so grateful for the boxes.

  Tears tickled my own eyes and I hasti
ly rubbed them away, embarrassed at being so emotional. This was what Christmas was all about, right? Helping people like this dear old couple. It made me feel warm inside to be able to give them so much joy. And all because of a box of stuff not costing over twenty-five dollars.

  I peered into the front room as Dad carried the boxes into the house. The furniture was old and heavy, made from some dark wood and perfect for the old house. They had a house full of antiques that could be sold and maybe bring in some needed cash. I thought about asking Mom about it later. Talk about land rich but cash poor, or something to that effect. The main thing I noticed was how clean the room was. These old people might not have much in the way of money, but they had respect and pride. Right then and there I promised myself that I’d visit these elderly people again. Maybe I could help with their laundry or something. I was glad I’d come along.

  Once back in the car and over most of the trickier places on the road, Dad began singing It Came Upon a Midnight Clear. I wouldn’t want to admit it to my friends, but I liked hearing my father sing even when he was just being silly to tease Mom or me.

  “Oh, jeez, Dad. You’re killing the song,” I groaned and plugged my ears.

  “Sorry, but I have to sing. Giving those boxes to that dear old farmer and his wife was one of the neatest things I’ve ever done. Don’t you feel that way, Kath?” Dad leaned sideways and gave Mom one of his insipid looks. She snuggled closer to him—as close as the seat belt would allow anyway—and laughed liked a giddy adolescent. I was glad none of my friends could see them acting like a couple of teenagers. I mean, even teenagers don’t act that silly. I didn’t mean to but a snort escaped and Mom heard it.

  “Aw, c’mon, Katie-love. It was. Seeing their sweet, old faces light up like that was, well—it was a blessing. I feel immeasurably blessed,” she sighed, turned in her seat and looked at me. “Wasn’t it? Wasn’t it, Katie? Wasn’t that simply wonderful?”

  I had to smile. Then I caught Dad’s grin in the rear view mirror. “Okay, you win. Yes, I felt good doing it. They were a nice, grandparenty-type of people. In fact, I was thinking how I’d maybe like to go back sometime. You know, to help do chores or something. Do you think I could do that? They wouldn’t feel intruded upon or anything?”