By Any Other Name Read online

  “Oh, sweetheart, I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Mom chortled. “I’ll look into it after the holidays. Rev. Mike will know what we can do.”

  “Yeah, okay, that’d be great. Thanks, Mom. And just think. When I get my license, I’ll be able to do all sorts of really cool charitable work.” I hoped I didn’t sound too obvious. Mom and Dad didn’t comment nor do anything more than nod and continue with their singing.

  I settled back, leaned my head against the window, and mesmerized myself with the blurred lines of the passing highway speeding beside our moving car. I liked the way it made me feel we were going at a much greater speed than we really were. It was as if we were going beyond the speed of light. I’d been fascinated by this phenomenon since I was a little kid and figured it was just something peculiar with me. Silly sounding or not, it always had a soothing effect on me. I was almost asleep when Mom spoke.

  “Oh, John, what a depressing place. This one isn’t going to be as easy.”

  I sat up with a start. I’d been so content with having helped the nice old couple who’d called me darling and sweetie that I’d completely forgotten our next destination: The Coughlin Place. Peering out the window at the sad, shoebox little house, repulsion mixed with fear began crawling up my throat. I didn’t want to do this. No, I didn’t want to do this at all. What would the kids at school say if they could see me now? I shuddered at the thought.

  “I’ll just stay in the car while you guys go in.” I tried to keep my voice nonchalant.

  My parents, already opening their doors, spoke in unison. “No.”

  “But, why, for Pete’s sake? It, uh, it might embarrass Rose to see me.” Blast. Why did my voice always have a whine in it?

  “Come on, Kate. You’ve got to be mature about this. You’re not thinking about Rose’s feelings. You’re only thinking about your own.” Dad opened the back door for me to get out. He had that look that made me want to throw something. But, deep down, I guess I knew he was right so I mustered all the courage I had—which wasn’t much at that precise moment in the spectral cosmos of time—and climbed out of the backseat.

  I was appalled to see a small throw rug with a weed actually sprouting through its miserable heap. A ton of garbage lay all over the place—old beer bottles, melon rinds and banana peels, and tons of discarded newspapers. I bit my lip and waited while Dad retrieved the boxes from the trunk, handed the smaller one to Mom, then marched to the sagging porch. I followed them to the front door, making sure I was well in the rear.

  Mom knocked several times. We waited an eternity before the cracked door was flung open by a plump woman, wearing a too tight red dress that would’ve been better suited for an evening out—where, I don’t know—and high, spiky heels. The red dress clashed alarmingly with her titian hair. I’d a hard time keeping my mouth from hanging open from sheer disbelief. Bertie Coughlin was the farthest thing from my idea of a mother than you could get.

  NINE

  Mrs. Coughlin stood on the threshold and stared at us for an eon before saying anything. Her heavily rouged cheeks were as red as the dress and made her look more like a clown than a woman.

  “You from the church? With the Christmas basket?” she asked. I wanted to say Duh. You think? Because it seemed so obvious, with my dad standing there practically falling over under the weight of the box he carried. My poor mother had already set the one she carried on the porch.

  “Yes, Bertie, we’re from the church. I’m John Merrick—I have a dental practice in town—across the street from the Walgreen’s down on Rideau Street. This is my wife, Kathy, and behind her, our daughter Kate. You probably remember Kathy from high school?” Dad was using his most congenial voice, and I could tell that even he was a tad nervous.

  “Oh, John, she wouldn’t remember me. For goodness sakes. She was just a freshman when I was a senior. I was in science club and chorus and, well, anyway, freshmen and seniors didn’t mix. You know that,” Mom gushed way too much, even for her.

  Bertie Coughlin just shrugged. I was almost beside myself with the incongruity of it all. When the well-endowed woman shrugged, it looked like the dress might split open at the seams if she did it too many more times.

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t too keen on what was going on in school. You know? But where are my manners? Come on in. The place’s a mess. Sorry. Been too busy to do much housework, what with working nights and all. My girl, Rosie, is next t’useless when it comes t’housework and all. Being a teenager and all. You know?” Mrs. Coughlin waved us inside. The last thing I wanted to do, I hesitated, but after one penetrating look from my mother, hurried inside after them.

  The living room was shocking. I hadn’t expected much, but was unprepared for what I saw. The old lumpy sofa against the wall had stains from God-knew-what in several places. One leg had broken off, so that end was propped up with a few bricks. Only two other chairs graced the cold room, and they were mismatched chairs from old dinette sets. No carpet covered the floor, not even a throw rug. All in all, it was a most deplorable place. Hardly a “living” room. I couldn’t imagine having to sit in that room for any length of time. I think I’d be sick to my stomach from the staleness and grime.

  Curled up in one corner of the sofa was Jimmy-John, still with a runny nose. He had a dirty blanket with a faded picture of a teddy bear on it covering his scrawny body. He stared out at us with mouth hanging open as though he couldn’t breathe. Drool dripped from one corner.

  Mrs. Coughlin caught Mom’s poorly disguised look of concern.

  “Jimmy-John there’s had the darned sniffles for over a week now. Don’t know what to do with the kid. He’s forever going out without his coat and hat, and I told him, I said, ‘Jimmy-John Coughlin, you’re going t’get pneumonia if you don’t mind me.’ But he just don’t listen. Never did. Rosie now, she’ll listen to her mama, but not Jimmy-John. Takes after his dad I guess.” Mrs. Coughlin prattled on until Mom interrupted.

  “Bertie—” she said, keeping a rein on her feelings, I could tell. “Jimmy-John looks sicker than just the sniffles. Has he seen a doctor?”

  Bertie Coughlin shrugged for the umpteenth time, and I held my breath, expecting to hear a ripping sound, but the darned seams continued to hold.

  “Oh, no, no, I can’t take time off t’take him to the doctor. It’s just a cold. I’m watching him. He’s like real susceptible t’colds and such,” she said.

  “Well, we’d be more than willing to help out, if you need us,” Mom pressed. “Just give us a call anytime, and we’d be happy to come right over. Wouldn’t we, John?” Dad gave an energetic nod.

  “Appreciate it, thanks. And thanks for the Christmas boxes. I know the kids will get a real big kick out of ’em,” Bertie said and rummaged through the box Mom had carried in.

  Just then Rose appeared in the darkened hallway. She stopped when she saw us and remained half-hidden in the shadows. I didn’t blame her. I would’ve been mortified if someone were bringing us charity boxes for Christmas. Her mother, however, couldn’t care less whether she was embarrassed or not and motioned for her to come into the room.

  “Rosie. For god’s sake get in here, and thank the Merricks for the Christmas boxes.”

  Rose obeyed and shuffled into the room, but refrained from looking at us.

  “Hello, Rose,” Mom was gushing again. “How are you? Excited about the coming holidays? I know Kate is.” She smiled and motioned for me to step forward.

  Dad nudged me toward the other girl so there was nothing I could do but move to Rose and try to smile. “Uh, hi, Rose.”

  Mrs. Coughlin started waving her hand at Rose. “Rosie, for god’s sake, take Kate outside or something so’s I can talk with Mr. and Mrs. Merrick for a minute. Show her your rose garden.”

  Rose turned and headed for the front door and I, after a poisoned glance at my parents, followed. Rose garden? Nobody could have a rose garden in Missouri in the dead of winter. Who was she kidding? These people were so far from my everyday realit
y, I was completely mystified. And besides, it smelled a whole lot better outside than it did in that deplorable place they called home.

  I followed Rose around the side of the small house to the back yard. Here, more junk covered the yard, and it reeked of refuse. An old shell of a car, of some vintage make that had to be before my Dad’s time, lay rusting in the soil. A small swing set, too small even for Jimmy-John, stood forlornly in the tall grass. Its lone swing hung from a broken rusted chain. Rose led me behind the junk heap then stopped.

  I could only stare in dismay. Right there, in a square patch of neatly turned soil, and surrounded by carefully placed white stones, a small garden of beautiful red, pink, and white roses thrived. Believe me, I had to blink several times just to clear my brain. Roses? In winter? Too impossible. I bent to touch one of the blooms. Plastic.

  “Oh, m’gosh!” I squeaked. My hand recoiled as if burnt. The plastic rose garden was the creepiest thing I’d ever seen. It reminded me of a cemetery plot decorated with artificial flowers to soften a loved one’s grave. Against the stark brown Missouri countryside with its patches of slushy gray snow, the gaudy flowers looked garish and gruesome.

  Without meaning to, I shuddered, but summoned enough presence of mind to make a comment. “Th-they’re, uh, n-nice, Rose,” I stammered like an idiot.

  Rose looked at me and smiled shyly. “Thanks. I love roses.”

  “Yeah, I guess, w-with your name and all, you, uh, would and—” I couldn’t think of anything else to say that sounded convincing.

  “Someday…I’m going to have a real garden,” Rose said. “With real roses.”

  I was at a loss for words. Suddenly I saw a different side of the girl that had repulsed me for so many years. For as far back as I could remember, Rose had just been, well, Rose. I had never paid her much attention. Nobody even talked about her that much. Well, sure, she was the butt of a lot of jokes and stuff, but really, we didn’t think about her all that much. I mean, she never was the topic of conversation except when one of us had had recent contact with her, like in a group project or something. Most of the time, we just ignored her. Truthfully? I was bewildered.

  Dad called me, and I was so relieved that I bounded for the car, shouting a quick “good-bye” to Rose over my shoulder. I yanked open the car door, and dove into the backseat, slamming the door behind me. Scrunched way down, I hugged my drawn up knees. My parents, however, got into the car in a more sedate fashion, and I had to chew my lower lip to keep from yelling at them with impatience. I wanted out of there.

  Finally I got out a “Hurry, Dad!”

  “What’s the matter, Kate?” Mom asked in concern, oblivious as always.

  “Nothing. Give me a break, Mom. I just want to go home. I’ve got homework, you know.” Even to me, it sounded churlish.

  My parents didn’t question me further, and the ride home was pretty quiet save for a random remark from one of them. As soon as Dad turned into our driveway and pulled the key from the ignition, I pushed opened the car door, hopped from the rear seat, and ran up to the house. I danced from one foot to the other, waiting for one of them to unlock the door. I’d left my purse at home, thinking I didn’t need it. I seethed with frustration.

  “Just calm down, Kate. The homework isn’t going anywhere,” Mom said in that maddeningly calm voice she saves for me when she thinks I’m behaving badly.

  “I know, I know.” I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “I, uh, really need to use the bathroom, thank you just the same.”

  I pushed past my parents and tore up the stairs. I slammed my bedroom door then wished I hadn’t punctuated my distress so blatantly. But neither one came upstairs to bawl me out, thank heavens.

  TEN

  Monday and Tuesday were a chaotic mix of hastily completed lessons, review tests, and general countdown hubbub in preparation for the holidays. Wednesday was the last day before winter break and the day of the class party and gift exchange. I was so excited I couldn’t sleep and found myself getting up even before the alarm went off. You would’ve thought I was back in grade school.

  Taking special care choosing an outfit for the day, I fussed and fumed until I had the look just right. Today was going to be great. Except for one small nagging doubt. For some inane, inexplicable reason, I was still worried about Rose’s gift for Claudia. After seeing the Coughlin Place first hand and finding it worse than my wildest imagination, I couldn’t even conceive of a gift Rose would be capable of bringing. I knew it’d be awful, totally inappropriate, and something Claudia and the rest of the class would laugh at and probably mock.

  So why did I suddenly give a damn?

  On the bus, Nancy noticed I was more subdued than usual. “Good grief, why the long face? This is going to be a really awesome day, don’t you think?”

  I grimaced. “Yeah, it’s supposed to be.”

  “Then why so glum? You lose the earrings for Julia, or something?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s just, well—yesterday I helped my folks deliver Christmas boxes from our church. You know, to the needy around here?”

  “That’s neat. So, what’s the problem?” Nancy probed.

  “Well, we-we went to the Coughlin Place—”

  “Oh, god! Was it like totally gross? I bet it stunk.” Nancy made a face.

  “Yeah, I mean, no—I mean, it was awful. It was really, really awful. So awful that I never want to go back. But…”

  “But what? What happened? Was her father drunk? Did you find the parents in a compromising situation? Ohmigod, tell me. I’m dying to hear the sordid details.” Nancy was bouncing a little in her seat, and her voice had risen an octave.

  “Shh! Let’s keep this between ourselves, if you don’t mind.” I yanked on her sleeve in agitation.

  “Jeez, I can’t help it. This is so gross. Okay, okay, just tell me what happened.”

  I had to clear my throat and swallow a few times before I could speak. “It’s just…well, I’m afraid of the way Claudia’s going to behave when she gets Rose’s gift.”

  “Oh, m’god, why? Did you see it? Is it horrible? What, for god’s sake, is it?” Nancy slapped my arm.

  “Nancy, you can’t imagine what their house looks like inside. And outside, for that matter.”

  “Oh, god, don’t I know. I’ve seen the outside,” Nancy interjected. “We pass it everyday on the bus, remember?”

  “No, I mean the outside close up. The back yard—everything. In the back yard there’s this old, rusty car just lying there. And, there’s this little kid’s swing set that’s all broken and rusty and just sitting there, like waiting for some dead kid to return or something. And Rose…she has this garden. Oh m’ gosh, Nancy. She has this garden full of plastic roses. It was so creepy. So sad.”

  “Yuck! That sounds like a sci-fi movie.” Nancy exhaled in horror.

  “Yeah, it was,” I agreed.

  Subdued for the remainder of the trip, we didn’t talk much. The bus made its final stop at the Coughlin Place, and we both just pursed our lips and watched as Rose and her brother climbed aboard and took their usual seats on the steps. When we reached the elementary school, we sat in absorbed fascination as Jimmy-John got off with the grade school kids, acting as though he didn’t want to let go of his sister’s hand. Pathetic to see how he hung on to her. We exhaled in relief when the bus finally pulled into the high school’s parking area, and we could escape its stifling confines. Only when we’d reached the door of homeroom did Nancy voice what was on her mind.

  “Okay, Kate, listen to me. I’ll admit that Rose and little What’s-His-Name are like totally pathetic, but, jeez, Kate, let’s not dwell on it any more, okay? It’s too depressing. And it’s not like we can do anything. You know? I mean, we’re young, and these are supposed to be the best years of our lives. Or, so my mother is forever ranting and raving. And, anyway, I don’t know why all of a sudden she’s like so hyper important to you. I mean, you never cared about her before. Let’s have fun today, okay? Please
? You’re no fun when you get in these morbid moods,” Nancy pleaded. “Even the others are noticing. Okay?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry. I don’t know why Rose has gotten to me like this. When she sat next to me last week, she put a curse on me, or something,” I looked at Nancy, worried that I was losing her friendship. “You’re not mad at me, are you? I mean, I still want to be best friends.”

  Nancy gave me a quick hug. “Of course we’re still best friends, you moron. How could you think otherwise? Just drop the Rose Coughlin subject and everything will be back to normal. Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay,” I smiled, relieved that the subject was closed.

  Classes were a joke as far as I was concerned. It was comical to watch teachers desperately seek to maintain balance and routine in a far from routine day. After futile attempts to conduct serious classes, even they gave up. The day turned out to be one big release from the usual grind. The hours were spent sitting in small cliques and talking. In English a few boys got a mock basketball game going, where they wadded up pieces of paper and tossed them into “baskets” made from circled fingers. Ms. Wayne didn’t seem to mind too much that we weren’t analyzing Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poems. All in all, it was a fairly easy day.

  Finally, World History with Mrs. Abrams and our little “social.” Bags of chips and pretzels mysteriously appeared, along with canned sodas. A few girls had brought cookies they’d made in home ec to share. Actually, it wasn’t too bad a spread and tasted even better knowing the administration frowned on eating anything in the classrooms. But we left all that to Mrs. Abrams. Her problem, not ours. When it came time to open the gifts, everybody was in pretty high spirits.