“That’s the rumor,” I answer. “But you never know.”
Many school districts and most of the colleges in Missouri had already closed, but Guadalajara was one of the districts still holding out.
“If they do, I hope they re-open in time for the spring musical,” E says, wringing her hands in the front seat.
I pull up in front of the red brick and stone building where a couple of hundred high schoolers are gathered waiting for the first bell. “We’ll see, honey.”
“Good-bye, dear Cynda. Love you!” E says. She gracefully slides through the passenger side door while her brother clambers out of the back seat.
“Love you too,” I call after the both of them, even though A just got out like I was his chauffeur.
They walk together towards the stone steps only to split into separate groups of their theater and nerd friends.
It’s funny, I think. If this were a play, they’d get cast as polar opposites. E could play the popular high school girl role easily with her long, wavy hair and creamy brown skin with makeup perfectly applied to hide her freckles. Meanwhile, A would definitely be chosen as the band nerd with his chubby waistline and 365 day affinity for cargo pants from the Sears big and husky line. Yet, they would never be cast as twins.
But that’s what they are, and nothing says that more than the lengths they went in order to attend the same school. My heart constricts as I drive away. It had been my father’s dying wish to see them thrive, and I’m going to make sure that happens. It’s my dream to see that they are as loved and well taken care of as I was growing up with my mom and dad.
Which means I have to rush back across town to my job in downtown Guadalajara. Our house is actually close enough to walk to main street. My dad used to walk to work every day, rain, snow, or insanely humid shine. However, the detour to the high school means not only do I have to drive to work today, but I’m going to be late.
Just as I’m halfway to the office, the phone rings. It’s Dr. Haim. Probably wondering where I am. But I can’t pick up the call because I forgot my headphones at home and it’s against the law to talk or text while driving.
So I let Dr. Haim’s call go to voicemail with a silent apology for being late. Again. This isn’t the first time I haven’t been able to get the twins to the bus on time.
If it was anybody else, I’d text him at the next stop sign. But Dr. Haim tosses his personal phone into his middle desk drawer when he gets into the office every morning and only uses his landline.
So at the next stop sign, instead of texting, my eyes wander to the letter sticking out of my purse along with a bunch of bills. The letter from R. Smith. My belly flutters and my heart twists just a little bit.
It’s probably nothing. But for some reason, I can’t stop glancing at it as I drive toward the office. If I weren’t so late, I’d pull over and read it right now.
But I am late, so the letter will have to wait.
When I get to the office, I grab my purse and immediately jump out. Only to nearly scream when I see myself in the window’s reflection. My straightened hair which I’d pulled into its usual long ponytail extension this morning now has tufts sticking out and there’s ash all over my face!
What the hell? Why didn’t E or A tell me I looked like a hot mess, not the former Princess Missouri the town takes such pride in?
Wiping the soot away as best I can, I set my phone to vibrate, then race into the practice. No waiting patients. Thank goodness. I head directly to Dr. Haim’s office to apologize.
“Cynda, there you are,” the doctor who replaced my father says when I push open his door. “I’ve been trying to get in contact with you all morning.”
“Sorry, Dr. Haim. The twins missed the bus and I had to drive them to school. And I didn’t have my headphones, so I couldn’t call back and tell you I was running late.”
His gray brows crease in a distracted frown and he adjusts his wire-rimmed spectacles over his long nose. “Oh, Cynda, it’s okay. I just wanted to give you some warning before telling you about a very difficult decision I made over the weekend. You see, I received an offer for my practice and after much thought, I decided to sign the deal and take early retirement.”
My stomach drops. “You sold my dad’s practice? But why?”
Dad had left me the house but strangely he hadn’t made any arrangements for the practice, so it had gone to my stepmother. Luckily she had no interest in dealing with the actual sale and had let me handle it.