Danny's Mom by Elaine Wolf Page B

her arms, deciding what she'll do. She'll wait for the locker room to empty. If she can't find her clothes while the third period class is out on the field, she'll call for help when they come back in.
    Her bra's on the floor, where Tina dropped it. The way I picture it, Liz shivers when she touches the straps. She looks under the bench, scans the aisle. No clothes. She searches by the toilets,under the sinks, around the radiators. Then she lifts the top of the black metal garbage can. The glint of a belt buckle catches her eye. She pushes the can on its side and pulls out her jeans and cotton sweater.
    Liz throws on her clothes and runs from the locker room. She races to my office.

Chapter Ten
    I drove home with the radio blasting that day, trying to get locker room images out of my mind and hoping to drown out what Peter had said, the words Steve shared with me in his office. They played over and over in my head: Maybe it's not a good idea for you to be working with teenagers now.
    Hunger pulled me to an empty parking spot in front of Kregel's Ice Cream Shoppe on Main Street. I hadn't eaten lunch that day. When Callie found me in my office after I'd seen Ann, I was more eager to tell Callie about Liz than to join the lunch group in the faculty room.
    “I don't need Denise and her rat now, Cal. This school's crawling with rodents.”
    “But you still have to eat. How 'bout I see if Hilda can make you a sandwich?” She put a hand on my shoulder.
    “No. But you want to be a really great friend? I'll take more coffee.” I tossed my empty cup in the trash. “Just coffee. And please don't give me a hard time about that.”
    Callie came back with her paper bag lunch and a half-filled, unlidded cup for me. “Sorry. Spilled a little. You know what a klutz I am.”
    “No problem.” I took a slow sip. “What would I ever do without you?”

    Callie pushed a chair in front of my desk and settled in to face me. “Regards from the lunch group, by the way. I told them you're having a hard day. And you know what Joanne said?”
    I shook my head.
    Callie unwrapped a squashed bologna sandwich with heavy fingerprints. “Mollie made lunch today,” she explained as she pushed half the sandwich toward me.
    “No thanks. And what did Joanne say?”
    “Oh, right. She said something about a hard day being tolerable if it follows a night of something hard.”
    I must have smiled.
    “Come on, Beth. It's not even funny.”
     
    Now Kregel's mocha chip dripped down my cone as I read the sign in the window of Arnie's Athletics: Y OU D ON'T N EED THE M ALL — W E'VE G OT I T A LL ! A memory pulled me into the past: the first time Danny and I shopped at Arnie's. Fall of first grade. Cleats and shin guards for his soccer league.
    “We'll take Moose to the games, right Mommy?” I hear Danny's six-year-old voice. “'Cause he'll like the big field.”
    “I don't know, honey. We'd have to keep him on a leash. Maybe he'd be happier at home.”
    “No, Mommy. That's silly.”
    “What's silly?”
    “Moose won't be happier at home. We won't be there.”
    The first pair of cleats is too big. “Hmm … his feet are really small,” Arnie Rosen tells me. He smiles at Danny. “Let's see if I have something that'll fit you better, champ. Be back in a jiff.”
    Danny studies his feet, which dangle from the red leather chair. “Mommy, remember you said Moose will be big 'cause he has big feet?”
    “Uh-huh. Big paws. I think he'll be huge.”

    “Mommy?” Danny pumps his legs as if on a swing.
    “Yes, honey?”
    “Will I be little 'cause I have little feet?”
    “Oh no, Danny. You'll grow up to be big and strong.”
    Arnie comes back with two boxes. He squats on a stool in front of Danny. “Okay, sport. Let's try these.” He pulls out a pair of cleats, threads the laces with hands that look too big for the task. Then he holds Danny's ankles and slips his feet in.
    “Mommy, they're gr-r-reat!”
    Arnie smiles at Danny's Tony the Tiger