Donutheart by Sue Stauffacher Page A

mother’s sleeve. “I have to tell you something,” she said, casting a long cool glance at the rest of us. “In private.”
    My mother looked at her over the top of the menu.
    “Well, I’ll get started on that shake.” Mrs. Perkins brushed off the front of her apron, even though there was nothing there.
    Miss Mathews sighed and picked up her bags. “I need to get going as well.”
    Can you say
Get lost
with your eyebrows? My mother was making every attempt as she stared at me.
    I refolded my napkin.
    I felt a surge of hope that Sarah would share the details of her missing father with my mother, which would then take the burden off me for knowing that she was being left alone—all night!—with nothing but a couple of wild dogs to look after her.
    “Maybe I could…that is, Miss Mathews, do you need some help with your bags?”
    “What a gentleman, Franklin,” my mother said enthusiastically.
    “That is so sweet,” Miss Mathews said. “I had to park a few blocks away.” She heaved a sack into my hands before I’d replaced my napkin on the table. Before I knew it, I was walking down Main Street side by side with our health teacher. In her athletic attire!
    “My car is just down by the post office,” Miss Mathews said from behind her bag.
    I glanced into mine and saw roles of adhesive tape, Ace bandages, rubbing alcohol. I tried to formulate a polite question about emergency medical needs, but I felt much more comfortable pushing my face into the brown paper bag.
    Miss Mathews was chatting away happily. I suppose, like most of her students, her mood lifted considerably after school, too.
    “Next, I go to the grocery store. After doing this for two years, I feel like I’m shopping for my own family. Len Spansky eats only shaved-tavern-ham–and–horseradish-mustard sandwiches, and Pearl is a vegetarian. I have to go to Harvest Health to get the ingredients for her tempeh Reubens….”
    “Mr. Spansky’s in the EMS?” I blurted out, thinking of the unfortunate accident victims over whose wounds our science teacher hovered. Did he bring his spray bottle to the EMS?
    “Oh no, not our science teacher. He’s Arthur. I’m talking about his brother, Leonard. Here we are.” Miss Mathews pointed to a very small convertible, the kind they advertised as “sporty.” My mind reeled with the possibilities for tragic accidents in this vehicle.
    After she tossed both our bags into the backseat, Miss Mathews put her hand on my shoulder. I tried to exhibit excellent posture and look Miss Mathews in the eye as Emily Post recommends, but unfortunately, I had to confine my gaze to her pink athletic shoes.
    “Your mother is right, Franklin. You are quite a gentleman,” Miss Mathews said, squeezing. It wasn’t a Sarah Kervick squeeze, I can tell you that. It sent pleasant little prickles of electricity down the short side of my body.
    “Well,” she said, opening the door and sinking into the seat of her sports car, “off to D & W to get the groceries.” She pulled a kerchief out of her glove compartment and tied it over her head. Not like Glynnis, who tied hers at the back underneath her hair. No, Miss Mathews tied hers beneath her chin.
    As if she knew what I was thinking, she said: “Keeps my hair from whipping around.”
    Then, with lightning speed and very little concern for oncoming traffic, Miss Mathews reversed out of her tight spot and sped away, waving one arm all the way to the traffic light.
    I took several deep breaths to allow my blood flow to return to its normal route and went back to Perkins’ Drug Store. Through the window, I saw Sarah and my mother deep in conversation. The food had been delivered. My plate of lettuce garnished with tomatoes and cheese did not look very appetizing.
    “Franklin,” my mother said when I returned, “we couldn’t wait. We were starving. How long does it take to help someone to their car?” She cast a sideways glance at Sarah. “Maybe Miss Mathews takes a