Elissa Ambrose - A Mother's Reflection

Like Megan, his hair had been a deep fiery red.

She remembered the way the nurses had clucked after Megan was born, swearing they had never seen so much hair on a newborn. “The devil’s crown,” one insensitive nurse had said. “Heiress of sin.”

“But Dad, you’re always in a meeting!” Megan was complaining. “Anyway, this concerns business.” She turned her attention to Rachel. “Are you the new drama teacher? Because if you are, we need to get some things straight. First of all—”

“Megan!” Adam interrupted sharply. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“No, it’s all right, Mr. Wes…Adam. I’m interested in what your daughter has to say.”

Two suspicious green eyes—my eyes, Rachel thought—peered at her. “Oh, yeah?” Megan challenged. “Why?”

“Why?” Rachel repeated, blinking.

“What are you, deaf?”

“Megan!” Adam rose from his chair. “Can’t this wait until later?”

Rachel wanted to laugh. He sounded as if he was whining. The cool, collected Mr. Wessler was obviously putty around his daughter, who was, if this outburst was any indication, sorely lacking in manners. Oh yes, Adam Wessler needed all the help with Megan he could get.

“It’s all right,” Rachel assured him. “The question deserves an answer. And I’m not referring to her question regarding my hearing. You’d be surprised at how little escapes my ears, or eyes, too, for that matter.”

Megan was leaning against the wall, her arms folded across her chest as though she was a small child demanding a treat. Yet spoiled hardly described her, and Rachel sensed there was more to her attitude than just bad manners. This child, her child, was hurting, and Rachel ached to reach out and hold her.

“It’s too bad you have no intention of playing Grace,” she said. “She’s always been my favorite character in Annie. They named her Grace for a reason. And you remind me of her—you’re tall and slim, as pretty as a princess—and that’s why I’m interested in what you have to say.”

“I’m nothing like her!” Megan snapped. “Look at me. Look at this hair.” She tugged at a handful of curls as if to make her point. “What’s the use in having a father who’s running this whole place, if I can’t be the star? I can sing and dance every bit as well as that stupid Alice Tucker. Even better. I’m Annie! Why can’t anyone see that?”

“I’m envious of you,” Rachel said, choosing her words carefully. “I bet you don’t need to use any styling aids at all, and what I would give to have that color!”

Megan looked somewhat mollified. “There, you see, Dad? She agrees with me. She thinks I should be Annie.”

“I didn’t say that,” Rachel said, “although I’m sure you’d make a wonderful Annie. It’s a shame, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would have thought that someone as grown-up as you would feel a little silly in the role of Annie. I would have thought that Grace would be your first choice. She’s so beautiful and talented, and in the end, we get the idea that she’s going to marry the richest, most wonderful man in the world. To me Grace represents the heart in the story. Without her Annie would never have been united with Daddy Warbucks.”

“Annie is kind of childish,” Megan admitted. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should play Grace. She’s much more refined. Worldly, even. It would be more interesting to play someone mature, don’t you think?”

“I know it,” Rachel said. Worldly? Mature? The way Megan spoke now, you’d think she was eighteen, not twelve. In an instant her entire demeanor had changed from that of a pouting young child to a sophisticated young lady. Girls that age are like that, Rachel thought. One minute they’re taking out their old dolls; the next minute they’re asking for the keys to the car.

Megan was growing up fast. Too fast. Rachel had missed the first twelve years of her daughter’s life, and she was determined not to let another precious minute go by.

“What about my hair?” Megan asked. “I wouldn’t have to cut it, would I? What about the color?”

“You won’t have to change a thing. You could get a wig from wardrobe. There is a costume department, isn’t there?” She addressed her question to Adam.

“Of course there is. What kind of operation do you think I’m running?” His mouth pulled into a tight line. “Actually, there isn’t, not really. We’re still trying to negotiate deals with costume houses. In the meantime Doreen and Erika make frequent trips to the thrift shops.”

“Erika told us we have to bring our own costumes,” Megan said. “She told us to ask our mothers to make them.” She pulled herself on top of Adam’s desk and sat there, kicking her legs. “That was a stupid thing for her to say, don’t you think? Considering that at the moment I seem to be fresh out of mothers.”

No, you’re not, Rachel thought, her heart growing warm. It had taken a little reassuring on her part to convince Megan to take the role of Grace. Like all twelve-year-old girls—like most people—Megan needed to feel important. Wasn’t this what mothers did? Instill a sense of self-esteem in their daughters?

“I’m sure Erika didn’t mean anything by her comment,” Adam said. “And I’m sure that if you asked her, she’d be more than happy to make your costume.”

“Let me remind you, she’s not my mother.”

A warning signal went off in Rachel’s head. The P.I.’s report had mentioned that Adam was seeing someone but that it wasn’t serious. What if the report wasn’t accurate? What if Adam and this woman were keeping their relationship low-key for Megan’s sake? It was obvious that Megan disliked her.

“Besides,” Megan continued, “that woman wouldn’t know the difference between a needle and a haystack.”

It was a clever twist to the old adage, and Rachel laughed. “I’m handy with a needle and thread,” she volunteered. Hadn’t Megan said that the mothers were supposed to make the costumes? “But I wouldn’t know my way around a haystack if my life depended on it,” she added jokingly.

“Well, there are no haystacks in this center,” Adam said, and sat down again.

Even sitting, he was tall. In spite of his disheveled appearance, he had the air of someone used to getting his own way. Rachel studied his face. The photographs she’d received all made him appear hard and unyielding, but seeing him in person, she could tell there was something vulnerable about him. Something a little bit broken. She had an urge to soothe him.

Be careful, she warned herself. You’ve always been a sucker for a wounded animal. And where did it ever get you? First time around, you were left alone and pregnant. Second time around, you were simply left alone.

“Officially you start tomorrow, but I’d like to meet with you a little later today, say in about an hour, to go over the costume budget. I want you on thrift-shop duty, like the others. Before we meet, see Doreen. She has some forms you’ll need to fill out.” He leaned forward in his chair. “In the mornings you’ll be teaching musical theater, in the afternoons, improvisation. Classes start on Monday, so you’ll have today and Monday to get oriented. Erika Johnson is a wonderful drama coach, and she’s mapped out all the classes, so you need to meet with her. She’s directing Annie, which you’ll be helping out with as well. You’ll have a desk backstage for your paperwork. In the fall your hours will change. Classes and rehearsals will be held after school and in the evenings. Any questions?”

Adam talked so fast, she felt her head spinning. “I…don’t understand. What are you saying?”

Megan shook her head in mock disgust. “I think she is deaf, Dad. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”