Thick knuckles rapping on Ellen's car window made her jump.
"Hey," the muffled voice of Ron Huxley, Brian's dad, came through.
Ellen rolled down the window and peered up at him.
"I saw you were parked behind me," he said, hands stuffed in his pockets and nose red. "Just wondering where you think the bus is?" Each sentence expressed white clouds.
Ron, or Sargeant Huxley, as he was known around town, lost his wife to cancer a few years prior. He was big, burly, and bearded - the epitome of a dad bod.
Ellen glanced instinctively at the car radio - the time was now almost 8 p.m.
"I have no earthly idea," she said quietly. "You don't think they ran out of gas, or got a flat tire…?" Heather hadn't called, and she was too embarrassed to admit why.
"Nothing came across my scanner," he said. "So whatever it is, it's not serious."
"Yet" was the unspoken word between them.
Several other car doors slammed shut and other parents joined Ron outside of Ellen's car, shivering.
"What's taking so long?" Tara Borden, Melisssa's mom, asked. She was tiny and blonde, huddling in the arm of her husband. Mr. and Mrs. Collinsville High Prom King and Queen, 1985. The cheerleader had married her football player, a giant white rock on her finger that seemed to grow bigger every couple of years as she got it traded in, the rumor mill said. Tonight she was in skin-tight yogas and Uggs, and a bright blue, long sleeve track jacket that also functioned perfectly as a pushup bra. A solitary diamond glinted in the tan folds of her neck. Her hair, too, was more yellow than platinum blonde.
The Rotterdams, Carissa's parents, were as close to Mr. and Mrs. Borden as Carissa and Melissa were to each other. The Rotterdams owned a beautiful, sprawling farm that also served as a riding and boarding stable. Carissa was never shy to compete in show jumping as a result of growing up under her mother's equestrian thumb, and often took to wearing matching tan breeches, brightly colored polos, and dark ponytail with her mother.
Some of the parents Ellen didn't recognize. She had a laminated card in her purse with Heather's classmates' names on it, if she even still had it. She grabbed her purse from the floor of the passenger seat, and dug around. Mrs. Borden cleared her throat as Ellen worked through the cracked, dirty pleather, fishing through old receipts and broken pens for her worn wallet.
The card was faded and folded, but still readable, and she eyed the rest of the parents that were huddling around her car.
She recognized dark-haired and sharp-eyed Mr. Coppermine, John's father, who drove a black pickup truck to school. His wife was not here at the moment, but she worked part-time at the local pharmacy.
"Blasted cold out here," grumbled Mr. Wint. He was shivering in a nice suit. "Their dinner's going to be cold, too, if we're out here waiting any longer.
"What's your son's name again?" Mr. Coppermine asked.
"Dylan," Mr. Wint replied. "Future partner of Wint & Wint, Attorneys at Law. Only this time," he chuckled, "it'll be Wint III and Wint IV."
Collinsville, Iowa had a lot of woodlands, a lot of farms, and a tiny center of town that hadn't changed since the eighties. Maybe even the sixties.
Mr. Wint squinted at the Rotterdams. "You're the Rotterdams, aren't you? You own the farm up on Terrace Court?"
Emily Rotterdam smiled. "Yes sir. It's also a family legacy. Our farm has been in the family since...well, since Collinsville and Greely Valley were founded!"
"It's a lot of hard work, I can imagine," Ellen said.
"That's for sure." Mr. Rotterdam focused on her.
"What time is it now?" Mr. Coppermine asked.
"About 8:15," Ellen said. "You all look cold. You want to sit in the car for a while? There should be room for everyone."
Emily laughed. "Thanks Ellen, but I think it's a bit cramped for us."
Ellen half-smiled in return.
Ron was glancing nervously around, his radio buzzing with empty static.
"I'm just sitting in here because Holly is asleep at the moment and…" Ellen was about to say that she didn't want to lock herself out, which would be embarrassing.
Another mother was pushing through the crowd and shivering, her arms crossed over her thick scarf. She was joined by another woman, slightly shorter and dumpy looking, with thick curly hair.
"Hi. I'm Anna's mom, Mrs. Knox. Call me Terri," the thinner, taller woman said. She had long, silky hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she nudged the other woman beside her. "This is Mrs. Butler, Beatrice's mom."
"Anna?" Ellen said. "I'm not sure I know her, but it's nice to meet you." She wasn't sure about Beatrice, either.
"Your daughter is Heather, right?"
Ellen nodded. "Yes."
"I have two younger boys, youngest about Holly's age," Terri said. "Ethan and Bennett."
"And I have a few older kiddos," Mrs. Butler said. "Kelsey is our oldest, and then there's Ryan and Jon in the middle, and Beatrice is the youngest."
Ellen realized she knew the Knox name. She had seen it recently somewhere. "Maybe we can get together sometime," she smiled. "It's just me and Holly most days, now that Heather is growing up."
"Anna's a bit on the quieter side, so she's home more often, but…" Mrs. Knox smiled. "I'd like that very much."
"Well, if you're forming a club, perhaps Ron could join," Tara Borden laughed, her hand on her husband's chest.
"Sergeant Huxley," Ron replied tersely, turning back. He was still very focused on his radio.
That's why I know the name, Ellen gasped internally. Mrs. Knox just lost her husband.
She purposely did not wish to say "sorry" in front of the other parents. She remembered how awkward it was when her own friends had done the same, sidestepping talking about the divorce, and standing at a distance as if it were contagious to have a jerk of a husband.
"Well at any rate," Terri said. "It'll be nice to spend time with you all."
"It's nice right now, despite the bus being late." Two men stepped forward, one with shoulder length black hair under a hat, and the other slightly shorter with receding hair.
"Ross Neese," the taller man said in a honeyed voice, and raised an arm behind his partner's back. "This is my husband, Paul Pierson."
"And who do you belong to?" Mrs. Rotterdam asked.
"Eric is our son," Paul said. "Bright boy, wears glasses?"
"The Asian one?" Mr. Borden asked.
"Jake," Tara hissed. "Stop it."
"Well, yes…" Paul said. "He's adopted."
"Of course," Emily Rotterdam said.
"Well we could have used a surrogate and egg donor, but...you know, there's so many children who need homes who are already born."
"You also need a lot of…" Mr. Borden slid his fingertips together to indicate "money."
"Well, of course, children cost a lot," Mrs. Butler said. "It doesn't matter if they're adopted or not, especially if they end up in private school!"
"We adopted Brian," Ron said. "At birth. Best decision we ever made." At that, he listened to his radio again. The parents quieted down in order to hear, but it was still plain static. "It's approaching 8:30," Ron said, grabbing his keys from his pocket. "This is getting out of hand."
"Where are you going?" Terri asked.
"I'm going to take a drive out to the cemetery and see what's happening," Ron said. "Or if I can find the bus."
"Do you want some of us to come with you?" Mr. Rotterdam asked.
"Yes, of course," agreed Mrs. Borden. "Some of us can wait here, and some of us can go with you."
"Have any of you even attempted to call your kids?" Mr. Coppermine asked. "John has a bit of an unreliable phone, but…"
"Of course we have," Emily Rotterdam snapped. "Straight to voicemail."
"The service out by the cemetery is very spotty," Ross said.
"I did try Eric's, and the same thing - straight to voicemail," Paul said, holding his flip phone out.
"Anna doesn't have a phone," Terri shrugged. "No need."
"Same with Beatrice," Mrs. Butler said.
Some of the other parents gave them queer looks.
"Alright, well, I'm going," Ron said, his arms out. "Anyone who cares to join, then hop on in, but otherwise, you're getting left behind."
Ellen glanced back at Holly still sleeping in the car seat. It was approaching 8:45. What was she supposed to do?
