Read Online The Care and Handling of Roses With Thorns by Margaret Dilloway - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Margaret Dilloway
Tags: Fiction, Contemporary Women
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soil and hope it roots.
There are about twenty-five of the propagated plants in plastic pots, set up on wooden benches. All of these have buds. These are also wait-and-see. Most other regions in the country don’t have blooms until June; in California, the outdoor roses start blooming around April, sometimes earlier.
I remember Byron’s question. I’ll go ahead and send him my answer. For best results, he needs to go back two generations maternally, and use the mother he had then instead of the mother he’s using now. I think.
• • •
THE GREENHOUSE DOOR OPENS, and I jump a little. I hadn’t heard anyone coming. Dara stands there, looking concerned. “What on earth happened to you? Dr. O’Malley showed up and took over. He wouldn’t say anything. Just said you and your family were ‘physically’ all right.”
“I am.” I write “G101” on a paper tag and tie it around the new rose I’ve pollinated. “It’s my niece. She’s here.”
“Riley is here?” Dara knows all about Riley and Becky. Dara shakes her head. “Is your sister here, too?”
“Becky is not. Becky’s on her way to Hong Kong for her job, apparently.” I put the rose back in its proper place, the best seat in the house. “She sent Riley here.”
“She can’t do that.” Dara’s voice rises. “She can’t drop her kid off and expect you to pick up the pieces.”
“That would be expecting my sister to be reasonable. And you cannot expect that from Becky.” I stand. “Let’s go inside. You can meet her. She loves art, but she hates art class.”
“I’ll change her mind.” Dara follows me in. “Your class behaved well, if you were wondering.”
“Of course they did. They’re never bad. Just lazy.”
Dara laughs. “Spoken like someone on tenure.”
“You know I only speaketh the truth. I’m the Oracle of St. Mark’s.” I take a minute steak out of the freezer, suddenly ravenous. “Want one?”
“No thanks. You should eat leaner meat.”
“So they tell me.” I take out a frying pan.
“Why don’t you sit down and let me cook?”
“I’m fine.” Dara is sweet, but sometimes too overbearing. Like my mother. However, if it weren’t for Dara, my mother would have far more episodes where she decides to fly up in the middle of the night based on a hunch that I’m sick or needy.
“Anyway, there’s more news.” Dara sits up, her face lit. “Dr. O’Malley hired a chemistry teacher.”
“About time.” We’ve been interviewing candidates forever. At least, since last year. “Which one did he pick?”
“A new guy. Comes from a chemical company in San Luis Obispo.” She shrugs. “Everyone’s talking. Seems like a step down for someone like him. Step down in pay for sure. And it’s not like we live in a glamorous city.”
“That is interesting.” I flip the steak out onto a plate. Teachers at our school are underpaid, earning even less than public school teachers. “We’ll see how long he lasts. At least he can help coach the Science Olympiad team.”
I had volunteered to coach Science Olympiad after my first year, because I didn’t like how the old coach had done things and our team had come in next to last place for three years in a row. Not a very good showing for a private school.
The team is supposed to have two coaches, one in life science and one in physical. Ms. Maseda, the physics teacher, dropped out this year. She’s close to retirement and suffers from a variety of physical ailments. Plus, she kept falling asleep during the after-school meetings. We made quite the decrepit motley pair, she and I, showing up to meets with one good kidney between the two of us. But we did place third last year.
Sometimes my mother worries about me taking on too many activities. The truth is, the more a patient like me does, the better. All of this keeps me going.
“You’re so cynical.”
I don’t think I’m cynical at all. If I were, I would have given up long ago. “I expect the
There are about twenty-five of the propagated plants in plastic pots, set up on wooden benches. All of these have buds. These are also wait-and-see. Most other regions in the country don’t have blooms until June; in California, the outdoor roses start blooming around April, sometimes earlier.
I remember Byron’s question. I’ll go ahead and send him my answer. For best results, he needs to go back two generations maternally, and use the mother he had then instead of the mother he’s using now. I think.
• • •
THE GREENHOUSE DOOR OPENS, and I jump a little. I hadn’t heard anyone coming. Dara stands there, looking concerned. “What on earth happened to you? Dr. O’Malley showed up and took over. He wouldn’t say anything. Just said you and your family were ‘physically’ all right.”
“I am.” I write “G101” on a paper tag and tie it around the new rose I’ve pollinated. “It’s my niece. She’s here.”
“Riley is here?” Dara knows all about Riley and Becky. Dara shakes her head. “Is your sister here, too?”
“Becky is not. Becky’s on her way to Hong Kong for her job, apparently.” I put the rose back in its proper place, the best seat in the house. “She sent Riley here.”
“She can’t do that.” Dara’s voice rises. “She can’t drop her kid off and expect you to pick up the pieces.”
“That would be expecting my sister to be reasonable. And you cannot expect that from Becky.” I stand. “Let’s go inside. You can meet her. She loves art, but she hates art class.”
“I’ll change her mind.” Dara follows me in. “Your class behaved well, if you were wondering.”
“Of course they did. They’re never bad. Just lazy.”
Dara laughs. “Spoken like someone on tenure.”
“You know I only speaketh the truth. I’m the Oracle of St. Mark’s.” I take a minute steak out of the freezer, suddenly ravenous. “Want one?”
“No thanks. You should eat leaner meat.”
“So they tell me.” I take out a frying pan.
“Why don’t you sit down and let me cook?”
“I’m fine.” Dara is sweet, but sometimes too overbearing. Like my mother. However, if it weren’t for Dara, my mother would have far more episodes where she decides to fly up in the middle of the night based on a hunch that I’m sick or needy.
“Anyway, there’s more news.” Dara sits up, her face lit. “Dr. O’Malley hired a chemistry teacher.”
“About time.” We’ve been interviewing candidates forever. At least, since last year. “Which one did he pick?”
“A new guy. Comes from a chemical company in San Luis Obispo.” She shrugs. “Everyone’s talking. Seems like a step down for someone like him. Step down in pay for sure. And it’s not like we live in a glamorous city.”
“That is interesting.” I flip the steak out onto a plate. Teachers at our school are underpaid, earning even less than public school teachers. “We’ll see how long he lasts. At least he can help coach the Science Olympiad team.”
I had volunteered to coach Science Olympiad after my first year, because I didn’t like how the old coach had done things and our team had come in next to last place for three years in a row. Not a very good showing for a private school.
The team is supposed to have two coaches, one in life science and one in physical. Ms. Maseda, the physics teacher, dropped out this year. She’s close to retirement and suffers from a variety of physical ailments. Plus, she kept falling asleep during the after-school meetings. We made quite the decrepit motley pair, she and I, showing up to meets with one good kidney between the two of us. But we did place third last year.
Sometimes my mother worries about me taking on too many activities. The truth is, the more a patient like me does, the better. All of this keeps me going.
“You’re so cynical.”
I don’t think I’m cynical at all. If I were, I would have given up long ago. “I expect the