The Turner's : A Short Story

The Turner’s

Elaine hurriedly grabbed for her tattered black handbag as she exited her 1994 black mustang. She hadn’t washed her hair in about five days and piling her thick black locks high in a bun atop her head wasn’t going to disguise her neglect much longer. She felt the familiar breeze of the air against her backside and routinely hiked up her low rise skinny jeans to cover the inadvertent peepshow her buttocks were giving. Her saddle colored leather jacket looked about as done for as her hair, but that wasn’t something she was willing to change. She head for the school doors taking a brisk stride. Her long legs kicked upward, as if she were practicing her best goose step in some foreign army; likely the consequence of wearing cumbersome motorcycle boots. As she strode toward the principal’s office she sighed and curled the top corner of her upper lip, making no effort to hide her annoyance when she spotted Belinda.
Belinda was impeccably dressed as always and returned Elaine’s expression with her own exasperated eye roll. She was already seated in Principal Arnold’s office. Elaine chuckled. Knowing Belinda, she was not only on time but was likely 30 minutes early for the appointment.

Neatly crossing her legs and placing her designer purse on her lap, Belinda stared straight ahead refusing to exchange any further eye contact with Elaine. She had already seen enough when Elaine so rudely made a face at her. She gently swept her almost waist length hair across one shoulder, being careful not to apply too much pressure to her hair extensions. She waited patiently while observing her French manicure for imperfections. Her stomach was still aching from her workout this morning, so she drew her legs closer toward her to give her core an extra burn. She delighted in her diligence to stay fit and smirked to herself as she began to feel the ache intensify. She caught a glimpse of Elaine’s olive hand extending to shake Mr. Arnolds’s and wondered if she tanned to achieve that color or if it were the result of genetics. Her own complexion was a natural honey color, a result of being of mixed race.

Alicia was in the corner, with her arms defensively or defiantly crossed. One could never tell what she was thinking however, once she spoke the mystery would unfold quite quickly. Clad in a dress shirt, blazer and some jeans with some converse sneakers, her outfit was best described as the mullet of fashion wear. It was all business waist up and a party waist down. Her hair was closely cropped to her head and aside from lip gloss, she never wore a smidgeon of makeup over her flawless cocoa skin. She leaned her voluptuous frame against the small library in the principal’s office while boldly observing Elaine and Belinda. Neither of them made much effort to return her stare although she was sure they knew she was looking each of them over. Belinda consciously shifted in her seat, likely bothered by Alicia’s deliberate gaze. Elaine would glance back at her periodically breaking eye contact to return to looking ahead of her as if there were anything to see other than the principals academic degrees.

“Has anyone seen Mr. Turner?” Mr. Arnold asked.

Mr. Arnold scanned the room as a symphony of mumbles commenced. He nodded his head affirmatively, assuming the general consensus was that no one had seen or heard from Mr. Turner.

“I suppose we should begin?” Mr. Arnold asked again. This time, his voice revealed a hint of disappointment. Again, the symphony of mumbles began and Mr. Arnold politely raised his hand; the involuntary conductor, signaling for rest.
“Amanda, Jacob, Jackson, and Junior got into a very heated discussion yesterday.” Mr. Arnold began. “It seems” he said while making eye contact with the three women “that they were arguing about who was spending the upcoming holiday with Mr. Turner.”

Simultaneous chatter commenced and Mr. Arnold again, raised his hand either in surrender or a plea for silence.“Custody issues may have a place in your household, but not in my school lunchroom. I ask that all of you speak with your children and request that they refrain from initiating these discussions during school hours.” Mr. Arnold again made eye contact with all three women until each returned his stern gaze this time with their own affirmative nod of resignation.

“Should any of you be in contact with Mr. Turner, I ask that you have him call me at his earliest convenience.” Mr. Arnold sighed as he rose from his seat signaling the end of the meeting.
The three women each began to leave the principal’s office in single file. Mr. Arnold stood at the door as he held it open; politely bidding each of them adieu.

“Have a wonderful day Ms. Turner.” he said to Elaine as she offered a brief and obligatory smile that faded as fast as it appeared.

“Enjoy your day Ms. Turner” He said through a smile at Alicia. She returned his smile and nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Turner.” Mr. Arnold said with an extended hand toward Belinda. She shook his hand and gave an inappropriate grin that didn’t suit the occasion which was a surprise to no one that knew her. She quickly searched for her hand sanitizer as she reached the hallway.

Mr. Arnold returned to his desk. Just then the phone rang.

“Who is it Maggie?” He asked his secretary.

“Mr. Turner”. She said dryly.

“How convenient.” He responded sarcastically.

Mr. Arnold took a deep breath and took the call.

“Mr. Turner.” He said in an even tone in attempt to hide is irritation.

“Was our meeting today?” Mr. Turner said in a voice several octaves higher than his own. His effort to feign ignorance was completely transparent.

“Indeed it was Mr. Turner.” Mr. Arnold said abruptly.

“Oh man. I’m sorry. My fiancé got into a car accident and I had to go to the emergency room to see if she was alright. It was terrible. “Mr. Turner rambled on. “She’s pregnant, you know."

“How unfortunate.” Mr. Arnold replied.

“The accident, or the pregnancy?” Mr. Turner asked with a light chuckle.

Mr. Arnold remained silent for what seemed like several moments.

Mr. Turner continued with an uncomfortable chuckle. “Well, I’m sure you meant the accident. She’s fine by the way, the baby too. Look, thanks for chatting with the girls for me today. I know you sorted it all out.”

Mr. Arnold emit an audible sigh of annoyance.

“Mr. Turner, I suggest that you speak to your four children to make sure they are okay.” Mr. Arnold said sternly. “…you know, to ‘sort things out’. “He said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Oh, I sure will. Thanks again Mr. Arnold.” Mr. Turner replied cheerfully as he ended the call.

No sooner than Mr. Arnold hung up the phone did Maggie, his secretary barge into his office in an outrage.

“What did he say?” She asked breathing heavily as if her sprint from her office next door had exhausted her. She planted her hand into her ample waistline and furrowed her brow angrily.

Mr. Arnold shook his head.

“Four children, all the same age! Three ex-wives and a fiancé?” Maggie ran down the list of dysfunction more for her own recollection than for her supervisors.

“His fiancé is pregnant.” Mr. Arnold said softly, adding his sour cherry to Maggie’s sundae of disgust.

Maggie growled in frustration, spun on her heels and stormed out of Mr. Arnold’s office.

Mr. Arnold returned to workload before him, deliberately attempting to forget about the Turner’s but he couldn’t.
While he would spend his Christmas peacefully, four children would be divided. The irony of doing what’s best for the education of children and having little if any impact on their family life never failed to be lost him.

He thought of the three women who came together in his office; tied together yet divided by the same man. How could something as pure and innocent as love yield such terrible results? He pondered.

Reaching for the phone, Mr. Arnold dialed slowly.

“Hello?” She answered.

“It’s me.” He said.

“What’s up?” She sounded like she may have been busy, or perhaps surprised to hear from him.

“Was I a good father?” He asked.

“Why are you asking me that?” She said.

“Please just tell me.” He said, his voice pleading.

“You were a good father. You still are. We raised good people.” She said without hesitation. He could tell she was being genuine. He could tell she wasn’t attempting to placate him.

“Thank you. I know I wasn’t a great husband, but I loved you.” He confessed.

She was silent, and the crack in her voice let him know she received his confession as the apology it was meant to be.

“I know.” She said. “Goodbye Christopher.”

“Bye.” He said, placing the receiver back on the hook.