THE STUDENT COUNCIL

Roger Cooper had arrived in Oil City in a Subaru Outback, a vehicle that suited his persona. After his first month of work at the Toyota dealership, Denny Noble had insisted that he drive a 4Runner and loaned him one for free. As Roger drove into the lot on Friday morning, his mind was bursting with positivity. At age thirty-seven, he truly had it all. At last.

Roger’s first stop was the four-bay garage, where three mechanics were already busy. Like every Friday, he had stopped at Venango Bakery to fill a box with his co-workers’ favorite donuts. “Ow ya goin’?” Roger called out in greeting. All three wiped grease from their hands in smiling anticipation.

The charismatic salesman plucked a maple bar from the box for Ken, who said, “Dammit, Roger, you’re the best!”

Manny accepted his cream-filled Bavarian and saluted. “I love Fridays!”

“And plain old glazed for plain old Larry,” Roger announced with a grin. “Wait, what’s this?” He lifted his banded leather hat, revealing a bag of freshly ground Colombian coffee resting atop his head. “It must be ol’ Larry’s sixty-first burday!”

He tossed the bag to Larry, who caught it and beamed. “Not even my wife remembered!”

After inquiring about Ken’s bad back and Manny’s Labrador Retriever pup, Roger entered the showroom. He made another “G’ mornin’” circuit there, delivering a treat to each of the office staff, before sitting at his own desk. Taking his notebook from the top drawer, he glanced over the day’s schedule. The headline was at the bottom of the page: 6:30 dinner with Emily - Dewdrop Inn.

Soon after moving to Oil City, Roger had signed up for early morning aerobic classes, something new for him. His standard approach to meeting ladies in a new town had always been ballroom dance lessons. For a non-drinker, they provided an ideal setting to mingle with sensitive and sensible women. With quick boots and outback charm, he was always a hit. Because Oil City offered no such venue, he had opted for exercise. He discovered the love of his life in leotards at Forever Fit.

The gold band on Emily’s finger had seemed of little consequence at first. An intimate relationship with such an elegant woman seemed well beyond his reach. Beyond that, just making her smile, seeing her eyes laugh, was more satisfying than any romp had ever been. The surprise came a month after classes began, when she appeared at the Toyota showroom one afternoon. She asked him if she could test drive an Avalon.

As she drove over the bridge spanning the Allegheny, Roger chatted about the warranty and low maintenance from the passenger seat. When she steered up a wooded hillside, he discussed all the model’s special features. After she turned onto a secluded dirt road and cut the engine, he finally stopped talking. Emily took his hand and placed it on her right breast. He would remember her words forever: “Roger, every time you look at me, I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Looking up from his notebook, Roger noticed a potential customer wandering around the lot. He glanced at Harold, the other salesman on duty. Whose turn was it? Halfway into an apple fritter, Harold nodded a go-ahead.

Roger bounced up, hurried out the door, and approached the tire-kicker. “Ow ya goin’, mate?”

Before the man could answer, a car swerved into the lot and skidded to a stop. Two teenagers got out of the back seat and started hopping around, their arms curled up in front of their chests.

“You know what we are?” one shouted, still jumping. Two boys in the front seat laughed hysterically.

“We’re pretending to be kangaroos!” the other yelled. “Pretending to be Australian, just like Raja Coopa!”

“Why don’t you go back to Australia, Coopa?” another boy hollered from the car.

One of the kangaroos stopped hopping. “How can he go back? Old Raja’s never been there!”

The driver started honking the horn with his forehead, while the others bent over in more laughter. Manny, Larry and Harold rushed out of the building to check out the commotion.

Roger watched it all in tragic disbelief. His glorious run in Oil City was over. Hell, it felt like his whole life was over.

Amy was dozing beneath her ice pack when the doorbell rang twice in rapid succession, a Google trademark. Instead of hiking down two flights of stairs, she tapped his phone number.

“S’up?” she said, flexing her mouth. The cold compress was helping.

“You okay?” His voice oozed concern.

“Not okay lookin’. And hurts to talk.”

“Well, can I come in or what? I’ve got flowers.”

“Flowers? I’m not dead.”

He laughed. “I guess not. Well?”

“Back door’s open.”

Google entered her room a few minutes later, carrying a grocery store bouquet in a plastic juice pitcher. “This is all I could find for a vase in your kitchen.”

She had covered her face with the sheet and peeked over it. “Thanks for thinking of me. You’re a real Samaritan.”

He set the flowers on the nightstand. “You won’t show me? It’s that bad?”

“I’m just vain.”

“Your mother said you tripped and fell?”

“Landed right on my perfect face. Give me a few days. If you want to visit, sit on the end of the bed and stare out the window, not at me.”

Google sat as ordered. “The pie sales should make you happy. All those sales yesterday and then today ... people lined up at the door, waiting for the bakery to open. What did you do? How did you pull that off?”

“It’s all in the recipe. It’s time to write up something for the council website. You know, hype the sales. See if the bakery can come up with packaging for mail order. The two-fifty can include priority mailing. That should still leave a two hundred profit on each sale.”

“Amy, are you sure you’re okay? Why would anyone outside Oil City buy any?”

“Because it’s a cool thing to do, a way to show support for the council and school. Tell William to talk it up when he’s doing all those interviews.”

“I’ll do it,” Google said half-heartedly, “but I still don’t get it.”

“How about the rest of the Samaritan stuff?” she asked.

“Our first shipment’s due in today. Shirts, sweats, caps, cups ... all the junk you suggested. Berman’s watching over all that.”

“Hand the pies to the business club too,” Amy suggested. “Less on your plate. What else is going on?”

“The mall is like its own little city. People are calling it Williamsburg. Trucks coming and going, people scrambling everywhere. Computers are being set up and programmed today. You’re going to be amazed when you see everything.

“One of the issues we’re arguing about is seat assignments. Berman thinks it’s important to keep friends from sitting next to each other. Too much disruptive talking and all that. I tend to agree.”

Amy’s laugh caused a pinch of pain. “No! A hundred percent wrong. We want kids to like school. Nobody wants to spend all day sitting next to someone they don’t like. Keep the talking to whispers, that’s all. We want the highest attendance ever.”

Google shook his head. “Dammit, Amy.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m what’s wrong. Berman too. What you’re saying makes total sense. Filling the seats every day is the most important thing.”

“Make it happen then. Once students have their room assignment, they choose their own work stations. Anything new on the teachers?”

“That’s a problem. Hardly any of the high school teachers want to be reassigned. Some want to stay with the new school because it’s getting so much attention. Others want to stick around because they think their job will be easier. They see computerized courses as automated education. And they all love the idea of having a student teacher. Over twenty of those are signed up already.”

“Don’t worry about the teachers for now. It’s probably hard to make changes with the school year underway. It feels like you’re winning on most fronts. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

“Thanks, Amy. Big game tonight with Meadville. They’re undefeated so far, just like Oil City.”

Amy sat up. “Major sales opportunity! Get the business club to set up a booth and sell the new Samaritan gear.”

“They’re talking about doing that next week maybe.”

“C’mon!” she snapped. “Don’t let a week slip away. They’ll probably sell everything they have tonight. They can order more for next week.”

“I’ll bring it up with Berman.”

“Insist on it.”

“I will. Are you going to the game with Cow Pie again?”

“With this face? No. I won’t be going at all. I’ll listen on the radio. And no more Cow Pie. His name is Fred.”

Grant Westin pulled into his driveway and parked. Before going inside to see his daughter, he grabbed a shovel from the garage. The FOR SALE sign on the front lawn was coming down. That would put a smile on her bruised face.

His success in reviving the company was a blessing in many ways. The loss of money had been troubling, but the very prospect of failure was crippling. Forcing his daughter to relocate, at such an important time in her life, would have been a heartbreaker. More than anything, the turnaround would provide satisfactory closure with Emily.

None of the mistakes that sank Westin Construction to the brink of bankruptcy had been her doing. The opposite was true. His wife had urged him to downscale when the economy headed south. She cautioned against every reckless investment. When he plunged deeply into debt to build the Allegheny Mall, she’d been blunt: “We have enough to be comfortable for the rest of our lives, to put our girls through college. Why would you put all that at risk? Why is my concern meaningless to you?” As time passed and all their savings disappeared, her resentment only grew.

As did his, for a very different reason. To him, his wife’s face had always reflected all that was right in his life. For over twenty years of marriage, he had drawn on her steady presence, used it for motivation to grow and succeed. Her love and admiration were all that mattered, all he needed. And then things changed. Business instincts that had served him well for so long started to betray him. He suffered the Greenstone Groceries disaster. Emily’s face, his former inspiration, became a constant reminder of failure. Why hadn’t he listened to her?

To his wife’s credit, she never complained. After airing her initial objections, there had never been a single “I told you so.” The emerald in her eyes may have dulled like winter grass, but she continued to work dutifully. In his eyes, she became more a tragic heroine than a loving partner. He was no longer worthy of Emily. She knew him too well.

Trisha Berman had entered his life like a cloudburst after a three-year drought. She was a young Emily, free of knowledge of his shortcomings. A chance to start over and do things right. She wasn’t concerned about a failing company or being secure in old age. Love was enough.

Emily had known of his affair immediately. He sensed it. She never broached the subject or badgered him for a name - she no longer cared enough to do those things – but she knew. Her only reaction had been to see it as a green light. She entered a relationship of her own.

Grant had been only mildly concerned with her decision. He hoped she hadn’t chosen one of their mutual friends. And he hoped a prospective second husband had resources to provide for her properly. The chances of a significant divorce settlement from him looked bleak. He found out about the car salesman easily.

The high school fire had brightened the future for both of them. The company was alive and she’d receive half of the earnings forever, whether she continued to work with him or not. Emily more than deserved that.

After taking the sign to the garage, Grant headed up the stairs to visit Amy. He had stood over her last night while she slept, seen the damage to her face. So very sad. She had to be the kindest, most innocent child in the world.

Eventually, Emily or he would have to give Amy news of an impending divorce. Telling the older daughter would be less of a problem. Sadie was strong, independent, and resourceful. When the time for talking arrived, he would volunteer to tell Sadie.