“Sisyphus was an absurd hero,” Mr. Grandy had said, standing at the chalkboard in Charlotte’s English class.

What was absurd was Charlotte’s mother, Vivian “I-don’t-trust-people-who-read-books” Dalton, reading classic literature in the Dalton family living room with nary a movie magazine in sight. Charlotte stood gaping like a fish at the aquarium glass, her mouth dropping open and pulling closed.

“I have decided,” her mother announced that night at dinner, “that I would like to get my high school diploma.”

The word “diploma” hung in the air over the casserole dish of cheese and burned chicken; a fancy, swirling invisible banner that suddenly sounded very foreign to Charlotte. Did she say “diploma”? Charlotte stared, and her dad stared, and her mother picked up her fork and was using it to prod at a few peas rolling around her plate.

“What?” her dad asked.

“I said—” her mother began again, really leaning into the word “said,” drawing it out into several syllables. Sa-a-a-a-ai-d.

“You’re not going to be in classes at the school, are you?” Charlotte blurted out, interrupting. She could picture it now, starting her junior year with Mrs. Kelvin saying: “Why, Vivian Dalton, did you make that dress yourself? And I just love that rooster brooch! Come sit here, next to Charlotte.”

“No, Charlotte,” her mother said airily. “I’ve spoken with Principal Scott, and he’s going to have some of the teachers coordinate a home curriculum for me.”

Coordinate. Curriculum. Charlotte stared at her mother, eyes wide. She then felt a sickly, sticky veil of horror descend over her at the idea of her mother meeting with the principal. Then she frowned at the absurdity. Absurd.

“Why do you want to do that?” Charlotte’s dad asked.

“Yes,” Charlotte chimed in, in what she hoped was a more pleasant tone. “Yes, why?”

“Because, I want to. That’s all.”

Her dad shrugged, and went back to eating his cheesy chicken, with a slight smile playing around the corners of his lips. Charlotte’s eyebrows furrowed again and she watched her mother scoop the peas onto the edge of her fork and guide them into her mouth.

Charlotte’s desire to leave Wooster returned with the strength of a late spring tornado. But not until she finished high school. Until she could get out, maybe this wouldn’t be the worst thing. The dictionary on Mother’s Day had been kind of a joke, but was it really a bad thing that her mother wanted to learn? With any luck she would use that dictionary to expand her vocabulary and her mind, so she could stop using the racial epithets that she didn’t really understand and that made Charlotte cringe with shame, and maybe she’d finally learn what “four-flushers” really meant.

Chapter 49

June crept up on Vivian almost without notice. All of a sudden it was time to flip the page on the wall calendar in the kitchen. Edward had installed the screens in all the windows, which were now open, just above the freshly planted geraniums in Vivian’s new flower boxes, to let the occasional warm breeze circulate throughout the house.