by Alan Lee
Jennings stood. Winced. “Daisy? Excuse me, Ms. Hathaway.”
“Daisy. You’re sweating.”
He pushed fingers through his hair, came away damp. Faked a grin. “Long day.”
“You always stand, Mr. Jennings, around me.”
“That’s just good breeding, is all.” Inwardly he cursed. Wished he wouldn’t say stupid crap to her.
She smiled. “Good breeding and good manners. I like it. The world as it should be.”
“We’re trying to have a civilization, aren’t we?”
“Good point. You’re quoting a famous historian?”
“Jerry Seinfeld.”
She laughed at that, and clutched her books to her chest. “I was only curious about your truck.”
“My truck?”
“The one vandalized? Remember?”
“Right. It should be ready next week. Good as new.” He wiped his forehead.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Mr. Jennings? You’re flushed.”
Well, I’m lonely and you’re wearing the short red skirt, what’d you expect, Daisy Hathaway.
He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. I’m stressed about lesson plans, that’s it.”
“Why?”
“I’m about to run out. I mean, I have the textbooks, but I’m near the end of what I planned.”
She glanced to her room and back. Said, “I…”
“Yeah?”
“I have an idea. A great idea.”
“Those are my favorite kind, Ms. Hathaway.”
“Daisy. I have Reggie’s lesson plans in my room.”
“The history teacher from last year?”
“Some of his boxes were moved across the hall when he left. I’ve been using them to integrate English and history.”
“Can I peek?”
“That’s my great idea. We’ll go through it together. What about…tonight?” She looked at the toes of her booties, hair falling in front of her face. “I have a master’s in education. Which means I should be good at this, technically, though it doesn’t always feel that way. I can help with your lessons. At a coffee shop?”
Jennings took a deep breath but came away without enough oxygen. At a coffee shop. His anxiety arrived without stark fear, like this morning, but rather a thrill, like cresting the first hill of a rollercoaster.
“Mr. Jennings?”
“Dan,” he said.
“Does that work, Daniel? You already have plans, I bet.”
Most people didn’t use his full name. Just Hathaway and Peter Lynch. The mouth made the difference between a blessing and a curse.
“No, I can— I can do that.”
“How about seven,” she said.
“I’ll pick you up?”
“Why not? It’s a date.”
He nodded and he swallowed.
“And relax, Daniel, not a real date. Just a teacher date.”
He listened to her walk away, the heels of her booties clicking.
Who was scarier, Peter Lynch or Daisy Hathaway?
At the moment, Jennings sweating and weak in the knees, it was a toss up.
18
Hathaway berated herself the entire drive home. Asking him out? How’d that happen? The words just tumbled. She heard herself mention the coffee shop and then she called it a date.
I’ll pick you up. Why not?
She was engaged, that’s why not!
Or she had been—it was months since Byron had considered a ceremony, she knew. But that was irrelevant. She had to cancel with Mr. Jennings.
With Daniel.
Traveling with him on Monday had felt like cheating. With any other colleague, it would’ve been a simple trip. But everything with Daniel Jennings felt like cheating.
She walked inside and set her laptop on the counter. She had to look him up and cancel this instant. A text message, not an email, to ensure he received it.
“I’m home.” She said it out of habit and obligation, but she didn’t say it loudly.
She found ‘Jennings, Daniel’ in the school directory. His cell number. Just having his name and face on her screen felt inappropriate. What if Byron saw?
No. Byron wouldn’t care. Or notice. Or even come upstairs except for food. She turned toward the basement door. The quiet basement door. Was he even here?
She found a note on the fridge pinned by a magnet.
Out with friends. Back later.
Out where? With who? Back when? She didn’t warrant an explanation? Or invitation?
She crumbled the note and threw it away.
“I’m engaged to a teenager.” She muttered it. Leaned forward over the counter, resting on her palms. “He’s twenty-seven but he’s still a teenager. And somehow I became his parent.”
It was true. An awful revelation. So disgusting she turned her face from the trashcan.
I go to work, come home to feed the boy playing video games all day, and he takes off leaving me to worry.
A mother. I’m his MOTHER!
A low point in her life. The nadir of an engagement. She knew without looking that Byron’d accomplished nothing today. Made no money. Took no step in his career. No step toward his goals. Or his health. Or their future.
It was only a note on the fridge. But it also felt like a nail in their coffin. Daisy Hathaway was engaged. Her fiancé was not.
She slammed the laptop closed. Walked out of the kitchen, booties clicking.
An hour later she returned. Scribbled her own note.
Out with a friend. Back later.
The note had started out neat. By the final word, she was writing in irked slashes.
Daniel wasn’t due yet but she grabbed her bag and fled the house. Outside she breathed freer, the air crisp. She felt like she’d walked into a clearing after a dark hike.
19
It wasn’t a date but Jennings took a shower and put on his good Levi’s. One spray of Polo Black, only enough for her to detect in the car or if she got close. And if she got that close, well, then, it was her fault. He wiped his palms at the thought. He plucked Daisy Hathaway off her curb at seven and drove to Mill Mountain Coffee, and he tried to calm down.
The coffee shop was as it should be—high ceilings, tile floors, wooden tables, wrought iron chairs, the menu written in chalk on blackboards.
Hathaway claimed the biggest workspace and unloaded her bag, and Jennings ordered two coffees. He came back with the hot mugs and set his backpack in the adjacent chair. Unpacked his planner, a textbook, a laptop, and a binder of supplemental materials. She reached for his planner and flipped it open.
“Wow.” She browsed. “I’m impressed.”
“Why’s that?”
“This is thorough. And precise. Most teachers aren’t.”
“I want to do it well,” he said.
“Even the dreaded SOL objectives. Your handwriting is perfect, Daniel.”
“My mom insisted, growing up.”
“What was your undergrad GPA?”
“I was a salutatorian. One of fifty.”
“You rat. You made better grades than me.”
“Obviously.”
She laughed and when she did she spilled her coffee onto the table. He stood faster than she did.
“I got it.”
“No, it’s okay,” she said but he’d already reached the napkins.
They mopped it together and threw the sodden mess away. He picked up her empty mug.
“Daniel, thank you, I’ll get it.” Their fingers brushed as the mug transferred and he nearly fumbled it. His nervous tension was a naked truth open to both of them.
At the counter she requested a refill and decided it was absurd to keep pretending. Absurd and impossible.
Hathaway set the full mug on their table. Reached across and took his hand. Squeezed it and let go.
“Let’s get something out of the way,” she said.
“Okay.”
“You’re terrified of me.”
Jennings grinned. A
rupture of sheer panic and then the pressure released.
“I wouldn’t say terrified.”
“The manners, the ma’am, the Ms. Hathaway?” she said.
“You’re the clumsy one spilling her coffee.”
“I know, but…Daniel.”
“Terrified is the wrong word.”
“What’s the right one?” she said.
“I’m deliberate and cautious.”
“Should I be flattered? I think I am. You’re this big strong man who can’t talk around me.”
“I’m not great with girls.”
“I’ve seen you talk to others easily.”
“That’s because, ah, you’re Teddy Roosevelt.”
“I’m what?” she said.
“Wow, that sounded bad.”
“It did.”
“I like history and there are a lot of presidents. But the 26th, Teddy, is my favorite. By a long shot. I’d be starstruck around him. Like I am around you.”
“That’s an unusual explanation, Daniel. A first for me.”
“Being starstruck is a compliment. My opinion of you is higher than of your peers.”
“Okay.” She smiled at him, the smile of a girl who knew the boy had a crush and she wouldn’t pretend otherwise. “Thank you, Daniel.”
“It’ll pass. I’m still acclimating after the Army and the military hospital. Not everything is dirt and crude jokes now. There are girls who smell nice.”
“You didn’t date in the Army?”
“Like I said, that wasn’t my world.”
“I’m glad we’re friends, Daniel. Even if I make you nervous.”
The word friends felt forced. Like she wasn’t sure if either would believe it.
He said, “Should we get to work?”
She slid back his planner. “One last thing. Would you like some advice?”
“Sure.”
“I love the gentleman act you do. I’m into it. Most guys don’t try, but they should. However, you need to mix in some naughty.” She grinned at his expression. “What I mean is, be a gentleman who’s obviously thinking risqué thoughts. That combination will be irresistible.”
“My, my, Daisy.”
She sat up, remembering something. Pushed her hair back. “This advice is for use on other women. Not on me.”
“Because you’re engaged.”
“That’s…that’s right. I thought you’d forgotten.”
“You wore an engagement ring when I first met you,” he said.
The unspoken fact that she’d stopped wearing it hummed in the air.
“I should more often, I suppose.” She extracted her planner. Flipped it open. Pursed her lips and closed it again. “Were you always like this, Daniel?”
“Starstruck?”
“Nervous around girls. You shouldn’t be. The boys and the other men stare and watch you like you’re the first real man they’ve ever seen,” she said.
“I’m fine with who I am, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“I don’t know, I’m still figuring it out.”
“Your confidence is shot,” she said.
“It’ll grow back.”
“The trauma you went through messed up more than your leg,” she said.
“Correct.”
“Of course it did, I should know that. That’s why you think you have to earn your place. Here’s a crass question—with your military family, is the war wound a badge of honor?”
“Yes. But it’s tricky.”
“Do you mind talking about this, Daniel?”
Ask me anything, Daisy.
Think risqué thoughts.
“No, I don’t mind.”
“Why is your family tricky?” she said.
“It was a good family. Still is, though my dad died. I didn’t fit in, a house full of real men, but I was the child of my mother.”
“When did your dad die?”
“Three years ago.”
“Were you close?” she said.
“A close as we could be. He and my brother wanted to watch Glory or Blackhawk Down but I liked comedies. I’d rather read than shoot skeet. Sports instead of hunting. They never said anything but I felt the disappointment. That’s why I like the Academy. No one is disappointed and I’m not disappointed with myself.”
She leaned back in her chair, nodding. “Disappointment with one’s self. That’s a new feeling for me. But a persistent one. Our histories are exactly opposite, Daniel.”
“How so?”
“You went through life feeling like you did it wrong. You felt you were disappointing people along the way. Well I did life exactly correct. I was popular, pretty, perfect in high school and college. I was told so every day. I didn’t drink until I was 21, for heaven’s sake. And now…disappointment.”
“What’s to be disappointed with?”
“Oh boy, don’t get me started.”
“I got time,” he said.
“You wouldn’t enjoy it. That’s a rant better saved for a second teacher date, not the first.”
“I want the rant, Daisy.”
“I think about this when I can’t sleep, Daniel, and here’s what I think. I think our parents took a first look at their darling pink newborns and it was unbearable knowing life would be difficult. So they spent money and time crafting a perfect world. An ideal childhood, where we could learn to always make the perfect choices. That way life wouldn’t be quite so hellish on their children. That’s where I went—I strolled that perfect path, humming and picking flowers, and I even accepted a marriage proposal from the correct man, because I should.”
“But you followed the yellow brick road…”
“And there’s no emerald city,” said Hathaway. “There really isn’t, Daniel. There’s only more road. My road was largely free of potholes but…but I’m questioning everything. Everything, the very premise of American fabric.”
“I had these thoughts too, when I couldn’t sleep, lying in a hospital bed.”
Her smile held no joy. “Your disillusionment is one year more mature than mine.”
“We’re a mess.”
“We are.” She leaned forward to squeeze his hand. “And you, poor guy, thought life would get better but you ran straight into the biggest, hairiest jerk imaginable.”
“Let’s not mention names.” Jennings’ hand tingled. He nodded backward at the patrons behind him. “His name is well known.”
“We’ll call him the hairy jerk. It suits him.” She winked.
“It’s so strange. He’s this monster who doesn’t even pretend that he’s not a monster, and everyone ignores that he hurts people.”
“Do you believe in fate, Daniel? Like you were brought to our school for a reason? To deal with him?”
“I don’t believe in fate. Or I don’t think I do.”
“What about God?”
“Yes. But if he brought me to the school for a reason, does that mean he’s responsible for blowing off my leg?”
“I hope not. I think he’s nicer than that.” Hathaway smiled and closed her eyes and shook her head, like triggering a reset. “Goodness, how did we get on this? We’ve only been here ten minutes.”
“You started it, talking about how hot and sad you are.”
She laughed, so pure that the college students behind them smiled at the sound.
Outside the coffee shop, beyond the warm glow, sitting in the dark cab of his restored 1970 Ford Mustang Mach 1, a car that rarely came out of his garage, Peter Lynch watched Daisy Hathaway smile and laugh. She reached across the table to touch the arm of Daniel Jennings again, and Lynch screamed curses like he had Tourette’s—the sound audible outside his cab.
Lynch ground his teeth and his gums bled immediately. His bruxism was severe enough that his lower gums had begun to recede and he was on his third set of molar veneers. He squeezed the steering wheel and pressed against it, shoulders forced back into his seat. Powerful muscles bunching. The wheel would’ve bent in his newer cars.<
br />
Blinding rage thundered between his ears. A fish hook dangling from the keyring shivered.
In high school, and even into his late thirties, he would’ve stormed the coffee shop and beaten Jennings with an iron chair. Not one person would’ve or could’ve stopped him. He’d done it before, beaten someone, watching himself as if from a distance, sometimes with an audience. First the audience would pretend it wasn’t happening and then that it wasn’t their place to get involved. Eventually they’d hurry out, bravely calling 911 as they fled. A rapturous godlike emotion, breaking a human body and the onlookers too in awe to stop it.
People were cowards. But they had camera phones now.
Experience had taught him. Pain had taught him. Police would eventually show in force, even a day later at his house. Society would discover his rage and quit giving him business and money even though he beat the charges.
Society had a new bargaining chip now—they would take away his daughter. And that mattered. The first thing other than hate that had ever mattered.
For his daughter he could quell the volcano, delay the eruption.
Lynch forced his hands to release the wheel—fingers had gripped tight enough to leave skin behind—and a trickle of blood dribbled down his chin. He started the engine
Lynch didn’t know it at the time but two other men sat nearby, watching Daisy and Daniel through the coffee shop’s big windows. They were inside an unmarked Dodge police cruiser, in the Buffalo Wild Wings lot near the exit.
Leaving, Lynch laid down a rubber slick with his tires. Too much horsepower, too much rage. He lost control, jumped the curb, bulldozed through a shrub patch, and snapped the wooden sign post before getting his foot off the pedal.
The two officers watched the angry red brake lights turn onto Starkey, and they shared a glance—hopefully no one witnessed that.
They didn’t pursue the 1970 Ford Mustang.
They waited.
20
Jennings loaded their school supplies into the Altima’s trunk and they left the coffee shop.
The air inside the rental felt electric. A seismic shift had occurred in their relationship, unseen forces crashing and producing energy.
His admission:
My opinion of you is higher than of other women.
