by Celeste, B.
Walking in, I see a bigger body taking up the tiny chair and a smaller body occupying the other one next to him. There’s a third chair off to the side that I take after closing the door behind me.
“Thank you for coming in,” my boss says, gesturing toward Fletcher and Dominic. “I was hoping you could elaborate on what happened earlier today for Mr. Miller.”
My eyes go to the little boy who’s the reason we’re having this meeting before my gaze turns to his father. “There was an…incident in the classroom after lunch. Some of the students were having a disagreement, and Nicki threw a bit of a tantrum leading to one of his peers’ glasses getting broke. He did apologize after we got him calmed down, but I had to say something because we can’t tolerate any type of violence.”
I feel bad knowing the child who hasn’t looked up once since I walked in will probably be grounded, but what happened needs to be handled immediately. There’s no way I could have let it go even though Dominic told Zachary he was sorry when prompted.
My boss clears her throat. “I spoke with the other parents, and they said the cost of a replacement pair of glasses will be covered by their insurance, but they’d like an upfront cost of the appointment to be covered by you and Dominic’s mother.”
Fletcher nods once. “We’ll handle it.”
I try not to let the ‘we’ part make me too curious, even though I haven’t seen another vehicle at their house in…ever. There may have been one there at some point that I just didn’t notice since I don’t actively spy on any of my neighbors, but for the most part, it’s just his truck that comes and goes from their property. The file on Dominic goes through the SALT—speech and language therapists—reports that helped clear him for enrollment at his previous school, and old grades and teacher’s notes on behavioral and participation habits from his old district. Though I looked, more than once, I didn’t see much about Nicki’s mom anywhere.
Ms. Clifton goes on. “Given the circumstances, we know that incidents will happen from time to time. But Stanton Central still can’t permit any type of violence. It’s against our policy, so we will need you to keep Dominic home for a day for out-of-school suspension.”
If that’s a problem for Fletcher, he doesn’t give it away. Like with his soldiers, he keeps a stoic expression on his face as he dips that strong chin of his. “I understand. Do you have the contact information for the other child’s parents?”
My boss rifles through some papers before handing him a piece with a phone number and name on it. “That’s the mother. They understood some of the situation once I explained, but—”
“Dominic’s condition doesn’t excuse what happened today. And it shouldn’t,” Fletcher cuts in firmly, giving no room for excuses. “He knows right from wrong enough to know better, even if he struggles with his impulses. The punishment shouldn’t be any different than any other student who did something they shouldn’t have. If out-of-school suspension for a day is justified, then fine. If it’s more, then we’ll do it. I’ll be sure the parents are paid for their son’s glasses, but I don’t want them, or this school district, to brush off Nic’s behavior simply because of his autism. That teaches him nothing.”
My boss gapes in shock.
I glance down at my lap to hide my small smile.
Nicki remains silent.
Then a chair scrapes back. “If that’s all, I’ll take my son home.”
My boss agrees and wishes them a good rest of their day, but before they leave, I hear a rough voice say, “Dominic, I think you owe your teacher an apology.”
I couldn’t imagine being the child of anybody in the military, especially not someone with Fletcher Miller’s authoritative nature. But maybe it’s precisely what Nicki needs in his life to help him learn and grow into somebody strong like his father.
In a voice so quiet I almost miss it, I hear a murmured, “Sorry, Ms. Foster.”
Because I have a feeling that his father doesn’t want me to forgive him so easily, I simply respond with, “We’ll see you the day after tomorrow, Nicki.”
I’m pulling into the driveway a few days later with a backseat full of groceries when I see somebody sitting on the front steps of my front door. When I put the car in park, my eyes narrow to get a better look since the sun is right in my line of vision.
The body stands, and it isn’t until I put up my hand to shield from the sun’s rays that I see who it is based on the height alone. “What the…?”
Fletcher Miller is standing at my door.
Turning off the car, I step out and calmly grab my purse and some groceries from the back before walking over to him. “Is everything okay?” I ask. He’s never come over since the day he let Dad and I use his mower. I’ve hired a lawn care service, so I haven’t had to bother him or my father for one again.
His eyes go down to the reusable grocery bags in my hands, then to my car where the back door is still open, so I can get the rest. “Do you need some help?”
“Oh, you don’t have to—” He doesn’t let me finish before grabbing one of the bags from my hands while I try fishing my keys out of my purse.
“I was raised to have manners,” is all he tells me in a gruff voice that has me arching a brow.
Not sure what to say, I turn to the door and unlock it before gesturing for him to come in. We get the rest of my things inside and set them on the counter before I turn to the man studying the plants on my hanging shelves, then the funny signs I found at some garage sales over the years that I hung on the walls.
He makes a noise in his throat, something sounding sort of like a low chuckle at one of them, before turning his body toward me. “I didn’t get a chance to apologize about Nic.”
Is that what this is about? “It’s done and over with,” I tell him carefully. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”
He shakes his head in disagreement, one of his palms going to his buzzed head and swiping along the stubble. “It is. He’s had some problems over the past few months, but his mother and I were hoping a new change of scenery would help.”
As tempted as I am to inquire about Nicki’s mother, I don’t. “Has it helped?”
Besides that one time, Nicki hasn’t been any trouble in school. The other kids seem to all get along fine with him despite his outburst over a seat change.
“For the most part,” Fletcher answers in a low tone before sighing to himself. “Sometimes, I don’t think he wants to be here. I’m figuring it out as I go. We both are.”
That’s…something. “It always takes time to adjust. Kids can be finicky.” Or so I hear. “I’m sure it’ll get better with time.”
I refrain from letting my curiosity get the better of me about his co-parenting situation after reminding myself it’s none of my business. If I asked him to let me have my privacy, I’d be a hypocrite to pry in his personal life.
Even if I’m tempted.
So, so tempted.
“Like I said,” I tell him, “it’s okay. He’s been fine since he came back. Even Zach, the boy with the glasses, talks to him. I think they trade fruit snacks at lunch every day.”
Fletcher’s lip twitches upward in the tiniest smile as he says, “He likes the red ones. Would leave the rest if I didn’t make him eat them so they’re not wasted.”
I guess that explains why I only ever see him trade other students for the red ones. I smile at that too. “He’s a good kid.”
There’s no hesitation. “He is.”
We’re quiet for a long moment, my eyes drifting along the untouched groceries that I need to start putting away. “Um, well, I have ice cream in here somewhere that I should put away before it melts. But all is forgiven and forgotten. Thank you for apologizing anyway.”
His eyes go over his shoulder toward the door before turning back to me. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.” I’m about to tell him he didn’t, that anything involving his son would never be an overstep when he chooses to clarify. “At the bar that night.”
Oh.
/>
I blink.
He clears his throat and scratches the side of his neck with one of his fingers. “You didn’t look comfortable, and he seemed a little too eager to get you alone. It was reflex.”
Not knowing what else to do, I wave it off with an awkward but appreciative smile. “Oh, that was nothing. You didn’t overstep. In fact, I thought it was nice you stepped in. Although Miles is harmless. I wouldn’t have gone home with him anyway.”
“Well, in case you did want to…” His words trail into silence as he scratches his neck again. “I wanted to apologize anyway.”
More silence.
Then, “Okay. Thank you.”
He nods once.
Both our eyes turn to the groceries.
“Thanks for helping bring these in,” I offer since I hadn’t said it already.
He looks like he’s about to say something but chooses not to. With a strange look on his face after his eyes go to some pictures I have on a different shelf in the kitchen—me as a teenager with my parents shortly before I went off and got married—he gives me a wave and leaves.
It takes me a few minutes to shake out of what happened before I get to work putting the groceries away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Vickie groans. “That’s cheating!”
Dad and I both laugh while Mom rolls the same hazel-green eyes I have at our theatrics. Even as adults, family game night is part of our get-together routine. This time, it’s at my house since it doesn’t look like a total disaster now. Vickie is the only non-family ever invited, mostly because she’s a sore loser and always entertaining when she moans and groans about something being unfair.
“While you try justifying how me rightfully putting property on my own land is cheating just because you landed on it, I’m going to get more snacks.”
Mom stands up too. “I’ll help.”
I know that’s code for ‘let’s talk’ since it doesn’t take more than one person to pour chips into a bowl and grab the homemade salsa and guacamole she brought with her.
“How’s work?” she asks, opening the fridge for the dipping options and sighing over who knows what. It isn’t nearly as empty as last time she was here, and nothing like my first home where I mostly had premade meals and salad kits because I didn’t know how to cook much.
I throw away the empty bag of tortilla chips once the bowl is refilled. “It’s going well. I have a great class.”
That doesn’t seem to be enough for the nosey woman who birthed me. “Victoria told me that one of your neighbor’s kids is in your class,” she pries, and I have to fight from making a face over the thought of Vickie blabbing my secrets. Not that Nicki is one of them, per se.
“Did she now?” I hum, grabbing the chips and walking out of the kitchen and to the dining room where, the game is set up on the table.
Mom follows with the other things. “Is this the same one who was kind enough to let you borrow his lawn mower?”
I purse my lips. “Yes.”
We stop at the table where Vickie cusses at whatever move my dad made. She looks up at me, frowns at my expression, then looks at my mom. “What’d I miss?”
“We were just talking about Stevie’s nice neighbor. The man.” The man. She knows I have plenty of other neighbors I talk to, including Bex, but she’s hyper-focused on only one. I know if I bring up who he is, who he knows, she’ll more than likely stop prying on details of what else I may have borrowed from him or where our nonexistent relationship is going. “I was telling her I think it’s great he was nice enough to let her use his mower. And the fact she’s teaching his son seems like a great way to get to know him.”
I remind myself to bite my tongue. If they know he’s far from a stranger, the questions will rise. Does he still talk to Hunter? Does he bring him up? Does he know about the divorce? It’ll go on and on until I hide away in the bathroom and feign some sort of gross GI illness until they leave.
Vickie hiccups. “Oh, the one who saved her from her drunk coworker at the bar?”
I shoot her a look at the same time both my parents turn to me. Dad with narrowed eyes, and Mom with a wide gaze as she gasps, “What?”
My friend hiccups again, cringing at her lack of filter. “Whoops. Sorry. I blame the margaritas. Your mom makes them strong.”
“Yeah, she does that on purpose so people will have loose lips.”
Mom puts her hands on her hips with indignation. “I do no such thing!”
Even Dad chuckles over that lie.
Knowing they won’t let this go, I internally groan and explain. “It’s not a big deal. I went out with some people from work, and one of my coworkers offered to take me home. When I told him I had it covered, he was just a little pushy. Seriously, it was nothing.”
Mom disagrees. “So why did your neighbor feel the need to save you?”
I not-so-subtly shoot my best friend a look, and she mouths sorry.
Shoulders squaring, I shake my head. “I didn’t need to be saved. He was just making sure everything was okay. You know how some men can be. They always want to be the white knight.”
Vickie hums. “Shining armor is sort of like a military uniform.”
Thankfully, my parents choose not to dissect that comment. I either need to stop telling Vickie everything or water down her drinks whenever my parents are over. Right now, I’m too irritated to decide which is more tempting.
“Can we get back to game night?” I ask, sitting down and grabbing a chip. “I think we may see 2012 Victoria. What I would do to have a video recording in slow motion of her flipping the board game and watching all the pieces go everywhere.”
My friend’s head hits the table. “I thought we were going to let that go.”
“Payback is a bitch,” I mumble under my breath.
“Stevie, language!” Mom chides.
Dad laughs.
I sigh.
Vickie looks at me with apologetic eyes, and we both know I can’t stay mad at her.
I cackle when I see the fruit basket sitting on my desk when I get back from lunch with Sonia and a few others in the teacher’s lounge. One noticeable difference while I ate some leftover pasta from the night before was Miles. For a while after the bar, he wouldn’t show up to eat with everybody else. Apparently, he got over it, even smiling at me and asking how my week has been.
I pluck the note off the edible arrangement display sitting in pretty packaging and grin when I see Vickie’s note that says, “sorry for being a tattletale bitch” along with a signature in her messy handwriting. It’s probably a good thing all her work is strictly online as a social media manager because her handwriting is barely legible, especially to people who aren’t used to it.
When the kids come back from their recess, I let them pick from the fruit basket and try not to act disappointed when, not surprisingly, all of the pieces coated in chocolate are picked first. Seeing the happy looks on their faces makes it worth it, though.
After a long day of dealing with cranky ten- and eleven-year-olds, who may or may not be coming down from sugar highs, I’m glad when the final bell rings and the classroom quiets. I sit back in my chair and look around my messy room, knowing I’ll need to reorganize the desks before the janitors come in later this evening and think a tornado tore through here.
Blowing out a breath, I give myself a few minutes to look out the window and smile at the suddenly enthusiastic students as they run towards the busses parked along the long driveway and others skipping toward the line of family vehicles waiting to pick them up.
Walking closer to the window, I pull down one of the blinds and notice a familiar black truck in one of the first spots. I’m not sure what it is that Fletcher Miller does these days, whether he’s on leave or retired from the army, but he’s always one of the first parents to arrive. The few times I’ve seen everyone leave, I always notice the way he waits by the side of the truck, leaning against it with crossed arms on his chest and long legs planted on the pavement.
Usually, one ankle casually crossed over the other, and he smiles as soon as Dominic appears. Like Nicki, Fletcher’s outfits rarely vary. It’s always some kind of dark denim on his legs, a different T-shirt or long sleeve plaid button down covering his broad shoulders and huge arms, and those work boots are never missing from his large feet.
I also notice some of the other parents, mothers mostly, who gawk in his direction. If he knows they’re watching, he doesn’t seem to care. I don’t think he even greets them at all. He just stands there, waiting for his son, and always lifts an arm once Nicki gets close enough to give him a one-armed hug before opening the back door for him to climb in.
It’s sweet.
“What happened in here?” a new voice asks, making me peel myself away from the window quickly like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. But, then again, mesmerizing a student’s father like many of the moms do probably isn’t considered right by many people’s standards.
I blink at Miles, surprised to see him with his hands casually in his pockets as he takes in the messy classroom. “The kids got a little rambunctious toward the end of the day. Long weekend and all that.”
He chuckles. “I know that feeling.”
Deciding I’ve lurked like a creeper long enough, I move away from the window and start picking up after the gremlins who ditched me for whatever is in store for them after school ends.
“So…” Miles walks in and helps me clean up a little, not that he knows where anything goes. I could tell him he doesn’t have to help, but I know he’s just being nice, so I try not to make any faces when he puts things in the wrong spots. “I was wondering if you had any plans tomorrow night.”
The question makes me freeze, my eyes staying glued to some papers tossed on the floor that way he can’t see the panic building.
I haven’t been asked out in a long time, and even though I’d love to pretend that’s not what’s happening now, I’m smart enough to know better. “Oh.” My voice comes out funny, a little raspy, but Miles doesn’t seem to notice.
