by Brenda Ford
So I lied. Or at least, shaded the truth a little bit.
“She's a very talented artist,” I said. “Especially given her age. And I met with Mr. Jones because I wanted to talk to him about encouraging her skills. Honing and shaping them. We have had a couple of discussions about how to further her talent, that's all.”
“Do you regularly meet with parents of talented students?” he asked, his gaze narrowing.
I could tell that he didn't fully believe me – or perhaps he just didn't want to believe it. Perhaps he was of the same mindset as the other snobs at the school – more concerned with image than with substance or the heart of a student.
“No, not really,” I said.
“Then why Harley?” he asked. “Is she having trouble keeping up? Is that why you think she needs to extra attention – ”
“No, not at all,” I said. “Harley is different. She's special. He talents are unique and she's incredibly gifted, very advanced for her age. And I saw something in her that I think needs to be developed even more. Something I wanted to bring her father's attention to so he can work on it with her outside of the classroom. Is there something wrong with that?”
“No, not at all,” he stammered, clearing his throat. “May I see some of her work? I'd love to display it for the other parents to see if it's that good.”
“Of course,” I said, wheeling my desk chair around to my filing cabinet.
I opened the drawer and pulled out some of Harley's work – all of it a little too dark to show off to the principal of the school. Instead, I stealthily reached into my own pile – my samples that I made for the students – and found my rainbow painting.
It was a simple piece. Just a quick rainbow with a pot of gold at the end of it, nothing too special for an adult. But the lines and the colors were more advanced than a typical first grader would normally pick up on.
I held it out to Principal Fisher and he took hold of it, scrutinizing it carefully.
“Harley Jones painted this?” he asked.
“She did,” I said. “Right here in my classroom.”
I felt terrible for lying. Harley was talented, that much was very true. But her art was a little too dark for someone her age. And considering the circumstances, I didn't need to give the school anymore reason to pull Harley's scholarship.
“You're right. She is talented,” he said, keeping hold of the painting. “If you don't mind, I think I'm going to feature this at the open house next week.”
“Okay,” I said brightly, feeling terrible for my lie.
“I'm sure Harley will be so pleased to see her name besides her work, displayed for all to see,” he said.
He was watching me closely, as if hoping to catch me in a lie. But I smiled, placing my hands in my lap and didn't walk into the obvious trap he was clumsily trying to set.
“I think that's a fantastic idea.” I said. “I'm sure she'll be very proud. As will her father.”
Deep down, I felt like an asshole. But what choice did I have? If I didn't stand up for Harley, they were going to cast her aside – Chad was simply looking for an excuse to do just that. And there was no way in hell I was going to give that to him.
But I knew there was going to be another conversation with Elias in the very near future. This time though, it was going to be me giving him a heads up that the school was looking closely at Harley – and likely him as well. That they were looking for any excuse at all to yank her scholarship.
The last thing he needed was for his daughter to be removed from her school – the school she'd been going to for her entire life. The school where all of her friends were and where she'd carved out a comfortable little niche for herself.
12
Elias
That night, after Harley was tucked away in bed, I finally had a moment to stop and think. And to freak out about everything that was happening. I paced the living room, my heart going a million miles a minute – which was barely keeping pace with my mind.
Maybe I really should consider packing up and leave everything behind. Just get the fuck out of there and start somewhere fresh. Maybe we could run away, go overseas. England. Spain. Germany – I bet there was a lot of work to be had for tattoo artists in Germany. Fuck if I knew where. But somewhere. Anywhere.
Pacing the living room of my apartment, it really hit me how much trouble we could be in if we stayed here and did nothing.
I'd run far away – to another country, another planet if needed – before I ever let Amy's parents take Harley away from me. Knowing what I did about them, about how terribly they'd fucked Amy up, I wasn't about them being anywhere near Harley. And I sure as hell wasn't about to let Amy's dad near my daughter without supervision. Without my supervision. He'd completely fucked his daughter up and there was no way in hell I was going to let him fuck Harley up too.
Which was a certainty if she were exposed to that toxic as hell environment.
As I paced the room, I found it hard to resist the siren call of alcohol. Or worse. Back in the day, it had been my coping mechanism. It had been my escape. My way of escaping the reality of my life. At least for a while. Eventually, the buzz had worn off and I was still stuck in the same pile of shit I had been before I got drunk or stoned – but at least, for a while, I'd been able escape it.
But that was the difference between my life then and my life now. I was no longer looking to escape reality. I was taking it head on and dealing with it. I hadn't had a sip of beer or liquor – or anything else, for that matter – since Amy had gone away.
Knowing how easy it was for me to fall down the rabbit hole of substance abuse, I stayed clean for Harley. It was hard as hell – and sometimes, like right that moment, when it was harder than others – but I managed it. For her. I was all she had left in this world, the only person to put her first. The only person who loved her like she should be loved.
And now my past was coming back to haunt me, threatening everything I'd built with her. Threatening to tear everything down.
There was an unexpected knock on my door that made me jump out of my skin.
“Holy fuck,” I muttered to myself, glancing at the clock.
It was a little after eight in the evening, but it felt later. Still, no one ever stopped by my place, which made me worry – and not without good reason, given everything that was happening. With my pulse racing, I looked over at the gun safe and considered grabbing one just in case it came to that.
But then a voice called from the other side of the door, stopping me in my tracks. I looked at the door, considered who was on the other side of it and felt a rush of paranoia.
“Elias? It's me, Paige – ” she called softly. “We need to talk.”
With a heavy sigh and more than a little trepidation, I opened the door. I quickly glanced behind her to make sure she was alone and not being forced to stand there. I felt a small wave of relief seeing that she was alone. I stared at her but didn't invite her inside. Instead, I stood in the doorway and looked at her for a long moment without saying anything. Her face was a mixture of annoyance and concern, but she seemed content to wait me out, to wait for me invite her in.
“What are you doing here?” I finally asked.
“I'm sorry for dropping by like this,” she said. “You weren't answering your phone and – ”
“My phone is on silent,” I explained. “I don't take calls while I'm with my daughter usually.”
It was a new rule. One I instituted ever since this shit with Mav started. He was already stirring up enough shit in my life, so I just wanted some alone, quiet time with my girl to focus on her and only her. But as I looked at Paige, another thought occurred to me.
“How did you know – ”
“Where you live? Your name is in our database at the school,” she said, biting her lip. “Along with your address. I'm sorry I invaded your privacy like this, but I needed to talk to you and was I desperate, okay? It's about Harley.”
As soon as she mentioned my da
ughter's name – in a nearly panicked tone – I opened the door wider and invited her inside. She stepped inside my apartment and looked around, obvious surprise coloring her features.
“Not what you expected for someone who attends your prestigious school?” I asked, taking her astonishment for judgment.
“No, it's not that,” she said. “It's actually – nice.”
I shrugged. “What can I say? I make a decent living,” I said. “Not exactly what you expected from a tattoo artist, huh?”
“Honestly? Not really,” she said, looking away from my gaze. “I mean, not that I was judging – ”
“You were judging me,” I said with a laugh. “It's okay. A lot of people do. Especially at that school. I've got thick skin. It doesn't bother me all that much anymore.”
Her face turned pink, and I suddenly felt bad for making her feel bad.
“Listen, I don't make a lot of money, but I do okay,” I said. “I do the best I can, anyway.”
“I can see that,” she said, meeting my gaze for the first time. “Which is why I'm here to talk to you about Harley.”
She sat down on the loveseat, I took the couch and leaned forward, clasping my hands in front of me.
“Okay,” I said. “So, talk.”
“Principal Fisher stopped by my room today and wanted to talk about Harley,” she said with a sigh. “I guess some of the other parents are concerned about her, thinking maybe the school isn't a good fit for her – ”
“You mean they're concerned about me,” I corrected her, rolling my eyes.
Self-righteous pricks. I figured it was most likely the dads who were raising a stink. They were probably jealous that I made their wives think dirty, dirty thoughts. That wasn't ego or cockiness talking, either. I'd seen the way they looked at me. Had even had a few of them offer to take me for a ride to a local hotel in their nice luxury cars. I knew some of those women were into me and that it probably made their husbands insanely jealous – not to mention, more than a little insecure.
“That's not what he said,” she said. “He actually said – ”
“I don't give a fuck what he says,” I said. “I know what he means. When they see me, they see nothing more than a lower class person. One step up from a bum on the street – a small step, mind you. They look down their noses at me and think I'm not deserving of being on their sacred school grounds. Everyone there thinks lesser of me. I've known it from day one, but I don't give a fuck. My daughter's education is the most important thing to me, so they can all just fuck off.”
“I don't,” she said, her eyes softening. “I don't think of you that way.”
“You did,” I said. “And sometimes, I swear you still do.”
“Maybe a little?” she said softly. “But not for the reasons you think. Believe it or not, I don't come from money either. Honestly, I barely make enough to get by. No, the reason I judged you at all is silly and ridiculous – ”
“If not about the money, then what is it?” I asked, genuinely curious. “The way I look? The way I dress?”
“No, it's just – well, as an artist, as somebody who spent a lot of years studying art, I thought lesser of your art form,” she said. “I admit, it was snooty as hell. And that was before I saw your work. It's stunning, Elias. Incredible. You're a very talented artist. That's when I realized art can come in any number of mediums – it doesn't have to be confined to a canvas. You opened my eyes to that.”
I leaned back in my seat and stared at her, practically in shock. I knew she viewed my work as a lesser form of art. Knew she looked down on it. Or at least, had. So, to hear her admit that she'd been wrong and was actually very complimentary of my work – it actually meant a lot to me.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “And now I feel bad because I haven't seen any of your actual work.”
“It's nothing special,” she said, shrugging it off. “I'm not as good as I thought I was back in high school. I'm a better teacher than an artist.”
“Well you are a good teacher,” I said. “But I don't doubt your artistic abilities aren't just as good.”
“Nah, I don't – ” she started. “Well, if you would like to see it sometime...”
“I'd love to check out your work,” I said. “Who knows, maybe you'll inspire me? I wouldn't doubt it. You are after all, a trained artist.”
She blushed and stared down at her hands. “Come by after you drop Harley off sometime this week,” I said. “And I'll show you some of my work.”
I knew I should stay away from her. I didn't want to put her in any sort of danger. And for a second, I considered making an excuse to avoid going by her classroom. But I could tell by the look on her face that me simply asking to see her work made her feel good. I got the impression that not many people had. And I couldn't take that away from her.
“Sounds good,” I said with a smile.
“Oh, drats,” she said, and I tried not to laugh at her using the word “drats”. “We need to be careful though. Principal Fisher is looking for any reason to think Harley is struggling in school as a reason to revoke her scholarship. And he mentioned that somebody said we'd been talking a lot, taking that as proof that she was having trouble.”
“He did?”
“Yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But I told him we only talked about how talented Harley is, and that I only had good things to say about her. He's apparently on a witch hunt, so we need to be careful.”
We need to be careful. The story of my life these days.
“They can't kick her out,” I said. “Can they?”
She shrugged. “He said it had more to do with her scholarship,” she replied. “I guess they reassess those every year? I had no idea honestly. But I got the impression that if she weren't doing well in school, they could revoke it and you'd have to come up with the full tuition on your own if you wanted to keep her there.”
Placing my face in my hands, I sighed and cursed under my breath. Yes, Harley was on a scholarship to pay her dues at the fancy, private school. Our local school wasn't very good or safe, and I doubted the quality of education she'd get there. The classroom sizes were way too big, the teachers were overworked and being pulled in a million different directions.
It wasn't their fault, it was just how things were. And I wanted better for my girl. I wanted her to have options I never had. I wanted her to have a good, quality education – something that could help open doors for her.
So when I'd filled out the scholarship application, I didn't have high hopes, but thought it was worth a shot. Amy's mom had connections and yes, I'd utilized those connections to help make sure my daughter had a shot at getting the education I wanted for her. Now, of course, I had to wonder if Amy's parents weren't also the reason they would reassess my daughter and possibly revoke the scholarship. They knew I wouldn't be able to afford her tuition – but they could.
I was completely consumed by my thoughts and worries, and it was only when I felt a presence next to me that I looked up to find Paige sitting beside me, a sad look in her eyes.
“I'll do anything in my power to help you, Elias,” she said. “Because I don't think it's right. Harley has every right to be in this school, she's a bright, talented little girl. She works harder than half the spoiled little brats that go there. And I'll work with Principal Fisher, doing everything I can to make sure she keeps her scholarship in place.”
“Thank you,” I said.
I yearned to reach out and to touch her, to kiss her again. To show her how much her concern meant to me. But I knew that was just asking for trouble. Knew that was opening a door neither one of us should walk through. Not with everything going on and the potential for things to get real bad, real quick.
“That means a lot,” I said softly. “I appreciate it.”
“I adore Harley,” she said. “I mean, I know I was concerned by some of her artwork initially, but at the same time, I can see that you're raising her right. That you're raising an incredible little gir
l. And doing it on your own, which makes it all the more impressive. And I believe she deserves a good education. And you – well, you're a good father, Elias. One of the best I've met at that school, quite honestly.”
She leaned forward, and for a second, I thought she was going to kiss me. But instead, she wiped something off my cheek with her fingertip.
“Sorry, you had an eyelash – ”
I took her hand in mine and held it, staring deep into her eyes.
“Elias – ” she started to say, but then she leaned forward just as I leaned closer.
I felt her warm breath on my cheek again, and it felt just as good as it had earlier. Closing my eyes, I pressed my lips to hers.
“I don't know if we – ” she said, pulling away from the kiss.
“Yeah, you're probably right,” I said, pulling away and feeling sheepish about kissing her, yet again.
“I mean, I want to – ”
And when she looked up at me, I saw it in her eyes clear as day. She wanted me. She wanted this. But she was scared. Scared I would push her away again. Pulling back and making me take that step to bridge the divide was her way of making sure I was into it.
“I want it too,” I said softly.
“Really?” she asked, biting her lip as she stared up at me. “I mean, you just seem so – and well, I seem so – I mean, I don't seem like your type.”
Laughing softly, I shook my head and was forced to admit that she was right. She was a little too uptight, a little too sweet. Normally not the kind of girl I fell for. No one – and I mean no one – I'd ever dated before was as clean-cut and goody-goody as she was. I didn't usually pursue the girl-next-door types – I usually chased the bad girls.
But, there was something about Paige that appealed to me. Maybe I'd grown up and had learned from experience that the girls I used to date – girls like Amy – weren't good for me. They were actually everything I didn't need in my life. And I knew they wouldn't be good for Harley.
