Jeremy turned away to face the glass doors. His mother’s warning echoed in his head as he stared blindly at the darkening Chicago skyline. Dusk’s waning light sent long shadows creeping across the patio, mimicking the doubt slowly creeping up on him.
He’d been so sure before. Now . . . now, he didn’t know anymore.
“So, you’re really taking Rosa’s side?” he asked.
“This isn’t about sides, J.”
The gentle reprimand confirmed his complaint sounded as whiny as he’d thought.
“I know,” he grudgingly admitted.
“It’s about a woman whose life is set to change, drastically. And she probably still needs to come to peace with that, on her own terms. Not yours.”
His mom’s hand on his shoulder drew his gaze to his left, where she now stood. Her usually calm expression was back in place, the light sheen of tears in her eyes the only sign of her emotional disquiet. “I’m not saying back off completely. Make sure she’s aware that you want to be a part of her life. And the baby’s. But you cannot push. That’s not fair to her.”
If there was one thing his mom would demand of him, it’s that he be fair. That he treat the mother of his child with respect and compassion. Two things she’d never gotten from Roger Wilson.
Anger flared in Jeremy’s gut, fueling the determination to prove himself that had always driven him. “I’m not going to be a deadbeat dad.”
“Of course not, I raised you better than that.”
Her patronizing tone cooled his anger and had his lips curving in a smirk. His mom’s answering smile calmed him even more.
Then her expression sobered. “But a father and a husband are two different relationships. Before you rush things with Rosa, you need to make sure marriage is the right answer. For both of you and your child.”
Darkness had fallen outside. With a resigned sigh, Jeremy closed his eyes, blocking out his reflection in the glass doors as he contemplated his mother’s advice. Which was not the advice he’d expected when he had started this conversation.
As much as he hated to admit it, maybe proposing had been a knee-jerk reaction. One that forced Rosa to kick him in the shins and give him the Heisman stiff arm move to make him back off.
Jumping into a quickie marriage could be as rash as jumping into bed with her. As amazing as that night had been, so far it had backfired on him. Despite their intimacy and her resulting pregnancy, he and Rosa were on shakier ground than before.
His mom was right.
Tomorrow he’d talk to Rosa. Calmly, rationally. Do whatever, say whatever it took to reassure her that their next move was up to her. As long as it didn’t involve cutting him out of his child’s life.
No way was that an option.
Chapter Eight
“I appreciate you being candid with me,” Principal Meyer told Rosa during the last hour of the school day on Monday.
Sitting in a well-used wooden chair across from Principal Agatha Meyer’s equally scratched and worn desk, Rosa held her hands clasped in her lap.
Inside her, a tiny voice was down on its knees, praying the older woman would be understanding and agree to speak on her behalf with the diocese council.
Outside, Rosa fought to maintain a calm, professional demeanor.
“It’s early still, but with the problems I mentioned, my doctor is fairly adamant about partial bed rest.” The principal winced at the last word and Rosa rushed to reassure her. “Just through the month of December. We’re anticipating all will be well, and I’ll be back full-time after the holiday break.”
Principal Meyer’s mouth twisted, the lines feathering out from the corners of her eyes deepening with her grimace. “You know, of course, that the diocese council will have to be alerted. While teachers and staff didn’t sign a morality clause this year, we did add mention of it in the handbook.”
“But it’s not currently part of our contract,” Rosa stressed.
Principal Meyer’s expression remained noncommittal. “You are correct. Not this year. However, the intent was clear that staff and administrators should adhere to the suggestion. There will be some who are not pleased with your situation and may call for your resignation.”
Part of her had expected this reaction, but hearing the principal say it out loud made the potential fallout more of a reality.
Closing her eyes, Rosa said a quick prayer, asking for the words that would convince her boss to see her perspective and walk this fine line with her.
“I recognize that you’ve been a welcome addition to our staff this year,” Principal Meyer said. She glanced at her computer screen, but from this side of the desk Rosa couldn’t tell what the principal might be reading. “The number of students taking advantage of the tutoring program you started is commendable. And the Poetry Club hasn’t seen this many members in years.”
Esto era lo que ella siempre quiería. The compliment perked her flagging spirit as the thought whispered through her mind. Yes, it was definitely what she’d wanted—to make a difference.
“Working at Queen of Peace has been my goal since Mrs. Patterson shared her retirement plans with me while I was an undergrad. The prospect of earning this position is what drove me to complete my master’s studies after my father’s death. This is my home.” Rosa pressed a hand to her chest, willing the principal to hear the truth behind her words. “It’s where I belong.”
Dios mío, she still remembered her first day of kindergarten here. The excitement of putting on her white button-down blouse with the Peter Pan collar. Zipping up the blue and green plaid romper. Slipping on her white bobby socks and black buckle shoes. Mami walking Yazmine and her to their respective classrooms. Taking a picture with Sister Magdalena. The thrill of her first visit to the library.
Over the years, from elementary to middle and on to high school, the library had become her second home. Mrs. Patterson had become a surrogate mother figure at school. Rosa had spent many of her lunch periods and countless after-school hours volunteering in the library. The smell of books old and new, the thump of the old checkout stamp with the return date in the back of the books, the classical music softly playing over the speakers. They all brought her a sense of comfort and security.
By her last two years of high school, it had even gotten to a point where if Mrs. Patterson was out for some reason, the note left for the substitute typically read, Rosa Fernandez is my right hand. If you have any questions, she’ll know the answer.
When Mami had died and Rosa struggled with filling her role for the family, Mrs. Patterson had been Rosa’s sounding board at school. The Queen of Peace library her safe haven during the day.
That’s what she wanted to create for her students now. A place to learn, grow, trust, flourish. Not just a place to hang out when they wanted to get out of class.
One rash decision couldn’t curtail Rosa’s plan now.
Being at Queen of Peace wasn’t just about having a job. It didn’t just pay her bills. Refusing Jeremy’s offer to take care of her and the baby wasn’t just pride on her part. With Papi gone, Yazmine starting her own family, and Lilí in college, Rosa needed this place, the community and balance it signified in her life.
And yet . . .
Ay Dios mío, the push and pull of fighting for her job or accepting the consequences and forging a new path, however scary that might be, was tearing her in two.
Ultimately though, she knew if she didn’t fight for herself as hard as she fought for others, she’d regret it.
Whether Principal Meyer and the diocese council agreed with her or not, she’d go down swinging. Probably surprising many in the process. Especially herself.
A new determination driving her, Rosa leaned forward, placing her clasped hands on Principal Meyer’s desk.
“I am committed to Queen of Peace. To our students. I recognize that once my news gets out, it will put you in a difficult spot. My hope is that my work here will speak louder than any dissidents. That the good I am doing with
our students will be considered.”
Principal Meyer reached across to cover Rosa’s hands with one of her own. Her older, wrinkled skin was cold, but her grip tight. “Oh, how I wish all my teachers shared your same commitment and drive. I regret that I can’t tell you there won’t be any problems. Ultimately it’s not my decision. But you can count on me to speak highly of the work you’ve done here so far and remind the council of your family history at Queen of Peace.”
She sat back in her desk chair, all business once again. “However, they must be careful of any precedent that could be set. Remember, it is the diocesan council, Father Yosef, and potentially the archbishop himself who will ultimately decide your fate.”
Rosa nodded mutely. Any words she might have been able to form were trapped below the knot of fear and dismay clogging in her throat.
“The council doesn’t meet again until late January.” Principal Meyer flipped a page in her planner. “You have nearly two months. Hopefully you will be off bed rest and back full-time by then so that won’t be an issue. For now, let’s deal with the approval for your medical time off.”
The discussion turned to library coverage over the remaining weeks of the fall semester. Both agreed that Brenda, Rosa’s assistant, would be fine managing things in the mornings. Rosa would come in by lunch and stay after school for tutoring and Poetry Club.
“I’ll get the paperwork started for your medical half days and schedule a meeting with Father Yosef to explain the situation. He may feel that a special meeting with the council is warranted rather than waiting until January,” Principal Meyer said. “I suspect he will want you present when I speak to him. You should be prepared to present your case, so to speak.”
The end of the day bell rang, the shrill sound punctuating the principal’s warning.
“Yes, of course,” Rosa murmured.
Long-ingrained Catholic schoolgirl guilt flooded her chest, rising like the Caribbean sun to heat her face.
She pushed back her chair and stood on shaky legs, hoping her lips were curved in a smile. Not the grimace she fought to hide.
Ave Maria purísima, the irony. She was the “good” sister. The one who’d never been sent to the principal’s office before. Or, as one of her tutoring students with a penchant for colorful, if often inappropriate, phrases dubbed his numerous visits to Principal Meyer’s office, “being called up to the big leagues.”
Apparently, when she was finally called up to Father Yosef’s big league, she hit it out of the park.
* * *
By the time Rosa reached the library, the adrenaline that had carried her through the meeting with Principal Meyer had seeped away, leaving her body drained and as limp as a wet noodle.
The anxiety that had built up before their talk, the uncertainty of how Principal Meyer might react, and the guilt of having to face her longtime priest with the news of her pregnancy had pushed her into I’ve-had-enough territory.
Weary, Rosa tugged open the library door. Her relief at finding her home away from home empty was quickly pushed out of the way by a flash of shame. She should want her library filled, every chair taken. With finals a little over two weeks away, students should be taking advantage of study time or the help she offered. Like she normally encouraged them to do.
Her legs shaky, Rosa made her way toward the checkout desk and her back office along the far left side of the room. She cast a quick glance at the black and white industrial wall clock above the checkout desk. 3:10. School regulations said the library would be open another fifty minutes. Of course, she usually stayed till 4:30 if students were here. When Poetry Club met, they were known to stay longer, especially if one of the members volunteered to practice reciting or, as it was commonly known, spitting something they’d written.
Her stomach rumbled. Whether from hunger or nausea, she’d given up trying to tell. Since her visit with Dr. Jiménez, she’d been surviving on prenatal vitamins and mini bites of pureed chicken soup with a side of her favorite Export Soda crackers. She’d have to ask Tomás to pick up another one of the green tins from the colmado in west Chicago after work.
As much as Rosa hated to admit it, Dr. Jiménez had been right. Working a full day was too much right now.
Gracias a Dios Yazmine had dropped her off this morning and planned to pick her up after the library study hour. Rosa didn’t trust herself behind the wheel of a car. Not when all she wanted was to lie down on her office floor and take a nap.
Bypassing the stool behind the library checkout counter, Rosa continued to her office and the small restroom attached. A splash of cold water on her face, maybe a wet paper towel on the back of her neck, might revitalize her.
Moments later, she dabbed her face dry, then trudged back to the stool behind the counter, hoping to get there before her legs gave out. It was important that she be out front to greet any students who might arrive. It was part of her plan to gain her students’ trust.
A friendly smile, the brightly colored bienvenidos welcome mat, and the framed snapshots of students and her scattered throughout the library on bookshelves, tabletops, and various nooks and crannies. They were all intended to create a sense of family and belonging. Inviting her students to think of the library as a home away from home, like she did.
Rosa had barely made it to the metal stool before Carlotta Juárez walked into the library. The tall, slender girl with light olive skin and long, straight black hair slowed her steps as she drew closer to the counter. She pushed her thick glasses farther onto her nose and slanted Rosa a tentative glance.
“Hola, Carlotta,” Rosa greeted. “How are you doing today?”
“Um, okay. How about—?” Carlotta broke off, her brows arching closer together as she stared more pointedly at Rosa. “Perdóname but, you’re not looking too well, Señorita Fernandez.”
Rosa chuckled, dabbing her face with the moist paper towel again. “No need to apologize, nena. I saw my reflection in the mirror a few moments ago.”
Carlotta blushed, pushing her glasses up again in the nervous gesture Rosa had begun to notice the more time they spent together.
“Does that mean you’re heading home early then?” Carlotta asked. Head bowed, she fiddled with Rosa’s Shakespeare bust paperweight, moving it away from the counter’s edge, then trailing a finger down the back side of the figure. “I can stop by tomorrow if that’s better.”
It was obvious the girl had something on her mind. That she’d come here to get it off her chest, maybe ask for advice, was like a shot of vitamin B in Rosa’s arm.
She scooted to sit up straight on the stool, elated that Carlotta would turn to her. “No, I’m staying. Something isn’t agreeing with my stomach, but I’ll be fine. Are you planning to study? Or do you maybe need help with something?”
“Yeah.”
Rosa dabbed her face again to cover her smile. Carlotta probably didn’t even realize she’d replied to both options.
“Okay then,” Rosa said. “Make yourself comfortable. Let me know if I can be of assistance. I’m going to send a few emails, but I’ll be right here.”
The shy teen nodded, then heaved her over-full backpack onto the nearest tabletop with a loud thud. She winced, offering Rosa an “I’m sorry” glance as she pulled out one of the plastic chairs and plopped down.
Rosa clicked open her email, intent on drafting a message to her assistant, Brenda. Typically Brenda worked mornings so her hours wouldn’t change while Rosa moved to afternoon half days for the next few weeks. They’d overlap for about an hour and could review any particulars then.
Two sentences into her email, Rosa paused, a sense of anticipation tiptoeing across her shoulder blades. Fingers on the keyboard, she looked at Carlotta.
Hunched over a spiral notebook, a mechanical pencil tightly clutched in her left hand, Carlotta peeked through the curtain of black silky hair that draped her shoulder and pooled onto the table. The girl was actually quite beautiful, though too shy to see it. Tall and thin, with beautif
ul skin and thick brows arching over dark eyes and delicate features, she could easily pass for a model. Add Carlotta’s brains and, if you asked Rosa, her student was the “total package,” as some kids might say.
Unfortunately, Rosa hadn’t heard Carlotta mention many friends. In fact, the teen spent most of her time studying or taking care of her three younger siblings. Based on what she’d shared before, Rosa figured the girl didn’t get much chance for socializing.
Dios, Rosa remembered the difficulties of adolescence, the rejection and insecurity. Especially when it came to dating. Like Rosa, Carlotta often kept to herself, attending the Poetry Club meetings, but usually not saying much.
Sensing her student’s hesitation and need for reassurance, Rosa infused her smile with every ounce of encouragement in her tired body.
Carlotta dropped her gaze back to her notebook, her shoulders rising and falling on a heavy sigh.
Okay, so she wasn’t ready to share. Rosa understood better than most that pushing wasn’t always the right answer. Instead, she turned back to the computer to finish her email. Her stomach churned and she pressed a hand to it, hoping to allay the nausea while at the same time wracking her brain for an inconspicuous way to entice Carlotta to open up.
“Señorita Fernandez?”
Carlotta’s unexpected inquiry startled Rosa out of her thoughts.
“I was wondering,” the girl went on once she had Rosa’s attention, “well, if you don’t mind, or if you have time, would you look at this poem I’ve been working on? Maybe give me some feedback?”
Carlotta’s left palm pressed down on top of her spiral notebook as if protecting her work. Creating an unconscious connection between her words and herself.
A closet poet who rarely shared her work with others, Rosa understood how difficult, how personal, Carlotta’s request might be for her. Ironically, while Rosa considered her poetry more like her private diary, she’d been encouraging her students in the Poetry Club to volunteer for their first open mic night the evening after their last day of finals. It was the perfect way to cap off their semester.
Her Perfect Affair Page 11
