Read With Your Heart: a small town romance

by L. B. Dunbar

  The first thing I notice isn’t so much what she wrote but how she wrote it. The sentence structure isn’t where I’d expect, and the spelling is phonetic in places. In other places, words are left out so I can’t be certain if what I read is what she meant to say.

  Parents missing.

  Lives with brother.

  Only moved here last week.

  There’s definitely a disconnect with her writing because when she’s called on in class, she speaks well enough. Based on a few things in her journal, I think she could use a check-in with the school social worker. My concerns are solidified when I look in her student file. The parents’ names are listed but another person is named as guardian. There’s no phone number or email contact, which is my preference for home communication. The current address is missing with a note: waiting on utility bill for proof of residency. Her previous address lists Chicago. The rest of her file is empty, meaning she’s missing prior school records. It’s very strange, and when I bring it to the attention of the school secretary, she tells me Amaryllis is a transfer to the district.

  “How am I supposed to reach the guardian?” I ask.

  “Ask the student for a phone number.”

  The advice isn’t much, but I do just that, requesting that her guardian or parent call me.

  Only another week passes without any returned messages from the guardian, who I confirm with Lys is her older brother. My concerns for her academic ability have grown after some basic reading and writing tests we administer to all students. Amaryllis is not on grade level.

  Then one day, I see Commercial Break—the nickname Jenna and I have given our afternoon basketball player—shooting hoops just before the bell rings to end the day. The nickname comes from an old television commercial where a group of women drink diet cola and ogle a construction worker. As I’m lost in my final moments of drooling over the mystery man, I watch a girl approach him. It’s hard to be certain from this angle who it is, but the distinct jet-black hair stands out to me. Is that Amaryllis? I track her path as she nears the court and the basketball hottie turns to her. Is she . . . dating him? She can’t be. Although his physique is masculinity defined to a T, his stature also suggests he’s older than high school, and she’s only fourteen, fifteen at most. They chat for a moment, and then he approaches her, slipping an arm over her shoulders and tugging her into him. My older brothers used to do the same thing to me before putting me in a headlock and rubbing their knuckles into my hair.

  A lightbulb turns on. Is Commercial Break the older brother?

  Setting my soda can down, I race out of my classroom and run down the hall, which we tell the students never to do. I take the stairs at a steadier pace since I’m wearing heels and then rush out the back doors of the building to discover I’m too late. I lost them in the time it took me to get to the parking lot. I spin around like I’m the only human on earth wondering where everyone else went.

  + + +

  The next day, I tell Amaryllis it’s imperative I speak with her brother. She nods like she understands, but he still doesn’t contact me. I’m close to threatening a home visit but decide I’ll wait until open house, a night for parents—or guardians—to visit the high school and walk the student’s schedule at seven-minute intervals. It’s sort of like speed dating, not that I’d know anything about that. I try not to think about how I haven’t been on a date since I’d gotten married ten years ago and how before that, I was with Trent for two years, and we didn’t go out on traditional dates.

  That’s a long time, Tricia, my dad’s voice says to me with a touch of concern.

  I know, Daddy.

  As students and parents file in on the night of the open house, I’m in the hallway greeting them, making eye contact with Jenna next door on occasion. Suddenly, the air in the corridor seems to still. It’s like a parting of the crowd, like you’d see in those young adult movies when the popular kids arrive at the building. Only this isn’t some high school jock walking down the hallway. This is a man dressed in head-to-toe black. Leather jacket. Motorcycle boots. Tee and jeans. Even his hair is dark, and his eyes narrow in on me as he draws closer to my door.

  “Back to steal more pink notebooks,” I snark, although it comes out breathless and meek and just all kinds of wrong.

  “Actually, I’m looking for a Ms. Carter. Lys told me this is the room number.” I’d decided to return to my maiden name at the start of the school year even though my divorce isn’t fully final yet.

  “Lys?” I question, brows pinching together.

  “Amaryllis Ramirez.” The way he says her name, the Rs rolling over his tongue, is like a lick along my neck. Wild, dirty thoughts come to mind about the strength of that tongue, what it takes to curve just right, and how it might feel in certain places on my body.

  Oh my. Suddenly, I’m so warm I tug at the collar of my dress. Heat fills my face, and I itch to fan myself with my hand. Instead, I curl my fingers tighter into the neck of the light material near my throat as though this is a normal position and continue to observe him.

  “I’m her brother.” He doesn’t offer a name but does extend his hand. Only, I continue to stare at him, lost in those unusual gray eyes. I know him. It’s more than the run-in in the classroom a few weeks ago.

  He’s the man from the alley.

  “Where have you been?” I whisper, breathless again. Still holding his gaze, he returns his hand to his pocket. I didn’t end up shaking it. He tilts his head, questioning my question, and I shake mine to clear it and continue.

  “I’m so sorry. Yes, Ms. Carter. That’s me. I’m her teacher. You’re her brother?” I swallow. “I mean, you are her brother. Wonderful. Come in.”

  He smiles slowly. It’s the same swoony smirk I glimpsed the night I caught him stealing the notebook—the one he was picking up for his sister, who is my student. His tongue peeks forward, and my vision follows the swipe of it over his pouty bottom lip.

  Diet cola in a tequila cup.

  I have no idea what that means, but it’s better than cursing, which I want to do, right before I press up on my toes and see how those lips feel against mine. Shocked by my sudden thoughts, I take a giant step back and kick a metal locker which echoes down the hall, causing a few people to turn their heads. The chime overhead signals the start of a new period, and I need to begin my presentation about freshman English. I have no idea what I say to this group of parents as I’m so distracted by the tall man casually leaning against the back wall of my classroom. With arms crossed, he’s watching me, and I can’t think straight. Before I know it, the seven minutes are up. The chime rings for the parents to rotate, and they move, emptying from the desks and shyly waving or thanking me for my time.

  Just as Amaryllis’s brother is about to leave the room, my senses return to me. “Wait,” I call out a little too loudly. He stops and turns around.

  “Am I in trouble, teacher?” The way he asks—the way his voice drops—makes me want to tell him he’s in all kinds of trouble, and he needs to be punished even though we don’t do that anymore. We aren’t about consequences as much as rewards in education these days. Still, he isn’t in trouble, but he is trouble—with a capital T.

  “Yes,” I choke out. “I mean, no. I need to speak with you about Amaryllis.”

  He steps back into the room, coming closer to my desk, and I lean my hands against it, my palms sweating. I use the furniture for support as my heart races. Focus, Tricia.

  “Is Lys in trouble?” His voice rings with both concern and surprise.

  “No. I just think we should talk about her. Her student file is incomplete. She’s missing a home address as well as an email contact, and I’ve been trying to set up a conference for two weeks. I’ve called a number she provided but haven’t gotten any response to the messages I’ve left. I’ve also sent Amaryllis home with messages that I need to speak with you. Or whoever is in charge of her.”

  “I’m in charge,” he says, standing up a little taller, a lit
tle more frightening as his face hardens. “What’s she done?”

  “Nothing. She’s sweet and good. Excessively shy,” I say, pressing off the desk finally and meeting his deep, soft, silvery eyes.

  Stay focused, teach.

  “But I’m concerned about her. I know she’s new to the district, and that’s another thing—we’re missing her former school records. I’m worried about her writing skills, which have a direct correlation to her reading ability. Do you know if she has any learning disabilities?”

  “She isn’t dumb.”

  “I’m not saying she is,” I state, holding up a hand at his defensive tone. “Perhaps she was in a bilingual classroom or some sort of special education class?” It’s my first thought, as she couldn’t have gotten this far without some academic support in the past, and even then, I’m not certain how she’s in a regular classroom setting. She needs more individualized attention.

  “So, you’re saying because she’s Latino she must be stupid.”

  My mouth falls open. “I am not saying that at all,” I defend.

  “She’s not going in with the dumb kids,” he commands, his voice turning angry. Just because students are in special education does not mean they are not smart, and I’m offended at his implication.

  “I beg your pardon, but . . .”

  “You can beg all you want, but my sister is not stupid.”

  “I’m not saying she is. All I’m saying is I think she needs academic support, and I’m wondering if she had it in the past, back at her middle school, maybe.”

  Is he getting even taller? Bigger and broader? It doesn’t matter because I face off with him despite my smaller stature. He stares at me with an uncertainty in his eyes. Does he not know his sister’s educational history? How long has she lived with him? Or has he not paid attention to her despite being her guardian? I know all about this kind of big brother neglect. While Trent provided the basics for Levi, there were many areas where he lacked as a brother. He didn’t understand Levi’s dedication to school. He hardly knew his younger brother’s friends. He didn’t even notice what food Levi did or didn’t like to eat. Ironically, the reverse happened for Levi. He worshipped his older brother.

  “I . . . I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Lys.”

  “Maybe I could have your name and phone number,” I begin, spinning for my desk and searching for a scrap piece of paper. I want to confirm the number Lys gave me is actually her brother’s. I’d cleared off my desk before the open house and need to bend toward the side drawers to search for a notepad and pen. “I could call you and set up an appointment for a conference.” I stand upright holding a pen and paper only to discover her brother has disappeared from my classroom. Rushing to the hallway, I find parents lingering, waiting for me to greet them and let them into my room for the next presentation. Distractedly, I tell them to enter, searching for a head I know will stand above the rest, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

  Lesson 8

  Trouble has a flavor and tastes like a woman.

  [Tricia]

  After the open house, I ask Jenna to join me for a drink at the Town Tavern. It’s Thursday, and my family will be gathered there. She declines, saying she’s bushed from the extended workday. I park in my driveway, which is vacant of the neighbor’s SUV and motorcycle. I head to the alley and walk only three houses down before I enter the Tavern from the back entrance.

  My eldest brother Tom greets me as I enter. He and I look alike with dark hair and green-brown eyes. The siblings between us—Jess and Pam, born only eleven months apart—both have blue eyes and cornstalk-blond hair. Their hair is also the same length, coming just under their chins. Tom’s wife, Karyn, is also here. She looks like an Irish dancer with curly black hair and the bluest of eyes. They’ve been married for what feels like forever, and their marriage links the Carter and Scott families.

  I fall into a seat next to my sister-in-law.

  “Rough day at the office?” Karyn teases. She knows I don’t work in an office any more than she does. She’s a nurse.

  “It’s been a long day, and I have a troublesome student.”

  “Already?” She giggles. I’ve shared stories with her in the past, but in a small-town community, you need to be careful what you say when you live and work here. The older I am, the closer I get to teaching some of our former classmate’s children, and it’s just weird. Not to mention, it’s a reminder how far behind I am compared to my peers. As if I’m a student of life, and I’m failing Family 101.

  “She’s not trouble. I’m just worried about her. She lives with her brother, who is really elusive, and I need background information on her that we don’t have. And—” Suddenly, my mouth goes dry and my words falter as my brother Jess walks through the front door with none other than Amaryllis’s brother.

  “Who is that?” Karyn whispers, her voice cracking as she stares at the intense male looking deliciously sinful.

  “Eyes off the prize.” Tom snaps his fingers before her eyes to draw her attention away from the new person in the bar.

  “Oh, shut up. You look all the time,” Karyn teases, but she isn’t wrong. My brother would never cheat on his wife, but he’s a notorious flirt, and honestly, sometimes, I find it insulting on her behalf. Karyn is beautiful, and my brother can be an idiot. My brother Jess can be too. Instead of going after the woman he fell in love with this summer, he let her go, and he’s still pining over her.

  Jess steps up to the table, and Amaryllis’s brother’s eyes instantly meet mine. His lips purse with hesitation a second while Jess begins the introductions. “Leon Ramirez, this is my family.” He points out Tom and Karyn. And then me. “And this is our baby sister, Tricia. You might remember her as the one you rescued in the alley.”

  Heat rushes to my face, and Karyn turns on me. “What happened in the alley?”

  “It was nothing,” I mutter.

  “Trent cornered her,” Jess announces, catching Tom’s eye.

  “Why don’t you announce it to the entire bar?” I mumble.

  “Why don’t you just tell us what happened?” Tom retorts. He’s rarely serious, but when it comes to my divorce—which seems sudden to my family—he doesn’t joke. They all want answers that I’m not ready to give.

  “Do we need to do this now?” I hiss, shifting my eyes from Tom to our guest, who is still watching me.

  “Ms. Carter is also my sister’s teacher,” Leon says, drawing the attention away from Trent but still not entirely off me.

  “Ms. Carter,” Tom drawls, arching an eyebrow at me with a little grin.

  “Well”—Karyn sighs—“maybe big brother needs to come in for a conference.” I crane my neck, facing her, wondering how she knows big brother does actually need to do that, and then she winks at me. More heat rushes to my face, and despite the looseness of my dress, I tug at the neck again. Glancing up, I see Leon watching me adjust my clothing like I did earlier.

  Jess directs Leon to the seat next to mine and takes the last seat available at our table for himself.

  “Where’s Pam?” I ask.

  “Who knows?” Karyn answers. Our sister has a mystery job that she works outside her regular job as manager at Mae’s Flowers, a garden center up the highway from the main town. She always jokes she’d tell us what she does but then she’d have to kill us. In all seriousness, it comes with an NDA, and she refuses to break it. Not even a teeny-tiny hint.

  “So Leon, new in town? Got a wife, children, more sisters?”

  “Jesus, Tom, just cut to the quick why don’t you?” Karyn admonishes her husband before reaching for her beer and turning back to our guest. “Ignore him.”

  “Don’t ignore me. Just answer so we can feel like old friends and move on,” Tom states.

  “What is this, a chick flick? Let’s be friends? Let the guy enjoy a beer,” Jess protests.

  “How do you know each other?” Karyn asks.

  Jess smirks. “We’re old friends.”

  I shake my
head. This whole conversation is going nowhere, and I almost feel sorry for Leon. He rubs his hands down his thighs.

  “Actually, the quick and dirty is, I’ve lived here about six months. I work at Dixon’s Repair and Restoration, and I’ve newly acquired my little sisters. Lys is Ms. Carter’s student, and Lena is a senior.”

  “Our daughter, Meghan, is a freshman, too.” Karyn smiles. “And a senior? Does Lena know our Madison? She’s also a senior and a cheerleader.” Karyn’s proud mama moment passes when Leon continues.

  “Yeah, I don’t think Lena’s into the sports scene.” He reaches for his beer and takes a quick sip, and I have all kinds of questions I want to ask. How did he “acquire his sisters,” as he calls it? What happened to his parents? Did something tragic happen? Lys mentioned they were missing. What does that mean? I want to fire off my own set of questions, but Leon continues.

  “No wife. No children that I’m aware of,” he says with a smirk, and Tom snorts.

  “Think there might be?” Jess asks, his voice a little edgier than necessary.

  “No. Definitely not.” His eyes flick to me for a moment and then drop to the table.

  “See? None of that was painful, and now we know it all,” Tom says like he’s a friend-making master.

  “Except where you are from,” Karyn says.

  “Chicago.” As soon as Leon answers, Jess stiffens with his beer held almost to his lips. The woman of his dreams lives there, as does his ex-wife—who was definitely not the woman of his dreams.

  “Chicago?” Tom asks excitedly, and I close my eyes on behalf of my other brother. “Do you know Emily Post of Chicago?” Tom adds a chuckle to her name, and we all look over at Jess, who looks like he’s caught between feeling sick and wanting to kill our eldest brother.

  “Who?” Leon questions, and I lean over to him.