Her hand hurt from striking the desk, and from clenching her fist, and she wished she had punched Ms. Sutton’s face instead. She cursed at the woman, at Amy, at the driver of the car in front of her, and at the traffic light that refused to turn green. A bottle of wine lay on its side in her refrigerator, but a single glass of wine would not dull her headache or calm her mind, and she had to teach in the morning, so she couldn’t chug the bottle. In the past, a little bourbon had been able to dull any pain she had felt.
As the light finally turned to green, she turned right, gunned the engine, and sped across town, jerking to a stop at Rupert’s Bar and Grill, near the college.
Rupert’s catered to college students during the day, when they would drop in for burgers and sandwiches. After dark, its personality shifted. The lights were dimmed, the menu filled with steaks, salmon, and ribs. Five nights each week there was music in the bar.
As she entered, Jennie could hear the soft sounds of a string trio drifting across the room. She smiled. So different from the Rusty Anchor and the whine of old-line C&W.
The restaurant was closing soon, but the bar would be open for another couple of hours, and she could order dinner from the bar’s menu. Couples sat at small tables, and she saw several singles—a few men and a couple of women, scattered through the room. Jennie chose a seat at the bar.
“I’ll have a steak sandwich and a…a Baileys and coffee, please.” She needed a good cup of coffee.
“Yes, ma’am. Coming right up.”
The bartender returned a few seconds later. “I’m sorry, but our coffee is old. I’d like to brew a new pot if that’s all right, ma’am.”
Jennie sighed. “Bring the Baileys straight up, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The bartender was wearing a white shirt and a tie. The music was soft, the lighting was low. Jennie could barely make out the voices of those sitting nearby.
Not the Anchor, she thought as Jennie sipped the liqueur. Who needed coffee? The Baileys warmed her mouth and slid smoothly down her throat. She closed her eyes and smiled at the sensation. “I’d forgotten how good it feels,” she whispered.
She stared at the bottles lining the counter behind the bar. That woman should rot in hell, she thought, picturing Amy’s mother. Blaming me for her shortcomings…
Jennie was unsure what the principal would say if the woman did tattle on her, but as she sipped her drink, the tension began to drain from her body. Who cared what Ms. Watkins said? Let her fire Jennie. She shouldn’t have to take that abuse, and someone needed to stand up for Amy.
“May I sit here?”
Jennie raised her head to find a man standing beside her. He had been sitting at a table when she came in, and he looked vaguely familiar. Tall, broad shoulders, could be a football player. Good looking.
“If you’d like.”
He pulled a stool close to her, and Jennie turned toward him.
“I’m Carl Simmons.”
“It’s nice to meet you. Jennie Bateman.”
“A pretty woman like you should not be drinking alone.”
Jennie almost laughed. She’d heard better lines from guys in McDonalds.
“Thank you, Mr. Simmons. That’s very nice.”
“Call me Carl.”
“Okay, Carl.”
Carl turned to the bartender. “Another Jack Daniels. And one for the lady.”
Jennie stared at the glass the bartender set before her. Wine she could handle. Baileys she could handle. But whiskey? Twice she reached for the glass. Finally, she shook her head and slid her hand away.
Carl noticed her hesitation. “I’m sorry, I should have asked. What are you drinking?”
“Baileys.” Jennie smiled.
“Another Baileys for the lady,” Carl told the bartender. He turned back to Jennie. “I saw you earlier at the concert.”
That was why he seemed familiar.
“My kid was singing. She’s seven. How old are your children?”
“My children are in college. I teach third grade.”
“Really? I’ve always admired teachers. It takes a special person to be a teacher.” He peered at her. “Now wait. No, you can’t have kids in college. No way. You can’t be more than thirty…at the most.”
Again, Jennie almost laughed. Was he really trying to pick her up at Rupert’s? It was nice to have a man notice her, though.
“Do you always flatter women who you’ve just met, Carl?”
“It’s not flattery. You must have married young, had your first child at fifteen…Your husband is a lucky fellow.”
Jennie had always enjoyed flirting. “He was a lucky man. I haven’t been married in quite some time, though.” She smiled.
“That’s a crying shame.” He grinned, apparently not feeling too badly for her. “Still, why would you be here alone?”
Jennie couldn’t believe this guy. He thought she was on a manhunt, looking to “hookup” as the teenagers these days said.
She glanced at Carl’s hand and saw his ring.
“You’re married.”
Carl’s eyes followed hers. He sighed. “For now.” He looked away and wiped at his eyes, hanging his head. “My wife had an affair.”
Jennie didn’t respond, waiting for the rest of the story. She hoped he was more imaginative than most guys. Not that it mattered. He might be fishing for someone to spend the night, but he wasn’t going to land her. She was going to marry Thomas.
Still, it would feel nice to be asked.
“Let me buy you another drink.” Carl ordered for them both. He tossed his back in a single gulp. Jennie tasted hers, then stared into the glass, waiting.
“You caught her with him?” she finally asked.
Carl shook his head. “She told me about it. A guy at work. They had to work late, he made a pass…we’d grown apart in the last few years.” He looked down at the bar. “She asked me to forgive her, but…”
He told her a long, tawdry story. Twenty minutes later, after he bought another round, he wiped his eyes again.
“She brought him home to our bed.”
Jennie remembered she had done that to Thomas toward the end of their marriage. She’d often imagined how he must have felt.
“That really hurt,” she murmured.
Carl seemed to be truly upset. Maybe he simply wanted someone to talk to. Someone who would listen. Jennie had the urge to put her arms around him, to hold him and comfort him.
“Yes.” He nodded. “Forgiveness might be too much to ask.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “You seem to understand.” He gazed into her eyes, shaking his head. “No one else does.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “It’s so hard being alone, though…”
Jennie’s eyes grew large. She looked at Carl again. Her heart beat rapidly. Her skin tingled where he touched her. It had been so long since she had…
She smiled at him.
His hand drifted around her shoulder, and wandered down her back, nudging her closer, slipping her off her stool, close enough to kiss. He leaned forward.
She imagined herself back at the Rusty Anchor. How many times had she listened to a man with tears in his eyes, spouting the same story? She’d always felt sorry for them, and she had generally…
Jennie drew back, her hand across her mouth.
“No. I’m not that girl anymore,” she whispered.
Her muscles suddenly tensed and her heart began to race. Her eyes narrowed and she scowled at Carl.
“I won’t be that girl,” she declared as she jerked away from him.
“What girl?” Confusion filled Carl’s face. “I thought you wanted…”
“Why are you coming on to me?” she growled. “You have a wife at home.”
“I told you. My wife…Why are you angry?”
“Men,” she hissed. “You want only one thing, but you’ll not get it from me.” Her glass of Jack was still on the counter and she grabbed it, swallowing the whiskey in a single gulp.
She hesitated as she reached for her purse. The flavor and the heat of the whiskey gave her a pleasurable sense of familiarity. She’d forgotten how good it tasted.
Carl’s hand gripped her right arm and he yanked her body toward him, pressing it against his. He smirked. “You’re not leaving.”
“Slime.” Jennie’s voice rose as she struggled to escape.
Chairs scraped across the floor as other customers moved away, leaving the two of them alone at the bar.
The music halted in mid-chord.
“Let’s try this again.” Carl grasped her head and moved her mouth toward his.
“Let go of me,” Jennie shouted as she punched his shoulders and jerked free.
Carl’s face turned red as he rose to his feet, looming above her. He grasped both her shoulders and shook. “Damned little tease. I’ll do whatever—”
Jennie put both hands on his chest and shoved.
“What? No—” Surprise registered on his face as he began to fall backwards. He grabbed at the bar, but his hand skidded across the smooth wood, and he tumbled.
“You can’t do this.” Carl clamored to his feet, his face angry. “You owe me.”
He lunged for her, but he was unsteady on his feet. Jennie stepped back, and Carl sprawled across the floor a second time, knocking two stools over as he fell.
A couple headed for the exit.
“You’ve no reason to be alone tonight,” Jennie snarled. “Go home to your wife. Tell her you forgive her…or get it on with her…” she motioned toward a platinum blonde with a low-cut blouse who had taken a seat at the other end of the bar, “…but leave me alone.”
She reached for what remained of his drink and tossed it in his face. “Pig.”
A tall man wearing a black suit, the manager Jennie guessed, dashed through the entrance to the bar area.
“Is there a problem, ma’am? Is there a problem?”
“She…she…” Carl sputtered, pointing at Jennie as he pushed himself up, only to slip once more.
“He made a pass at me. Then he got rough.” She held out her arm so he could see the red mark from Carl’s hand.
“I’m the manager, ma’am, and I’m so sorry. I assure you…”
“It’s not your fault.” Not waiting for a reply, Jennie marched away.
She stopped near the door and turned to watch, as if she had just stumbled into the restaurant and was curious about the noise in the bar. She no longer felt angry.
“Drinks for everyone…and music, please.” The manager leaned over to help Carl to his feet, and the bartender pulled out a new bottle of bourbon.
“Play,” the manager ordered the musicians.
As the trio picked up where they had broken off, the manager and Carl seemed to be arguing and, as Carl placed one hand on the bar to steady himself, he looked in Jennie’s direction and pointed. His voice rose above the music.
“Damned ten o’clock hooker, she led me on.”
“Sir, that’s quite enough. I want you to leave.”
Carl shrugged the manager off and turned away, moving toward the blonde sitting at the bar, but the manager caught him by the shoulder, spun him around, and motioned for him to go.
“Leave now. Don’t make me call the police.”
Jennie decided she’d better go first, rather than risk meeting him outside, so she hurried to her car. She allowed the engine to idle for a moment as she sat, enjoying the silence, thinking of Thomas. She took a deep breath.
Glass shattered as the restaurant’s door was flung open, crashing against the wall. Carl stomped out and, seeing Jennie, he gestured with his hand and turned in her direction.
She shifted into drive. As she pulled away, she smiled.
Quite a night.
***
The next morning, Jennie found a note in her school mailbox from Ms. Watkins, asking to see her when she had time. It was early, so she carried her coffee mug down the short hallway and knocked at the principal’s door.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Good morning, Jennie.” Ms. Watkins looked up and smiled. “Come in. Sit down. How are you this morning?”
Jennie sipped her coffee as she took a seat. “I’m fine, Ms. Watkins.”
“I had a call from Amy Sutton’s mother last night.”
Jennie didn’t reply.
“Tell me what happened.”
“She blamed me for Amy’s poor performance this year. She has done the same thing repeatedly. I’d had enough.” She described the encounter with Amy’s mother.
Ms. Watkins shook her head. “I would have wanted to say exactly the same things you said…but, Jennie, you know we can’t talk to parents that way.”
“Even if they deserve it?”
“Especially if they deserve it.” Ms. Watkins smiled. “Now…what shall I do with Amy? The other classes are as crowded as yours. If I move her, I’ll have to send a new student to you, causing disruption for everyone—Amy, the other student, the other student’s teacher, you. It will appear as if I’m siding against you, and I’m not.”
Jennie bristled. “You want me to apologize.”
“It would help a lot.”
Jennie leaned forward, her fist clenched. “Everything I said was true. I shouldn’t have to apologize for telling the truth.” Coffee sloshed on the floor as her right hand shook.
Ms. Watkins, paused, watching her. “I wouldn’t ask that.”
“What?” Jennie sank back into her chair. “You wouldn’t?”
“No.” Ms. Watkins shook her head. “Not for what you said. I would appreciate it, though, if you would consider apologizing for the way you said it.”
“But…”
“Parents become defensive when they feel attacked, just as we do. Just as you did. They go ballistic when accused of neglect, especially when they suspect it’s true.”
“I’ll…I’ll think about what I can do.”
“Thank you.” Ms. Watkins paused, seeming to study something on her desk. “Are you sure you’re all right, Jennie?”
“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“The Jennie Bateman I’ve come to know would never have a confrontation with a parent like the one both of you described.”
“I’m fine. Really. It was late, and I’ve been concerned about Amy and, well, I just lost it. I’ll talk with Ms. Sutton.”
Ms. Watkins looked at her for a long moment. “Please let me know if you need my help, Jennie. With anything.”
Christmas Party
Jennie bounced through the front door. It was Friday, the last day of school before Christmas break. Tonight was the staff Christmas party, and on Wednesday she had a dinner date with Thomas in Charleston. She hoped to wear a diamond ring when she returned home on Christmas Eve. Any one of these would have been exciting, but all five?
She had difficulty catching her breath.
She had hugged each of her students as class ended, called out greetings to the other teachers as she had left the building, and waved to parents who were collecting their children. She had even wished Amy Sutton’s mother a merry Christmas, and she had sung carols all of the way home.
The Christmas party was scheduled at a restaurant in Atlanta. All of the teachers and most of the other staff would attend and, since the party was out of town, many of the teachers planned to carpool. Ms. Watkins had invited Jennie to ride with her, Kara, and Howard Means, one of the fifth-grade teachers. Howard was single, flirted shamelessly with Jennie, and seemed to have difficulty keeping his hands to himself. Jennie couldn’t imagine being wedged into the back seat of Ms. Watkins’s Corolla with him, even if Ms. Watkins and Kara were in the front. In any case, she planned to drop by Tasha’s apartment beforehand to model one of her new outfits, and, as a result, she was driving alone.
Jennie ran hot water and added bubble bath. She lowered herself slowly into the tub, the warmth of the water spreading through her body, the aroma of roses causing her
to smile. During their marriage, even during those the last several months, Thomas had brought her roses with this very fragrance almost every Friday.
She shook her head. How do you walk away from a man who does that?
She had received the original bottle several years earlier, a gift from a student, but when she had first poured the contents into her bath, the aroma had evoked such painful memories that she had immediately drained the water and scoured the tub. She had stowed the bottle at the back of a cabinet and forgotten all about it.
A couple of months ago she had come across it while searching for a bottle of shampoo and had pulled it out. Now, three bottles later, she bathed in it whenever she wanted to think about Thomas. Imagining his face, she hugged herself, anticipating the coming week.
She soaked for almost twenty minutes. The girls would be home from college on Thursday. Thomas had specifically asked her to come on Wednesday, a day earlier, saying he wanted to take her to dinner alone. The girls didn’t always tag along when they were at home, but they were in Charleston so seldom that it always seemed so unfair to leave them behind. Thomas had even had found a sitter for Louisa, and the fact they would be completely alone made his invitation even more special.
She felt certain he was planning to propose. They had dated. She had spent time in Charleston and he had visited Whitesburg. They talked, Skyped, and emailed daily. Jennie felt as if she had returned to college and had fallen in love all over again. She looked forward to spending time with Thomas, talking with him, holding him, kissing him…
Marrying him again would be…she didn’t know how to describe her feelings. A dream come true was such a cliché, but it was the best she could do. This time, their marriage would last. They would make each other happy, and nothing would ever come between them, not alcohol, not her temper, not another man, and not her illness. She had proven she was cured.
Jennie finally pulled herself from the water and patted herself dry with one of the extra-thick towels she reserved for use after a bubble bath.
Each year, the women who attended the Christmas party had an informal competition to see who would appear in the most spectacular outfit. Tonight, Jennie intended to be the victor. She would wear the tunic and the leggings she had bought when shopping with Tasha and Alexis. She planned to wear the same ensemble to dinner with Thomas on Wednesday.
Once and Future Wife Page 18
