by Leah Atwood
Mrs. Morrison reached over and patted her on the hand. “We both know that he’s not the problem.”
“Yeah, I know.” Charity sighed. “But Tate really wasn’t that bad. He obviously cares deeply for his nephew; and to be honest, I just think the guy is lonely and needs a friend.”
Tucker tapped Tate on the shoulder. “Hey, Mr. S. We gotta book it.”
“Huh?” Tate looked up at Tucker. “Book it?”
“Yeah, we need to leave.” Tucker tilted his head, motioning toward the door.
“In a minute.” Tate brushed him off with a wave of a hand. The burly teenager stepped in front of him, obscuring his view. “What are you doing? Get out of the way, Tucker!”
“I said it’s time to go. We still have another stop.”
“Well I’m not ready to leave yet.” Tate stood up, intent on going around the school’s star quarterback. When he stepped aside of Tucker, he blinked a couple times before turning to glare at him. “I don’t know how you did this, but take us back.”
“Afraid I can’t do that, Mr. S.” Tucker moved to stand next to Tate. “You need to see your family.”
“I see my family all the time.”
“True,” Tucker said. “But not when they can’t see you.”
Tate frowned. What was so important about seeing his family when they couldn’t see him?
His sister, Jen, and Matthias were just sitting down to eat supper. The spaghetti and meatballs looked delicious. Tate loved her homemade sauce. He usually ate over at their house a couple times a week. Tate frowned when they stopped to pray.
“Can I ask you something, Mom?” Matthias twirled his fork around in his plate of spaghetti.
“Sure, honey. You know you can always ask me anything you want to.”
Matthias looked up at his mother. “How come we don’t pray when Uncle Tate is here?”
“Hmm.” Jen set her fork down, pushed her plate forward a little and then folded her arms on the table in front of her. “Your uncle used to pray when he was little, but when he got older, he became bitter and stopped praying.”
“So he hasn’t forgiven somebody, is that why he’s bitter?”
“Yeah, pretty much so.” Jen’s faint smile was not one of joy, her eyes were filled with sadness. “He never got over Katie leaving him at the altar or your father leaving me.”
“Do you think Uncle Tate will ever get married?” Matthias asked.
Tate snorted.
Jen sighed. “I don’t know, sweetie.” She shrugged her shoulders before picking up her fork and twirling it in her spaghetti. “When I was a teenager, I used to dream of what I would do with a sister-in-law. I always thought it would be fun to have a family get-together, go shopping, or even take our kids places together.”
“It can still happen, can’t it?” Matthias’ eyes widened. “I’d love to have a couple of cousins.”
“I bet you would.” Jen chuckled. “Hopefully one day he realizes that not all women are like Katie.”
Chapter Six
An alarm sounding startled Tate from his fitful night’s sleep. He reached over and turned it off, then laid his head back on the pillow. Had he been dreaming all night, or had he really been transported to all those places? Did everybody feel sorry for him? Is that why Charity had been nice? Or was she sincere since she also had a bad experience in love?
There was no reason for anybody to feel sorry for him. He’d made it to become the principal at a relatively young age, succeeding over numerous other candidates who were older and had worked in the school district much longer. Tate prided himself on being efficient, which helped motivate teachers toward excellence and had helped improve students’ test scores on nationwide, mandatory tests.
The whole time he was getting ready for work and driving to school, Tate found himself questioning other people’s attitudes and his own. Did he really seem bitter? He was disciplined, which could be interpreted as being stern. And Brad accused him of being like Scrooge. Even Tucker called him Mr. S because it could go either way, for Mr. Stephens or Scrooge. But those were dreams, weren’t they?
Charity didn’t seem bitter, even though her betrayal by her spouse went deeper than his being jilted at the altar. It wouldn’t be easy for anyone to get over either type of hurt. It didn’t mean it made him bitter.
Tate tried focusing on the tasks at hand throughout the day, but his mind was preoccupied. He was headed to the auditorium for play practice when he saw Tucker in the hallway, outside his locker. “Tucker, I wanted to speak with you a moment.”
“Sure, what do you need, Mr. S?” Tucker’s eyes widened. “I mean Mr. Stephens.”
“Have you always called me Mr. S?” Maybe Tucker had and he hadn’t noticed it until his dream last night.
Tucker closed his locker. “Uh. . . Just not to your face.” It was amusing seeing Tucker’s cheeks flush.
“And what does Mr. S stand for?”
“Mr. Stephens, duh.”
Tate’s eyebrow raised. While students liked to use certain terms, they often didn’t realize how unintelligible it made them sound. He clasped Tucker on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. If saying Mr. Stephens is too hard for you, you can call me Mr. S.”
“It’s not too hard.” Tucker’s expression looked weary.
Tate chuckled. They began walking toward the auditorium together. When was the last time Tate had laughed? Lately his dreams were really messing with his mind. But they also made him think about his reaction to Tucker. “I wanted to apologize about the other day. I realize you were only trying to help Matthias. As his uncle, it’s hard for me not to be concerned with his welfare.”
“No problem, Mr. S—” Tucker caught himself and glanced at Tate. “Stephens. I have a nephew too. Of course, he’s only three, but I understand you looking out for Matthias. He’s a good kid.”
“Yes, he is,” Tate agreed.
While running through his lines with a few of the characters in the play, Tate realized the difficulty in playing the lead role. Maybe Charity saddling him with the part as Scrooge wasn’t an attempt to get rid of him. Perhaps she really did need someone to help out and fill the other student’s place when he’d dropped out of the performance.
“Mr. Stephens, could you work on my lines with me?” Caleb, one of the school’s brightest students, asked.
“Sure, that sounds like an excellent idea.” Although Tate silently had doubts. He couldn’t help the thoughts running through his mind. He felt it was a good thing that the ghosts in the play weren’t really supposed to be scary. Hopefully nobody would laugh when Caleb performed because he resembled a walking beanpole with glasses—not the least bit intimidating.
“Thank you, Sir.” Caleb turned his copy of the play around for Tate to see. “Here’s the place where my lines begin.”
“Thank you.” Tate smiled. He could have figured that out for himself. He’d already read through the play numerous times and had seen countless versions of the movie—because it was one of his sister’s favorite Christmas movies that he’d watched with her repeatedly over the years. “I’ll pretend to be sleeping and you start from the beginning, where you’re trying to wake me.”
Tate sat backwards in a fold-up chair and leaned his head on his forearms as if he was asleep.
“Sc-roog,” came out of Caleb’s mouth as more of a squeak.
It was a good thing Tate’s face was buried or he would have had a hard time hiding his smile. He cleared his throat to compose himself and stood. “Why don’t we work on your scare tactics.”
“Scare tactics?” Caleb asked. “This play isn’t really meant to be scary.”
Tate chuckled. “No, but ghost are meant to be scary. When the ghosts come to Scrooge, they’re trying to startle him, rattle his chains if you will. So to do that, their voices need to be commanding enough to get his attention.”
Caleb shrugged. “I guess.”
Tate took Caleb’s script from him and laid both of theirs on the
chair. Then Tate raised his arms. “Extend your arms like this.”
“Like a zombie?” Caleb chuckled.
Tate dropped his arms to his sides and glared at Caleb.
The boy’s expression sobered. “Sorry.”
Tate smiled. “Did you see what I did just there?”
Caleb looked confused.
“I scared you with just an expression,” Tate said. “Now raise your arms again and we’ll practice on your expression and the sounds you make as you call out my name.”
After raising his arms, Caleb made a serious face. His eyes squinted. He moaned, “Mr. Stephens.”
“What?” Tate laughed.
“Just playing with you. You said to call out your name.”
“You got me.” Grinning, Tate shook his head and expelled a deep breath. “Why don’t you try that again, but this time, use my character’s name.”
When practice ended, Charity came over to talk to Tate. “Looks like you had a good time today.”
“Yes, I did.” And he had her to thank for that. “Working with the students again, one-on-one, reminded me of why I became a teacher in the first place.”
“It suits you well.” Charity’s eyes glistened when she smiled.
“Hey, look,” Tate said. “I’m having dinner over at my sister’s. Why don’t you join us?”
Charity’s mouth opened a fraction.
Tate could tell she was about to protest. “It will give you a chance to meet Matthias mother and tell her how he’s doing in the play.”
“She may not have enough food for an unexpected guest.” Charity frowned.
If that was the best protest she had, she was out of luck. “Trust me,” Tate said. “It’s not a problem since I’m picking up dinner on the way over there.” He smiled. He felt like a teenager, asking a girl out, except this wasn’t a date. He merely wanted to thank her and get to know her better. Perhaps he’d eventually get to know more of the staff personally at the school.
“I guess.”
“Sounds good,” Tate said. He wasn’t about to give her a chance to second-guess herself. “I’m picking up Chinese. What would you like me to order for you?”
“Crispy cashew chicken with chicken fried rice, if you don’t mind. I’d be happy to pay you.” She started to turn away. “Let me go get my purse.”
“No, my treat.”
She stopped and looked at him.
Tate smiled and winked. Then he raised his voice to address the youth, “Okay everyone, let’s get things picked up so that we can all get out of here.” He stopped a moment to call in their order and text his sister that he was bringing a guest to dinner with him. With another message to not make this awkward, and a smiley face. He’d never used them in a text before. The thought of it even made him smile.
After they finished putting the fold-up chairs away and picking up, they headed to the parking lot. “You’re riding in the back today, sport.”
Matthias glanced at Tate and then Charity. “Are you giving Miss Fletcher a ride home?”
“She’s joining us for dinner.”
Thankfully his nephew had enough tact not to say anything in response to that, although his wide grin spoke volumes. By the time they picked up dinner and arrived at his sister’s, Tate had butterflies in his stomach. If he hadn’t already told his sister he would bring dinner, he would have taken Charity out to dinner alone.
Jen was filling glasses with ice and had already set the table when they walked into the kitchen. She smiled at Charity. “It’s good to see you again, Miss Fletcher.”
“Please, call me Charity.”
“Me, too?” Matthias asked.
Tate ran his hand over Matthias’ head and ruffled his hair. “Sorry, sport. She’s Miss Fletcher to you.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Matthias laughed and leaned on one crutch to straighten his hair before moving to the table and taking a seat.
The food smelled delicious. Tate was anxious to dig into General Tso’s chicken and the special fried rice. He loved that their crab rangoon wasn’t too sweet. With everyone seated at the table, one would have thought this was a typical, cozy family gathering. It was a scenario Tate could get accustomed to very easily. “Go ahead and help yourself, Charity.”
“Thank you.” Charity grabbed the container with her crispy cashew chicken. The rest of them began filling their plates as well.
Tate looked at Charity. Other than being a teacher and working with the students in the drama, she was a complete mystery to him. “So, tell me what you like to do for fun.”
Her laughter was delicate, almost musical. “Well, my days of practical jokes are pretty much over, so I’d have to say jogging and hanging out with friends.”
“You’re a practical joker huh?” Tate smiled. He’d have never figured she had an ornery side.
Charity’s eyes widened. She held her hand up a moment, as if to stop him from continuing with his train of thought. “No, not any more. I learned the hard way that it can backfire on you. Especially if you’re outnumbered.”
“Okay, spill the beans.” Tate laughed. “What’s the biggest practical joke you’ve ever played on someone?”
Glancing at Matthias, she said, “You have to promise not to repeat this story outside of the four of us.”
“Now I’m really curious.” Jen smiled.
“I promise.” Matthias crossed his heart.
“Well, at my old school, I may or may not have put a few students up to a senior prank.” Charity’s face lit up and her expressions were very animated as she spoke. “One of the students had an uncle with a farm. He acquired three small pigs and they painted one, two, and four on them before letting them loose in the school.”
“Oh, that’s funny.” Jen broke out in exuberant laughter.
“But if there were only three pigs, why did they number one of them four?” Tate asked.
His sister looked at him and chuckled again. “And if you didn’t know how many pigs there were, and you found three of them, wouldn’t you be wondering where the other pig went to?”
“We’re going to have to do that my senior year.” Matthias smiled.
“But there weren’t four—” Dawning finally registered. He also realized what his nephew had just said. Tate gave Matthias a stern look. “And you are not releasing pigs on school property. If anyone does, I’ll know you had something to do with it.”
When dinner was over, Charity offered to help with dishes, which his sister declined. Before they left, though, they insisted on clearing their plates off the table.
Jen told Tate to call her later. Wiggling her eyebrows at him was code for I want to hear all about it later. It had been a very long time since his sister had given him that mischievous look. He only wished he had something to tell her. Charity was a teacher at his school. It wasn’t as if he could really pursue things with another employee.
“Did you have a good time tonight?” Tate glanced at her while he drove.
Charity nodded, a faint smile creased her lips. “I enjoy getting to know my students and their families more.”
“I see.” Tate nodded and stared at the road, afraid to glance at her. “So I guess that means going to the show Saturday night is out of the question.”
He could feel her eyes on him. A faint sigh escaped her lips. “I have a date.”
A lump formed in Tate’s throat. He swallowed hard. What was he really expecting? A fairy tale ending? Birds flying around singing merrily? That somehow a woman as beautiful as Charity would fall for him?
Chapter Seven
Tate tossed and turned in bed that night. He awoke to Caleb standing over him with outstretched arms, calling his name. He rubbed his eyes. This had to be another dream. “Remind me not to eat before bed, and especially spicy foods or anything with MSG!” A better dinner regime would fix this—as long as he remembered to implement one. “Okay, so what are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to show you your future.” Without
lowering his arms, Caleb leaned over and grabbed the covers.
Tate clasped onto the edge before Caleb could pull them back. “Ha. I don’t think so.”
“As you wish,” Caleb said. He took a deep breath and blew.
The covers raised off of Tate’s bed and remained suspended in the air, along with Tate’s arms since he hadn’t let go of the edge of them. “Seriously?”
Caleb lowered his arms and smiled. “That’s not even the best part of playing the ghost.” With a zip of his finger wagging like the flip of a page, Tate’s cover zoomed off the end of his bed, forcing Tate to a standing position and barreling out of bed with a loud thud. His cover then dropped to the floor.
“Fine. I’m up,” Tate grumbled. “What do you want to show me?”
“Even you should know where this is going,” Caleb said. “You’ve got the lead role.”
“Yeah, welcome to my life.” Tate’s tone was sarcastic, but he didn’t care. Especially for being awakened during the night. He closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. “Okay, what do you want to show me about my future?”
When Tate opened his eyes, he was standing in a living room that he didn’t recognize. The Christmas tree was decorated beautifully and reflections of the flames in the fireplace danced around the room. Charity walked into the room carrying a tray with two piping hot cups of hot cocoa. Tate smiled when he saw the tiny marshmallows melting on top of the hot beverages. She set the tray down on the coffee table.
“Honey, why don’t we cuddle on the loveseat?” A man came up behind Charity and wrapped his arms around her.
“You brought me here to show me she ends up with another man?” Tate ground out. His fists clenched involuntarily. “How can you be so cruel?”
“This hasn’t happened yet,” Caleb said. “Whether or not she ends up with another man is up to you.”
“How is it up to me?” Tate frowned. “She can choose whoever she wants to and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Or is there?”
Tate glared at Caleb.
