by Holly Jacobs
Carly grinned. "So, did you both join the committee on your own, or were you volunteered for missing the general PTA meeting, too?"
"Missed it," Samantha admitted and smiled, as well. "I should have known better. Remember Connie?"
Michelle nodded.
Carly grimaced.
"Michelle? Volunteer or volunteered?" Samantha quizzed. Both she and Carly looked at the cool blonde as they waited.
Samantha expected Michelle, who was always working on one committee or another, to say she'd volunteered, but for a moment Michelle's placid facade faded.
"I missed it, too," she confessed. Carly looked as surprised as Samantha felt. Michelle was not the type of woman who missed meetings. She was the type who probably had a color-coded calendar hanging in the kitchen, along with a smartphone that kept her apprised of her schedule when she wasn't home.
"I was sick," Michelle explained, then added, "but I'd have probably volunteered if I'd been there, so it's no problem. At least it won't be if we divide the duties."
"What exactly are the Social Planning Committee's duties?" Carly asked, popping another cookie into her mouth.
Samantha's stomach growled, so she took a sip of her diet cola, and tried not to look at the biggest chocolate chip cookie in the center of the tray. It was calling to her like a siren singing for a passing ship. She sucked her stomach in again, and tried to focus her attention on Michelle.
"We plan all the PTA's major social events. The Thanksgiving Pageant, the Christmas Fair, the Valentine Dance and the end-of-year hoopla. Heidi had hoped to find a fourth member for the committee, that way each of us could assume the lead for one of the events, but. . ."
Michelle left the sentence hanging, and Carly filled in, laughing as she said, "But we were the only three moms who missed the first meeting?"
Michelle grinned ruefully. "That sums it up. And the parents who were there knew better than to volunteer. This is an all-year committee. Heidi said she'll continue to look for a fourth member, and if she can't find someone then she'll take over the end-of-year event herself. So that leaves the three of us with Thanksgiving, Christmas and Valentine's Day. I've given this some thought. . ." She paused. "Samantha, you have Stella in third grade, right?"
Samantha nodded.
"That's what I thought. The third-graders traditionally put on the Thanksgiving Pageant. They're old enough to learn the lines, and young enough to be cute, prancing around as turkeys and pumpkin pies."
"Yeah, can you imagine seventh-graders doing it?" Carly asked.
They all laughed, then Michelle continued, "Well, it seems logical for you to take the Thanksgiving Pageant because of Stella, if that's okay? And then. . ."
Michelle was an accountant, or belonged to some other such number-crunching profession that required organization, which might explain the folder with its papers, breaking the three events down, assigning Samantha point for Thanksgiving, Michelle for Christmas, and Carly for Valentine's Day.
They'd both accepted Michelle as the head of the committee without a vote or even discussion, but as far as Samantha was concerned, that was fine. Whatever activity she was in charge of was pretty much the same. And because she was responsible for the first of the events, she'd be done sooner rather than later.
Maybe it was time to read the next chapter in How to be Happy Without Really Trying, because she was pretty sure she was getting the optimism chapter down to a science.
Michelle handed Samantha and Carly notes from the previous social committees. "I think by making one of us the leader for each of the activities, and the other two just providing backup, things shouldn't be too tough. Does that work for both of you?" Michelle asked, her hands neatly folded on top of her file.
Carly had just eaten another cookie, and Samantha was desperately trying not to notice the look of utter contentment the woman obviously felt as she chewed the hundred-plus calories. Since Carly's cookie-stuffed mouth precluded her answering, Samantha replied for the both of them. "It all sounds good."
"Great." Michelle slipped her folder back into her bag. "Why don't we plan on meeting every other week? Unless babysitters are a problem for you, Samantha?" Samantha knew both Michelle and Carly had seventh graders, so babysitting wasn't too much of a worry because they were old enough to be on their own for a few hours. Things were harder with four kids, especially when her baby was only eight.
"Now that Stan's in eighth grade, I've been letting him babysit for short spurts, and so far he's done fine." She knocked on wood, which made Michelle and Carly grin.
"It's only been a year that I've let Sean and Rhiana stay home without a babysitter. It's hard to let go, but I'm bound and determined they learn to stand on their own two feet." There was a quiet determination in Carly's expression. Samantha wondered if Carly's ex had something to do with that.
Michelle smiled. "Okay. Then, same time, same place in two weeks. Samantha, in the meantime, you can read last year's pageant notes, and see what you need from Carly and me."
Samantha nodded. It was clear the business portion of the meeting was over.
The chocolate chip cookies were still there, beckoning her, and since positive was her new watchword, Sam decided that she was positive she'd be happier with that chocolate chip cookie than with just the diet cola.
Cookie in hand, she did indeed feel happier as she turned to Michelle and Carly. "Have either of you met the new principal? I have an appointment with him on Monday."
She took a bite of the cookie and admitted she'd been wrong—this wasn't mere happiness, it was nirvana. "This is amazing."
If she'd written the book, she'd have definitely included a chapter on chocolate chip cookies being the key to earthly contentment.
"Glad you like it," Michelle said. "And I haven't met Mr. Remington yet and I don't know much. Heidi told me that he was at the first PTA meeting, but we all missed that." She grinned ruefully. "Heidi liked him. I guess he's some kind of interim principal. An old friend of Geri Flamini, the superintendent. He was in town taking some graduate classes, and when Principal Tooly quit so abruptly. Anyway, Geri asked him to fill in at Erie Elementary until she can find a permanent replacement. So he's just here until sometime in December, unless she finds the replacement faster."
"What was he doing before working here?" Carly asked.
"Working as assistant principal somewhere in Ohio," Heidi said. "He's on sabbatical while he finishes his Master of Administration here in the area. I'm not sure which college. He'll be finished in December and then is going back to Ohio, back to his school."
"Michelle, if that's not knowing much, I'd love to listen to you talk about something you know a lot about," Samantha teased.
"Well, according to my kids, this Mr. Remington is better than Tooly. Although, that's not saying much," Carly added. "I'm not principal material by any stretch of the imagination, and I'd have done a better job than Tooly did."
Samantha's boys had a difficult time with their dad's leaving. Their difficulty was reflected in their attitude at school, which meant frequent trips to the principal's office. Principal Tooly had been the bane of Samantha's existence, and it was nice to hear that her opinion of him wasn't simply colored by her kids' experiences.
"I saw more of Mr. Tooly last year than anyone but his wife should have had to," Samantha admitted. Tooly had tried to corral her boys with an iron fist. His method only seemed to make matters worse.
With a new principal on board—even if he was only an interim one—Samantha was hopeful that this would be a better year than last year. The boys had finally seemed to adjust to her divorce from Phillip, and his taking them this weekend was a good sign that he was going to be more active in their lives.
She slipped on her newly polished rose-colored glasses.
Michelle passed Samantha another chocolate chip cookie, and since it seemed rude not to take it, she did and felt a keen sense of satisfaction. Maybe that was the trick—appreciate the chocolate chips while you c
an because you never knew when the cat would bring you another mouse.
Michelle shrugged. "Sorry, we're not much help about Principal Remington. You'll have to fill us in at our next meeting."
They visited awhile longer, bragging about their kids and just chatting about this and that.
Somewhere in the midst of the conversation, Samantha realized she'd missed hanging out with other women. Over the last year, she'd been so busy with the kids, with just getting through her divorce and the aftermath that she hadn't kept up with her friends.
"Oh, my it's almost eight-thirty." Michelle studied her watch. "I can't believe we've been here this whole time."
"And eating cookies," Samantha added. "I can't remember when I had cookies that good. Of course, I'm going to have to suck my stomach in for the next month to make up for all I ate."
"Suck your stomach in?" Carly asked.
"It's my new form or exercise." Samantha outlined her alternative to crunches and joined in when Carly and Michelle both chuckled.
"Maybe I'll try it," Carly said. "I know I need to exercise now that I'm in my thirties—my very early thirties," she clarified with a grin.
"They say thirty is the new twenty, and if that's the case, it makes you practically in your teens," Samantha teased Michelle, who was barely in her late twenties, tops. Seton had been in third grade when Michelle's nephew, Brandon, had joined the class. Samantha remembered hearing at the time that Brandon's mother, Michelle's sister, had died. The first time she'd seen Michelle at a school function, she'd been struck by how young the girl was to be taking on the responsibility of an eight-year-old.
"My nephew Brandon has been doing his best to prematurely age me, if that makes you feel better."
Samantha laughed and put an arm around Michelle's shoulder.
They gathered up their things, and Samantha carried Michelle's cooler for her as they made their way out of the school, turning lights out as they went. Michelle had the PTA's set of keys, and locked the school's door after them, then took the cooler. "I know this was a working meeting, but it was fun."
"It was. Next time I'll bring the snack," Carly offered.
"I'm looking forward to it," Samantha replied and they all waved and went to their cars.
Samantha felt better than she had in a long time despite her marathonish Friday.
Maybe Heidi had done her a favor volunteering her for this committee. . .?
Just then her cell phone rang, and her ex's home number was flashing on the screen. "Hello."
"Mom, it's Stan," her oldest said, as if she wouldn't recognize his voice.
"How are things at your dad's?" This wasn't just the first time he'd taken the kids in more than three months, it was the first time the kids had spent the night at Phillip's new place.
"Fine," came Stan's monosyllabic response.
It was enough to tell her that something was up. "But. . . ?" she prompted. "It's fine, but. . .?"
"Stella hid Grunge in her bag. Dad wasn't happy, and uh. . ."
Stella shrieked in the background.
A spurt of fear had Sam mentally calculating the quickest route to Phillip's place. "What's the matter?"
"Grunge doesn't like Dad's new puppy. He's got him cornered under the bed, and Stella's afraid Grunge's going to get hurt. She's the only one worried about the cat. The rest of us are worried about the puppy. Dad wants to know if you'd come get Grunge?"
"Tell him I'll be there in a few minutes."
Retrieving the cat hadn't been part of her evening's plans, but Samantha couldn't help but be glad she'd have a chance to tell the kids goodnight.
Her kids kept life interesting.
Samantha Williams was positive about that.
Chapter Two
On Monday, Harry Remington looked at the dark-haired woman sitting outside his office. She was wearing a set of hospital scrubs. "Mrs. Williams?"
The woman nodded, then stood. She didn't quite reach Harry's shoulder, which meant she looked up at him, and as she did, he couldn't help but notice her eyes were a warm brown. He wondered if they crinkled when she smiled. They looked as if they might. He couldn't be sure though, because right now she was definitely not smiling.
As a matter of fact, she was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and antipathy. Maybe if she wasn't fond of principals in general—having read her boys' files, he could understand why her dealings with the previous principal might have colored her opinion. Or maybe something about him in particular had made her wary.
So he smiled his best I'm-here-to-help smile to put her at ease.
She extended her hand. "It's Ms. Williams. Samantha, actually. You must be our new interim principal, Mr. Remington?"
They shook hands. Her grip was firm as she assessed him.
"Harris Remington. Harry to my friends."
There was a look of surprise as he said his name, then she studied him even closer than she had before. He couldn't figure out what she saw. Her expression didn't offer any clue. "Let's go into my office and talk."
Harry led Mrs. Williams—Ms. Williams, Samantha, actually, he corrected himself—into his office, trying not to notice how unsettled the room still felt. Granted, he'd only be here at Erie Elementary until December, but the office's current state of chaos wasn't like him.
Harry had taken a sabbatical for the term from his school in Columbus, planning to have some downtime in Erie while he finished his graduate degree in Education Administration, which was a requirement if he wanted to become a principal.
But instead of the calm term he'd envisioned, his old friend Geri had called asking him to take the job at Erie Elementary until she could find a permanent replacement. So, Harry had hit the ground running, and had been so busy with the start of the school year, and becoming familiar with the kids and teachers, as well as starting his evening classes at Edinboro University, that he hadn't finished unpacking his office boxes.
"I love what you've done with the place," she teased, a smile playing lightly on her lips as she took in the disheveled-looking room. Then, as if realizing she was fraternizing with the enemy, her expression became serious. "Sorry. That was totally inappropriate. We're here to talk about the boys."
Harry had been on the verge of laughing, but at her abrupt change in demeanor, he didn't. He simply indicated a chair across from his. "It wasn't inappropriate. It was truthful and funny," he responded. She didn't lose her wary look. He gave up putting her at ease. It obviously wasn't going to happen. "Down to business then. Yes. About your boys and last week's food-fight incident."
She sighed, her expression becoming almost grim. "I know. When they got home from their dad's on Sunday they told me everything about the food fight on Friday. And I'll be frank, it's not much of a food fight when it's just my three boys. Seton and Shane didn't throw anything, they just got Stan to sit on his Little Debbie. But I read them the riot act. Seton and Shane will be paying for Stan's new school pants and Stan will pay for their shirts. He shouldn't have taken the chocolate he'd sat on to smear on them. The chocolate wouldn't come out of any of the clothes."
"They told you?" That was a surprise. Most kids tried to hide their misdeeds from their parents.
"They learned last year it's better to fess up than let me get blindsided when I come into the principal's office. And if you've looked at their files, you know they've had a lot of experience at confessing. That's the one good thing about my boys. They might make mistakes, but they always own up to them, and they never repeat the same mistake twice."
"I did notice that as I read over Principal Tooly's rather copious notes." For a moment, Harry thought she might offer up some explanation or excuse for the boys. He hoped she would give him a clue as to why they were acting out. But she merely sat there, waiting.
"Did any of Principal Tooly's punishments prove helpful, in your opinion?" he asked.
The question appeared to surprise her. Her eyes widened slightly and she cocked her head to one side, looking as if sh
e were mulling his question over.
After a second or two, she straightened her head and shook it. "No, I wouldn't say any of Tooly's punishments were overly successful in dissuading my boys from their escapades. As a matter of fact, his punishments seemed to inspire even more practical jokes, many of which were directed at him."
"The school newsletter," Harry supplied, remembering the long diatribe of the previous principal. Mr. Tooly had gone on and on about the mock newsletter the boys had printed and delivered to every student at Erie Elementary. A mock newsletter that featured an in-depth article on Tooly. Some of the facts that the faculty assumed were false turned out to be otherwise. The one about Tooly's little gambling problem being one of the otherwise facts.
"Well, they did get an awful lot of the story right, which is why Mr. Tooly eventually lost his position. So that means you sort of owe my boys for your new job, even if it's only an interim one. . .right?" She offered him a weak smile.
Harry smiled back as he nodded. "There's a logic to that. But be that as it may, we have to do something about last week's prank. Does grounding them help?"
She shook her head.
"Then I suggest the two of us have to find a more creative way of convincing your sons that rules are there for a reason."
Again, she looked surprised. "What do you suggest? I know Tooly's preferred creative method would require shackles or ropes at best."
"No. I'm not a shackle man. I thought, for starters, what if they contribute to improving the school, more specifically, they come in on Saturday and help me paint the office and unpack my stuff?"
"Really? You're going to let the boys use paint. . .on purpose?" Samantha Williams didn't look as if she thought that was a good idea.
"Well, their graffiti last year convinced the art teacher your sons had more than a degree of talent, and since detentions don't seem to work, maybe being forced to spend a day with their principal, helping with my work, might act as a deterrent."
"But they won't be just spending the day with you. They'll be spending a day with paint and all manner of ways to wreak havoc on a rather deserted school."
