by Nicole Snow
Personal safety, security, is another thing that was never an issue until Natalie was born. The events of the past couple years have blown it up tenfold.
I drive back to the visitor parking area and find a spot. Despite the evening heat, I grab my leather jacket and slip it on. I’m not ashamed of the ink on my arms, but out of respect for Nat, I cover my tattoos at certain times.
People can be judgmental. Kids can be downright nasty. As a father, it’s my responsibility to never let judgments about me taint her.
At the door, I buzz the intercom system and state my name before being let in. The office is around the corner to the left. A dark-haired woman behind the desk points to the door on the right and tells me Mr. Jacobs is ready.
He’s an older man, mid-fifties or so, round and balding, but smart. I recognized that the first time I met him. I got a good sense about him at our first meeting, too, but that has little bearing on the reason for my meeting today.
“Welcome back, Mr. Eden,” Jacobs says as I enter the room. He’s standing behind his big wooden desk covered with framed family photos. “I’m glad you called so we can discuss what happened last night.”
Not seeing any reason for pleasantries, I yank the door shut behind me. “And make sure it isn’t repeated, you mean.”
“Of course.” He points to a chair. “Please, have a seat.”
While stepping towards the chair, I ask, “How’d Graves get in the building? Anybody figured it out yet?”
He nods, as if accepting my straight to the point question. “Most of Mr. Graves’ family are academy alumni, I'm afraid.”
Taking a seat, I give him a look that says that’s no answer. “Bull. Don’t tell me alumni have key fobs.”
“No, no, certainly not.” He sits in his well-padded leather chair. “Mr. Graves’ cousin, Grace Wilkens, works here. She wasn’t aware her key fob was missing until arriving at work this morning. When she heard about the breach last night, she came to me and said Preston stopped by her house yesterday. He must have taken her fob then. He’s been questioned, but denies ever having it.”
“Sure he does,” I bite off, trying like hell not to roll my eyes.
“Please, you needn't be alarmed. I personally made sure the fob was deactivated. So, wherever it is, it's no good here anymore. Also, we've informed Mr. Graves he isn't welcome anywhere near our premises.”
“And his cousin? If she can’t keep track of a damn fob...” I let my words trail off, knowing he catches my drift.
“Grace Wilkens has worked here for over fifteen years. Practically a model employee with no prior disciplinary incidents. She eagerly cooperated to the fullest in our investigation this morning. Said Mr. Graves has some...dire psychological issues.”
I blink my agreement.
“Regardless, Ms. Wilkens feels terrible about the whole thing. I have no concern her new fob ever goes missing again.” He squirms slightly in his chair. “I'll be speaking with Ms. Derby as well. Just as soon as her afternoon classes end.”
My spine stiffens, but I make sure he doesn't notice. “Ms. Derby? Why?”
“I know she's fully aware of the rules, but perhaps you're not.”
“Rules?” What fucking rules? I wonder, shaking my head slightly.
His jowls wiggle as he pulls up an imitation smile. “Well, Mr. Graves indicated that although he's been dating Ms. Derby for some time...she might also be dating you.”
Shit!
What in the hell was I on last night? What insanity possessed me to kiss a stranger and call her my fiancée?
Besides the fact I’ve thought about fucking Blue since meeting her, I mean. I read every publication the school sends home, including the new teacher bios. The little black and white photo they’d had of her in their newsletter hadn’t done her justice.
Jacobs is still waiting for an answer. I shrug. “Even if that were true, I can't see why it'd be anyone else’s business.”
He shakes his head. “It would, I fear. We have very strict rules at this academy, Mr. Eden. Every employee agrees to conduct themselves to the highest standard at their time of hire. That includes maintaining nothing more than a purely professional relationship with our students, their families, and other employees.”
Fuck. I should have known.
I may have buried myself on this one. Just hope I haven't dug Blue's grave, too. “You just went to bat for that Wilkens lady. Tell me, how well do you know Ms. Derby?”
“I must admit, not very well,” Jacobs answers. “She’s a new teacher this year for our preschool expansion. As you know, she began filling the evening art classes for Mrs. Wayne, the regular art teacher. Like all of our instructors, Ms. Derby came highly recommended. Her presence on our payroll vouches for her character, I'd like to believe. However –”
No. Fuck 'however.'
Nothing he's telling me is new information. “And how long have you known Preston Graves?” I ask.
His chin wobbles as a frown forms. “I was Vice Principal while he was a student.”
His expression says it all. Preston Graves was a flaming asshole then, too. To drive my point home, I ask, “And how long have you known me?”
“I believe it’s been roughly five years since you first enrolled Natalie, correct?”
I nod before saying, “Given the history you just indicated, and the experience you have from working here for so many years, let's think. Do you believe a woman like Ms. Derby would be dating a man like Preston Graves?”
He places both hands on his desk and leans forward, his eyebrows flicking up. “I was certainly surprised by Preston’s claims.”
“All of them?” I ask.
“Yes, all of them.”
Not admitting anything is my best tool right now, and I use it. “Natalie and I were leaving last night when I saw Graves sneaking out of the bathroom. Then I heard the way he spoke to Ms. Derby. He tried to scare her. Intimidate her. I stepped in like any man would. Had to get him off her.”
“Your assistance is very much appreciated. The safety of our students and faculty always comes first.” Jacobs shoots a nervous glance around the room before asking, “Did you know Ms. Derby before she started teaching here? Before Natalie was enrolled in the art enrichment class she took over?”
“No. Not till three weeks ago, when I dropped Nat off for her first art lesson. First time I met Ms. Derby. Last night was the first time we said more than hello.” By this point, I’m ready for this entire situation to become little more than my word against Preston Graves.
If push comes to shove, that bastard won’t stand a chance.
The bell rings loudly then, interrupting us. Classes dismissed. I stand.
Jacobs gets up as well and extends his hand across the desk. “I appreciate you clarifying details, Mr. Eden. I give you my promise there won't be any further security breaches here.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” I shake his hand tight and bid him farewell, but by the time I reach the door, my conscience gets the best of me. I can't leave yet. I turn. “None of last night was Ms. Derby’s fault, Principal. Reprimanding her would be out of line.”
He walks to the edge of his desk, a small sigh escaping his throat. “I'm of similar opinion, Mr. Eden. Thanks again for your input.”
I leave, nod to the receptionist, and walk into the hall where dozens of kids are rushing for the door.
Nat spies me as she rounds the corner. My heart swells at how her eyes light up.
I’d never known how deeply one human being can care for another until I’d met this little girl ten years ago. That moment changed my life.
There are times I still wonder what Cindy would think. She’d sworn I’d never be able to think about anyone but myself.
The sad part is, she was right. Once upon a time.
Not anymore.
“Hi, Daddy!” Her arms wrap around my waist.
“Hey, baby girl.” I kiss the top of her head before letting go. “How was your day?”
&
nbsp; “Aced my English test! So, pretty good.”
There's a smile on her face, but no shine in her eyes. I wait until we're outside where it’s not as noisy before asking, “But?”
She shrugs. Whatever it is, she's holding it in.
Damn.
The desire to kick the hell out of whoever's alienating her hits hard. It takes effort to squelch it. Some days, I wonder if I should have agreed to let her skip whole grade levels.
She’s only ten.
The other kids in her eighth grade classes are older, some by four years. There’s a huge difference between kids at those ages, which makes her light on friends. The separate classes don't give her much opportunity to play with kids her own age. I’ve offered to talk to the school about that, but she doesn’t want me to.
I get it. The school can’t force kids to make friends, but I hate the idea of her not having anybody close. No one except me. I fucking loathe it. She deserves better.
“Are we going straight home?” she asks.
“Yeah. Unless there’s something you need?” I tickle the back of her neck, under her ponytail where I know it'll make her giggle. “Like ice cream.”
She scrunches up her shoulders against my tickles. “We have ice cream sandwiches at home. And I really want to work on my dog drawing. I’ll need to borrow your phone to see the picture.”
“Maybe we should get you your own phone? I think the day's come,” I suggest, thinking that might put a spark in her eyes.
She gnaws her cheek, considering it, but then shakes her head. “Nah. There’s no one I'd call.”
My gut churns as if I’ve just been sucker punched. “There’s always Grandma,” I suggest.
“Why? We already video chat on the computer,” she answers, climbing in the truck. “Plus we'll see her in a couple months anyway, whenever they move back down for winter.”
I nod, hiding my uncertainty.
My parents, who'd cared for Nat when she first came home from the hospital and I was still in the army, live their summers on a lake in North Dakota. Then spend winters in a townhome not too far from our house, in the older section of Scottsdale. At least, that was the norm until recently.
They haven’t come down for more than a week or two in the past few years. Not since Davey died.
A tragedy in more ways than one. They're practically the only people Natalie associates with besides me and a few of my close friends.
“All right then,” I say, giving up. “Home it is, and no phone for now. Let me know if you change your mind.”
She nods, buckling her seat belt. “Yep. We're good.”
“You’re a pretty easy kid. You know that, baby girl?”
“Because you’re a pretty easy daddy.”
Her smile makes me feel better. I should give it more time. Let her figure this out. She's a brilliant kid, and sooner or later the rest of the world will figure it out.
“We make a good team, just the two of us,” she says.
“Sure do.” I start the truck and we head for home.
As I’m turning into the driveway, I ask, “Any requests for supper?”
“Spaghetti!” she answers immediately. “With garlic toast. I know there's some in the freezer because I asked Julia to add it to our grocery list.”
“Whatever you want.” I hit the garage door opener and pull the truck inside. I'm grateful our cleaning lady does most of the grocery runs so I don't have to.
I’d bought the big house five years ago and had it remodeled shortly afterward, including the pool out back. At the time, I imagined Natalie having friends over, and focused on fun things for them to do. That still hasn't happened.
Someday, I tell myself. Give her fucking time.
As soon as the hamburger meat and garlic bread are set on the counter to thaw, Natalie takes my phone and heads up to her bedroom to get cracking on her sketch. I go to my office to create some bids and process billings.
My mind has a hard time staying focused lately. Especially when half the damn evening keeps coming back to Isabella Derby.
All sorts of questions creep in. I shove them aside, but they're relentless.
It's bullshit. Everything about this.
Not just how cute she is, with her honey-blonde hair bouncing off her shoulders and those gray eyes shimmering in the pale light.
She’s too hot to stay single. That part confuses me. She’d only gone on one date with Preston. He’s too annoying for any woman to date twice.
What I can’t figure out is why she’d be so hard up for dates in the first place.
In my mind, those match-up sites are scams. Not a fair assumption, maybe, but fuck fair.
I know people who've found their spouses online. However, their final outcomes are yet to come.
That’s where the real scam comes in. Not even marriage guarantees a life together.
People change. Sometimes that works for everyone. Sometimes it doesn’t.
Sometimes people die before the change ever happens.
I push away from my desk and walk to the window. It's a beautiful, clear evening out there, but inside, it might as well be monsoon season.
I remember what happened to Cindy. She’d wanted the Happily Ever After when we hooked up. I was in it for here and now.
That taught me a lesson. One I'll never forget.
“Two goddamned weeks,” I mutter, resting my fist against the glass. If I’d just been discharged two weeks earlier, Cindy might still be alive. Natalie would have a mother, someone else to love her, even if things were never meant to be between us.
Bitter fucking irony. Sometimes, it makes me sick.
“Dad?”
I spin around, dashing the sadness on my face. “Present,” I joke numbly.
Natalie walks into my office beaming. “It’s time to start supper.”
Though she has my eyes and the better parts of my attitude, she's got a lot of her mother, too. Cindy liked everything on time and in order. That was only one of the many things that drew us apart, and one of the things I’ve changed since.
Purposefully. Children need structure. So do hazmat crews.
“I'll be up soon.” I walk to my desk to shut down the computer. “Go wash up.”
As we do most nights, we cook supper together.
My mind wanders to Blue again while our Bolognese sauce simmers. The school has rules, which is fine. I have no interest in dating her.
I just want to take her to bed. Relieve some of this tension kissing her had kicked up last night.
Of course, dating and fucking are equally forbidden. Both spell trouble with a screaming capital T.
“I wish I had art class tonight.”
I spin around, half wondering if I’d mentioned the class out loud. “Why's that?”
“Because I love it!” Natalie says, dumping a bag of salad in a bowl. “I like Ms. Derby and can’t wait for her to see my dog drawing.”
I turn back to the stove and stir the sauce. “I'm not sure I'd get too attached, Nat. She’s only a substitute for the regular art teacher,” I say, not wanting her to get her hopes up of having Ms. Derby all year.
I don’t need that kind of hope either. The faster I forget about that little blonde with blue streaks begging for my fingers, the better off I’ll be. It'll also save a few bucks in cold showers.
“I know.”
The noodles start boiling. As I’m turning down the heat, a crash sounds.
Front door. Which instantly has my nerves on edge.
It better not be that vicious prick again.
Bastard Phil should've heeded my warning. I told him what would happen if he ever showed up on my porch again, and I wasn't fucking bluffing.
“Wow, it's getting late for company! I’ll see –”
“No, Nat. Let me.” My tone is harsh. I can't help it.
Natalie frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say. “You watch the noodles. Don’t let them boil over. Keep an eye on the timer. I
’ll go see what that was.”
She agrees with a nod, but still looks at me cautiously. I rarely tell her no, especially not so rudely. But when it comes to this, I'd rather be clear than polite.
Fuck the Black Pearls. I warned Davey to stay away.
They're one of the biggest crime syndicates in the state.
He didn’t listen. And now, his problem is mine.
On my way to the front door, I make a quick detour to my office. Grab the nine millimeter I keep in the safe behind a picture on the wall, and slide in the clip while making my way back into the hall.
I listen carefully, making sure Nat's still in the kitchen. I don't want her to catch me sneaking around with a gun in our own damn house if I can avoid it.
In the foyer, I tuck the weapon into my waistband and stand off to the side, peeking through the half-moon window in the top of the door.
I can’t see anything. Anyone. Not even a shadow.
Can't wait forever.
I yank open the front door and step out, glancing around.
That’s when I spy her.
Her!
Blue.
Actually, she's red faced, sweeping black dirt into a pile with her hand.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, barely glancing up. “I accidentally knocked the plant off the table by the door. The pot broke. I’ll replace it.”
Not Bastard Phil. Thank Christ he's taken my warning seriously for now.
Seeing her pisses me off almost as much for a different reason. Mainly because she’s the last person I need right now. The hard-on I’ve fought all day reminds me why.
“I’m truly sorry, again. Just tell me where you got the pot and –”
“Julia bought it.” I stand over her. “Cleaning lady,” I add watching how the tension on her face smooths out.
Congratulations. You're boned, I hear a voice in the back of my mind say, laughing the whole time. Not if I have anything to say about it.
She pats the pile of dirt, green leaves, and broken pottery, she’d created on the porch. “Oh, um, do you know where she bought it?”
“No.”
Nodding, she stands. “Well...could you ask her?”
“No.” I'm harsher than I need to be. The depressed look on her face gets to me. “Lady, I don’t give a shit about a broken pot. But I do need to know what you're doing here.”
