At Sea View House that evening, she was restless. Couldn’t concentrate and couldn’t stop herself from thinking about Jack. She finally put on a sweat suit and set off along the beach. A good run would get rid of her excess energy and make time go by faster. The sky was overcast when she left, the sea choppy. But it wasn’t raining. She left the porch light on and headed north.
Thirty minutes later, fat raindrops started to fall, slowly at first, then faster. She was a distance from Sea View House and would be soaked by the time she got there. She berated herself as she headed toward home, thinking about a hot shower and cup of hot tea. When lightning started to flash over the water, she knew the rain was the least of her problems.
She jogged to the first cross street and left the beach, then made her way one short block to Beach Street. She turned left toward Sea View House. Now she wouldn’t be the prime target for a bolt of lightning. The houses were a lot taller than she was.
A horn blasted next to her. She looked up, saw Jack’s black truck and felt herself sag with relief.
“Get in,” he ordered.
“I’m soaked.” She gestured to her clothes.
“This isn’t a Maserati. Come on.”
She climbed up and slammed the door behind her.
“What the hell are you doing out in this storm?” Jack shifted into Drive and pulled away from the curb.
“I can ask you the same thing…and you were in a boat!” said Rachel, arms folded across her chest.
“I wasn’t out in the storm. Look closely. I’m dry.”
She glared at him. “Well, good for you. Then what took you so long? I don’t have a crystal ball to know you’re not drowned.” She turned away and stared straight ahead.
He pulled into their driveway and switched off the engine. “Rachel?” His voice was soft, intimate in the enclosed cab.
“Hmm?”
His fingers cupped her chin, gently turned it toward him. “Were you worrying about me?”
“Of course not! You’re Dr. Jack Poseidon-Neptune Levine. The sea is your home. Why would I worry about a little lightning?”
Suddenly, she couldn’t talk. Her mouth was very busy doing something else. A whole lot of something else. His kiss aroused her instantly. His arms tightened around her, and she melted against him, feeling his heart thumping on top of her own. She raised her head to better taste his kisses—urgent, demanding. He was a man, not a boy—the teenager girl was so right about that—and Rachel felt herself respond as a woman. An interested woman. Which wasn’t in her current plan.
When she could breathe again, she stared at Jack. He looked as dazed as she felt.
“What the hell just happened here?” he whispered.
“I have no idea,” replied Rachel, her words trembling. “And I can’t afford to find out.” She opened the passenger door and darted inside the house.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JACK WATCHED HER RUN to the back of the house. What a kiss! Rachel had actually broken her no-mixing rule. She’d cared about him, cared enough to be angry and worried. A couple of powerful emotions. But he certainly was not ready for the kind of kiss that made him want to get involved with the woman behind it. Involved…as with emotions. Feelings. No, siree. Not even for Rachel, whom he admired. She was becoming a good friend. A very good friend. He’d assign her to the “women friends” box in his mind.
For a moment, he was content. He leaned back in his seat and breathed. His stomach settled, and his breathing slowed. A minute later, he got out of the truck and opened the side door to Sea View House. When he mounted the stairs to his apartment, however, his thoughts bounced back to that…that…lip action. To the mistake. Surely, he’d forget about it in no time. In fact, they both would. Too bad it had been such a terrific kiss.
Rachel would probably bury herself in her work, in those plan books of hers. Or stay in her office. He paused for a second. No. No, she wouldn’t hide out. She’d actually been quite visible around the school—in the cafeteria every day, in the halls during class changes. She wanted to get to know the students. No hiding away for Rachel Goodman.
He’d bet good money she’d handle her personal life with the same attitude she handled her job. “I can’t afford to screw up.” Her words echoed in his ears, and he shook his head. He couldn’t even imagine her screwing up. She was so dedicated. So serious about everything. She needed to take a lesson from him. Work hard, play hard. And keep personal feelings out of the equation.
He took a hot shower and plopped onto his bed, yawning, eyes closing. He’d been out on the ocean almost every day without a break.
He felt himself drift, drift away…and suddenly was sitting straight up, eyes wide, heart pounding and sweat dripping from his forehead. His arm trembled as he lifted it to wipe away the moisture. He breathed deeply.
He’d been dreaming…about Rachel. The vivid scene rolled through his mind again. Rachel drowning in a thunderstorm. Wearing a white bathing suit. He’d seen her from the deck of a ship and tossed her a life preserver. But she’d missed it. He’d grabbed a rope, tied himself to it, and peered through the teeming rain. Poseidon had already claimed Kevin during a storm like this one. He was not getting Rachel, too! He scanned the ocean’s surface, and when lightning flashed, he spotted the white suit and leaped into the roaring waves.
He gripped the rumpled sheet. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, and he glanced at the clock radio. The luminescent hands stood at two-fifteen. “What the hell was that all about?” he murmured. “Rachel can swim like a fish! Crazy, dumb dream.”
He heard the frustration in his own voice and methodically adjusted the blanket and fell back against the pillow. Jack Levine did not lose sleep over a stupid dream! But his eyes burned as he stared into the darkness. Kevin. It always came back to Kevin. The best friend he’d ever had. His blood brother. Born on the same day in the same hospital. And inseparable—until the ocean, which Kevin and his dad depended on to sustain their lives—claimed them instead.
Fresh grief caused him to blink rapidly to suppress his tears. He’d never forget the McCarthy men. Never! And he would not lose another special friend to Poseidon’s whims! Not even in a dream.
THE KNOCK AT RACHEL’S office door diverted her attention from the spreadsheet she was studying. Jack Levine stood on the threshold, filling the entire room with his energy.
“Come on in.” Rachel waved him over, glad her voice sounded professional. “Sit down.”
He lowered himself to the chair across from her, pushed back and stretched his legs in front of him. “Hi.”
Nothing special in his inflection, and Rachel was glad.
“This will only take five minutes, but an important five minutes, I’m afraid.”
He raised his brow.
“The girls in the cafeteria yesterday, Jack…”
“Oh, yeah. They get crushes. You mentioned it.” He shrugged. “Normal for teenage girls, isn’t it? To get crushes on teachers?”
“Definitely. But I don’t want you or any staff member caught in an awkward situation.” She tapped a sheaf of papers on her desk. “I actually have this topic on the agenda for the next faculty meeting. But since yesterday in the lunchroom, I just wanted to remind you about teenage girls.”
He raised a brow. “What about them exactly? They were human the last time I looked.”
She chuckled without glee. “Very human, with out-of-whack hormones. Sensitive about a lot of things. Sensitive about everything! Laughing one minute. Crying the next. Boy, do I remember.”
“And your point is?” asked Jack.
“Be aware of their feelings, be sensitive yourself—but maintain your distance.”
He rose from the chair and leaned over her desk, his scowl as dark as night. “Just what the heck do you think I’m going to do? What are you accusing me of?”
She sighed. “Relax, Jack. I’ve given this speech a dozen times in the last two years—especially to teachers who become a target of admiration. Whic
h you have.”
“For God’s sake!” He sat down again. “I like working with the kids…this is the age where their curiosity about the natural world can be channeled into something significant. Like your nephew, for instance.”
Rachel’s ears perked up. “What about David?”
“He’s gone out with me on The Wanderer several times. During the summer,” he added.
“I thought he worked for the marina.”
“We rearranged his schedule as needed. He handled the boat while I dove. He helped me label samples and pack them, and asked a load of questions, most of which started with the word why. He knows a lot about the ocean—the normal chemical composition and what’s not healthy. He’s got a curious mind.”
And his dad hasn’t noticed. “So what are you trying to tell me, Jack? That I should discount the classroom? Discount student grades?”
“I’m trying to tell you that not everything is learned from a textbook. And both girls and boys need to be exposed to the natural world.”
A headache started to emerge, and she rubbed her right temple. “I agree, but at the same time you are responsible for planning lessons and covering the syllabus so that the kids pass the state tests.” She turned away from him. “I’m so sick of repeating myself.”
“Then why don’t you relax and let the teachers teach?”
She eyed him. “Because for the past three years that didn’t work. I’m supposed to improve the picture.”
He said nothing.
“I’ll be visiting classrooms regularly. Every classroom. Not just the new faculty, but the old-timers as well.”
He nodded, no expression on his face.
“Oh, for crying out loud, Jack! You’ve taught college students and graduate students—but our kids are teenagers. Don’t be so resistant to a little help.”
“I don’t teach parroting skills, Rachel, at any age. And that’s what you want for these tests. That’s also what turns off a lot of kids. I teach critical-thinking skills. The kind that last a lifetime.” He stood up and extended his hand. “Let the games begin!”
Her headache exploded as she rose from her chair. Her hands remained opened flat on her desk. “It’s not a game, Jack. It’s their futures. College admissions…”
“Exactly,” he said softly. He reached out and pressed his fingertips against her temple, making slow circles. “Take care of yourself.” She remained silent. He turned and walked to the door, then looked over his shoulder. “Thanks for the warning about adolescent girls.” He left the room.
Slowly, Rachel reseated herself and reached for her bottle of buffered painkillers. She couldn’t fault his intentions, but he wasn’t going to make her job any easier.
BY THURSDAY AFTERNOON, Rachel had visited ten classrooms, monitored the cafeteria twice more and had broken up a group of jock types when they’d overrun the corridors that morning, forcing other students against the walls. She’d recognized some of the glaring faces: a couple were on the football team.
“This isn’t a football field. It’s a hallway. Set an example. Save your energy for tomorrow night’s game. Now, walk to your next class, and pay attention.”
She’d felt their resentment; they didn’t enjoy being reprimanded in front of other students. But they’d brought it on themselves. Rachel shrugged. The corridors belonged to everyone. Intimidation had no place in school.
She thought no more about the incident until the next morning when Bob Franklin walked into her office.
“It’s just high spirits!” he began without preamble. “And that builds school spirit. I don’t need my players getting distracted the day before a game.” His glare was more hostile than the boys’ expressions had been.
“Have a seat, Bob.” Rachel had been around athletes for years. She’d seen the best caught up in the tension of the moment. But she was disappointed that a man entrusted with an athletic director’s responsibilities would resort to intimidation himself.
“Seat? I don’t have time to sit and debate. I have a game to manage.”
“There is no debate,” Rachel said. “There’s only one bottom line. And I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“Is that right?” He stood with his hands on his hips, his chin thrust out.
She nodded. “We do not tolerate bullying in this school.” She leaned forward. “Do we?”
“They have a game tonight! Yesterday was anticipation. Excitement and high spirits. Not bullying. I’m sick of every damn problem in this school being blamed on athletics. My teams put this school on the map around here. My kids win scholarships for college. Just butt out, Rachel.”
Rachel shook her head. “Can’t do that, Bob,” she replied softly. “If the team members, or any student for that matter, resort to bullying, I’ll bounce them so fast, all you’ll see is the blur.”
“On whose authority? You just deal with academics.”
“Aren’t we all responsible for the safety of every student? That’s the bigger picture, Bob.”
The walls shook and her door bounced back open when he slammed it. “Idiot,” she murmured. She stretched her arms overhead and took a deep breath. Odd, she had no headache from this encounter.
A knock sounded on her open door, and Dr. Bennett stood there, a question on his face. “His exit was quite a punctuation mark. Is there anything I need to know?”
Rachel filled him in. “The real kicker is that I love sports. And he knows it. I’m looking forward to the game tonight myself.”
“Bob takes his job seriously. And he’s not the root cause of why we needed you here.” The principal held out two computer printouts. “These are the latest statistics on the region’s unemployment rate broken down into all kinds of demographics, including single-parent households. And here are Helen’s statistics on the number of our students holding part-time jobs and living in single-parent households. The correlation is high.”
“So, a lot of our kids might be working to supplement their families,” said Rachel. She looked at her boss. “Now we need to track down actual youngsters and their actual grades from last year. I’d expect to see that the working students’ performances dropped after they got jobs. But let’s check it out.”
He nodded. “Helen’s gathering that data now. However, the question is, what are we going to do about it this year? And the answer to that, my dear, falls to you.”
IT WAS A PERFECT EVENING for a football game. A little nip in the air, clear skies filled with twinkling stars, leaves crunching underfoot. Autumn in New England. Rachel felt content as she inhaled the familiar scents of the season. And after many years’ absence, she also felt happy to once again attend a Pilgrim Cove Regional High School football game.
The team looked good. Rachel stood on the sidelines in an area designated for school officials, binoculars in her hand, trying to identify each player beneath all the equipment. In her own mind, there were three players who she thought were above the rest. She drew an asterisk next to their names on a printout she had gotten from school. She idly wondered if Bob Franklin would agree with her.
“Don’t tell me you’re working instead of just enjoying the game on this gorgeous night.”
She turned toward the familiar voice and waved her sheet at Jack. “Have you been here long enough to have an opinion about what you see out there?”
He shook his head. “Afraid not. I just got back from delivering some cases to the lab at MIT. You know, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. But I thought I’d drop over for a little while and show some school spirit.” He yawned big and loud.
Rachel giggled. “With support like that, who needs you?”
His eyes shone as he looked at her. “Watch it, boss. You’re taking a big risk.” He yawned again.
Rachel shook her head. “Somehow, I don’t think so.”
“Had I known the game would draw a crowd of this size, I might not have bothered,” Jack admitted. “I’ve been out every day this week. Today was my short day.”
Rachel scanned the bleachers behind her and across the field. They were filled to capacity. “The whole town must have shown up.”
“Five towns, isn’t it?” asked Jack.
“Right. Not to mention the opposing team’s supporters.”
“I thought I saw Bart Quinn from a distance, but I can’t figure out why he’d bother to be here.”
“Are you kidding?” said Rachel. “First of all, the coach is his son-in-law. You know, Tom Sullivan. Second, he has a grandson in the school. But third, do you really think the ROMEOs miss anything that goes on in town? The whole gang’s here. They even changed their Friday-night card game to Thursday.”
Jack started to laugh. His fatigue seemed to melt away in front of her eyes, and Rachel felt herself smile.
“That’s better,” she said softly.
He studied her quietly. “You’re very sweet.”
She felt heat rise to her face, glad the lighting cast some shadow where they stood. “That is certainly a minority opinion around here,” she replied, indicating the high school building and the team. “But that’s okay. I’m not in a popularity contest.”
“No,” he said. “Not with your job. And besides, it’s not your style.”
“So right.”
Noise from the crowd grew, and she pointed to the field. “We’re tied, and watch, watch… The running back’s going for a field goal. And he-e-e makes it!” She shoved her paper under Jack’s nose. “He was one of my picks. Look. The quarterback, the running back and the linebacker. They are good. Tom Sullivan really knows what he’s doing.”
“Uh—Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“I hate to break this to you, but the players in those three positions…?”
“Yeah?”
“…are supposed to be good. Any coach would have put those three out there.”
“But not all schools have a coach who can develop the talent. We’re lucky we do.” She glanced at the paper again. “The kids are Jimmy Williams, Steve Yelton and Donnie Schroeder.”
“It’s halftime,” said Jack. “I’ve got a Schroeder in one of my classes.”
Reluctant Housemates Page 11
