by Kristy Tate
“I can ask.” Nora’s thoughts skittered back to their last planning meeting. She hadn’t been paying attention because she’d—obviously incorrectly—assumed that the planning of the Mothers’ Tea would have nothing to do with her. But looking into Jolie’s face, Nora realized that anything that had to do with her students had something to do with her. She pressed her hands together and rested her chin on her fingertips. “Is there some reason you don’t want to go to the Mothers’ Tea?”
Jolie shrugged. “Well, it’s just not very fun for me.... All the other girls will be there with their moms.”
“And your mom won’t be there?”
“My mom is sick. She thought maybe she would be able to come, but...”
Nora’s heart twisted in sympathy while her mind raced for solutions that might help both of them. “Where is she?”
“At the hospital.”
“Yes, but where?”
“St. Margaret in Ventura.”
Not far, not that distance was the determining factor. “Well, how about if you and I go and visit her during the tea?”
Jolie perked up. “You would do that? Don’t you have to be here?”
“It’s important for the teachers to meet the parents, yes. But there’ll be lots of opportunities for me to meet the other parents. Meeting your mom isn’t going to happen unless we make it happen. And besides, if your mom can’t make it to the tea, maybe the tea should make it to your mom.”
Jolie brightened.
“But, we had better ask—”
Jolie bolted out the door. Nora raised her eyebrows, shook her head, wondered briefly where Jolie had gone, and picked up her red pencil to return to grading a paper on Mark Twain.
Jolie returned moments later, towing Cole behind her. He looked almost as uncomfortable as Nora felt.
“Jolie said you had something to ask me,” Cole said.
Jolie dropped Cole’s hand and clasped hers together in a begging posture.
Nora slowly put down her pencil and tried to corral her thoughts. They always seemed to fly away whenever Cole was around. “I do. I have an idea, but I wanted to run it past you first.” She glanced at Jolie’s hopeful and yet pleading face. “Jolie, I think maybe Dr. Rowling and I should discuss this privately and then we’ll let you know his decision.”
Jolie jerked her thumb at the door. “Will you talk about it right now? Can I just wait in the hall?”
Nora hated putting Cole on the spot.
“Will this take long?” he asked.
“I don’t...think so,” Nora said, trying to think of why Cole would have a problem with it. Still. “Jolie, how’s this? Why don’t you go and enjoy your lunch and come by here after school? We’ll try and to have a decision by then.”
Jolie bobbed her head up and down and scurried for the door. “Thank you! I love you, Ms. Tommy!” she said over her shoulder. Before stepping into the hall, she added, “I love you, too, Dr. Rowling.”
Cole rested his butt on the edge of Nora’s desk and lifted a questioning eyebrow.
Nora explained the situation while watching Cole’s expression change from curious to sympathetic.
“That’s a lovely idea,” he told her, “but it’s against school policy for a teacher to be alone with a student.”
Nora drummed her fingers on the desk, hating school policy. “I guess I can see the wisdom in that..., but there should be occasional exceptions.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but no.”
“Is there a way around it? There must be other girls whose mothers are unable to attend the tea.”
“That’s true. I’m sure there are.”
“If I brought a few girls with me, would that comply with school policy?” She hadn’t meant to sound snarky when she said school policy. But she had.
Obviously, Cole thought so, too, because he bristled. “The policies are as much for the girls’ protection as it is for the school’s,” he said in a hard voice she hadn’t ever heard him use before. She wondered if it was the tone he used when he had to discipline the girls or talk to their parents about late fees.
“But if I had a group?” Nora pressed.
Cole stood. “You don’t need a group, you just need two. But I don’t want girls who do have moms coming to skipping the tea because they think hanging with you will be more fun.”
“I’m going to the hospital to visit a dying woman.”
“The girls think anything with you is an adventure.” He gazed at her earnestly. “You know I feel the same way.”
Nora pressed her lips together, uncomfortable about the turn of the conversation. “I’m trying to be professional here.”
“So am I.” Cole smirked.
“You’re not doing a very good job,” she chided him.
Cole pulled away from the desk and sauntered for the door. “I said I was trying. You have to give me points for trying.”
I didn’t know we were keeping score, Nora said to herself as Cole softly closed the door behind him.
AS THEY HAD EARLIER arranged, Nora met Jolie and Bailey Morgan, a freshman whose actress mother was on location in Spain, and Heather Mountlake, a sophomore whose mother had died a few years ago. All three girls had permission slips from Dr. Rowling, but the fourth girl, Martine Evans, who was also waiting by Nora’s car, did not.
Martine started whining before Nora could even frown at her. “But I hate my stepmother!”
Nora looked around to make sure the stepmother in question couldn’t hear them. Fortunately, Nora’s cottage was isolated from most of the campus and not a parent was in sight. “I’m sorry, Martine, but without Dr. Rowling’s permission, you can’t leave campus.”
Heather bumped Martine’s shoulder. “Told you.”
Martine flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder. “I’m not going to that tea! My stepmother hates me. She’ll only insult me the whole time like she always does whenever my dad’s not around.”
“Hey! Here comes Dr. R,” Bailey said, pointing. “You can ask him.”
Cole rounded the corner. In honor of the Mothers’ Tea, he wore a suit and tie and had his thick hair so neatly combed, Nora could see the comb tracks even from a distance. His crisp white shirt set off his brown eyes, and he carried a bouquet of yellow roses.
“For your mom,” he said, smiling at Jolie.
Jolie blinked back tears and gave him a hug before she took the flowers from him and buried her face in the fragrant blooms.
Confusion flashed in Cole’s eyes when he spotted Martine.
The girl folded her arms across her busty chest. “I’m not going to that tea,” she announced as if declaring war. “You can’t make me!”
“True,” Cole said, “but you will be hungry if you don’t go.”
“What? There won’t be lunch?”
“There will be, but it’s only being served in the cafeteria. That’s where the tea is.”
“But what are they doing for lunch?” Martine nodded at Nora and the other girls.
“Mrs. Harold packed them a lunch to share with Jolie’s mom.”
“Then Mrs. Harold can pack one for me, too.”
“She can, but she won’t,” Cole told her.
“Why not?”
“Because she works for me, and I’ll tell her not to.”
“Why are you so mean to me?”
“I’m not being mean,” Cole told her. He dropped a heavy hand on Martine’s shoulder and steered her toward the school. “I’m trying to teach you an important life lesson. Sometimes you have to sacrifice something you want for something you want more. For example, today you want to skip the tea—which you are free to do—but to do that, you’ll have to also skip your lunch. But I have to warn you, there will be a bigger price to pay as well.”
“What’s that?” Martine asked sullenly, dragging her feet and kicking up dust.
“Your dad’s good opinion—as well as your stepmother’s. Although you don’t sound as if that’s very important to
you. Now. It might be later, of course. In fact, I’m sure it will be.” Cole turned to wave goodbye to Nora and the girls. “Give your mom my best,” Cole said to Jolie. “I hope you find her in good spirits.”
“You don’t know my stepmom,” Martine cried as she walked away. “She’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—all lovey and sweet when my dad’s around and witchy and mean as soon as his back’s turned.”
Cole murmured something that Nora wished she could hear. Part of her wanted to go with him, but another glance at Jolie, Heather, and Bailey reminded her of what she was doing and why.
THE GIRLS CHATTED, gossiped, and giggled all the way to the hospital, but fell into an almost reverent quiet as they walked down the busy hospital halls toward Jolie’s mom’s room. They peeked in the door at Jolie’s sleeping mom. The brightly patterned scarf swathed around her head made her skin look pale blue-gray in comparison. The large picture window looked out at the hills awash in autumn colors.
Nora gave Jolie a sideways hug, and Heather squeezed her hand, while Bailey, clearly uncomfortable, hung behind. Jolie slipped into the room.
“We’ll be back in an hour,” Nora whispered before she shepherded the other two girls back to the car.
Jolie nodded without looking at her.
No one mentioned the lunch the cook had prepared for them, and Nora decided they all could use a little cheering so she drove Heather and Bailey to one of her favorite cafes cafés in Safe Harbor. The girls remained quiet and subdued until they were seated and approached by a handsome waiter approached.
“He’s totally flirting with you, Ms. Tommy,” Heather said.
Nora watched the waiter walk away before she murmured, “Because he wants a decent tip.”
“Ooh, skepticism,” Bailey said.
“I’m sure he just thinks you’re beautiful,” Heather said, “because you totally are.”
Bailey put down her menu and gazed at Heather. “Ms. Tommy isn’t interested in a waiter.”
“No,” Heather replied as if she was an authority on all things Ms. Tommy, “she’s into in Dr. Rowling.”
Nora opened her mouth to protest, but Bailey interrupted her. “And if she’s not, she should be.”
“Please don’t talk about me as if I’m not sitting right here.” Nora put down the menu, partly because she’d already decided on the tomato bisque, but also because she wasn’t hungry any longer. “I can’t be into Dr. Rowling. He’s my boss.”
Heather and Bailey laughed at her discomfort.
“Well, he’s totally into you,” Heather said.
Part of Nora wanted to pick the menu back up to hide her blushing cheeks. Another part of her wanted to lean in and ask, do you really think so?
“Mrs. Jefferson didn’t let her job get in the way,” Heather said.
Who is Mrs. Jefferson? Nora wanted to ask.
“Well, maybe she did,” Bailey said. “Maybe that’s why she left.”
“She left because her husband got a job in Atlanta,” Heather said.
Why was Mrs. Jefferson interested in Cole if there was a Mr. Jefferson? Nora wondered. And was Cole also interested in Mrs. Jefferson? Because if he was, her opinion of him would plummet, especially if the affair was common knowledge among the students. Nora bit back her questions and came up with a different one. “Are you ready to order?”
Heather propped her elbows on the table. “Everyone knew Mrs. Jefferson had a thing for Dr. Rowling,” she told Nora.
“Everyone but Dr. Rowling,” Bailey put in.
A relieved sigh escaped Nora. “I’m going to get the soup,” she told the girls.
“Poor Mr. Jefferson,” Bailey said. “I wonder if he knew.”
Heather nodded. “Maybe that’s why he took the job in Atlanta.”
Bailey nodded. “That’s what Megan said.”
“Megan Miller.” Heather blew out the senior’s name like it was a curse word. “She’s totally in love with Dr. Rowling.”
The waiter interrupted their conversation. Nora hoped the topic would change while the girls ordered, and mentally picked through half a dozen conversation topics that might distract the girls from Cole-gossip. “Do you know anything about tonight’s dinner for the trustees?”
“Well, we haven’t been to one before, if that’s what you’re asking,” Heather said.
Bailey elbowed Heather and the two of them exchanged looks, letting Nora know they were hiding something from her.
“What?” Nora asked.
The girls glanced at each other again and seemed to come to a silent agreement.
“We haven’t been to one, but we’ve spied on it.”
“That couldn’t have been more interesting than a night of TV,” Nora said.
“You’re right. A total snooze fest,” Heather said.
“Hmm, so should I not go?” Nora asked, her lips twitching.
“I think you have to go,” Heather said.
Bailey nodded. “You’re expected to chat up the trustees so they’ll pledge donations.”
“Sounds awful.” Nora congratulated herself on steering the conversation away from Cole.
“Megan will be there,” Heather said.
“Throwing herself at Dr. Rowling,” Bailey added.
“What are you wearing?” Heather turned to Nora.
“I...don’t know.”
“We have to get you something Spec-take-u-lar!” Heather slammed her hand down on the table.
“No one cares what I wear,” Nora said.
“Megan will care—especially if she sees that Dr. Rowling cares,” Bailey predicted.
“And he’ll absolutely care!” Heather chirped.
“Girls, Dr. Rowling and I—” Nora began.
“Right,” Bailey interrupted, “he won’t care what you’re wearing because he’s so into you.”
“Yeah,” Heather said. “You could wear a paper bag and he’d still think you’re gorgeous, because you are.”
The waiter returned carrying a tray of their food.
Nora was both flattered and flustered by the conversation. She stared into the soup’s steam, wishing she could disappear.
“We should get you a dress,” Bailey said.
“Ooh, let’s go shopping!” Heather bounced in her seat and nearly knocked over her drink.
Bailey banged her hands on the table, making the glasses skitter. “Absolutely!” She turned her big brown pleading eyes to Nora. “It’ll be so fun! Say yes!”
“Say yes to the dress!” Heather chanted.
And Nora agreed, mostly because she didn’t want to talk about Cole anymore...even though she sort of did.
WHEN NORA WALKED INTO the courtyard, her breath caught. On any given school day, the patio was filled with lunch tables and girls with books and laptops, but in honor of the Trustees’ Day, the plastic picnic tables had been carted away and replaced with circular tables draped in linen. Candles and floral bouquets sat on each table and strings of glistening lights had been hung overhead. The school’s string quartet warmed up in the corner while the jazz band waited in the wings. A bar had been set up near the back and a cluster of caterers dressed in white and black buzzed around a buffet table.
“Quite the transformation,” Nora murmured to Missy.
Chad looked stunning in his well-cut suit and tie while Barry looked much more rumpled. It took Nora a second to realize that all the male teachers wore matching red and black tartan ties that matched the school’s uniforms. She glanced down at the silver dress Heather and Bailey had picked out for her. She liked it, but it was much more modern and stark than the sort of thing she typically wore.
“Should I be wearing tartan?” Nora asked.
“No, you look great.” A beaded line of sweat had formed on her forehead. She fanned herself with a program of the evening’s events and took off her glasses to wipe them off. “And I’m not the only one who thinks so.” She nodded at Cole across the room.
Like Chad, he wore a suit, but instead of the neckti
e he had on a bowtie. Nora smiled, because with his large brown eyes he reminded her of Darby’s dog, Wheezer when the groomers had subjected the dog to not only a shampoo but also a bowtie. Chad headed their way, but an early-to-the-event trustee waylaid him.
“That man cannot keep his eyes off of you,” Missy said. She wore the same red dress she’d worn to the Harvest Dance just a few weeks ago, and the dress that had been tight then now looked ready to split at the seams.
“You’re mistaken,” Nora said.
Missy shook her head. “If I’m wrong, I’ll eat my hat.”
Nora laughed. “You aren’t wearing a hat.”
“I’ll be sure and to get a chocolate one so I can enjoy it.” Missy looked at Nora speculatively. “You have doubts? But you shouldn’t. He’s a sweetie. I’ve known him for years.”
“He’s my boss,” Nora whispered.
“I don’t see why that should matter..., to you or to Cole, but I could see it mattering a great deal to,”— she pointed her glasses at the girls in the string quartet—, “one or two of the girls.”
Megan Miller sat ramrod straight on the edge of her black plastic chair with her violin balanced on her knees. Like the other girls, she wore a severe maxi-length severe black gown, but her sparkly silver heels peeked out from under her hem. She focused her gaze on Cole.
“I wonder if it bothers him,” Nora said.
“I’m pretty sure he’s used to it,” Missy said.
The parents wandered in and slowly filled the room with their excited chatter and bright expressions. A distinguished gray-haired man in a wool blazer with gold buttons stood in the corner with a drink in hand. He looked at least ten years older than most of the parents.
Missy elbowed Nora and nodded at the man. “There’s the competition you beat out, Turner Lawson.”
“What’s he doing here?” Nora had visions of him invading her classroom and trying to sabotage her lessons.
“Laura Lawson is his granddaughter. She must be the reason he’s here.”
Lawson stood in a circle of conversation with a group of men, but his gaze followed Irena. He didn’t seem angry with her, but still, it struck Nora as odd. She shook off the a sense of foreboding off and went back to what had quickly become her favorite pastime: watching Cole.
