Jaded

by Varina Denman

“It will help.” The leather of the seat cushion made a shushing sound as Grady slouched back.

  Dodd welcomed the change in topic. “We met a football player at the grocery store the other night. Luis is in ninth grade, so he won’t be in Grady’s classes, but at least he’ll be another familiar face.”

  “The girl’s the one I want in my classes,” Grady said, “but she’s out of school. What was her name?”

  Ruthie. The woman had scrubbed that cash register as though it were infested with anthrax. And as she worked, her dark hair swung just above her waist. Dodd cleared his throat. “Ruth, I think.”

  “That’s not right,” Grady said. “I remember thinking it wasn’t quite biblical.” He snapped his fingers. “Ruthie. Almost biblical, but not quite.” He quieted as they made a right turn at the town’s lone traffic light. “She seemed a little prickly.”

  Prickly might not be the best word to describe Ruthie, but as Dodd parked the SUV in front of the little pink house, he entertained more appropriate adjectives. Like captivating. He grabbed his Bible from the console and slammed the door, realizing the best word to describe her was gorgeous, in an unaware, small-town way.

  His mother and Grady went in the house, but Dodd sat on the stoop and rested his Bible on the cool cement next to him. He needed to sort things out. His mother and Grady? Top priorities. The church? Equally important. His new job? Paramount. But women? He’d been so consumed with responsibilities lately, he hadn’t had time to consider the opposite sex. Too many people were depending on him.

  But as he remembered Ruthie lifting her hair off her slender neck and tilting her head from side to side, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to get to know her. Even though she hadn’t been at church that morning, she still might be a believer. And if he didn’t do something just for himself, the pressure of his responsibilities would buckle him.

  He reached for his Bible. Tomorrow afternoon he’d go by the United, and with a little luck, he might run into Ruthie again.

  Chapter Five

  “Morning, little cousin. Ever see the ex-convict?”

  The scent of hazelnut coffee filled the high school office as JohnScott set his travel mug on my desk. “Not a sign of him all weekend.” Swiveling in my office chair, I reached for the mug, knocking my name plaque to the floor.

  Ruthie Turner—attendance clerk.

  Darn that faux-wood block. Not only did it represent my shallow attempt to enter the business world, but it also served as proof I still resided in Trapp, still worked two jobs, and still lived at home. As JohnScott returned the plastic reminder to my desk, I sipped from his mug and told myself to be proud I had a name plaque at all.

  He shuffled to his teacher mailbox and sifted through its contents. “Maybe Clyde Felton doesn’t eat food.”

  “Maybe he came in the store on my off hours.”

  “Maybe he’s an alien, brain-sucking zombie.”

  I smiled at my cousin. He was the first person I saw every morning. The hall lights would flicker, one at a time, and I would know he had entered the building, unlocking the doors and getting the air running in the gym before coming by the office to check on me. He treated me like a child, but I didn’t mind. He was six years older and had been checking on me since elementary school. In fact, the hardest years of my life came when JohnScott attended college, and I still thanked the Lord he hadn’t gone farther than Lubbock.

  JohnScott inclined his head toward the door behind my desk and raised an eyebrow.

  “He’s early today.”

  Surprisingly, the principal had arrived before either of us and shut himself in his office. Judging by the muffled drone coming from under his door, I assumed he was already on the phone.

  JohnScott sat on the corner of my desk and crossed his arms “Did I miss any news this weekend?”

  “Not really. I think Friday’s megagossip event exhausted the merry citizens.”

  “Might be a blessing.”

  I waved an interoffice memo. “The school board finally hired a math teacher to replace Mr. Rodriguez.”

  “About time. School started two weeks ago.” He reached for a pen and clicked it with his thumb. “That substitute was a sweet lady, but she didn’t know the first thing about calculus or trig. So who’d they hire? The woman from Sweetwater?”

  “Doesn’t say, but I figure either her or Wilmer’s oldest son.”

  JohnScott clicked the pen repeatedly until I swatted him in annoyance, and then he tossed it back on the desk. “Neither of them will do a lick to increase our test scores, but they’re better than nothing. By the way, you saw the Cunningham boy Friday night. He could replace Tinker, right?”

  At the mention of the name Cunningham, dread settled over me like a swarm of gnats. “Like I would know.”

  “Well, he’s obviously athletic. Even if he’s never played ball before, I could train him to run.”

  “Oh, he’s played before.”

  JohnScott raised his palms. “You were saying?”

  I dug through my desk drawer, searching for a nail file and wishing we could talk about something else. Even though I had told JohnScott about Dodd being the preacher, I never got around to telling him about our conversation. Or my sappy smile. It was simply too humiliating, even for JohnScott.

  I located an emery board. “I don’t know anything about football or Tinker or replacements, but I heard Grady Cunningham tell Luis Vega he played in junior high but hadn’t decided if he wanted to play for us or not.”

  “In that case, he will.” JohnScott took a swig of coffee. “What can I bribe him with?”

  I focused on a fingernail, running the file lightly across a rough spot. “You could offer him a free haircut. Both he and the preacher are shaggy.”

  “Yeah, that’s the city. It’ll wear off.”

  The principal, closeted in his office behind me, burst into laughter, causing me to wonder who was on the phone with him so early in the morning.

  JohnScott moved to the other side of the counter, leaned on his elbows, and scrutinized me. “What do you want on your homecoming mum? The usual bells and whistles?”

  My hands fell to my lap. The homecoming game would be the hoopla of the football season, and every female under thirty would be wearing a huge white flower bedecked with glitter, beads, and braided ribbon. “I told you I don’t want one. It’s a high school thing.”

  “No, it’s not. The college girls have them too.”

  “I’m not a college girl.”

  “Well, Mom’s made you a mum every year since you were thirteen. She’s not stopping now.”

  “She didn’t my sophomore year. I had a date.”

  “I wouldn’t count that kid as a date, and his flower barely classified as a mum, but whatever you say.”

  Behind me, the office door opened, but I didn’t turn around. I was too busy frowning at JohnScott.

  Nelson Andrews, our gray-haired principal, breezed past my desk. “Ruthie, I apologize for the short notice, but could you get our new math teacher the necessary forms for insurance and what have you?” Nelson greeted JohnScott with a brief “Coach” before turning to face me. But he looked over my head to his office door behind my back. “Mr. Cunningham, this is Ruthie Turner. She keeps our attendance records, organizes employee files, and performs a million other tasks. She’ll get you fixed up.”

  What did he say?

  The principal gazed at me expectantly, and when I didn’t react, he motioned to his office door. “Ruthie, like I said, this is our new math teacher.”

  Ice water flooded my veins as I rotated my chair.

  Sure enough, Dodd Cunningham stood in the doorway behind me, dressed in khakis and a black polo. From his expression, I’d say he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

  “Hi.” I felt small and insignificant.

  “Hello again.” H
e spoke in his CEO tone, but a bothersome smile played at his lips. It disappeared when he looked at Nelson. “We’ve met.”

  “Oh, right … the United,” the principal said. “Anyway, this is JohnScott Pickett, history teacher slash football coach. Couldn’t survive without him.”

  JohnScott stepped forward and extended his hand while Dodd said, “Dodd Cunningham. Good to meet you.”

  As the three men talked, I calmed my racing nerves. So the new preacher would be working at the high school. No big deal. I could handle this.

  Slipping to the filing cabinet where the employee documents were kept, I considered the preacher’s actions on Friday night. I still couldn’t make sense of him talking to me, and I speculated on his motives. Probably he was simply being nosy, probing my sinful heart out of curiosity and making fun of me in the process. That was only a half step beyond the treatment I normally received from the local Christians. Still, the thought made me as furious as Uncle Ansel’s Angus bull.

  Retrieving the forms from a file folder, I slid the drawer closed with a clank, drawing Dodd’s attention. He smiled at me before returning his gaze to the principal.

  Nelson tapped the counter with a knuckle. “By the way, Coach, the jerseys came in, but I think they’re wrong again.” He reached for the door. “The shipment’s in the library. Let’s take a look before I notify the Booster Club. They’re likely to throw a hissy fit.”

  “Can hardly blame them.” JohnScott followed the principal but winked at me, wordlessly conveying, We’ll talk later, little cousin. Then he called over his shoulder, “Welcome to Trapp High School, Dodd.”

  “Thank you.” The preacher studied the door as it closed behind JohnScott, then looked at me curiously. “Miss Turner, is it?”

  Nobody called me Miss Turner except the kindergartners down at the elementary school, but I didn’t bother explaining. It didn’t feel right for him to call me Ruthie anyway. Too familiar. I held a document toward him. “Here’s the form to sign up for medical, dental, and vision.”

  He took the paper from me, not looking at it. “Does the district offer life-insurance coverage?” His eyes twinkled.

  I lifted another paper. “Life insurance and accidental death.”

  He studied the page before lifting his gaze. “Those two always seem backward.” He chuckled. “If life insurance pays when you die, shouldn’t it be called death insurance?”

  I’d heard that one before.

  “And accidental death? That’s death insurance for when I accidentally die. As though life insurance only pays if I die on purpose, which of course, is the one time it wouldn’t pay.” He narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t make sense, really.”

  With a sinking feeling, I realized he was still strangely conversational. What a twist. After thirteen years of despising the way church people ignored me, I now wished one of them would. I thrust another paper at him. “Here’s the form for cancer coverage.”

  “Ah, cancer.” His voice suddenly returned to business, but he didn’t take the paper.

  Oh great. His dad probably died from cancer. That would explain the insurance jokes. I shuffled the form to the bottom of the pile. “And here’s a form to have your paycheck automatically deposited into your checking account, but only if you bank here in town.”

  He nodded.

  “Have you opened an account downtown?” I felt obliged to draw him out of his shadowy mood even if I didn’t like him. “You’ll actually get your money a day earlier that way.”

  “I’ll add it to the top of my to-do list. Right along with getting extra keys made and purchasing adequate window coverings.”

  I smiled to myself when I thought about the current window coverings in the parsonage. Apparently Old Man Dunbar and his wife saw no reason to bother with privacy in their living areas. Maybe they thought it gave their house a welcoming glow, but anytime I walked past at nighttime, I would see them in there, leaning back in matching recliners or hobbling around in bathrobes. Once I even saw them kissing, which was not as titillating as it sounds, since they were already in their eighties.

  “Window coverings?” I said. “Walmart over in Lubbock carries vinyl miniblinds for five bucks a pop.”

  “I like that price tag.” He perched on the corner of my desk I habitually kept cleared for JohnScott. “In the meantime, we’re using Grady’s old Buzz Lightyear sheets from his preschool days. To think Mom almost threw them out before the move.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That would only take care of two windows. Tell the truth. Whose sheets are covering the others?”

  He leaned his head back. “All right, I confess. My Ninja Turtle sheets might be on the kitchen windows.”

  “All right, then.”

  He crossed his arms and peered down at me, but said nothing. Then he briefly inspected the items on my desk before glancing at the computer screen, all the while smiling like Curious George.

  Oh my goodness. He was doing it again. Watching me. Studying me. Talking to me until my defenses were down. And I had fallen for it again.

  I bent over the bottom drawer of my desk, letting my hair fall around my face. “Here’s a folder for your forms.” I said it curtly, refusing to return his invasive smile. “And I’ve included a pamphlet that explains the details of the insurance coverage.” I held the folder toward him, but when it trembled in my hand, I tossed it quickly on the desk next to his hip. “There’s also a website. And you can sign up online if you don’t want to fill out the papers.”

  “Thank you.” He said the words cautiously as though sensing my mood change, then stood and distanced himself from my desk.

  “That should be everything, Mr. Cunningham.” I lifted a corner of my mouth, not able to muster a complete smile. “Let me know if you need anything else.” I focused on my computer screen, but he didn’t move.

  “Um … Miss Turner?”

  The way he said Miss Turner grated on my nerves. “What is it?”

  “I apologize, but I haven’t the slightest idea where my classroom is.”

  Shame immediately replaced my tension. Of course he wouldn’t know his way around the school, and it was my job to make him feel welcome. “It’s on the left, past the teachers’ lounge.”

  His eyes laughed. “And where might the teachers’ lounge be?”

  I glanced at the wall clock and stood, giving in. “Sounds like you need the ten-cent tour.”

  He opened the door, then followed me into the hall, where I stood in front of the trophy cases. Only a few minutes remained before the bell, so I would have to make this quick. “The library is on the left halfway down the side hall.” I pointed. “Past the library, all the way to the end, is the gym. The students gather there before the first bell rings, and teachers take turns monitoring them each morning. I’ll add you to the rotation.”

  He nodded. “What’s the high school enrollment?”

  “Around two hundred.” I motioned toward the gym again. “If you go out that door, you’ll be headed toward the ag barn and the baseball field. Beyond that is the middle school and elementary.” I paused as JohnScott and Nelson came out the library door and turned toward the gym. “Any questions?”

  Dodd watched the two men. “Nothing to speak of. So what’s down the front hall?”

  He followed me a quarter of the way down the hall as I jangled my keys to unlock a door. “Teachers’ lounge.” When he nodded, I closed the door and motioned to a nook just past the doorway. “Vending machines.”

  “Score,” he said under his breath.

  “Like soft drinks, do you?” I opened his classroom door.

  “If you cut me, I’d bleed Dr Pepper.” He scanned the room before walking to the teacher’s desk. He pulled open a side drawer, found it empty, and inserted his benefits folder. Next he opened the middle drawer and discovered a lesson-plan book. “Right where Mr. Andrews said it woul
d be.” He laid the book in the middle of the desk and gave it three soft pats before returning to my side. “I feel like I’ve got my security blanket now. So what else is down this hallway?”

  We stood outside his room, and I pointed again. “The Family and Consumer Science kitchen is three doors down.”

  “That could be interesting.”

  I smiled without pausing. “The cafeteria is at the end of the hall, on the right, and if you exit the door at the end, the field house is around the corner. The weight room is in a separate, smaller building adjacent to it.”

  My gaze fell to his bicep, where I noticed a bruise, but his loose shirtsleeves prevented me from assessing his muscles.

  For crying out loud. Why would I want to anyway? This man was the preacher. The last person on earth I should be casing. I glanced back to his face—a safe place to rest my gaze—but his eyes seemed to be making a slow circuit from my forehead to my ear to my chin. I might not have dated often or lately, but I recognized that look.

  Disgust welled inside me, and I had the urge to spit in his face. Did he think because of Momma’s reputation, I would melt into his arms like common trash? I gritted my teeth.

  He took a step back and coughed. “Thanks for the tour, Miss Turner. I’d better look over my lesson plans before the students arrive.”

  “Probably a good idea.” I spun on my heel and marched back to the office.

  Chapter Six

  My jack-of-all-trades job at the school kept me running across our small campus, sometimes from the elementary building all the way to the middle school, but at lunchtime I always made it back to the high school teachers’ lounge to eat my sack lunch with JohnScott. Typically, only a handful of teachers joined us, since most ate in their classrooms, but on that day, at least eight showed up to check out the new math teacher.

  When Dodd entered the room carrying a Dr Pepper and a cafeteria hamburger, he glanced at me. His eye contact sent a shiver across my shoulders, but I ignored it and unwrapped my tuna sandwich. The preacher’s pretty face may have given me a gut reaction, but his alleged faith rendered a much stronger negative one.