by Heidi Lowe
Her Lesson in Love
by Heidi Lowe
Published by Heidi Lowe Books, 2016.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
HER LESSON IN LOVE
First edition. February 13, 2016
Copyright © 2016 Heidi Lowe
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CONTENTS
TITLE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
OTHER BOOKS BY HEIDI LOWE
BLURB
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ONE
I didn't bother knocking before I entered the room. My husband lay passed out on his bed, the sheets in a heap on the floor. I switched on the light and he stirred awake.
"Huh?" He squinted at me as his eyes adjusted to the light. "What's going on?"
"It's almost half five. We have to get going," I said impatiently.
"Where?"
I tutted. Of course he'd forgotten. Leave it up to Dominic to forget something as important as this.
"The parent-teacher conference. You promised Chester you would go, remember?"
"I did?" His voice was groggy, filled with sleep.
"Yeah, you did. But go ahead, miss this too. I'm sure our son's used to that by now."
Now it was his turn to tut. Well, at least my petulance had succeeded in waking him.
"You couldn't wait to get that in, could you? Always so damn negative. Close the door behind you. I'll be down in ten minutes."
I didn't stay around to argue. I wasn't in the mood, and Chester was downstairs. We'd thus far managed to shield him from our arguments – putting on a smile and a front whenever he was about, just so our seven-year-old son wouldn't realize his parents despised each other.
I went back to my bedroom to change my shirt, having noticed the stain on it. It must have happened when I was making the pasta sauce. Dominic and Chester were waiting for me in Dominic's car when I came downstairs. Chester was sitting in the back, staring miserably out of the window.
"What's up, champ?" I asked as I strapped myself in.
"What if the new teacher is mean, Mom?" he asked, turning to look at me with his huge green eyes. He'd gotten those from me. The shaggy dark-brown hair, too.
"I'm sure they wouldn't hire someone mean, honey. Don't worry."
"They did before."
Dominic laughed as he started the car. "No one could be as bad as old coffee-breath Mrs. Wickham."
I shot him a look but said nothing. The truth was my son had had really bad luck with teachers in that school. The school itself had a good reputation – one of the highest rated in the state of Virginia. But there must have been a curse on his class, because they couldn't hold onto a teacher, and when they did they were usually useless. As one of a dying number of schools that practiced looping, he had no chance of getting one of the other teachers the following year. The one he'd had last semester had left to teach in Europe.
The fifteen minute drive was relatively quiet; Chester did most of the talking. Dominic and I found it easier this way, saying nothing to each other, knowing that this was the only way to avoid fighting.
Once Dominic had parked, I took Chester's hand and walked ahead, leaving my husband to trail behind. I nodded a hello to a cluster of mothers I knew, who were standing at the entrance sharing a cigarette and gossip.
Davenport Elementary School buzzed with life as pupils of all grades had gathered for the parent-teacher conference, an event that took place here the week before the new school year began. There were kids and adults in every corner, it seemed. Dominic hated this sort of thing, always said he could be making money instead of wasting valuable time standing around like a sheep. Those day trader types never saw the value in doing anything but trading stocks. Well, that and, in Dominic's case, screwing college students half his age behind my back.
We walked along the corridor, saying hello to people we knew, exchanging brief words, until we reached Chester's classroom. Several parents were already inside with their children and the vice-principal.
"Danielle, hi." A friend, and the mother of one of Chester's classmates, embraced me as soon as I walked in. She gave me air kisses to both cheeks.
"Beth, look at you, you look great! Exotic," I said, giving her the once-over. "That vacation seems to have done you good." She just happened to be wearing the most revealing outfit I'd ever seen on her, with lots of flesh on display to show off her golden skin. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a real vacation, or a tan that didn't come in a bottle.
"Thanks. I got back a couple of days ago."
Chester and Dominic had wandered off to do a lap of the room, examining all the projects the class had done over the past year.
"What's going on? I thought we were going to meet the new teacher tonight."
"That's what the principal said. She hasn't come in yet, I don't think. If she's late, great start to her new job."
"So it's another woman?"
"Just a guess," she said. "They're always women. By the way, we have to get together soon. I wore one of your necklaces when I was away. A lot of people were interested in your designs. I gave them a link to your website, I hope that's all right?"
Free publicity? Heck yeah it was all right! Sales had been slow lately, thanks to the recession, so this was good news. When you're trying to scrape together money to make mortgage payments, buying homemade jewelry is the last thing on your list of priorities.
It seemed like all heads turned at once when the door opened and a woman walked in. Now, this wasn't just any woman. No one among us had ever seen her before, and certainly weren't expecting her. It's hard to say what I noticed about her first: the long, flowing blonde locks that fell past her breasts; the super svelte figure that could have jumped straight out of a swimsuit magazine; or the immaculate white smile behind full cherry-red lips. I'm sure there were more than a few dropped jaws in the room, mine being one of them. Her entrance even managed to stop Beth mid-sentence.
It was as though no one quite knew what to do next. Had she gotten lost on her way to the catwalk? No, she seemed to be in the right place, judging by the comfortable and easy way she strutted across the room. She said a shy hello to everyone, giving a blinding smile. She must be a parent, I thought. But where's her child?
The vice-principal stepped forward. "Hi folks. I'd like to introduce you to Miss Petal. She'll be taking over this class when the new school year starts next week."
A bunch of nervous hellos followed. I imagined everyone was gawking at her still; but I couldn't tell, I was too busy doing the same myself.
I saw her cheeks light up a little, so everyone else must have seen that too. I wondered if she was real or a figment of our collective imaginations. Either that or someone was playing an elaborate trick on us. Because if this was to be my son's new teacher, then holy hell! They didn't make teachers like that when I was a girl. They were all old, gray, with huge wire-rimmed glasses, and hideous knitted sweaters.
And her name: Miss Petal. Yeah, what a joke! She might as well have been called Miss Beautiful, Miss Stunning, Miss Perfect, any of which woul
d have suited her to a T.
A couple of minutes later, once everyone had (mostly) picked their jaws up off the floor, she was making her rounds, shaking hands with all the parents, and getting to know some of her future students.
There's something very predatory about what happens to a group of women when a much younger, much prettier version steps into the room. We become like a pack of vultures, eyes turning to slits of jealousy, not even aware of how quickly we've changed. And I must admit, I'd been guilty of that type of thing in the past.
"Look at her. That laugh is so fake." This came from Miranda, another mother and friend of mine, who'd come to stand with me and Beth. It did not surprise me one iota to hear something like that from her. The woman couldn't go more than five minutes without being bitchy.
"I know, right! Nobody's really that nice. Oh God, just look how the men are fawning over her. It's disgusting!" Beth added. We'd huddled into a corner to stare and pass judgment on a woman we hadn't even met yet. Normally I would have joined in, offered my own malicious observations, but something came over me that evening.
"Teacher my eye! What's she going to teach my daughter, how to do make up and look good for guys?" Miranda went on. "And you'd better watch your husband, Dani. He looks like he's getting a little too familiar there."
I was looking at him, and it was exactly as she said. Nothing I hadn't seen before. If they wanted to talk about fake smiles, Dominic was the master of them. He was probably trying to impress her enough to add her to his ever-expanding list of extramarital affairs. My husband – the Lothario. He wasn't even trying to flirt subtly.
"Yeah, I'm a day trader. Work from home, you know, that sort of thing. Set my own hours, do what I want. It does get a little lonely though, not having co-workers, but what can you do?" I heard part of the exchange – the slimy, self-conceited rambling of a married man who'd seemingly forgotten that, not only was he married, but his wife and son were in the room!
I looked away, embarrassed. I'd seen him do it so many times, but with our friends around it really got to me. Not jealousy, not really. Just embarrassment that I couldn't keep my husband in check.
"Oh, and there goes Fred," Beth said. "Looks like your husband's fallen under the same spell, Miranda."
Miranda scowled. "They don't know how pathetic they all look. Like they actually stand a chance. I know Fred certainly doesn't, unless she's into boring, prematurely balding, slightly overweight insurance brokers!"
We all laughed, although I didn't have much to laugh about. It was no secret that I'd hit the jackpot when I married Dominic. Good-looking, great hair, successful, and from a good family. A real catch, the other moms said. And although it was never expressed, I got the feeling they were surprised by my ability to bag him and hold on to him. They didn't know that, after six years of marriage, I had never truly succeeded. He'd been a cheat from day one and still was. But I'd managed to keep the affairs a secret from everyone.
"Ugh, she's coming over here. And there I was thinking she was only interested in speaking to the men in the room."
Before I knew it Beth and Miranda had hightailed it to their husbands just as Miss Petal made a beeline for me.
"Hi." She offered me her hand, and I gave it a light shake. Her skin was so soft. "Miss Petal. And you are?"
"I, uh..." I stumbled, unable to locate the words to speak. My gaze was lost in the bluest eyes I'd ever seen; a unique, striking shade, like sapphire and gray combined. Her lashes were long. When I finally found my voice again, it came out tiny. "Danielle. Danielle Thomas."
"Ah, so you're Chester's mom? I just met him. He seems great. I'm looking forward to teaching him."
She'd probably used that line half a dozen times already, and hadn't meant one word of it. But she made it sound genuine. I found myself truly mystified, waiting for her to speak again. She had the softest voice and a melodic accent – southern in some places, but a hint of something else also.
"Your accent, where's it from?" I said as casually as I could manage. It took me a while to realize that my eyes kept drifting to her lips – bee-stung, glistening, her lipstick perfectly applied. Was there anything at all that wasn't perfect about this woman? My inferiority complex started kicking in big style.
She smiled even wider, keeping eye contact the whole time. "Georgia mostly, but I've lived all over. Army kid. You know how it is."
"Yeah, I have heard. But you plan on sticking around for awhile at least?" Only once the question had come out did I realize it was more than a little nosy. She was well within her rights to ignore it, tell me to mind my own business, and flit off to converse with some other parents. So I added quickly, "You know, because this class hasn't been able to hold onto a teacher. It would be nice if, just once, there was some stability."
I wanted to kick myself. I sounded like one of those obnoxious mothers who interfered way too much. I didn't want her to think I would constantly be on her back.
She let out a small laugh, seemingly unfazed by my words. "I quite like it here in Davenport. I'm not planning on going anywhere, so you can rest easy." She laughed again.
I just watched her, unable to take my eyes off her. What a fascinating specimen. Elegant, attractive, smelled like candy. She couldn't have come out any better had she been designed.
"Well, it was nice meeting you, Mrs. Thomas. Maybe we'll talk again later. I can't wait to get to know you when I start." She excused herself, moved on to another set of parents. And as I followed her with my gaze, I couldn't help thinking the same: I was anxious for her to start next week. Only, I had no idea why.
"So, Miss Petal seems really nice," Dominic said. We were on our way home that evening. It was the second time he'd said it and, knowing him, the hundredth time he'd thought it. His definition of nice, sadly, included a little more than just personality. He would have noticed her impressive bosom, or the pert, round butt you could bounce a quarter off! If I had, he certainly had too.
"I like her," Chester chimed in. "She smells nice, too."
I rolled my eyes as I looked out the window. Men. Even my son had been sucked in by her charms. But, well, she did smell nice.
"Finally our son will have a decent teacher."
I turned a scathing look at Dominic. "How do you know that? You just met the woman."
"I have a good feeling about this one."
I rolled my eyes again. And did that feeling happen to start somewhere in your groin, perhaps? I wondered. He was so transparent it was almost funny. Why didn't he just say he wanted to get into her pants, and stop with the ambiguous comments? I would have thought a little more of him.
TWO
"Mom, we're gonna be late. Come on!" Chester called from the bottom of the stairs.
"Honey, it won't make me go any faster if you keep saying that," I called back, flinging open my drawers, trying to locate a pair of stockings, which was surprisingly difficult. I rarely wore them, but it was chilly out. I also hadn't shaved my legs in a week (one of the perks of being separated) and didn't have time to do so now. My alarm had failed to wake me (because I'd failed to set it!) and, as a result, Chester, too, had overslept. We were running late for the first day of the new school year.
"I'm gonna get detention," he complained.
"I'll explain to Miss Petal that it was my fault. I'm sure she'll make an exception this once."
I managed to find a pair, and slipped them on as quickly as possible. My heart raced at a speed it only ever hit when I was on the treadmill. Had my search for a pair of stockings really taken it out of me, or was something else causing the pounding in my chest?
I didn't have to think about it too long. Today was the day, Miss Petal's first day. And I was shaking like a leaf as though it was my first day of school.
For the past week I'd been eagerly awaiting this moment, when she would become a permanent fixture at my son's school, and thus a permanent fixture in our lives. My life. I couldn't figure out where this intrigue was coming from. It also expl
ained the alarm mishap. I'd been unable to sleep properly the night before, getting only a couple of hours in, and unfortunately forgot to switch on the alarm.
I'd never been this excited, or this nervous, to go to school. I tried to convince myself that my new-found enthusiasm for doing the school run had everything to do with regaining my freedom during the day, and nothing to do with the newest member of Davenport Elementary School's faculty.
I knew when I was lying to myself, and now was one of those times. My heart beat just a little faster as I remembered, and not for the first time, those sapphire-blue eyes, so inviting and hypnotizing.
"Mom!" Chester yelled.
"Jesus, Chester, all right. I'm going as fast as I can. You don't want Mommy to get a ladder in her stocking, do you?" Mommy also doesn't want Mommy to get a ladder, I thought. What sort of impression would that give Miss Petal?
He didn't respond with words, just a really loud growl. I suspected he didn't much care how I turned up to school, just that we got there some time this week.
I heard Dominic's bedroom door open. He'd been getting up later and later the past few months, staying out long into the early hours the night before, most likely with some bimbo.
"What's going on?" he said, his voice groggy.
"It's Monday morning, first day of the new semester. What do you think?" I grumbled. Almost ready. And if I hadn't been, the waking of my husband would have hurried me along. Talking to him was an exercise in self-torture sometimes.
"That's today? Don't they usually go back on a Tuesday?"
"Not this semester."
He was at my door in nothing but his boxers, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Once upon a time it would have pained me to walk away from that body – still impressively toned, though thicker in the stomach area now, due to over-consumption of beer and fast food. Now I had no such trouble. He didn't even feel like mine to enjoy anymore; and I often wondered how many others were currently doing so.
