“Go to class,” he said finally, absently, without really looking at her.
“JD!” said the young woman. “JD, come on! Don’t you remember me?”
Students shouldn’t be calling him JD. He was Mr. West to them. He looked up from the terminal. “Young lady, show some respect. I am the p…” His voice trailed off. She wasn’t a student; in fact, she was closer to his age than to high school, and he knew her entirely too well. They had dated a few times in college. She’d been the first one to do a lot of things to him, but she had also been annoying and hard to get rid of. Her name was…
“Gwen.”
He looked at her blankly. “Uh…”
“Gwen Beasley. Don’t you remember? Cool Note Jazz Club, and, uh…”
It came back to him. “Ace Ventura, Pet Detective. Yeah, I remember.”
She smiled. "I'm being silly. You know you were my favorite college boyfriend. I remember the back seat of your mom's Monte Carlo."
JD remembered it too. He was drunk and had his face between two very big boobs that didn't quite point the same way but were warm and responsive. Through the red silk blouse she was wearing, he could see she was still well-endowed. In fact, her breasts looked even bigger. Her hair had smelled like smoke and had great highlights. And she knew what to do with her hands.
But she had also shown up at his parents' house after he told her he didn't want to see her anymore. And she had offered to do anything he wanted if he would dump Natalie and give her another shot. And she had done that so many times he felt stalked. And here she was now. Surely she didn’t think....
“I’m your new secretary.”
“You’re…”
“Candace sent me over. I was at Cattleford Elementary, but they…”
“The state closed Cattleford, yeah. That was last year.”
“I was waitressing for a while. It’s boring. So, where’s my desk?”
"Your desk? Gwen, you shouldn't work for me. We didn't work out, and it was pretty ugly for a while after I broke it off. I don't want to go there anymore. I have a school to run."
Gwen looked shocked, if sticking her chest at him and opening her mouth meant shock. "That was years ago. I've been married twice since then. You remember Dan?"
JD had known half a hundred Dans. "Not really."
"He was going to buy a restaurant when he got out of school. We were married, but he died. You know, that changes you. And I got divorced from a man, too. Wouldn't stop smoking pot." She grinned at him winningly. "I can tell you some stories. But come on, JD. I need a job. I promise I'll be a good secretary."
JD did need someone, and honestly, he didn't have the strength to argue. He hadn't forgotten about the file he was looking for, either. He looked at the desks in the office, picked the one where Mrs. Jessup had used to work. “You can have that one. Listen, can you find me a file?”
Gwen smiled. “Sure, JD. I guess you and Nicole—”
“Natalie.”
“Right. Still happily married, I bet.”
“Um…not exactly.”
“Oh,” Gwen gasped—a little too dramatically. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
She brushed past him as she went to the desk, and he felt those might-be-fake breasts run along his bicep. It was one of those obvious, but not obvious gestures used by the professional flirt. She set down her handbag as she settled into the office chair: Louis Vuitton, a little upscale for a school secretary. He had wanted to save up to buy Nat one of those.
“Any kids?” she asked.
“No.” JD cleared his throat to hide the sudden catch in his breath that accompanied thoughts of his son. He wouldn’t tell Gwen about John Allen. Everyone that knew him well knew what had happened. Gwen didn’t need to be part of that circle.
“The passwords are on the wall there,” he said. “See that pink paper?”
He told Gwen what file he needed, and she set to work right away searching the computer. She seemed to actually be focusing on the work, so maybe her job-needing claim was true and he was making too much out of the whole situation.
Now he could stop worrying about the file, but he was still worried on general principles –or general principals (it was an old joke) –about having a secretary who had all but seen him naked when he was nineteen. But she had alluded to a good point –people could grow up a lot in the number of years they hadn't seen each other. They were experienced adults.
Still, with lack of sleep, his body wired and eyes wearied by caffeine, he wasn’t focused. And lack of focus could lead him somewhere he didn’t want to go. He went and stood by the office door, looking out into the hall. The bell rang, signaling passing time for the kids. He had used to ring the bell himself, but now had passed on the job to Coach Peterman, who was ex-army and never missed a time cue.
He watched students move through the halls. There was Kayla; he hoped she was passing biology this term since her parents had come in to complain to him about it. Marcus, despite Coach Peterman’s tantrum, had been cut from the basketball team when he didn’t show up for math tutoring. Jasmine had gone to the counselor saying she thought she was pregnant, but fortunately she wasn’t, so there she was under the arm of the same boyfriend who’d contributed to her worries in the first place. Luis had cigarettes in his back pocket; JD would go and confiscate them after passing time. Aaliyah was an honors student, but was thinking of dropping out to get a job. So many students, so many problems.
Out of the mass of young people in the hallway, one suddenly burst out sideways and slammed into the wall face-first only a foot or so from the office door. What the hell? The boy was in a baggy gray hoodie and jeans that were about an inch too short. He had dropped his notebook when whoever it was pushed him. He turned, raising his hands, but there was no one there to fight him. The kid was scrawny and didn’t look like he could fight off a mad puppy, much less the laughing group of wannabe Abercrombie mascots who strolled by JD, looking all cool and innocent. They were jocks with too little brains and too much attention. JD couldn’t even count the number of times the same breed had preyed upon him back in high school.
JD’s head cleared rapidly. He had seen this boy before, but his administrative antennae weren't up –he hadn't realized there was a potential issue with the kid. Now he realized there was a need for someone to intervene. Principal West to the rescue, then. He opened the office door and strode into the hallway. The boy had pushed himself off the wall and was about to collect his notebook from the floor.
“Excuse me.”
Kneeling, the boy looked up at him.
“Can I have your name?”
“Mike Byrne.”
“What grade are you in?”
“Tenth.”
“Who pushed you?”
Mike shrugged.
“You don’t want to tell me?”
The boy bit his lip.
“Snitches get stitches, is that right?” JD asked.
Mike wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“I said, is that right, Mr. Byrne?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“We have a zero tolerance policy on bullying.”
“Yeah? That policy must look really good on paper, huh?”
JD blinked. He really had no comeback for that one. “Go ahead to class.”
Mike headed down the hall, wobbling a little, probably from the adrenaline of an expected fight.
A principal couldn’t help every student in his school, no matter how much he wanted to. The paperwork had to be done, the hoops jumped through, in order to keep the school afloat. Yeah, they had to make the anti-bullying policy part of that paperwork. JD had once thought it was just another ridiculous regulation. When he was a kid, bullies were part and parcel of becoming a young adult. Fighting them off made you tougher if you didn’t back down. But that was then. Today’s bullies were a whole new breed, with an arsenal of technology and a farther reach than the bullies of old.
JD had the instinct that he couldn’t let this ins
tance go, or even just delegate it to his support staff. There was something about the boy’s anxiety that tugged at him—a spirit on the verge of being broken, a mind like his own that would have probably fared better in JD’s school years. And much as his head tried to deny it, he thought about John Allen. He couldn’t save his son, but maybe he could make a little difference in kid’s life. Yet, he couldn’t push too hard or he’d risk the kid shrinking away entirely before he even had the chance to help.
Chapter Four
Natalie sat on the front steps, cell phone pressed to her ear, listening to her mother Meredith give another excuse as to why she couldn’t be there. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I wish I could come sooner, but Charles bought this hotel sight unseen. It needs new everything, so we’re trying to remodel two rooms a week to have plenty of space for the tourists this summer. He’s hopeless without me. I was gone for a week to Paris, and he ordered plaid curtains. Can you believe it? Plaid!” Meredith was quiet a moment before her animated voice turned somber. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” Natalie said with a tired shrug. “How’s Toulouse?”
“Humid. But the sunsets are gorgeous. Everything’s pink—your favorite color.”
“You remember my favorite color?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I…never mind. So, I’ll see you at Christmas?”
“Definitely. Early December if I can pull Charles away long enough.”
“OK. I’ll see you then.” Natalie hesitated, then asked, “Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Do you want a picture of him?”
Silence, then a whispered, “Of John Allen, you mean?”
“Yes. We got a couple pictures, just to remember what he looked like.”
“But, wasn’t he-?”
“Stillborn, yes, but he…” Natalie drew in a shaky breath and let it out slowly to keep the tears in check. “He looked like he was sleeping. Just a little pale. I mean, if you don’t want one…”
“Sure, baby, send me one. He was my grandson after all. You have my address?”
“Yeah.”
“Bye, baby.”
“Bye, Mom.”
Natalie stood and slid the phone in her back pocket. She had to get ready for work. The world didn’t stop turning the day John Allen died. She still had a mortgage and utility bills to pay. Vicki, of course, offered to let Natalie move in with her, but Natalie kindly refused. Not that it wasn’t tempting. Being here was hard enough, but there were always people coming and going at Vicki’s place. Friends, kids, grandkids—her little two bedroom house was the heart of a warm and friendly social circle that was just too overwhelming for Natalie's grief. At home, lonely and quiet as it was, at least she could cry when she wanted. Or when grief turned to anger, she could scream or throw random things across the room without anyone thinking she was crazy.
But, it was time to go back to work. She had to support herself, not be a charity case. JD was still doing his part, paying more than half the bills. She never doubted he would, but she worried about him. How was he faring at Dale’s place? JD had always been such a proud and independent man. He didn’t have the money to get his own place and pay for this one. Natalie picked up the newspaper from the porch. She’d look through the apartment listings today and see about putting the house up for sale.
Yet, when she walked back inside, her breath lodged in her throat. This was the home she and JD had bought together just five years ago, when they had finally saved enough for a down payment. This was the place where they wanted to grow a beautiful garden and make a beautiful baby. Almost everything here was theirs together. She looked across the living room to the open kitchen. The furniture, the décor, and those white square and rectangle plates they’d picked out for a more “modern” table setting.
Then her eyes drifted down the hall to the closed nursery door. She hadn’t been able to enter the room since the day of the funeral. She’d spent the last few weeks alone, sleeping on the couch, avoiding her bedroom as much as possible, and the nursery at all costs. Indulging her grief was enough to drive her insane. She had to return to work.
Natalie forced her thoughts to the here and now, grabbed her purse from the end table, and left for the daycare center.
Vicki met her in the back drive, hovering around the car as though she needed to help Natalie walk.
“I’m fine,” Natalie assured her, before Vicki could latch on.
“I know, honey. I know.”
Natalie scooped up her purse, shut the car door, and clicked the lock button on the key fob. She walked past Vicki and headed for the daycare’s back door.
“It’s OK if you’re not OK,” Vicki said before Natalie stepped inside.
“It’s been weeks. I can’t sit and stare at the walls anymore. I have bills to pay.”
“All right, sorry, honey. Let’s get some pasta dyed for necklaces. Hopefully, Tyler won’t eat any this time.”
Before the kids arrived, Natalie prepped the dried pasta with Vicki. Penne, macaroni, and other shapes with holes made the perfect beads for stringing on a nylon cord to make a necklace. It took a few hours to soak each batch in a mixture of rubbing alcohol and food color. Then a couple hours drying, and the pasta “beads” would be ready for the next day’s craft. Natalie always looked forward to projects like this—the kids were so eager to create. All they needed was a little help in stringing on the pasta and tying the final knot in the cords. The best part was seeing how unique each child’s pattern turned out to be. The boys tended to be either completely random or completely uniform with their shapes and colors, while the girls carefully chose patterns that fit their personalities.
7:30 AM arrived, along with the first two children of the day, Jeremy and Sarah Jane. Jeremy’s eyes widened when he saw Natalie. Before she could say anything, he ran to where she sat on a child-sized chair and threw his arms around her neck. She accepted his monster hug and a lesser version of one from Sarah Jane, who would be ready for kindergarten that fall. She’d been learning to write; she handed Natalie a card. On the front were two stick girls—one taller and one shorter, with “Dear Miss Natalee” written in red crayon. On the inside was the same tall stick girl with a sad face. The shorter one held a heart out to her friend. Below that, the same red crayon had written: I’m sory Miss Westt. Here is a hart to make you smille agin.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Natalie said with a tight knot in her throat which lasted the rest of the day. With just a few breaks to the bathroom to shed unwanted tears, she survived until their last child left for home.
Vicki gave Natalie a one-armed hug as soon as they were alone. “You OK?”
Natalie nodded. She was about to lock the front door when a brown delivery truck pulled up. The delivery man got out, waved, and went around to the back of the truck. He pulled out a large brown box.
“Oh, it’s Phil!” Natalie said, smiling at Vicki, who had begun washing paintbrushes and bowls at the sink.
Vicki’s cheeks reddened. She turned her head around quickly to face the sink again. “Oh…can you…?”
“Of course.” Natalie held the door open while Phil carried the box inside. At fifty-ish with receding light brown hair, Phil was broad-shouldered, fit and trim, and more importantly, single. He had been eyeing Vicki for months, but the only conversation they ever had consisted of little more than stuttering, one-syllable words.
“Where do you want me to put it?” he asked, glancing at Vicki where she stood stiff as a board like a dish-washing robot.
“There by the storage room door is fine.” Natalie sniffed and rubbed her tear-burned eyes.
Just then, she got a terribly evil idea that brought a genuine smile to her face. Phil had stood back up from placing the box on the floor. He unhooked the electronic signature device from his belt and started toward Natalie. She pretended not to notice and headed outside.
Over her shoulder, she called, “Vicki, can you sign for the package? I’ll ch
eck the mail.”
“Uh…well…ok,” Vicki answered, drying her hands on a paper towel.
Phil stood in the doorway, holding the device in one hand and the stylus in the other. He flicked his gaze between Natalie and Vicki. The poor man looked half confused and half terrified. Natalie took the mail from the box near the door and stood on the sidewalk, slowly flipping through junk ads as though they were the most fascinating things in the world.
Finally, with a little pat to her neatly permed hair, Vicki came over to Phil. “You want me to…?”
He jutted the stylus at her. “Yeah, if you’d…right there…on the line.”
Vicki cleared her throat. Her lips quivered as though trying to hold back a smile as she scribbled her name on the device.
“Thanks,” Phil said. Natalie dared to look up from the glossy Everything Must Go furniture flyer, and yep, there it was. He had donned that upper-lipped grin of his that reminded her of a cat getting one whisker pulled. Vicki’s expected response came next—blushing, wringing her hands, looking everywhere but directly at Phil.
“See ya,” Phil muttered. He strode down the sidewalk and leapt back into the truck.
With a sputtering start, the engine revved to life. Vicki watched him until the truck turned right at the traffic light and disappeared. She glanced at Natalie and hurried back inside, rushing to the sink to turn off the water she’d left running. Natalie followed, locking the front door behind them, and stood there smiling.
Vicki turned around, hand propped on her hip. “What?”
“Why don’t you just talk to him?”
“I don’t know what I’d say.”
“Hello might be a good for starters.”
“Listen here, Nat,” Vicki said, wagging a finger at her. “I’ve been there, done that, and ended up in divorce court twice. Besides, I’m too busy for romance.” She turned up her nose and took her purse from the cabinet over the sink.
Chances Are Page 3
