I changed clothes and went for a run around the Shenandoah lakes, thoughts of Kiana dogging every step. I called her house again when I got back. Still no answer.
I tried to look at my lesson plans, but after a half hour, I gave up and closed my laptop to pick up my phone and call Kate.
“BFF!” she said, and it felt good to have someone happy to hear from me.
“How’s my honorary nephew?”
“Still growing. Doctor says he’s right on track.”
“Due date still in October?”
“Yep. And he’s being nicer to me now. No more morning sickness. I think I might change his name after all.”
“That’s too bad. Ignatius was kind of growing on me.”
“He may earn Ignatius back. We’ll see how the rest of the pregnancy goes. How are you doing?”
“Rough day.”
“Tell me, girl.”
Kiana wasn’t a new topic for me, and I caught Kate up on my concerns. “Do you think I should try calling again? Do I go over there? I don’t know. It’s killing me to sit around wondering why she’s so shut down right now.”
“Of course your worry for these kids is going to last after the bell, and caring so much is part of why you’re becoming an awesome teacher, but it might be a bad idea to get too tangled up in their lives outside of school. Then there’s no separation for them anymore. Maybe Kiana needs school to be a separate thing from whatever’s going on at home, or she never has a place that’s not connected to that drama.”
I groaned. “You’re right. I’ll wait and see how it goes with her tomorrow.”
“She’ll be all right. Try not to worry about it too much. Do you want something else to worry about?”
“Maybe?”
She laughed. “I know I’m months away, but I wanted to ask you something, and you can totally say no, but I will kill you if you do.”
“You want me to throw your baby shower? I was already planning on it.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. You know how Jaimie has been about her wedding, and Mama’s so caught up in all that, and I don’t want this little man’s shower to be an afterthought with leftover decorations from the wedding just because Jaimie’s using blue. I know you’ll do right by him.”
“Of course I will, honey. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got plans already.” I didn’t, but I would.
“I’m so glad I can ask you that without you judging me for not waiting until you offered.”
“That’s what best friends are for.”
We chatted for a few more minutes while she told me about David’s interviews at a couple of local law firms for an internship that summer and how stressed she was about how they were going to handle a baby in the last year of law school and maybe they should have waited. I did some more best-friending, reminding her that a year of law school had nothing on a forever baby.
When we hung up, I wandered into the kitchen for a snack and decided it was probably best I was living at home because I couldn’t afford my own rent and all the showers I was about to either throw or attend.
I bit into an apple, and the crunch cracked like a gunshot. Too quiet. Always so quiet without Mom.
I didn’t have to be home alone. If I’d said yes to Max, I could probably be getting ready for a date with him. And why hadn’t I said yes? He was reformed, plus hot, funny, ambitious, and a churchgoer. He was everything I wanted on paper—except for the address line. That would read something besides “Baton Rouge” soon.
I took another bite and went out to the deck. My first instinct when I’d seen him sitting here on Sunday had been the right one. I couldn’t leave Mom, and even if Daddy were still alive, Baton Rouge was as much a part of my DNA as he and Mom were. I would never be able to live with the ache of missing it, so there was no point in dating someone who wouldn’t stay.
Chapter 5
I always liked going to my Teachings of the Living Prophets institute class on Thursday nights, but I was especially happy to be walking in after another long day of Kiana worry and a single-serving microwave dinner. They should label that freezer aisle “Sadness.”
Kiana hadn’t been at school for two days, and the attendance office could only tell me her grandmother had called in to excuse her absences. Mom had gone to Aunt Casey’s house all day to help her with some quilting, and I hadn’t had the energy to whip up something for myself.
“Good evening, Lila.”
I smiled at Bishop Gracely, Kate’s dad. Our ward met at the institute building because it felt much cozier than using the church when we didn’t need half of it. All we had to do after sacrament meeting and Sunday School was pull the accordion wall down the middle of the main room and we had a perfectly sized Relief Society and elders quorum space. But a big part of the reason the institute always felt so good to me was Bishop Gracely.
“Hi, Bishop. How are you doing tonight?”
“Feeling fantastic, kiddo. Can you stop by my office after class?”
“Sure. See you then.” We probably had a sister who needed extra fellowshipping.
Max was already seated, and he smiled when I walked in. I waved, but even though he had the back row to himself, he didn’t suggest that I sit by him, so I took my usual seat in the middle row to the side. Brother Linden taught a great lesson, and I wished I wasn’t paying enough attention to Max to notice, but I saw him slip out twenty minutes before the end of class. I couldn’t follow the rest of the discussion after that. All I could think about was if Max was avoiding me.
When class ended, I walked down the hall to the bishop’s office. The door opened as I was fixing to knock, and Max stepped out. I moved out of his way, and he gave me a nod and a look I couldn’t interpret. “Talk to you soon, Lila,” he said and left.
All righty, then.
“Come on in, Lila. How was class tonight?”
“Awesome, as usual.”
“Brother Linden is a good man,” he said. “Thanks for staying late to see me.”
“Sure. What’s going on?” I ran through the list of possibilities of who might be in a tight spot and what they might need. No one jumped to mind, and a ball of worry coalesced in my stomach again, a twin to the one I was carrying for Kiana. A sister with a sudden need often meant an urgent situation, like a health problem or an eviction. Plus, we’d already had one girl end up pregnant a few months before her wedding to her nonmember boyfriend since I’d been in as president.
“You’re planning to attend the YSA conference in June?”
“Of course.”
“I’m extending a call to you to be the chairperson for the planning committee.”
I stared at him, confused. Usually they had someone at the stake level plan the conference. Like actual grown-ups. With grandkids our age. “Why aren’t the Duttons doing it?” I asked, referring to the older couple from the Denham Springs Stake who’d been in charge for the last couple years.
“They’re serving a mission. They leave in July. They’ll be busy preparing for that. You hadn’t heard?”
I shook my head.
He sat back and rubbed his eyes. “I’ll be honest. The conference fell right off my radar. I need you to save my bacon on this and pull something great together.”
“Why can’t they assign another couple?” I asked, already feeling overwhelmed by the size of the job.
“The stake sees this as another opportunity for our young people to develop leadership. The whole point of being here is to get y’all married off and ready to serve in a family ward, so I can support that. I know you’re fully capable of making this happen.”
I shook my head. Managing our tiny Relief Society of twenty-three sisters was one thing. The conferences were a regional event, pulling in YSAs from Mississippi up to Arkansas, and we’d get upwards of two hundred people coming. “I appreciate that, and I’ll do it. But I’m already panicking.”
“Your setting apart will help, but in case the companionship of the Holy Spirit isn’t enou
gh, I’m giving you Max Archer too. He agreed to cochair.”
“Why are you smirking at me?” I squinted at him. “Are you matchmaking?”
“Yes,” he said, unfazed. “But I also see this as too big for one person, and you two are perfect for the job. We’ll set you apart after church on Sunday. Sound good?”
I swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He stood and walked around the desk to give me a one-armed hug before escorting me to the door. “Thanks for accepting the call to serve.”
I walked out of the office, and he beckoned Jorie’s fiancé inside. Outside I found Max leaning against my Civic, grinning at me.
“Hi, you.”
I shook my head at him. “We say hey, not hi.”
His smile didn’t waver. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, yourself. So we’re in it now, huh?”
“Looks that way. You have time to get some ice cream and talk this new gig over?”
I wanted to. Man, he was cute. I made myself say no. He looked taken aback, and I hurried to soften the answer. “We definitely need to start figuring this out. Three months isn’t going to be long enough to pull this together, but I guess we’ll make it happen. Just not tonight. I had a distracted kind of day today, and I need to get ready for work tomorrow.”
“What distracted you? Wait, you don’t have to tell me. I’m not trying to be nosy. I meant to ask if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.” I should probably have taken my keys out of my purse and let the jingling remind him to get off my car so I could go home, but I left them where they were. “I’m worried about a student, and I shouldn’t get so wrapped up in it. But I am. The older teachers say I’ll get over that eventually.”
“I respect that kind of worry. I bet your students love you.” He straightened and stepped away from the car. “I’ll let you get home. Want to talk about the conference tomorrow night?”
Get together on a Friday night? I wondered if the bishop had confessed his matchmaking to Max too. I eyed him like he was trying to cheat on a history test, but his expression didn’t change, so I shook my head and didn’t accuse him of trying to disguise a date as a planning meeting. I wasn’t going to take the bait either way. “Sunday after church is best for me.”
“Sounds good. See you Sunday. Good night,” he said, already turning to walk a few parking spaces down. The lights of a Prius flashed as he unlocked it with his key fob.
I grinned as I climbed into my own car. At least he didn’t drive a truck. A good-looking guy in a truck was a lethal combination. A good-looking guy in a hybrid? Slightly more resistible.
But only slightly.
Chapter 6
On Friday morning, extra energy buzzed beneath my skin as I waited for the first-period bell. Would Kiana be here today?
She walked in a half minute after the tardy bell, and I picked up a tardy slip and quirked an eyebrow at her before filling it out.
“Dang, you starting off rough,” Jamarcus said.
“Hush, Jamarcus.” I finished filling out the slip. I’m not really writing you a tardy. I just can’t let the class think I’m getting soft. You okay? I set the slip on her desk, and she glanced down at it, her eyes widening before she gave me a short nod. Lunch, I mouthed at her. After a long pause, she nodded again but didn’t look up for the rest of the period.
The morning classes flew by, partly because the lesson plan worked well but mostly because I’d had a prompting in second period for how to help Kiana even if she didn’t confide in me. She might. She did sometimes, but there was no guarantee she would.
She came in about five minutes after most of fourth period had bolted for the cafeteria. It was raining, which meant lunch was inside and everyone would have to scramble if they wanted a good seat. She darted a glance at the stragglers in the classroom and took the desk closest to my mine. I suspected it had more to do with wanting to be away from the other kids than being near me, but I’d take it.
“Hey, sweetie,” I said, walking around to take the desk beside her and setting a granola bar down in front of her. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Really? How come you didn’t grab lunch in the cafeteria before you got here?” Most of the kids qualified for free lunch.
She shrugged and picked up the granola bar, unwrapping it with the meticulousness of an archaeologist on a dig site. “Too much noise.”
“What’s going on? I tried to call your house a bunch of times, but no one answered.”
Another shrug.
“Kiana,” I said, keeping my voice gentle. “I was ready to drive over to your place to check on you.”
Her head shot up. “Don’t do that.”
“Tell me I don’t need to.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Tell me why.”
She worked at the granola wrapper a little longer, but once it was off the bar, she couldn’t stall anymore.
“Kiana.”
She rolled her eyes. “My mama showed up after being gone for two weeks. She wasn’t in great shape. She wanted to try telling me how to get my little brothers ready for school and say something about what I was wearing. I’ve got it locked down. She just makes stuff harder. I told her that. It got ugly.”
My heart broke for her as I heard the story she wasn’t telling me behind the story that she was. She wouldn’t appreciate my sympathy, so all I said was, “I’m sorry that was a rough day, but if I tell you to come in for lunch, you need to come in. Do you understand?”
She nodded, no resentment in her face. I didn’t have a ton of experience with these kids and their tough home situations yet, but I’d done a lot of reading on how to help at-risk students, and so much of the educational literature emphasized firm consistency. I hoped the experts were right.
“Good. I have something I want to show you.” I grabbed my tablet, pulling up the webpage I’d bookmarked for her. “Have you heard of Madame CJ Walker?”
“Nope.”
“She was the first female millionaire in the United States, and she was from right here in Louisiana.” Kiana’s eyes showed only mild curiosity, so I dropped the boom. “And she was African American.”
Kiana’s eyebrows rose. “The first lady millionaire was black?”
I nodded and handed her the tablet. “Read through this website for a while. I’m going to check in with you at the end of lunch. I have an idea for you.”
She took the tablet, and I sat at my desk, trying not to show my excitement at her interest. Kiana had average grades. No F’s but no A’s, not even in PE. Her standardized test scores, on the other hand . . . they were high. Really high. She didn’t have the overall GPA she needed to get into LSU yet, but with the right extracurriculars and teacher recommendations, plus a strong personal essay, she could do it, and I could help her find the grants to pay for it. But the kicker would be the history project I was fixing to pitch her.
A few minutes before lunch ended, I sat beside her, trying not to look giddy that she’d stayed on the Madame CJ Walker page instead of Internet surfing. “Interesting, right?”
She handed me the tablet. “Why you showing me this?”
“Have you ever heard of Kiwanis Club?”
“Those them dudes with the goofy hats?”
“It’s a group of businesspeople with philanthropic goals, but they don’t wear fezzes.”
“Wear what?”
“The funny hats. Those guys are the Shriners. Anyway, the point is that the Kiwanis are sponsoring a local competition for high school students. It’s kind of like a history fair, but they want students to focus on an element of Louisiana history, a person, place, or event. I think you should enter it, and I think Madame CJ Walker might be the perfect subject for you.”
The prompting I’d gotten had been clear: Kiana needed to make the acquaintance of Madame CJ. She needed to see a woman who’d been born into rough circumstances who had overcome them without any advantages except her own cleverness a
nd determination.
“I don’t like that kind of stuff,” she said, but it wasn’t convincing.
“Hear me out. If you win the local competition, first prize is $500. Think about that for a minute. What could you do with that? You don’t need to tell me. But think about it.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “What am I supposed to do? Make one of them goofy backboards with a bunch of paragraphs printed out about Madame CJ?”
I leaned forward, not bothering to hide my excitement. “No! It’s more of a showcase, so you have a lot of latitude for how you present what you’ve learned. I mean, you could write a tuba solo that tells the story of the Battle of New Orleans if you want.” She snorted, and I grinned at her. “The point is that they don’t want a backboard with immaculate hand lettering. They want performance pieces or original fiction. Multimedia experiences or dramatizations. On Monday I’m assigning this as a semester assessment to all my classes, but I want you specifically to think about it in terms of the Kiwanis competition, not your class grade.”
She squinted at me.
“$500, Kiana.”
She shrugged again.
“And total freedom to present whatever you choose however you choose.”
The squint narrowed, and I hid another smile. I’d gotten through. I could feel it.
She left without a word, but I didn’t mind. I could read her too well to be fooled. Her wheels were turning, and this would be on her mind all weekend. By Monday, she’d be hooked.
When my last class filed out for the day, I leaned back in my desk and propped my feet up, tired peace settling around me. Mom and Bishop Gracely might look at my life and see the big marriage-shaped hole in it, but I had a job I loved, teenagers who often broke—but always filled—my heart, a home I loved, and a feeling that my Heavenly Father knew and heard me.
Not a bad haul.
The fact that the first marriageable guy to come along in more than a year was Max—who wasn’t a prospect at all—was no doubt God teaching me something, and I’d just have to hurry up and wait until I learned the lesson. In the meantime, I would practice appreciating everything I did have and not resent what I didn’t.
Southern Charmed Page 4
