Giving herself a moment to find her happy place before informing the principal that this issue needed to be resolved fully before she left, Skye got up, selected a cruller from the box, and placed it on a napkin. She’d been trying to avoid sugary treats since she’d been breastfeeding, but she was starving and Homer didn’t have anything healthy to eat.
“What?” Homer’s tone was belligerent, but his expression was apprehensive.
“Just because you’re tired of thinking doesn’t mean we’ve come to any workable conclusion.” Cruller in hand, Skye resumed her seat. “Mrs. Brodsky isn’t going to go away.”
“So this McKinney-Veto thing is true?” Homer shook his head. “What next? Every brat gets his or her own personal tutor?”
“I hadn’t thought about the McKinney-Vento Homeless Education Assistance Act being relevant to students who had been displaced by the tornado, but I do believe Piper is correct.” Skye took a sip of coffee, then continued, “You should check with the school’s lawyer, but my understanding is that the act ensures homeless children transportation to and from school free of charge and allows children to attend the last school in which they were enrolled regardless of what district the family resides in at present.”
“That’s a load of crap,” Homer squawked. Then, with a cunning look in his eye, he said, “This Brodsky woman didn’t have any records, not even immunization. Can’t we deny her kids enrollment on that basis?”
“Nope.” Skye was beginning to miss the twins’ crying. At least when they fussed, it was usually for a good reason. They were either hungry or needed their diapers changed. She wondered if Homer had pooped his pants and that’s why he was so contrary. “I’m pretty sure lack of normally required documents is covered in the act.”
Homer pointed at Skye. “Why have I never heard of this before?”
“I guess Scumble River never had any homeless families before the tornado.” Skye pursed her lips. “Although, now that I think of it, I doubt that’s true. But we were never aware of their presence.”
“Maybe this Brodsky woman will just go away.” Homer tucked his chin into his chest. “Brooklyn has a perfectly good school district. Why would she want her kids to have to ride a bus over here?”
“My guess is—” Skye was momentarily distracted by the faraway wail of a siren but refocused and continued. “It’s because she doesn’t want them to have to change schools when she gets back into her rental.”
“For crying out loud. Who writes these kinds of laws?” He huffed, “I just don’t get it.”
“There’s nothing to get. It’s the law.” Skye’s hold on her temper slipped. “I can explain it to you, but I can’t understand it for you.”
“What… You…” Homer sputtered.
Homer’s dazed expression was worth the crow she’d have to eat once he had time to recover from the shock and demanded an apology. But for now, Skye finished her pastry and wiped her fingers on the napkin.
Finally, she said, “My advice to you is to contact her and make her and her children feel welcome before she gets in touch with my sister-in-law. Loretta’s already bored with wills and estate planning, and she would love to handle a case like this. The district could end up building Mrs. Brodsky a home if Loretta really gets her teeth into the matter.”
“Shit!” Homer’s shoulders slumped. “What is it about your family that has it in for me?”
Skye tilted her head in confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Your husband refused to do anything about that insurance idiot who is determined to rob me blind. And your mother won’t put me through on the phone to him anymore,” Homer snarled. “She claims he’s not available.”
“I’m sure that’s true.” Skye’s husband, Wally, was the chief of police and her mother, May Denison, worked as a dispatcher for the police department. “With the aftermath from the tornadoes, Wally is extremely busy.”
“Who isn’t?” Homer pasted an abused expression on his face. “You know, my property was damaged in the tornado, too.”
“I hadn’t heard that.” Skye rose and edged toward the door. “What a shame.”
She needed to get going. She had to pick up the twins from her mother’s before three thirty so her mom could go to work.
“No one cares that I have problems, too,” Homer whined. “How about my rights?”
“Listen, just get in touch with the school’s lawyer, and if he agrees with what I’ve said, contact Mrs. Brodsky ASAP and enroll her son tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Gotta go.” Ignoring Homer’s attempt to thrust those duties onto her, Skye stepped across the office threshold. She kept moving as she called over her shoulder, “See you after winter break.”
As she hurried down the hall, she heard Homer yelling for Opal to get someone named Paige Myler on the phone and find out why she was late for their appointment. Skye didn’t recognize that name, and normally she would have been curious since she had at least a passing familiarity with most Scumble Riverites. But not today.
Today, she was in a hurry, so without pausing to see who might be the unlucky recipient of Homer’s call, Skye fled down the hallway. She was intent on finding Piper and soothing the young woman’s ruffled feathers before she decided she could wait another year to complete her internship if it meant not having to work with Homer.
Chapter 2
Don’t Worry, Baby
Skye experienced a weird distortion of the space-time continuum when she approached her office. Although she’d been on maternity leave for six weeks, it almost seemed as if she’d never been away, but also as if she’d been gone for years.
She inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar odors of sweat socks and heavy-duty cleansers. Blinking back a tear, she cursed her raging hormones. She was exhilarated one minute but blubbering the next. Poor Wally never knew if he would be coming home to the lady or the tiger.
With classes in session, the only sound in the hallway was the distant murmuring of a teacher’s voice and the whirring of a power tool from the technology education room, or as everyone still called it, “shop.”
After reaching her office, Skye tapped on the door. Knocking seemed strange, but although she’d always felt a certain possessiveness for this space, she now shared it with Piper. Her overprotectiveness was probably because there was no other area in the school for her to work, so she was always fearful of losing such valuable real estate.
She’d wrested the small office away from the boys’ PE teacher/guidance counselor a few years ago after pointing out that he already had a private office in the gym complex while she had to beg, borrow, or steal a closet or cubbyhole to evaluate or counsel students. The man hadn’t been happy to relinquish the space and Skye was on the alert for his counterattack.
It was downright disrespectful to her and the profession of school psychology that she’d had to battle for a ten-by-ten room with no windows. And she’d only been able to cover the ugly shade of greenish-yellow that had been on the walls for the past fifty years by buying the paint herself and sweet-talking the crews who had been repairing tornado damage at the schools into giving her office a quick once-over with their rollers.
The new, soothing blue color had helped a lot, but the uncovered fluorescent tubes in the overhead lights still cast a sallow tinge over the discarded furniture that she’d managed to forage. Scavenging a second desk and chair for Piper had been one of Skye’s last acts before going on leave.
Her own old leather chair and scratched wooden desk had been discarded by someone with a budget to upgrade to nicer things. She’d scored the battered trapezoidal table, two folding chairs, wooden file cabinet, and the metal bookshelves that held her test kits from the basement’s junk pile.
Still, despite their origins and less-than-pristine condition, Skye was grateful to have every piece. Even secondhand,
the furnishings and office were better than anything she had at either the grade school or the junior high, where her assigned spaces were both the size of refrigerator boxes.
There had been no answer to her knock, so Skye unlocked the door and stepped inside. Piper wasn’t there and Skye frowned. She’d have to hunt down the intern, but first, she’d give her mom a call and make sure her babies were okay. This was the longest she’d left them since coming home from the hospital and her arms felt empty without them.
May answered on the first ring and assured her that the twins were having a good time in their bouncy seats. She also informed Skye that she was in no hurry for them to be picked up. Just as she was saying goodbye to her mother, Piper burst through the door.
The young woman skidded to a stop when she saw Skye, put her hand to her chest, and said, “You scared me. Since I always lock the door, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here.”
“Sorry.” Skye smiled. “I wanted to reiterate that you did exactly the right thing and make sure you were okay after our meeting with Homer.”
“Thank you.” Piper unbuttoned her suit jacket, then squeezed past Skye to her desk. She sat down, her spine as straight as a ruler. “But you were correct in saying that I shouldn’t have mentioned your sister-in-law’s law firm. It was just that, by then, Mr. Knapik was on my last nerve and I blurted it out.”
“Homer does have a talent for that.” Skye chuckled. “And swallowing all the things you want to say but shouldn’t takes practice. All in all, you did really, really well holding your tongue.”
“How do you manage to stay so calm when he starts ranting and raving like that?” Piper tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear.
Skye chuckled. “I may look cool and collected, but in my mind, I usually have killed Homer at least three times per meeting.”
Piper’s jaw dropped, then she giggled. “You have to teach me that.”
“My best advice is to get a mirror and practice maintaining a blank expression,” Skye suggested. “It really helps when Homer is especially long winded.”
“You mean abundantly verbal?” Piper’s lips twitched.
“It sounds as if you’ve figured out the way we slip stuff like that in our reports.” Skye laughed, then asked, “Other than Homer, how’s it going?”
“Good.” Piper picked up her iPad and swiped the screen. “I’m on schedule for the reevals and the initials.” She snickered and Skye raised a brow. “The girl I was testing this morning was a hoot. After I explained why I was assessing her, she asked, ‘If you’re cross-eyed and dyslexic, does that cancel out your problem with reading?’”
When the two women stopped snickering, Skye asked, “Is the co-op psych checking on you every couple of days to answer any questions that have come up?”
“Absolutely.” Piper tapped her iPad and turned it toward Skye. “I’m keeping notes on all our conversations right here.”
“Great.” Skye was impressed by the young woman’s organizational abilities, which were an important skill in a school psych. “I’m glad you called me about the issue with Mrs. Brodsky. With something that’s district specific, it’s best to let me handle the matter.”
“I hated to bother you, but from everything you’ve told me, I figured it was best.” Piper grinned. “Better now than to come back to a lawsuit after your maternity leave is up.”
“Exactly.” Skye stood, moved toward the door, and waved goodbye. “See you in a couple of months.”
Skye’s next stop was the school’s multimedia center, a.k.a. the library. She wanted to stop by and say hello to her friend Trixie Frayne. The dismissal bell had rung while she and Piper were talking, so she wasn’t sure Trixie would be there, but it was the best place to start her search.
In addition to being the high school librarian, Trixie also cosponsored the school newspaper with Skye, coached the cheerleading squad, and had recently started a community service club to promote volunteerism among the teenagers. It exhausted Skye just to think of being responsible for all those extracurricular duties, but Trixie thrived on the constant vortex of activities.
As Skye approached the multimedia center’s entrance, an attractive woman in her mid- to late thirties brushed past her. She ignored Skye’s “excuse me” and marched away as if Skye hadn’t spoken.
The woman wore a blush-hued asymmetrical blazer with a plunging V-neck and perfectly tailored black wool slacks. Although Skye had drooled over that outfit in a fashion magazine, she’d known she’d never own it. The Cushnie et Ochs blazer alone had retailed at $1,700 and the largest size available was a six.
Turning to watch the woman sashay down the hall, her stilettos clicking on the worn linoleum, Skye wondered if she was a parent of one of their students. She certainly wasn’t a staff member dressed like that.
Once the woman was out of sight, Skye walked into the library. The room was lined with bookshelves, and the middle of the space contained an assortment of tables, chairs, and study carrels. There was no one around, but she could hear Mark Chesnutt singing “I Want My Baby Back” from the rear.
Skye shook her head. It seemed like after giving birth every song she heard had baby in the lyrics. Was God trying to tell her something, like she should stay home with the twins instead of returning to work? Or was it that all she could think about was babies and only noticed songs with that word in them? Shrugging, she headed toward the workroom.
Stepping inside, the comforting smell of coffee and homemade baked goods wafted over Skye. She and Trixie had spent many afternoons working on various school projects in this little space.
When Trixie spotted Skye, she sprang from her stool and grabbed Skye for a hug. “What are you doing here? You’re not coming back to work yet, are you?”
“Not a chance. I’m taking every single day they give me.” Skye returned her friend’s embrace and explained the mess that Homer had created.
“What a schmuck.” Trixie screwed up her pixie-like features.
She punched the Off button on the MP3 player parked in the dock on the counter. Mark Chestnut’s tenor was cut off mid-word as the speakers went silent.
“Don’t get me started on Homer.” Skye gestured to the papers spread across the worktable. “What’s all this? I thought you finished your book and were sending queries to agents. You aren’t tweaking it again, are you?”
Trixie had been working on a mystery novel for several years, and every time she declared it finished, the next day she started another round of revisions.
“Nope.” Trixie blanched and plopped back on her stool. “Are you saying you think I should?”
“Never.” Skye patted her friend’s shoulder. “It’s wonderful. Certainly better than anything that author who’s always on the television commercials has written in years. And he’s a huge mega-bestseller.”
“Yeah.” Trixie’s brown eyes sparkled. “It is good, isn’t it?”
“Brilliant. Now start sending out queries to agents,” Skye ordered as she took a seat on an empty stool and prepared for a nice chat.
“I’m working up the courage.” Trixie refused to meet Skye’s stare.
“Fine.” Skye wasn’t going to nag her friend. Instead, she asked, “How’s everything with you?”
Once they’d exchanged news on their families and talked a bit about the babies, Trixie brought Skye up-to-date on what was happening with the school newspaper. “Paige has been a huge help with the newspaper.”
When Frannie Ryan and her boyfriend, Justin Boward, had gone off to college, Skye had wondered if they’d ever find as good an editor as they had been. But Paige Vitale was a great writer and extremely good at encouraging the other students while improving their skills.
Skye paused. The mention of Paige Vitale reminded her of Homer bellowing for Opal to get a woman named Paige Myler on the phone. Another twinge of curiosity pinged through
Skye, but she resisted. She was trying to be less nosy and keep out of trouble more.
Turning her attention back to the conversation, Skye said, “Paige is a smart girl.”
“That she is.” Trixie beamed. “She’s also kind and thoughtful.”
She smiled, thinking of the dynamic senior. Like her idol, Trixie, Paige seemed to be involved in everything and enjoyed the hectic pace.
“I’m relieved that you have such a great student editor for the paper since I sort of left you in the lurch during my maternity leave.”
“I told you not to worry about that.” Trixie waved off Skye’s concern. “I’ve got everything under control, and Paige has come up with a terrific story angle. She’s investigating some of the con artists who have moved into the area and are taking advantage of the tornado victims. You would not believe what’s happening.”
“She should talk to Homer.” Skye tapped her fingers on the countertop. “He mentioned that he’d had a tornado-related problem.”
“That might not be a good idea.” Trixie suddenly became fascinated with the layers of her short chiffon skirt and refused to look at Skye.
“Why is that?” Skye narrowed her eyes. Her friend was up to something.
“Homer might have forbidden the newspaper from doing any stories on the tornado.”
“He can’t control content.” Skye wrinkled her nose. “Unless it’s indecent.”
“Which is why I’m ignoring him.” Trixie crossed her arms. “Since he never reads the student newspaper, so far, it hasn’t been a problem.”
“Better you than me, girlfriend,” Skye teased. “I have enough trouble with Sasquatch dealing with the special ed rules and regs without having to wrestle with him over the First Amendment.”
“I don’t wrestle with him.” Trixie made a haughty face. “I do what I darned well please and apologize if I get caught.” She shrugged. “At least that’s what I do since I got tenure a couple years ago.”
Die Me a River Page 2
