Once Upon a Thanksgiving

by Holly Jacobs

  "Do you have a better suggestion?" he asked.

  She seemed to think a moment, then shook her head. "No."

  "Then let's give mine a try."

  "You're sure you're up to three boys and painting supplies?"

  Harry nodded, feeling a bit less sure than he was pretending to be in the face of her doubt.

  "Well, then, all right. Uh, are you sure you don't want to yell at me about how parents today don't understand the definition of the word discipline, and tell me how in your day your parents made you go out to the willow tree in the backyard and cut a switch before I go? That was Tooly's favorite parting refrain."

  He laughed. "My parents were pacifists through and through. No matter what kind of hijinks I came up with when I was young, they never spanked me. They were united in their attempts to tame me, but there was no physical punishment, so I guess I grew up without that kind of bloodlust." Harry's parents' marriage ended abruptly the year he entered seventh grade when they'd divorced. He'd asked around and learned Samantha and her husband divorced last year. Maybe that's why he felt so much empathy for her boys.

  "I did manage my share of trouble," he assured Ms. Williams, "a lot of which happened right here at Erie Elementary."

  "Harry. . .Harry Remington?" Ms. Williams mused. "When you introduced yourself I thought it might be the same Harry that was in Miss Ross's seventh-grade class."

  He must have looked confused because she smiled and added, "I was Samantha Burger then, in Miss Wagner's fifth grade."

  Sami Burger? Harry remembered a girl with absurdly long hair that she wore in two dark braids. "Sami?"

  "It's Samantha these days, or even Sam. Only my mom calls me Sami, and only when she's trying to put me in my place."

  For the first time, her expression was genuinely warm. "Welcome home, Harry. You moved away right after that, didn't you?"

  "Right about that time. Mom and I went to stay with my grandparents in Ohio, so there would be someone to watch me while she went back to work."

  This happened a month after his father had packed a moving van and left their house on Marvin Avenue. Harry remembered that the drive to Columbus lasted forever. In retrospect, he knew it was only a little more than four hours, but for a twelve-year-old boy who was leaving the only home he'd ever known, that drive had gone on interminably.

  "I'm sorry we met again because of the boys misbehaving," she said, deftly bringing their conversation back to the matter at hand.

  "I've gone through their files and it seems their problems started last year. They'd never been to the principal's office before that."

  "My husband left us. Not just me, us. All of us. It's taken its toll on the kids, the boys especially. I think Stella's so young it hasn't hit her as hard, or maybe it's that they're boys and need their father and feel the lack more intensely. I don't know. But you're right, their frequent visits to the principal's office started after he left."

  "I'd like to suggest something. Some parents take offense, but. . ." He paused. "I could have our school counselor talk to them. We have one who rotates in, one day a week. It might help to hear someone else say it's not their fault. I'm not saying you haven't handled it well, or that—"

  She smiled as she interrupted him. "Harry, I'm not a parent who takes offense when someone truly wants to help my boys. Principal Tooly didn't care why the boys were acting up in school and accused me of making excuses if I tried to explain. Maybe I was making excuses, but losing your father is a pretty good excuse, in my opinion."

  Harry nodded, knowing the truth of that statement better than Samantha could understand. "Yes, it is, but we do have to try to stem the tide. So you don't mind if they talk to the counselor?"

  "That would be great. I want to help them through this. I can love them and set firm rules, but I can't make their dad come back to us. I can't even get him to agree to regular visitation. Last weekend was the first time he'd seen them in months."

  "I'm sorry, Sami. . .Samantha. Sorry for you, for them. Relationships are hel—" He searched for a more diplomatic word and finally said, "Hard."

  "Bad breakup, too?" she asked.

  "We're not here to talk about me, but rather your boys." He wanted to kick himself for the abruptness of his response because Samantha's expression became guarded again. "Sorry. It was bad and I'm obviously still not quite over it."

  She accepted his apology with a nod. "Relationships aren't just hard, they're hell." She stood. "It was nice seeing you again, Harry. I'm glad you're here at Erie Elementary."

  He stood, as well. "At least until December. So we're on for Saturday, painting my office? Drop them off about eight?"

  "I'm willing to try anything that will get them to toe the line. They'll be here, with painting clothes on. I just hope you know what you're doing."

  "So do I," he said with a laugh.

  She started toward the door, then stopped and turned around. "Thanks for taking the time to try to understand why the boys have had some problems, rather than just throwing the book at them."

  "That's my job, Sami. Hopefully, with the two of us working together on this, we can help the boys find their way."

  "I'd like that. I really would. It breaks my heart seeing them suffer because Phillip and I couldn't make a go of it. I've reassured them that both of us still love them, even if their father and I don't love each other anymore. But the fact their father's all but disappeared from their lives makes it hard for them to believe any of it."

  "Even if he was around every day, it would still be hard. Kids are. . . What's a good word?" He paused and searched for the right description. "Self-centered maybe? They're so busy growing up, so focused on themselves, that they see the world as it affects them and they tend to personally claim all the credit or the blame. Your husband leaving has devastated them, and I'm sure they feel, no matter what you say, that his going was their fault. Maybe with a few other adults letting them know that it wasn't, they'll finally start to believe it. It just might take a while."

  Harry knew it had taken a long time for him to get over feeling guilty about his parents' breakup. But eventually he did. It helped that both his mom and dad had gone on to find new, very happy relationships, and that they'd eventually become friends.

  "And maybe if the boys can learn to believe it wasn't their fault their behavior at school will improve?"

  Harry nodded. "We can hope." He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. . .Just the smallest gesture of comfort.

  She seemed startled by his touch and froze for a moment. He dropped his hand, and she seemed to give herself a small shake, then as if nothing had happened said, "Thank you for really caring about my boys, Harry."

  "My pleasure. Remember, I'm here, anytime if you need me."

  "Thanks. It really was good seeing you again. You were a hero to all us younger kids. That time you put For Sale signs on all the teachers' lawns. . ." She chuckled.

  "I think it would be a good idea if you kept my old escapades between you and me. I can't imagine hearing about that one would endear the new principal to any of the teachers."

  "And my boys don't need any new ideas. You could give them a lot." She glanced at her watch. "I'd better run. I've got to meet with Mrs. Tarbot about the Thanksgiving Pageant, then I have to get back to work."

  "Thanks for coming in, Sami."

  "Thank you." She hurried down the hall.

  Harry watched her head for the third-graders' classroom. Little Sami Burger. Samantha Williams.

  She'd certainly grown up well.

  The thought surprised him. It was the first time in months that he'd looked at a woman with that kind of appreciation. Since his breakup last spring, he hadn't even thought about dating. But looking at Samantha Williams, the idea was appealing.

  He was only here for a few months while he finished his degree. This interim job was actually a godsend because it didn't leave him time to think about the past. There wasn't time to second-guess his decisions.

&
nbsp; The move was obviously the right one, if he was thinking about asking a woman out. As long as both he and Samantha were clear that he was only here until the end of the year, there couldn't be any harm.

  Maybe he'd ask her Saturday, after he spent the morning with her boys.

  He looked around the office.

  Yes, he couldn't wait until Saturday. He suspected it had less to do with getting his office in order, and more to do with seeing Sami Burger again.

  SAMANTHA CHECKED HER watch that Saturday and realized it was ten to one. "Ready to pick up the boys, Stella?"

  Stella was engrossed in some television show. Samantha knew it was rare that her youngest had the TV to herself. Generally the three boys, so close in ages and tastes, banded together and out-voted Stella's viewing choices.

  Eight years old and gangly, with two long braids draped down her back, Stella was cuddled with Grunge in one of the recliners. "Do we have to go right now? The show's over in ten minutes."

  "We can wait that long, but you're going to have to hurry up and get ready if we want to be there in time. And I'm pretty sure after a morning with the boys, Principal Remington will appreciate us not being late."

  "Okay."

  Samantha had spent her week trying to analyze what had happened in Harry's office when he touched her. It was a friendly pat on the shoulder, meant to be comforting. She knew that. But her reaction to it had been anything but comforting. It had disturbed her.

  When Harry touched her she felt. . . She simply felt.

  That's as close to an explanation as she'd come.

  It was as if since Phillip left her, she'd shut down. Maybe it was even longer than that. She'd funneled everything into her kids, into work. She'd tried to forget that there was more.

  That one touch reminded her.

  She realized she was standing in the living room, ruminating again.

  Whatever Harry's friendly gesture had awakened in her, it could simply go back to sleep, because Samantha didn't have time for it.

  She pushed away the thought, and concentrated on all she had to do. In the kitchen, she finished putting away the last of the groceries. Every other weekend, she worked Saturday mornings at the office. This was one of her weekends off. And since the boys were occupied, she'd hurried and got as many of her chores done first, so she could take the rest of the time this afternoon and relax with the kids, guilt free.

  She did a 360.

  Everything was finished in the kitchen, so Samantha dashed down to the basement, threw the wet clothes into the drier, started another load in the washer, and on her way upstairs, grabbed a can of cat food from the shelf.

  She set Grunge's dinner on the counter, and called, "Stella?"

  "Coming." Her daughter sprinted into the kitchen, Grunge still in her arms. "Can Grunge come pick up the boys? He likes going for rides."

  Having experienced the cat in the car before, Samantha wasn't sure likes was the correct word. Abhors seemed closer to the mark. Rather than trying to reason with Stella, she simply said, "No. Remember what happened last week when you took him to your father's?"

  "Dad's new dog is mean, and so's Lois." Stella dropped the cat and clapped a hand over her mouth.

  It didn't take a detective to immediately realize that Stella had been told not to mention Lois, which meant that Lois was the new woman in Phillip's life.

  "Honey, it's okay. You're not supposed to keep secrets from your mother. Not ever."

  "Daddy said you might be sad if you knew he had a roommate."

  Lois was living with Phillip? That's why he finally moved out of an apartment and into a house?

  Sam waited for the pain of knowing she'd been replaced.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  It didn't come.

  She'd known that Phillip had dated during the last year. Supposed mutual friends felt it their duty to keep her informed on all his activities no matter how many times Samantha told them she didn't want to know.

  Phillip had made his position perfectly clear when, bags in hand, he told her it was over, that there was no hope of reconciliation. The declaration had taken Samantha by complete surprise. She'd known things were bad, but not that bad.

  In retrospect, she should have.

  Phillip had spent six months prior to leaving spending more and more nights working overtime at the office. Frequently sleeping there.

  Yes, she'd seen the writing on the wall. She'd even suggested marriage counseling, but he'd been adamantly opposed. So his request for a quick divorce shouldn't have been a shock, but it had been. Now, a year later, the news that he was living with another woman wasn't.

  When Phillip had left, she hadn't thought she'd ever recover, but she had. Well, mostly.

  "Stella, honey, you can always tell me anything. Even if it might hurt me, you should tell me. Understand?"

  "That's what Lois said to Daddy. That I couldn't keep his secrets from you."

  "Well, Lois sounds like a very smart lady. I hope she makes your daddy happy. Speaking of happy, I think the boys'll be happy to see us. Let's go."

  "The principal probably spent all day yelling at them." There was a combination of pity and sisterly glee at the thought of someone yelling at her brothers.

  "I'm sure he didn't yell at them. Mr. Remington doesn't strike me as a yeller."

  Stella gave her mother a look that said she didn't quite believe her. "But Mom, it's the boys."

  Rather than debate the yellability of Stella's brothers with her, Samantha loaded her daughter, sans the cat, into the car. They drove the five minutes to Erie Elementary.

  Samantha expected to see her three paint-spattered sons waiting on the steps. Instead, she found Stan, Seton and Shane playing a game of basketball with Harry, all of them sweaty looking, despite the mere sixty-degree day.

  Momentarily, she flashed to that smallest of gestures, that pat on her shoulder Harry had given her. The feeling of awakening she'd had then jumped again. This was ridiculous. Samantha ignored the feeling and focused on her sons.

  At first, she thought it was three against one, but then she saw that Shane was on Harry's team and enjoying the fact that for once he had an advantage over his two older brothers.

  Harry passed the ball to Shane, then blocked both Stan and Seton while Shane made the basket.

  Samantha starting clapping while Stella whooped her delight.

  Harry and the boys hurried over, sweaty and smiling.

  "So is the office done?" Samantha asked.

  The boys started talking over one another. She caught bits and pieces of their sentences. "Brown paint. . ."

  "Boxes. . ."

  "Nailing. . ."

  "Want to see?" Harry asked.

  "Sure," Samantha agreed and looked at her kids, expecting them to come along and show her their morning's work.

  "We did it, so we've already seen it," Stan said. "We're gonna play some more ball." Before she could ask, he added, "Me and Stella against Shane and Seton."

  Samantha found herself following Harry into the dark, quiet school. "So, really, how'd it go?"

  He raked a hand through his hair, making it stand up a bit, reminding her of when he was younger and hadn't learned to tame his thick wild brown mane yet. "They were great. A huge help."

  "Really?" She caught the tone in her voice and hastened to add, "It's not that I doubt my kids are great, but I'm biased. And to be honest, I've never had anyone in charge of a detention tell me they were great. As a matter of fact, they have a whole different definition for my boys."

  "There's a first for everything, and mine was an accurate description."

  His office door was open. She smelled the clean, sweet scent of paint before she saw the results.

  "Oh, wow, Harry, it's wonderful." She stood a moment and took it all in.

  The walls were a rich brown, the shelves were filled with books and mementoes. There were even pictures and certificates on the wall. "How did you manage to hang those alrea
dy?"

  "We went with a quick-drying paint and that was our first project. Then we unpacked boxes, and by the time we were done, the paint was dry enough to hang the pictures."

  "Oh. It doesn't look like the same office I saw on Tuesday. It suits you now."

  It did. The warm, earthy tone fit Harry to a T. Speaking of fitting to Ts, Harry's T-shirt, which proudly proclaimed Principal. . .A Prince of a Pal, and showed a balding, crown-wearing cartoon figure carrying a school book, fit him in such a way that left Samantha with little doubt that Harry spent time at the gym.

  A lot of time.

  Her throat felt a bit dry and she swallowed convulsively.

  Harry caught her looking at his now paint-splattered T-shirt. "A gift."

  It took her a minute to realize he was referring to the T-shirt. She nodded, not sure what to say.

  Harry waited a moment, and obviously assumed the nod would be her only response. "And you're right. I definitely feel more comfortable in a well-ordered space. The boys were a big help."

  Samantha felt as if she'd recovered some of her wits, but was careful not to look at his chest. Instead, she spun a bit and said, "I'm glad it went well. They looked like they enjoyed this detention. You better be careful of that."

  "They miss your husband. They talked a lot about seeing him last weekend."

  She knew her kids were hurting, just as she knew there wasn't anything she could do about it, other than keep encouraging Phillip to take some interest.

  "I wasn't prying," he assured her.

  She looked up. "I didn't think you were. I appreciate that you listened to them. It's something Tooly never did."

  "Well, I hope you appreciate it enough to overlook the fact I've invited the boys, invited all of you, out to lunch."

  "Oh, Harry, you don't have to do—"

  "Sami, the boys worked their butts off. This was more than just sitting in a classroom for an hour and doing some homework. They really worked. I want to say thank you. And everyone knows that pizza tastes better with company."

  "Do they now?" she asked with a smile.

  "Have you ever had a solo pizza?" He grimaced. "I don't recommend it."