When her eyes landed on me, she jerked to an abrupt stop. “Wow. You’re so tan! Where’d you go?”
I rubbed self-consciously at my exposed forearm. “Curaçao. It’s an island a little north of Venezuela.”
Mya’s lips twisted wistfully. “I remember those days. No husband. No kids.”
“Did you do any traveling over break?” I asked.
“We traveled,” she confirmed, “but not the fun kind. Mike’s family’s in Vermont and mine’s in New Hampshire. It felt like we were on the road the entire vacation.”
I’d never been good at small-talk with my co-teachers, so I offered her a sympathetic smile instead.
“I hope there’s more coffee.” Another teacher, Scott Dzerick, who also taught second grade, entered the room.
I held up the well-used coffee pot. “I’m not sure you want it,” I warned. “I don’t think anyone’s cleaned the machine since before Christmas.”
“Forget academic freedom,” Scott remarked, “we should really be using our collective bargaining power to negotiate for better break room coffee.”
“Seconded,” Mya agreed. “Where’s that union rep?”
More of our colleagues wandered into the staff lounge as we got closer to the start of the day’s meetings. I caught up with a few other teacher friends and swapped holiday stories, before chatter died down when our principal entered the room.
Grace Santos wasn’t much older than me. Smart, pretty, and young, she had rocketed up the hierarchy of Boston Public Schools despite being a relative newcomer compared to other principals in the district. I envied her talent, but didn’t envy her job. The teachers on staff could be catty and gossipy, not much more mature than the students we taught. She also had to deal with the school district’s superintendent, the PTA, and the school board, all of whom tended to have varying priorities. All I had to do was worry about my classroom.
“First off,” Grace began when she had the room’s attention, “I want to welcome everyone back. I hope you all had a happy holiday with friends and loved ones. Second, I want to make you aware of a few things that happened over break. Most pressing, the boiler broke over the holiday.”
A collective, concerned murmur rippled across the staff until Grace waved for the group’s silence. “There was some water damage in the basement, but luckily the facilities manager caught it before it could spread to other areas. The bad news, however, is we haven’t seen the worst of winter yet, which means we had to get a brand new boiler.”
“How much did that cost?” The question came from one of the older, tenured teachers.
Grace inhaled. “The majority of the HVAC equipment in the building has exceeded its expected operational life. The boiler itself was close to $300,000, but that’s just maintenance. Eventually the entire system is going to need to be replaced.”
“Time to organize a bake sale,” someone joked.
Grace raised her voice to avoid losing control of the meeting. “We’ve seen tough times before, and this certainly won’t be the last. I’m asking everyone to tighten his or her belts a little more as we try to make this right with the operating budget. I’ll give you more updates as I receive them.” She clapped her hands together to indicate she’d come to the end of her announcements. “That’s it for now. Again, welcome back. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help the new semester start off smoothly.”
The meeting came to a quick conclusion, leaving us with the rest of the day to get our classrooms set up for spring semester.
“Go, Team. Go,” I overheard a third grade teacher quietly snicker to another colleague on their way out of the teacher’s lounge.
I had bulletin boards to re-design and new student nameplates to create, but I lingered behind in the break room until only Grace and I remained. I considered my principal to be a friend as well as my boss. Something told me it was more than the cost of a boiler that weighed on her mind.
I leaned against a large worktable in the center of the room. “How bad is it?” I asked.
Grace filled a coffee cup with the burned leftovers in the coffeepot. “It’s bad.” She sighed deeply. “The operating budget got slashed again.”
My eyebrows raised in surprise. “Over Christmas?”
“No. Last July.” Grace made a pained face. “I didn’t tell anyone; I didn’t want you to worry about your jobs. I thought everything would work out if we just kept tightening our belts. But now with this unexpected HVAC fix, I don’t know how we’re going to keep the school afloat until June.”
“Afloat?” I echoed. “You mean like ending the school year early?”
“You’ll all get paid,” she promised. “Your salaries are guaranteed. But I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to pay to keep the lights on in this place.”
My thoughts raced from this new information. “Can’t we get an emergency grant from the school district? Certainly they’re not going to punish us for a broken boiler system. That’s something that can’t be anticipated.”
“The district is budget-challenged, too. The cuts came all the way from Beacon Hill.” Grace sighed again, and I recognized the signs of stress in her body language.
“You’re really worried,” I observed, my own anxiety beginning to heighten.
Grace shut her eyes. “It may not be a short-term crisis. There’s talk we may not be around next fall.”
“You’re kidding!” I squeaked.
“Oh, I wish that I were. You know how it is.” She waved her hands in frustration. “Declining test scores correlating with a plummeting tax base. And charter schools seem like the new, shiny solution for a legislative branch too lazy to put in the real work of fixing a broken educational system.”
I didn’t have words. Grace’s revelation had left me numb and gutted.
Grace didn’t bother drinking the coffee in her cup. She dumped the remaining liquid down the sink. “Do me a favor, Mercy? Don’t tell anyone?” she requested. “I’ve already told you too much, but I had to tell someone. This has been sitting on my chest for far too long.”
I nodded, my features serious. “Of course. Not a word. You can trust me. And if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
Grace gave my words a half-hearted smile. “Know anybody with an extra boiler?”
+ + +
I made eye contact and smiled at the young man standing behind the cash register at the liquor store. Massachusetts had plenty of quirks, and one of which was a leftover blue law that restricted where alcohol was available for sale. In the Midwest I could buy a gallon of milk and a bottle of bourbon at the same time, but since relocating to New England after college, I’d gotten used to making a trip to the neighborhood packie if I wanted a bottle of wine with dinner.
Because New Years Eve was only a day away, the front of the liquor store was cluttered with kiosks stacked high with bottles of champagne. But champagne was for celebrating, so I kept walking. I didn’t have much to be excited about, let alone to celebrate. I thought I might spend the next few days updating my résumé and tweaking my cover letter. My conversation with Grace hadn’t left me with much hope that I’d have a school to come back to after summer break, if we even lasted until June at all.
I walked down one of the store’s narrow aisles, turning my shoulders this way and that, to pass by some of the store’s other patrons. Their tired faces, like my own, suggested they’d had a rough day and were content to slide into the new year with little to no fanfare.
I scanned the amber-colored offerings on a top shelf. The store wasn’t very big and hard liquor options were limited to only a few varieties of each. The only reasonably priced brand was nearly sold out and I had to stand on my tiptoes to try to reach the elusive bottle. My fingertips brushed against the rectangular bottle, which only succeeded in pushing the bottle farther back on the shelf.
I exhaled through my nose. “Of course,” I mumbled.
A hand brushed against the small of my back. “Let me get that for you
.”
I felt, rather than saw, the individual use my back to steady themselves as they reached high for the bottle that had been just beyond my reach.
My head dropped and my eyes shuttered shut when my nose was assailed with the scent of sunscreen. In my mind’s eye, I pictured Kate in her faded red swim shorts and a ridiculous flowered shirt. I hadn’t thought about her or Curaçao since being back to Boston—not unless you counted my morning shower when I’d deeply inhaled the scent of my coconut shampoo or during my commute when I’d been squeezed between obnoxious businessmen wearing equally obnoxious backpacks that they wielded like oversized turtles.
When I felt the cool glass of the liquor bottle being pressed into my hands, I finally opened my eyes to thank my helper. But rather than being able to express my gratitude, the words got caught in the back of my throat.
Her silver blonde hair was covered by a black knit cap; she’d traded in her Hawaiian shirt for a zip-up hoodie and leather jacket; and the red board shorts had been replaced with dark skinny jeans. The outfit was totally off, but Kate Emerson was definitely in my neighborhood liquor store.
A slow smile spread across her face while I remained tongue-tied. “Hey, roomie.”
Her tone and features appeared unaffected as if we randomly ran into each other all the time.
“Kate!” I exclaimed. “I hardly recognized you in clothes. I-I mean long pants. I’ve only ever seen you in shorts,” I stuttered.
I fanned at my face, feeling the blush forming on my cheeks. When had someone turned up the store’s heat?
“I knew what you meant.”
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out the question with far less elegance than I liked.
She gestured to an adjacent aisle. “Getting a six pack. This place has a great selection of local beers.”
“I meant in Boston. What are you doing in New England?”
She arched a white-blonde eyebrow. “I’m not stalking you, if that’s what you mean.”
“Of course not,” I hastily corrected, although the idea had begun to cross my overly active mind.
“My family’s from the area,” she reminded me. “We get together every year for New Years.”
“Oh. That sounds like a nice tradition.”
Her lips twisted into a smirk. “I’m wearing full-length pants, Mercy. It’s really not that great.”
I smiled—a real smile—not the nervous or forced grin that usually appeared when I made small-talk with acquaintances.
I rocked back on my heels. “This is quite the coincidence.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Oh! You think I’m stalking you?” I chuckled.
“More like Fate wanted us to bump into each other again.”
I made an unconvinced noise.
Kate abruptly tugged off her skullcap and ruffled her fingers through her short hair. The platinum strands somehow managed to look perfect even after being suffocated beneath the knit hat.
“Got any weekend plans?” she asked.
I held up the bottle of whiskey she’d retrieved for me. “Ringing in the New Year with my good friend, Jack.”
She smiled, one corner of her mouth lifting. “I hear Mr. Daniels knows how to party.”
“I normally stay away from the hard stuff,” I explained, “but I’ve had a bear of a day.”
Her smile evened out. “What happened?”
I exhaled. “The boiler system at my school unexpectedly had to be replaced over winter break. We don’t have money for pencils and crayons, let alone a new boiler. And here I am, having spent all this cash on an exotic vacation when my principal doesn’t even know if we’ll have the money to stay open through the rest of the school year.”
Kate cringed and appeared physically uncomfortable; I instantly regretted being so transparent.
“I’m sorry,” I quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to unload on you.”
“It’s okay.”
“I just found out, so it’s fresh on my mind,” I continued to apologize.
“Why don’t you drop by my parents’ house for dinner tomorrow?” Kate offered. “Free food and booze. It might take your mind off of it?”
“Crash your family reunion?” I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”
“It’ll be a laugh. Come on,” she cajoled.
“You and I must have very different opinions of what’s fun.”
I didn’t like spending time with my own family, let alone one I’d never met before.
Kate arched a playful eyebrow. “You really don’t want to see me again?”
Her smile was disarming. If possible, she had even more charm on the mainland than she had back on the island.
“Come over to my parents’ house,” she continued to persuade. “Pretty please?” She clasped her hands together. “You’d be doing me a huge favor.”
My eyes settled on her tan, slender fingers.
“O-okay,” I eventually relented.
Kate smiled triumphantly. “Lemme see your phone.”
I didn’t ask why, but instead pulled my cell phone from my purse and forfeited it to her. I waited while she tapped her fingers against the phone’s screen, which was out of my view. She could have been doing anything—emailing my principal, prank texting Racy, taking secret selfies of her beautiful face.
After a few moments, she returned my phone. When the screen flashed awake, I discovered that my maps program was open; she’d dropped a pin in a location a few miles north of the city.
“That’s my parents’ address,” she told me. “Dinner’s at 6:00 p.m.”
My phone rang as I stepped outside. I half expected to see an unknown number—potentially Kate making sure I was serious about coming to dinner—but Racy’s face appeared on my cell phone screen instead.
“Hey!” she greeted when I answered the call. “It’s your lucky day. My company got us tickets for dinner at Top of the Hub on New Years Eve, and you get to be my plus one.”
The excitement in my friend’s voice was palpable. Located at the top of one of Boston’s tallest skyscrapers, the restaurant would have offered an amazing viewing of the holiday’s fireworks. Tickets probably went for $250 a head.
I looked back at the liquor store as if expecting to see Kate through the plate glass windows. But the day was too sunny to see any of the activity or the individuals inside.
“Oh, uh, I kind of already have plans,” I revealed.
“Bethany?” she guessed.
“No. Kate invited me to her parents’ place.”
“Kate.” Racy paused. “Do I know her?”
“From Curaçao. The woman you bought the coconut from.”
“Are you serious?” Racy squeaked. “You’re going back to the island without me?”
“No, no,” I stopped her complaint. “Her family apparently lives on the North Shore. I just ran into her at the liquor store, and she invited me to dinner. Small world, right?”
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. You’re having dinner with that girl from the island. What is she doing in Boston?”
“I told you,” I said as I crossed a busy intersection in the direction of my apartment building, “she’s visiting family.”
“Are you sure? Is that what she told you? Is she actually visiting you? Did she follow you from Curaçao?” Racy accused. “Are you sure she’s not trying to single-white-female you? Maybe you shouldn’t go to this so-called dinner,” she decided for me.
“It’s fine.” I lowered my voice and cupped my hand over the bottom half of my phone. “We slept together,” I confessed in a whisper.
“Just now?!” Racy yelled.
“No, on the island.”
“You slut!”
“Watch it—you’re the last person to slut-shame me,” I censured.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Racy apologized. “You’re right. But why am I just hearing about this now?”
“Because it wa
s a disaster!” I lamented. “I couldn’t get her off, and it was completely embarrassing. It was like being in high school all over again and not knowing how body parts work.”
“Ouch. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t bother telling her about the much more satisfactory one-sided sex outside of the tiki bar on Christmas. She had enough ammunition on me.
“I can’t believe you’re ditching me for the prospect of more bad sex,” Racy complained.
“I’m not going to sleep with her,” I insisted with probably too much vehemence.
“I would—she’s wicked hot.”
“Then why don’t you have dinner with her family,” I huffed.
“Oh man, dinner with her family—to be a fly on that wall,” Racy chuckled. “It’s all moving so fast. Did you even meet Bethany’s family?”
“It’s not like that,” I insisted. “It was a totally spontaneous invite, which is totally like her. I don’t think she’s ever made a solid plan in her life. She wakes up each morning and decides if she wants to go to work that day and spends the rest of her time at the tiki bar making fun of the tourists.”
“Sounds like she’s got it all figured out,” Racy observed.
“I’m not going,” I abruptly decided. “It’s too weird.”
“Oh, you’re going,” Racy insisted. “And then you’re going to meet up with me later at Top of the Hub, and we’re going to drink free champagne, and you’re going to tell me all about dinner. Take notes. I expect lots of details.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A little under an hour’s drive north of Boston was the city of Gloucester, Massachusetts. The wooden welcome sign at the rotary circle into town boasted that it was the country’s oldest seaport. Gloucester continued to function as a working fishing town, but was also popular with tourists because of its small-town New England charm and impressive ocean views. The North Shore was far enough away from Boston that I didn’t often make the trip, but the beaches rivaled any in New England and you’d be hard pressed to find fresher seafood.
Sunscreen & Coconuts Page 14
