My Little Rock Airman

by Brittany Fichter

  Want more from your stories?

  Sign up for a free no-spam newsletter and free short stories, exclusive secret chapters, and sneak peeks at books before they’re published . . . all for free.

  Details at the end of this book.

  To Maria L.

  Ever since I can remember, I’ve thought you were one of the kindest, most genuine people I’ve ever met. Basically, you set the standard for being the military wife I always dreamed of being.

  You were the one responsible for hooking me on Indelible Grace music. You invited me into your home and entrusted me with your precious children, and you brought me the most practical wedding gift in the history of man. (And yes, the hubby does borrow the tools from time to time, just as you predicted.) But most of all, you’ve remained faithful to God through thick and thin.

  Basically, I still want to be like you when I grow up. Thank you for remaining such a true friend all these years.

  My Little Rock Airman

  My Air Force Fairy Tale Book #1

  Brittany Fichter

  Contents

  1. Houston, We Are a Go

  2. A Little Longer

  3. Interrogation Camp

  4. Playing Hero

  5. We’d Hoped

  6. Got to Give

  7. Why I Don’t

  8. What-Ifs

  9. Jerk

  10. Games

  11. Hope

  12. Buy the Book

  13. Fun

  14. Why

  15. Thank You

  16. Pro Bono

  17. Jade

  18. Doubts

  19. Coward

  20. Deal

  21. Colorado

  22. Payment

  23. Your Fault

  24. Complicated

  25. What I Wanted

  26. Not a Date

  27. I Don’t Mind

  28. My Life

  29. Go for It

  30. Dues

  31. So Much

  32. Decisions

  33. Dare

  34. The Missing Man

  35. Mistakes

  36. All I Need

  37. That, Too

  38. Another Cup

  39. Live

  40. All I Ask

  41. I See

  42. Fight

  43. Warning

  44. Them

  45. Derrick, you pig-faced jerk…

  46. I Know

  47. The Long Haul

  48. Happily Ever After

  Also by Brittany Fichter

  About the Author

  Copyright

  1

  Houston, We Are a Go

  Jessie

  “Miss Nickleby, if I don’t clean my room, will the tornado come gobble my house up like a cookie?” Nia stared up at me as she hugged her scrawny little legs to her chest.

  “Like a cookie?” I echoed.

  “Yeah.” The little girl nodded. “My mom says a tornado came through my room because I didn’t clean it up.”

  “My mom says the same thing!” the boy behind her piped. Several other students nodded.

  “Oh, I see what you mean.” I closed the book, using my thumb as a bookmark. “No, honey. That’s just an expression. Real tornadoes don’t happen in people’s rooms. They’re far too big. Remember,” I wriggled my eyebrows at my kindergarteners and opened the book to point at one of the pictures inside, “tornadoes can’t think. They’re just bunches of water, heat, and wind all bundled together. So they can’t punish you for not cleaning your rooms.”

  “My cat likes to hide under my bed when I don’t clean my room,” Elsie announced.

  “My dog’s name is Carlton,” one of the boys called, which, of course, led to a chorus of pet-related declarations.

  “I don’t like dogs.”

  “But dogs are the best.”

  “I have a cat. But I want a dinosaur instead!”

  I sighed and looked back down at the picture book. Well, halfway through was better than yesterday, when the class had lasted two whole pages before breaking into incomprehensible, random babble. But before I could bemoan the rocky ending of my last science unit, I realized four of the faces that should have been staring up at me weren’t there at all. Having one of these boys missing at all spelled trouble. Missing four of them was incomprehensible. Especially on the last day of school.

  I had just stood to look in earnest when I spotted them behind the miniature bookshelf in the math corner.

  “Everyone, please go back to your tables and color the pictures I left for you on our weather unit. Blue shirts first.” As soon as the children were more or less engaged, I approached the four boys standing in the corner, who were still giggling to themselves.

  “May I ask what you’re all doing?”

  They all whipped around, looking terrified and then sheepish in turn.

  “Well?” I pressed.

  Finally, D’ante answered, though he stared at the ground the entire time.

  “We put sand from the sandbox in our pants.”

  This should have been a shock. But, to my dismay, I realized it wasn’t. “So…” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Would you like to explain to me why you put sand in your pants?” On the last day of school? I wanted to add.

  Joshua was crying by now, and D’ante at least had the sense to look embarrassed, but Alexander and Jose were still snickering at each other. And sure enough, below each of them sat a huge pile of sand all over the carpet I had just vacuumed. Twice.

  “Jose said he could fit more in his underwear than any of us.” Alexander grinned. “So we decided to see if he was right.”

  “One, two, three! Eyes on me!”

  I looked up to see Madison waltz into the room, and I silently blessed my friend as the children chanted back, “One, two! Eyes on you!”

  “Start putting away your centers and stand at your tables. When I call your shirt color, come sit down on your spot on the carpet.” Madison called, shooing a few wandering kindergarteners back to their tables. “Show me how fast you can do it! Go! And you four.” She came to stand beside me, crossing her arms and giving the four boys the stink-eye. “You’ll be in first grade next year, and then I’ll have you in my classroom.” She leaned down and glowered at Jose and Alexander, who were still poking one another and giggling. They stopped, however, when she was inches away, giving them her most withering look. “And if you do something like this again, I’ll have your parents here so fast you won’t know what happened. Understand?”

  Three of the boys nodded, but Jose piped, “My dad’s deployed. You can’t call him!”

  Madison gave him her most evil grin, and I nearly laughed as he took a step back. “Just watch me,” she whispered.

  His smile disappeared, and his eyes grew to the size of sand dollars.

  Madison turned to the others. “Now go back to your tables until I call you.”

  “You,” I said as the boys scampered off, “are a lifesaver.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Madison hissed. “You don’t do centers on the last day of school!”

  “But—”

  “Honey, this may be your first rodeo, but believe me, the last day of school is not for learning. It’s for the kids to junk out on movies while you clean your little heart out so you can check out of your classroom as fast as possible.” Madison grabbed the broom and dustpan from the corner and began to sweep as though she swept an entire bin of sand off the carpet every day. But then, she’d been teaching for longer than me, so she probably had.

  “They’ve watched movies twice this week,” I protested weakly. “I didn’t want to give them a third one.”

  “If you want to keep them busy, have them throw away markers that do
n’t work, or have contests to see who can find the most glue stick caps. But good grief! Don’t give them anything that they can twist into a weapon to use against you.” She looked up at the children, half of whom were under or on top of the tables.

  “All right,” I called, “I want the red shirts to go to the carpet.”

  “What movies do you have?”

  I went to my desk and grabbed three DVDs I’d picked up at the library. Madison cringed when I held them out.

  “Really?” She shook her head. “They didn’t have a single cartoon?”

  “Weather was our last science unit.” I sniffed. “It’s not going to kill them to have their lessons reinforced.”

  “So you picked tornadoes.”

  “Hey, these things are dangerous.”

  Madison rolled her eyes, but I was undeterred.

  “You might not realize that because you’ve lived here all your life. But for us newbs…” I poked my friend with the DVD case, “these are the best safety videos for kids that I’ve ever seen.”

  “You’ve lived here since high school. You’re not a newb.”

  “I don’t watch tornadoes from my porch with a glass of sweet tea. I’m hiding in the basement. With all the sane people.”

  Madison paused then grinned. “You’re right. You’re a newb.” She went back to sweeping, and I turned on the movie then jumped into stuffing piles of paper into the kids’ take-home folders.

  Once the children were all, more or less, seated on the carpet and watching the movie, Madison finished sweeping then helped me take posters off the walls and stack the chairs in record time. Finally, I was able to step back and breathe a sigh of relief. All but one of the bulletin boards were clear of everything, even their background cloth, and the crayon trays were finally empty. Cleaning the classroom might actually get done.

  “Do you think I could leave this up over the summer?” I stared up at my beautiful butcher paper castle, the one that stretched from the floor to the ceiling with little windows all over it to showcase student artwork. Its pink and blues were a bit faded, but I still thought the nine-foot “monstrosity” (as Sam Newman called it) was pretty.

  “I wouldn’t.” Madison grimaced at it. “If they decide to change your classroom mid-summer, you’ll have to beat whoever gets the room back next to take it down. And believe me, you’re not going to be in a hurry to end your summer break that way.”

  I sighed a little, but she was right. So with a heavy heart, I took the last piece of my first year of teaching off the wall.

  We were struggling to move the broken overhead cart as the bell signaled the final fifteen minutes of the day.

  “Where are your kids?” I asked as we shoved the cart into the corner.

  “DeBaux’s got them in her room watching a movie. I thought you might need help, and she volunteered to take them. Hey, before I go,” Madison glanced back at the clock, “there’s someone I want you to meet.” Her blue eyes danced.

  “So that’s what this was about.” I put my hands on my hips. “I told you, I’m not going on any more of your double dates.”

  The bell rang again, and Madison’s grin just grew. She arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Don’t think you’re being saved by the bell. I’ll swing by to finish this conversation after my kids are all gone.”

  I waved dismissively at my friend, but after she left, I didn’t have time to mull. There were backpacks to hand out, dozens of stacks of papers, art projects, and supplies to send home, and a final goodbye to say to my kinderbabies before seeing them again next fall.

  That part was harder than I’d expected it to be. My eyes stung as I smiled at each of my students as they gave me goodbye hugs. Even Jose, who had seemed to think it his sole purpose to make me gray at the ripe old age of twenty-three, cried and clung to my legs, his mother trying desperately to pull him off. I knelt in front of him and he threw himself into my arms, and I rubbed the little boy’s back as he sobbed into my shoulder.

  “I don’t want to go, Miss Nickleby!” he wailed.

  “Hey, now,” I said, sharing a knowing look with his mother, “Doesn’t your dad come home this—”

  But his mother vehemently began to shake her head, and I let the words die on my tongue. With them, my heart fell.

  Jose’s mother leaned down and whispered in my ear. “My husband’s deployment was extended.”

  Again? I mouthed, to which Jose’s mother only nodded.

  I sighed and forced a smile as I pulled back to gaze at the miserable little guy. “You’ll have a great summer.” I tapped his nose. “I’ll bet you won’t even want to come back to school next fall.”

  Jose kept sniffling, but the tears at least stopped. “My dad is sending me a new video game in the mail. Mom says I can play it when I finish my reading in the mornings.”

  “Well, there you go.” I gave him one last hug and watched them go.

  A slow clap sounded behind me. “Well, congratulations.”

  I turned and laughed when Sam Newman emerged from his classroom, which was to my right.

  “So,” he said, his hazel eyes bright, “you survived your first year. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” I grinned back. “They gave me a run for my money, but…” I looked around. “I kind of can’t believe it’s already over.”

  He snorted. “Just wait until you have five years under your belt.”

  “Not even you have five years.” I knelt to stack the homework bins in the entryway of my classroom.

  “I have enough years to know summer is best celebrated with a drink and other teachers.”

  I laughed. “So you can commiserate before launching into more discussions about your students?”

  He nodded. “Naturally.” Then he leaned forward, his sandy blond hair falling slightly over his eyes. “If I did, could I count you in?”

  “We’re done!”

  We both looked up to see Madison launch herself out of her own room straight toward me, two stainless steel thermoses in hand. “Who wants to share some juice?”

  “That’s juice?” I asked, studying the stainless steel thermoses.

  Sam took one and opened one of the thermos lids to sniff it. Then his eyes got big. “Madison, is this what I think it—”

  “Sh!” Madison elbowed him. “It’s got fruit in it. Ergo, juice.”

  “And a little bit of something else for on the way down,” Sam muttered under his breath.

  “Actually,” I nodded back at the little figure huddled in front of a computer in the corner. “I’ve still got one left. And I’m going to disinfect the mat while I wait for her mom.”

  “Well, your loss.” Sam shrugged dramatically before winking and walking down the hall. The hall was mostly clear of parents and students by now, so I waved Madison inside as I got down on my hands and knees with the Lysol wipes on the foam mat.

  “Isn’t she always here late?” Madison snatched a pretzel from my secret stash.

  “Her mom works over in North Little Rock.” I pitched my voice lower. “She has a hard time getting up here on time to pick her up.”

  “Well, I hope her teacher next year is as patient as you are. Oh, but the reason I came over!” Madison’s eyes lit up again. “A week from Thursday! Donny’s Bar! Seven o’clock!!”

  “Madison, I’m not sure I want another one of your dates.”

  “But Jessie! He’s a captain!” She pouted. “And Jason was nice!”

  “He was.”

  “So were Matthias and Jackson!”

  “They were.” I scrubbed at a stubborn spot. “But every single one was the one thing I told you I’m not interested in dating.”

  “Oh, come on!” Madison sat in the middle of my desk, right on the clipboard I’d been trying to find. “Jessie, you live in Jacksonville, Arkansas. You teach at the school just off Little Rock Air Force Base. Who around here isn’t on active duty? You never know who might turn out to be that Prince Charming you’re always dreaming about.”
<
br />   “Prince Charming had a horse, not a cargo plane.”

  “You’re right. Because a huge flying machine capable of killing bad guys is such a turn-off when compared to a horse.”

  I stuck my tongue out. “You’re not changing my mind.”

  “What’s not to like?” Madison began counting on her fingers. “They’ve got steady jobs. They have health insurance.” She paused. “Hey, those are two of the items on your rule list.” She began to count on her fingers. “They’ve all had some sort of background check. Clean-shaven. Have basic practical life skills. Girl, if you could kick that first rule, your dating sea would be so much wider.”

  “We have health insurance through the school district.”

  “They work out for a living, and they wear uniforms. Very attractive ones at that.” Madison put her hands on her hips. “I dare you to find something not ideal about at least dating an airman.”

  “Um, two things.” I heaved a stack of books into a box. “Called deployment and moving.”

  Madison groaned dramatically. “Going on one date with an airman doesn’t mean you’re tied to him for the rest of your life.”

  I gave my friend a knowing smile. “You also forget that I don’t date for fun.”