by Celeste, B.
“Please?” I cut him off. “I’m tired.”
When I meet his eyes again, he blinks. Just once, probably replaying the pathetic sound of my voice before he dips his chin. “If that’s what you want, Peaches.”
Peaches?
I don’t even get to really think about the random nickname before he’s gone, the door shutting behind him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A week goes by, and I force myself to take a break from going through bills, grading schoolwork, and cleaning my neglected house, to dump two huge bags of variety pack candy into the biggest bowl I own and flick my porch light on right before trick or treating starts.
I didn’t always help my parents pass out candy at Mom’s house when I moved back home with her after my split with Hunter. She’d always ask but never push if I decided to do something else. Usually, stay in my room and mope until I decided it was time for bed.
Since it’s my first Halloween at the house, I want to make new traditions. Ones that won’t make me into some sad cat woman in training. And if that means passing out candy to cute kids in costumes for an hour or two, then I’d do it with a smile. It’s not exactly a hardship, especially knowing there’s a chance I’ll see some of my own students who’ve been talking about today for the last month.
The first few knocks come early on. I admire the costumes being worn by the trick or treaters, wave at the parents, and wish everyone a good night. If it were slightly warmer, I’d pull a chair outside, and people watch. An hour in, the candy bowl is half empty, the kids showing up are becoming fewer and fewer as the air gets chillier and sky gets darker, and I’m about to call it a night and overindulge on some of the leftover chocolate while watching a movie when another knock comes.
When I pull it open, I see a familiar little face with a mixture of blondish-brown hair and brown eyes looking up at me. Then I see the green digital camo he’s wearing.
“Trick or treat,” Nicki says, opening a bag and holding it out. “Do you like my costume?”
The smile is genuine because I do like it, even though I’m sure the eyes watching from the walkway a few feet behind expect otherwise. “I love it, Nicki. You make a very handsome soldier.”
He shakes his head and taps the name attached, then a few other noticeable patches that I recognize from my past. “My dad had it custom made just for me and gave me everything from his to make it more real.”
My lips twitch. “I’m so sorry, Lieutenant Colonel. Forgive me?”
Dominic says, “You’re supposed to salute me, but since you probably don’t know how that works, I’ll let it slide without making you do pushups and stuff.”
A surprised, bubbled laugh comes from me as a deep sigh sounds from the other adult nearby. “Dominic,” his father murmurs.
His son doesn’t seem apologetic. “It’s true, though.”
I nod, dropping some candy into his bag. It’s more than most kids got, but after he leaves, I’ll be turning the light off, so I don’t have too much candy around to snack on. “You’re right, Nicki. I should have saluted.”
“You knew?”
Another nod from me.
“Was your dad in the military too?”
My lips twitch. “No.”
“A friend?”
Fletcher clears his throat. “Nicki, it’s rude to pry into people’s lives.”
The well-dressed mini commanding officer in front of me turns to his father. “You said it was good to make conversation with people to get to know them better. Which is it? ‘Cause I can’t do both.”
It’s tough not to smile over that, but I manage. “I do have a friend in the military. Army. I don’t know a whole lot about the policies and procedures, but I know some stuff because of him. The basics.”
My student turns back to me, not quite looking me in the eye but not totally avoiding my general direction either. “Oh. That’s cool.”
Simply stated, like his father.
“It is,” I agree. Sort of.
“He’s probably not as cool as my dad, though,” he decides on, nodding in agreement with himself.
I snicker this time.
Fletcher sighs loudly. “Nicki…”
I wave it off. “It’s fine. My friend—” The word comes out a little choppy, probably not believable to Fletcher but passable to the little boy whose eyes are still on me in full attention. “—and I don’t talk that much, so I suppose your dad is probably cooler. He helped me clean my rain gutters, after all.”
“And your friend never did?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Does your friend have a dog?”
Another head shake. Hunter with a dog? Been there, tried that. “No.”
“Wow,” Nicki breathes like he really can’t believe it. He looks over his shoulder at his father. “Did you hear that, Dad? Ms. Foster’s friend is lame.”
The snort comes almost instantly, but it turns into a choking sound because I try stopping it.
Fletcher palms his face and shakes his head.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, he is pretty lame.” For a lot of reasons that this ten-year-old doesn’t need to hear about.
Or his father, for that matter.
“Come on, Dominic,” his father finally calls, extending out a hand. “We need to get home to let Admiral out, then I’ll check your candy.”
“Have a good night,” I tell them as Nicki walks back to his father.
There’s a low, “Good night,” from the oldest of them that I almost miss because it’s spoken so quietly.
It’s Nicki that puts a smile back onto my face when he calls out, “We’ll work on your salute and stuff some other time.”
His father cusses.
I laugh to myself.
Then eat my weight in chocolate the rest of the night without feeling that bad about it.
The next day starts out like any other. My students all look tired to some degree in the morning and wake up as the day goes on. Half-lidded eyes watch me as I go through my lessons. Sometimes, a hand or two will go up in questions or volunteer to answer something I ask. Then, after lunch and recess, everyone seems energized and ready to go.
But by the middle of the afternoon, something changes in Dominic. His usual relaxed demeanor deteriorates as he chaotically searches his pockets, panic seeping deeper and deeper into his facial expression until he’s standing in the middle of my lesson until his chair falls backward.
“Nicki?”
“It’s gone!”
“What is?”
His peers all watch as he starts tugging at his pockets and then searching through his things, tearing apart his space until there’s a mess of papers, folders, and other things everywhere.
“Nicki—”
“My ribbon is gone!” His voice is much louder, causing a few students to widen their eyes as they look between him and me like I’m about to yell.
I set my book down and walk over to him calmly. “I’m sure it’s somewhere around here. We can all help you look during—”
“No. Now.”
That gets a few murmurs from the people around us.
I sigh. “Dominic, I can’t have you disrupting my lesson. We’re a little behind already, so I need you to focus. I promise you that we’ll help you look soon for your ribbon.”
He keeps shaking his head, not paying attention to anything except finding his good luck charm. I try to be reasonable, but if I know I can’t let him do whatever he wants, it sets a bad example for the others.
“Nicki, listen to me.”
More head shaking.
“You need to sit down.”
“No. No, no, no, no.” His eyes snap to the window. “I must have dropped it outside. I need to go look!”
I can’t help but gape. “Dominic, you can’t go outside. We’re in the middle of a lesson.”
When his eyes turn to me, I almost don’t recognize the otherwise friendly brown color I usually meet. Not this time. “I’m not doing anything un
til I find my ribbon.”
A few students “ohhhhh” when I stand a little straighter and say, “I need to speak with you outside the room.”
Nicki blinks as I turn to the rest of the class. “Read pages 82 and 83, please. We’ll be right back.”
I guide my frustrated student outside, my hand gently on his shoulder, and stop a few inches away from the closed door so the others can’t eavesdrop. “I know it must feel very frustrating to have lost something like that,” I begin with, “but right now, you’re being rude and disruptive to me and the others. I give you my word, Nicki, that we will all help find your good luck charm. But we can’t do it on your terms when you want us to. It’s a nice day out. I can take you all outside so long as there isn’t another class on the playground when we have our free period.”
His head goes back and forth, and I’m worried he’ll get dizzy.
“Tell you what.” I dig into my pocket and produce the round, blue marble. “Why don’t you hold onto this for me?”
He eyes the marble.
Stares.
Blinks.
“Go on,” I encourage, passing it to him. “I think it may do you some good. And, just in case we don’t find your ribbon when we look, you can even keep it.”
“Keep it?” he repeats.
I nod once. “That’s right. It’s done me a lot of good over the years. I’d really like you to have it. But only if we go back into the classroom and finish our lesson. Okay?”
He thinks it over, brows still pinched and expression still unsure and flighty.
But, eventually, he mumbles, “Okay.”
I get home late after having an all-staff meeting that ran over because of funding concerns that left some staff needing extra clarity on their positions. If they hadn’t provided coffee and snacks, I probably would have been caught rolling my eyes a time or three.
When I walk up the pathway leading to my front door, I notice a vase of flowers resting there. Red roses with some sort of white weed-looking things mixed in. I’m picking it up when I hear, “Can I talk to you?”
Turning toward the gravelly tone, I shift the flowers to one arm in a cradle as I look between Fletcher and Admiral, who’s sniffing something on the ground. Since I have a feeling this is about his son, I nod. “Sure. Do you want to come in?”
His eyes go to the flowers for a second before going down to his dog.
I say, “He can come in too.”
As if Admiral knows, he instantly starts wagging his tail and looking up at his owner. Said man holding the leash says, “If you’re sure.”
“I am.” I grab the key to the front door, turn to unlock it, and add, “You should really wear bells or something. I didn’t even hear you.”
I only pause a brief moment when he replies, “I’ve been trained to be quiet. Wouldn’t do my men or me any good if we gave away our positions.”
Cracking a small smile, I nod and push the door open. “You’re right. I suppose that’d be counteractive.”
He and Admiral follow me inside, and I close the door behind him. Although, like the other times he’s been inside my home, we wind up in the kitchen. I set the vase down next to the sink, then my purse and keys on the counter before sliding off my jacket and turning to him.
His eyes study the flowers. “Admirer?”
Looking over my shoulder, I lift my shoulders. “I’m not sure, honestly. I doubt it. My friend Vickie sends me random things all the time. Fruit, candy, stuff that makes me happy.”
“And flowers make you happy?”
I smile at him. “Sure. Who doesn’t like flowers?” His lips tilt the tiniest bit upward. “I usually get presents from Vickie if she’s apologizing for something. The flowers are probably for the bar incident, not that she really has anything to be sorry for.”
He makes a noncommittal noise, eyeing the flowers again, before his eyes focus back on me, more specifically, my cheek. The red mark went down hours after I stopped icing it. By the next day, you wouldn’t have even known I’d been hit at all. “Dominic told me about what happened.”
I figured that’s what this was about. “I didn’t want to get him into trouble by sending him to the office. I’m sure Ms. Clifton wouldn’t have made too much of a big deal out of it, nothing like when he was suspended, but I wanted him to see what he was doing wasn’t appropriate.”
Fletcher nods.
I smile down at the cold, wet nose that nudges my hand. Then, petting Admiral’s head, I say, “I know he’s going to have bad days. We all do, right? But he calmed down after I spoke with him, so it wasn’t a problem.” I pause briefly, tapping Admiral’s nose. “We never found his ribbon. I’m not sure what happened to it, but hopefully, it winds up somewhere.”
For a long period of time, Fletcher watches as I fuss over his golden retriever. I don’t know what he’s thinking because, as usual, his expression gives nothing away. I’ve never been great at reading people in the first place, but I can typically get some idea of what’s going on in their mind.
He breaks his silence. “He showed me the marble you gave him.”
I glance up at him.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
I lift a shoulder. “I didn’t need it anymore. If somebody else can, great. Nicki is a good boy. He just needs a little guidance.”
Fletcher stares off, seemingly lost. “I don’t even know where he got that ribbon,” he admits after a few long heartbeats pass between us. “He just suddenly had it and wouldn’t go anywhere without it. The behavioral therapist we saw said it was his comfort item. Something he used when he needed to cope, to always have nearby.”
“I’ve read about that.” I’d taken a few courses in adolescent psychology in grad school that focused on children with autism—behavioral traits and characteristics, therapies to help them, and how to handle them in situations like the ones today. I think that’s a big reason why Ms. Clifton liked me so much and hired me within a few days of our meeting. “Does he still see her?”
He hums. “It’s been a while. His mother and I…” He gets that faraway look again before blinking it away. “We’ve been talking about having him see someone again. Do check-ins. We should’ve done is sooner than now, but he’s gotten better…”
I don’t have to tell him that Nicki’s autism will never go away. He knows that. So, I offer the next best comment. “Therapists can be very helpful.”
“You’ve seen one?”
Not ashamed, I nod. “I still go once a month to see her. I used to go more frequently when—” I cut myself off, wincing. “After the divorce, I wasn’t quite myself. She helped talk things out with me. Helped me heal to some degree. Or, rather, helped me let myself heal.”
He only stares at me.
“But therapists for children can be a huge, positive impact on their lives. Even if it’s only once in a while, it may do Nicki some good. He’ll see someone trained to guide him, and it’ll probably give you and Dominic’s mother peace of mind.”
“You’re right.”
I smile.
He stares.
Then he says, “You’re probably never getting that marble back.”
Laughing lightly, I wave my hand in the air. “That’s fine. I told him he can keep it anyway. Like I said, if it helps, then I’m happy.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s no big deal.”
He shakes his head, his hands gripping the counter he stands behind, making the muscles in his arms twitch and stretch. “Why do you do that? It is a big deal. To me. To Nicki. No teacher has to give their students anything, much less genuine compassion, but you’ve done it more than once.”
Feeling uncomfortable with the compliment, I give him another shrug. “Teachers are supposed to be compassionate.”
“Doesn’t mean they all are.”
Well…true.
“They don’t have to give students their favorite good luck charms either,” he points out.
I don’t say anything
because I’m not sure what there is to say. I like Nicki. I like all of my students. I forgot how much I missed being able to do this until I started working at Stanton Central. In the pit of my stomach, starting to become unburied slowly, is a little bit of resentment toward Hunter for making me feel like I shouldn’t do what I wanted even after getting my degree and taking all the certification exams.
But I don’t let myself think about that.
“It is a big deal,” he repeats, drilling his point across as if I hadn’t heard him the first time. “I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of your other students go home and tell their parents that you’re their favorite teacher too.”
Emotion clogs my throat. “Nicki told you I was his favorite?”
Lips pressed together, he nods.
I fight off the onslaught of tears that want to form in my eyes. “That’s very sweet. I want my kids to have a good time when they’re at school.”
Another noise rises in his throat.
I give another pat or two to Admiral before sighing lightly. “Well, in any case, I’m glad he’s happy with me. All teachers love hearing that from time to time.”
Fletcher’s eyes are focused on something behind me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the flowers again. I’m not sure why, but I don’t let myself think about it for long. His next words don’t let me. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I always told my men to get their heads out of their asses before they ruined a good thing.”
My heart nearly stops.
His eyes go to Admiral. “All I’m saying is that you’re a good person, Peaches. You deserve to be happy too, not just making everybody else feel that way.”
That was the second time he called me that, but I can’t really focus on that for long before the rest of what he says settles in.
Then, I blush.
Hiding my face, I clear my throat. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
No response.
He tugs on Admiral’s leash, the dog reluctantly standing and backing up until he’s standing next to the man’s long legs planted firmly on the ground across from me.
“I’ll show myself out.”