Every Minute

by C J Burright

  “You’re so off-base it’s ridiculous.”

  His smile didn’t fade. “Sorry you stood me up?”

  “Nope. You better get to church and ask forgiveness for your potty mouth.”

  “Curses don’t count in a different language. That’s a rule.” He stood, but instead of leaving, he wandered to her shelves and ran his fingers along the book spines. He paused and tapped one. “Frankenstein?”

  The intimacy of the moment hit her. He was in her bedroom, perusing through her personal possessions, digging deeper into Adara Dumont the person, not the teacher. “I’ll write up a report to give Austin and email it to you. You can add what you want.” She ignored the tightrope strain in her voice. “Now go away.”

  He tucked his hands in his pockets and faced her. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

  “Researching how to get my own protective order.” She sipped the coffee, and heat slipped down her throat, making her feel more like herself. But her head still throbbed. “Think I might subscribe to Belgian Beauty, see if I can discover what she did to shut you down.”

  “No one shuts me down, darling.” He meandered to the doorway and paused at the threshold. “Just so you know, I did bring that coffee for you. Stay in bed. Get well. I’ll be back for lunch with chicken soup.” He winked and ducked out.

  “I don’t want you to bring me—”

  The front door slammed shut.

  “Anything.” She threw a pillow across the room. None of her efforts were going as planned, and she had the sinking feeling that when it came to Garret Ambrose, planning was pointless.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wednesday night Adara softly shut the door, leaving the school board to discuss the remainder of their agenda items. Suddenly surrounded by silence in the empty hallway, she slouched, mentally exhausted. They’d bought into her plan to cut the music program instead of her job…with a condition. She had to gather signatures from seventy percent of the parents agreeing to eliminate it. Signatures had to be turned in by the next meeting.

  Luckily, she didn’t have any weekend plans. Ever.

  Voices drifted from around the corner, and she straightened just as an unlikely threesome came into view. Ashton, the shiest student in her class, with her older brother…and Garret. His expression flashed from surprised, to guilty, to delighted. It was fascinating to watch.

  “What are you doing here?” She aimed the question at Garret but turned her focus on Ashton.

  The little girl held a green felt case stitched with ladybugs and skipped along beside her brother, positively beaming. Ashton never beamed. She gave Adara a small smile in passing.

  “Special project.” Garret, unfortunately, stopped as the kids continued on. He stuffed his hands in his faded jeans pockets and rocked on his heels. His shirt was too clingy, hinting at all the muscles underneath, the last thing she needed to think about. “Serendipitous to find you here.”

  “Nope, coincidence.” She limped toward the exit, her vexing ankle boot preventing a quick escape. “School board presentation tonight.”

  “And?” he pressed, strolling easily beside her. His intoxicating cologne invaded her senses, impossible to ignore.

  “Nailed it.” He didn’t need to know more than that.

  “I never doubted you.” He pushed the door open and held it for her. “Lose your Sunday cold?”

  “I think I got a bad batch of bottled water.” She slipped by him, her sleeve brushing his, completely and annoyingly aware how he moved in synch with her out of the door.

  “Glad you’re feeling better. What are you doing now?”

  “Hobbling to my car.” The air fingered through her hair, abnormally cold for March. Summer and the end of her Garret sentence felt a lifetime away.

  “We should celebrate your victory.”

  She stopped and stared him down. “Violin boy wants to celebrate the death of music in school?”

  “Of course not, but you worked hard on this project, and the idea of you going home and having no one to share in your victory saddens me.” He looked completely serious.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Besides, I owe you ice cream.” He bumped her shoulder with his.

  “And pain and suffering for a sprained ankle. Why were you here with Ashton?”

  He grinned, looking sly. “You want to share my free time too, darling? I’m okay with that.”

  “Monday through Friday afternoons are enough, thank you very much. And don’t call me ‘darling’.” She resumed lurching to her car, which, regrettably, had a sleek, black Maserati parked right beside it. “I don’t even want to contemplate what you do in your free time. You probably take selfies with bimbos and post them on foreign websites.”

  “That’s mean-spirited of you.” He didn’t sound troubled at all, immune to her attempts at deflection. “I gave up bimbos two years ago and switched to smart-mouthed, third-grade teachers.”

  “Ungh, you’re incorrigible.” She opened her car door and plopped into the seat.

  “Honest. There’s a difference.” He leaned on her door, preventing her from shutting it. “Technically, you still owe me a stargazing trip, Miss Dumont.” He looked up at the clear sky. “Full moon’s tonight. Ice cream, stars and moonlight. What do you say?”

  An image flashed in her mind of his mouth on hers, tasting of ice cream, her hands in his hair, all beneath the silver starlight. She shook her head, dislodging the thought but not the tingling in her blood. Adding the night and ice cream to their inexplicable connection would be nothing short of explosive. “Your ice cream fail cancels out stargazing. We’re even. No IOUs.”

  “Have you figured out the puzzle yet?” His dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight, reflecting the truth. He knew she hadn’t figured out his weird origami numbers.

  She pulled on her door handle, and he held on tight. “Yep. You’re deranged. Easiest mystery ever.”

  He laughed and she wanted to kick something, mainly herself for making him laugh. Apparently, offending him was impossible. “Can I have that napkin on your seat?”

  “Deranged,” she repeated, but handed him the napkin.

  He pulled a pen from his jacket pocket, scribbled something—undoubtedly another abstract number—and she had yet another flimsy origami boat to add to her collection. She wasn’t about to tell him that she’d kept every one.

  “Awesome. I needed my trash to be more presentable when I dumped it in the garbage can.”

  “Anything for you, neshama.” The purr in his voice coiled through her and pooled low in her stomach, adding to the bomb inside. Defusing it seemed more and more hopeless. It was only a matter of time before she detonated. “Tomorrow, then. Don’t forget to put on your seatbelt.” He shut her door before she could respond.

  On principle, she didn’t fasten her seatbelt until she’d pulled out of the parking lot and was out of his sight.

  * * * *

  Adara flicked the mismatched fleet of origami boats off her coffee table one by one, waiting for the soft plunk of paper on carpet before sinking the next. Saturday night and she was studying stupid numbers when she should be soaking her throbbing foot. An entire day of limping around neighborhoods and coaxing signatures for her petition had taken its toll, and she hadn’t made much headway. More parents than she expected seemed to be of Garret Ambrose’s opinion that music mattered…a lot.

  Her cell phone buzzed from the couch beside her. Garret. Her pulse quickened. Maybe by thinking his name she’d somehow summoned him.

  Help!

  She hesitated. He couldn’t be in serious trouble. It was easier to dial nine-one-one than her phone number. He’d probably texted her by accident.

  Think you butt dialed me. This is Adara.

  Finger dialed. Butt’s busy. I need your help.

  She drummed her fingers on her jeans. This had to be some kind of Ambrose trap.

  Why are you asking me and not Ian?

  Children aren’t one of his superpowers. I ha
ve a baby who won’t stop screaming, a boy who refuses to come out of his room and a girl whose idea of a good time is putting Vaseline on all the doorknobs. Bob and London are out on their first real date in three years. I can’t ruin their evening. I’m begging. Have mercy on my soul. I’ve got ice cream.

  Garret holding a wailing baby while Tatum ran around the house trailing toilet paper and tormenting Bryan? Beautiful. Her laugh echoed in the silence, and she paused. How long had it been since anyone had laughed in this house? Probably before Joey got sick, when everything was right and normal and sane.

  His text blinked, waiting for her answer. The house’s emptiness surrounded her, graveyard-quiet again. Maybe watching someone else’s chaos would remind her why she preferred the solitude and silence.

  Are you at Tatum’s?

  Yes. Hurry!

  Fifteen minutes later, Adara trotted up the steps to Casa Sullivan. An infant’s lasting shriek filtered through walls, roof and door, as did an older voice screeching. She wasn’t sure if the screeching belonged to Garret, Bryan or Tatum. She knocked and hunkered into her wool jacket.

  A deep yell harmonized the screech, and the baby’s squeal, after a brief intercession, went on to round two. She turned the doorknob. Locked. She pulled her cell from her pocket and texted him.

  I’m at the door.

  What sounded awfully close to ‘hallelujah’ replaced the yelling, and a second later, the door opened, spilling chaos.

  Garret filled the doorway, his hair a golden curtain in his eyes, a red-faced one-year-old tucked under one arm like a football. Tatum hung on Garret’s silver-studded belt, cackling, something red smeared all over her mouth. White powder—maybe flour—spotted his short-sleeved T-shirt and face, and the sour odor of spit-up wafted from the dribbles on his shoulder. The gleam in his eyes was a combo of terror and giddy relief.

  “Help me,” he croaked.

  “Miss Dumont!” Tatum dropped from Garret’s belt to the floor and wrapped her arms around his ankles, almost toppling him.

  “Give me that.” Adara nabbed the shrieking baby and closed the door with her boot heel. She nestled the kid on her hip and met the tear-filled eyes. “I know,” she said in her best tantrum-soothing voice. “It sucks to be consigned to a novice, doesn’t it?”

  The howl ended on a shaky sob, and the child nestled on her shoulder, exhausted.

  Garret narrowed his eyes at her. “Who are you? Some kind of sorceress? Is that why you’re a teacher, to slowly steal the souls of children?”

  “It seems you’ve discovered all my secrets.” She rubbed the kid’s back in circles. “Now I have to kill you too.”

  “You don’t steal souls, Miss Dumont.” Still hanging onto Garret’s legs, Tatum leaned back and looked at her upside down. “You warp minds.”

  “Also true.” Adara did the magic rocking motion and smiled as the baby slowly slumped into a limp ball. “What’s the kid’s name? I need a name to collect a soul.”

  Tatum’s laugh was close to a possessed cackle, and Adara turned to Garret. “What did you feed her?”

  He held on to his belt as Tatum jerked on his shredded jeans, trying to climb him. “The usual kid fare—mac and cheese, green beans and some of those cartoon-character-shaped chicken nuggets.”

  “You forgot the marshmallows, Uncle Garret.” Tatum made it up to his arm and clung there like a demented monkey.

  “Two marshmallows.” He pushed loose hair from his face and flipped Tatum upside down by her ankles, inspiring a shriek. “That’s not a sugar overload.”

  “You left the bag on the counter.” The girl swayed in the air, using his grip on her ankles for a full-body swing. “I had two plus two plus two.” She flipped her fingers out one by one, counting until she ran out of digits. Her smile was wicked. “Twenty-two marshmallows.”

  Garret groaned. “Ben-zonna. You were so much easier to babysit three years ago.”

  “I’m not a baby!” Tatum reached around and pinched his calf.

  “No, you’re a demon-child.” His pleading gaze lifted to Adara. “What should I do with her?”

  Was it wrong to find him adorable while at a loss and looking like a frazzled housewife? “Play Simon Says. Use lots of jumping jacks.” The baby’s soft breath on her neck indicated that he? she?—slept. The white pajamas with yellow ducks offered no gender clue. “What’s this one’s name?”

  “Baby G.” Tatum laughed as Garret bonked her head gently on the floor.

  “Technically, his name is Garron.” He released his niece into a giggling heap and held her down with his boot on her ribs. “London thought it was cute to meld our names.”

  Her heart squeezed. Yeah. If she ever had a kid, she’d definitely honor her brother that way, although blending Adara and Joey might take some creativity. Jodara? Adarey? Not that she planned to have kids. Beyond wanting to keep her job and zero emotional ties, she hadn’t considered the future. Plans could be ripped apart too easily.

  “He’s sleeping.” Garret’s broad shoulders hunched as he hooked his thumbs in his belt. “I don’t care if you’re a soul-stealing sorceress. You’re my hero.”

  “No mask or cape required?” Adara pressed her cheek to the fuzz on Garron’s head.

  He paused, his bemused gaze lingering on her and the baby. As if realizing he stared, he smiled again. “Stay tuned.” He glanced down at the eight-year-old girl, pretending to be a steamroller by squashing his toes. “More challenges await.”

  “Where should I put this thing?” Adara gently jiggled Garron.

  “Upstairs, third door on the left—ouch!” He danced out of Tatum’s reach. “You used to be sweet. What happened?”

  “I’m sweet.” Tatum sat on her haunches and panted like a dog. “I just ate twenty-two marshmallows.”

  “I sense an upcoming need for reinforcement, Adara.” He backed up as Tatum advanced on him. “Hurry. I don’t know how long I can survive.” He spun and raced down the hall, out of sight, Tatum following on hands and feet like a disjointed dog.

  A few minutes later, Baby G safely in his crib and baby monitor on, she followed the muffled voices to the basement. The walls of the brightly lit stairwell leading down were filled with framed photographs, family moments captured in time. She used to have collages like this hanging all over the house, but once Joey was gone, she’d taken them down. Looking at his face every day, considering all the moments he’d never have, weighed too heavy, hurt too much.

  Laughter floated up, and she paused, each foot on a different step, her pulse a sledgehammer at her throat. Being here was a mistake. She pivoted to go back upstairs.

  “Miss Dumont!” Tatum’s voice stopped her cold. “You’ll be on the girl team.”

  Pasting on her polite smile, she turned around. “I should go home.”

  Tatum stuck out her bottom lip. “You just got here.”

  “No pouting.” It was so much easier to stay detached when playing the part of teacher.

  “If you don’t stay, I’ll be the only girl.” Tears filled Tatum’s blue eyes and her lip wobbled. “Please don’t go.”

  And there it was. She could steel herself against Garret’s charms and any whiny protest, but a child’s honest tears sawed straight through her defensive walls. Not abandoning a little girl overruled personal pain. She released the breath she’d been holding. “I guess I can stay for a couple of games.”

  “Hooray!” Tatum whirled and rolled down the steps without breaking anything. The girl should be an acrobat. “Hurry up or we’ll miss the coin toss to see who goes first.”

  Adara slouched in Tatum’s wake. This was bound to come back to bite her. She clipped the corner and paused in the doorway. The basement had been molded into a playroom. A big-screen TV took up one wall and a sectional formed a semi-circle, perfectly placed to either watch the tube or play games in the center of the room. Garret sprawled smack-dab in the middle, watching Bryan fiddle with a gadget on the coffee table. The other part of the baby monitor sat on
the end table. At least he could handle that part of babysitting.

  His gaze met hers, and that smile she was becoming too familiar with lit up. He patted the spot beside him in invitation. “You were right. A hundred jumping jacks cut the sugar buzz.”

  “A hundred and two jumping jacks.” Tatum bounced onto the couch. “And ten pushups.”

  “What are you, a family of athletes?” Ignoring Garret’s offer, Adara leaned a hip on the couch arm rest.

  Garret snorted and folded his arms behind his head. Those biceps definitely didn’t represent a typical band geek. “London inherited all the agility genes. I got music.”

  “Mommy used to be a gymnast.” Tatum cartwheeled off the couch, did some sort of flip off the coffee table and disrupted Bryan and his electronics. She landed in front of the TV with a low bow.

  “Knock it off, Tatum.” Bryan lunged for her.

  For professing to have no athleticism, Garret moved fast. He grabbed Bryan by the belt loop and hauled him back. “No more fighting or gymnastics tonight.” He actually sounded stern. “Do you want to do this competition or not?”

  Competition? She’d had enough competitions with Garret already. Every win included a loss on her part. “It looks like you’re handling things now.” She hooked a thumb at the stairs. “Maybe I should…” The look in Tatum’s big blue eyes nailed her coffin shut. Hiding a sigh, she shrugged out of her coat. “What did I sign up for?”

  Both Bryan and Tatum crowed in unison, “Karaoke competition!”

  Music. Of course it had to be music.

  “Not your everyday, wannabe lounge-singer karaoke competition.” Garret leaned over the side of the couch, lifted his violin case and wriggled his eyebrows.

  “Karaoke Ambrosified.” Clapping, Tatum jumped on the couch, jostling Garret.

  “I have no idea what that means.” Adara rubbed her forearms through her sweater, needing something solid to hold onto. Karaoke couldn’t be hard to handle. There wouldn’t be any classical pieces to drag her deep into Joey memories.