by Leah Atwood
“I promise I won’t keep you much longer today.” Charity moistened her lips, wishing she had a bottled water. It was nerve wracking enough to speak in front of a larger group. Having the principal standing over you like a hawk made it worse. “We have a lot of work to do in order to give our best performance and I know that Miss Porter’s class will do an excellent job on our costumes. Over the next couple of weeks they will be measuring everyone in order to acquire the patterns for your costume. Please be cooperative so that they can get started as quickly as possible. There are many months of work and preparation for the play which has been made possible by an anonymous benefactor.”
Several students cheered and clapped, so did both of the teachers present. Tate, on the other hand, seemed unaffected. His arms were laced across his chest as he continued to monitor the audience. Was he afraid they would break out in a riot or something? Charity resisted the urge to smile at that thought.
“While this is wonderful news, we still need to give a good performance so that we can sell tickets to both shows and raise money for next year’s play,” Charity said. “As for the two wonderful teachers who are helping with the play, if you both have time, I’d like to meet with you after we adjourn, Mrs. Morrison and Miss Porter.”
They nodded in response.
“Do either of you have anything else to add?” Charity looked from the art teacher to the sewing teacher. They shook their heads. “Okay, then that’s a wrap. Make sure to pick up your scripts on the way out. They’re labeled with each student’s name.”
“Just a moment, Miss Fletcher,” Tate said.
Her heart raced as he walked toward her, his hand outstretched, obviously wanting the microphone. It was tempting to hide it behind her back like a child, but he was the principal. He had a right to address the students—even if this technically wasn’t a normal school assembly—which is what she was concerned about. She reluctantly relented and handed Tate the microphone.
“Thank you.” His left eyebrow raised a fraction. Did he sense her hesitancy? If so, he continued on to address the students who were starting to get up to leave. “Please take your seats. This won’t take long.”
They obliged, some less enthusiastically than others, if flopping down in a seat while scowling were any indication. Charity felt their pain. Tate had a habit of going on and on. It felt more like a lecture when he addressed the student body, or anybody from what she had observed during her time working at this school.
Clearing his throat, Tate launched into his speech, “I want to reiterate what Miss Fletcher said. We have an obligation to not squander the generosity of our benefactor. It is our responsibility to reciprocate by dedicating our time and talents to creating a satisfactory production in order to effectively sell out for both performances so that we can earn sufficient funds to continue this program. Otherwise, this year's production may be the first and the last theatrical presentation that Southwest Senior High has the opportunity to experience.” Tate moistened his lips and continued, “I also expect students to show each other and your teachers respect by valuing their time and dedication. You can do this by not horse-playing around during practice or while working on the set or costumes. By giving your attention to the tasks at hand you will show that you value other people’s time by not wasting it.”
Charity was sure the horse-play remark was in regards to not wanting his nephew to get hurt. Thankfully Tate had the tact to not single out Matthias.
By the time he dismissed the students, you’d have thought you were at the horse races and they’d just been let out of their stall by the way they hopped out of their seats and were out of there.
How would the students do with Tate’s constant overshadowing rehearsals? They needed the grade, or she was sure they’d be lining up to get out of it, which they still might do once they found out that the principal would be there daily.
Charity decided to talk with Tate, and if lucky, change his mind. Even with a sense of determination, she approached him with caution. “As you can see from today’s meeting, everything should go smoothly. I don’t think it will be necessary for you to stay to watch over Matthias.”
“I promised my sister that I would give him a ride home, and I intend to keep my promise.” The stern set of his eyes fixated on her dared her to suggest otherwise. “And apparently we both have different ideas of acceptable behavior. Evidently you didn’t see Brad blowing spit wads at Caleb?”
Charity blushed. Her focus had been on what she needed to address, trying to not forget anything, and on keeping her voice steady beneath Tate’s ever-watchful eye. Well, if he insisted on playing babysitter, why not use his own words against him? “You know, it occurred to me that you were right.”
Tate blinked before his hawk eyes narrowed in on his prey—which happened to be her at this moment. “I usually am, but what instance in particular were you referring to?”
She felt like a mouse about to be devoured. Charity swallowed the lump in her throat, took a deep breath and smiled sweetly. “Well, remember how you suggested that everybody needs to be productive and not waste our time?”
Tate nodded.
“I really want to thank you for being a part of this, and since Phil can’t play the part of Scrooge because of wrestling, and you’re going to be here anyway, it’s the perfect part for you to play. I’ll see you Monday at practice.”
Tate’s jaw dropped.
Charity quickly turned and walked away, calling down to the other two teachers, “I’ll be right there, ladies.”
Chapter Three
Tate rolled over in bed and punched his pillow. If he couldn’t get comfortable enough in his oversized King bed to fall asleep, he might as well get up. He swiveled to a sitting position and slid his feet into the pair of black slippers by his bedside. The moonlight illuminated the room enough that he didn’t need to turn back on the light. Maybe if he ate a snack and watched some TV in the other room he’d get drowsy.
The master bedroom was on the far end of his three bedroom home. When he’d moved in alone seven years ago, he’d turned the bedroom next to his into an office—it should have been a nursery. That was the plan when he’d purchased the home. He walked down the hall, past the living room and foyer, to the kitchen where he finally turned on a light.
Opening the refrigerator, Tate retrieved the pizza box and grabbed a small, square burgundy plate out of the cabinet. His mother had insisted that he keep the dishes. “Think of them as a house warming gift instead,” she’d told him. The cold, wood floors and empty rooms never made his house feel warm.
Tate microwaved the last four small slices of pizza leftover from Thursday night’s dinner, grabbed a can of soda from the refrigerator and made his way to his comfortable recliner in the living room. He set his soda down on the end table, pulled the lever on the side of the chair to elevate his feet and grabbed the remote. After flipping through the channels, he settled on an old movie.
After eating his pizza and drinking half the can of soda, Tate reclined in the chair. He was content watching the movie, until the commercials came on. It wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes a moment, the movie would be back on shortly.
“Tate,” a voice awakened him from his slumber.
Tate blinked several times and then rubbed his eyes. Was he dreaming? “Wes?”
“It’s been a long time, my old friend.”
“Friend?” Tate bolted out of his chair. “You’re lucky this is only a dream. Because if you weren’t dead—I’d kill you!”
“That anger you keep holding onto is going to kill you,” Wes said. “Then you will be doomed, like me, to walk the face of the earth in chains, carrying the burdens along with unforgiveness around with you for an eternity. Yadda, yadda, yadda.” Wes waved his hand in a rolling motion. “You know the drill. You watched this sappy movie with Katie enough.”
“I watched it with Jen.”
“After you started watching it with Katie, who got Jen hooked on it as well.”<
br />
“I don’t believe I’m arguing with a ghost.” Tate’s laugh came off more of a sneer. “All I can say is, you’ve certainly gotten what you deserve.”
“Yes, I have.” Wes’s head dropped momentarily, before he looked back up at Tate. “And for that I must pay, but I don’t want you to pay for the way I’ve wronged you.”
“You mean by stealing my fiancée?” Tate’s fist clenched. Was it possible to hit a ghost? Or wring its neck?
“Come with me,” Wes said.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I’m afraid you are.” Wes grabbed onto Tate’s T-shirt.
With a blink of an eye, Tate and Wes were back at the apartment Katie had when Tate dated her. She was packing a suitcase. Tate stood in stunned silence. Wes’s hand dropped to his side.
“Should we be here?” Tate mumbled as he stared at the woman he once loved. “Did Katie move back here after you died?”
“No, this is Christmas Eve, almost seven years ago. The night the two of you were supposed to have wed.”
Wes, or a different, younger version of him walked into Katie’s bedroom. “Look, Katie. You can’t do this.”
Tate looked at the ghost next to him in disbelief. “You told me you had a flat tire—that’s why you were late getting to the church.”
Wes pointed to the couple. “Watch.”
Katie continued to shove clothing into her suitcase. “I have to. It wouldn’t be right to marry him, not after what happened between us.”
“What happened between you two?” Tate shouted, but neither of them looked at him. He turned to Wes’s ghost. “You told me you two didn’t fall in love until after she dumped me at the altar.”
“I never planned to see her again,” Wes said. “We had too much to drink one night and. . . I regretted it, and so did she—or so I thought.”
“So she was in love with you all along?” The words felt like chalk on his tongue.
“No, she was in love with success.” Wes shook his head, his shoulders slumped. “She thought I would make more money when I got hired as a junior executive. She expected my career to take me far under her guidance. I don’t think Katie ever envisioned that she would be the cause of me drinking myself into despair. My life insurance policy consoled her more than I ever could.”
Wes turned and walked out of the room. Tate followed, but instead of it being the living room, it turned out to be the church Tate and Katie were supposed to get married at.
“Why are we here?”
“Hey, there you are.” The younger version of Tate hugged the younger version of Wes. “You know I can’t get married without my best man.”
“Sorry—had a flat.”
Tate handed Wes a velvet box.
“Those are the wedding rings I gave you.” Tate pointed to the two men in front of them. “Katie insisted I hold both of them. She said I could put the rings on my wife’s hand at the altar,” Tate’s voice trailed off. “But she never came. She knew before that night that she wasn’t going to marry me, didn’t she?”
Wes nodded. “She didn’t want to face you. That way she could shirk off your pain as if it were nothing. Over the next few months she would call me under the guise of wanting to talk. She would pretend to be upset and cry and when I comforted her. . . She wanted more.”
“And you gave it to her,” Tate ground out, wanting even more to strangle the translucent ghost. If he had a vacuum, he could suck up every last vapor of Wes and be done with him for good.
“That night she played you as well as me. Neither of our lives were the same again,” Wes said. “Be thankful; at least you didn’t get stuck paying for the wedding.”
“That’s for sure.” Tate expelled a deep breath. “Her parents deserved the bill for raising her to be such a gold digger.”
“It’s the old saying of ‘you reap what you sow’,” Wes said. “And unless you want to end up like me, heading down the same path of destruction, you’d better change your ways before it is too late.”
Tate closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He hadn’t done anything deceitful like Wes had, hadn’t stabbed his best friend in the back on what was supposed to have been the happiest day of his life. No—he’d politely informed all their waiting guests that the bride apparently wasn’t going to show—and all the while Wes stood by his side—knowing the answers to questions that whirled around in Tate’s head, along with a church full of quizzical guests on Christmas Eve.
“You both made me lonely and bitter!” Tate shouted, coming to a full, upright position. He looked around his living room. “Wes?”
The TV was on. Tate glanced at the end table, reached for the soda can, then took a sip. It was only a dream. Must have been the pizza he ate.
As much as Tate wanted to call Charity over the weekend, he opted for not taking the coward's way out. He’d face her in person and explain to her that it was best to use another student in the play. It was practical. Students needed to participate as part of their grade.
Tate felt like a stalker waiting for her to enter the high school building. He’d seen her pull into the parking lot and paced back and forth momentarily until he decided on meeting her outside the front door.
Couldn’t the woman walk any faster? He inconspicuously crossed his arms to check his watch and leaned against the glass pane to keep from rushing down the stairs to meet her in the parking lot. You’d think the woman had all day. Didn’t she realize school started in thirty-five minutes?
“Oh, Mr. Stephens, I’m glad I caught you.”
Tate startled at the woman’s voice. “Good morning, Mrs. Porter.”
The slightly older, sewing teacher brushed strands of her long, dark hair back over her shoulder and out of the way as she fidgeted with a blue plastic bag.
Tate glanced toward Charity who was fast approaching. Now the woman decides to hurry? “I’m sorry, Mrs. Porter. I really need to speak with Miss Fletcher.”
“Good morning Mr. Stephens, Ariana.” Charity smiled and looked at the other teacher. “It looks like you’ve already been picking up some goodies for the play.”
Ariana’s eyes widened as she beamed with pride. “You’re going to love this costume I found. I know it will fit Mr. Stephens too because he’s the same size as my husband.”
“That’s wonderful—”
“Stop.” Both women looked at Tate. “I’m sorry. I can’t be in the play.” He shrugged. “Another student needs to play the part to get class credit.”
They laughed.
“You’re not going to be staying after school while you wait for Matthias?” Charity asked.
“Well . . . Yes. I am.” Tate’s eyebrows arched.
“Then everything’s fine.” Charity waved her hand as if it was nothing.. “I don’t have another male student available—or any student for that matter. What few guys I have in the class have parts already.” She chuckled. “To be honest, I didn’t even have any guys that I could use as extras in various scenes. So there’s not a problem since you’re going to be there anyway.” Charity turned to Mrs. Porter. “I love the gray satin you chose.”
“I know. It’ll look good on Mr. Stephens.” Mrs. Porter held the fabric up next to Tate’s chest. “See, it brings out the color of his eyes.”
“Hm, yes.” Charity smiled and looked away, focusing her attention on Mrs. Porter. “I really appreciate your sewing class helping out with the school play. It’s wonderful how so many people at the school have pitched in.”
“I’m happy to help, my dear.” Mrs. Porter clutched close to her chest. “Now, the only thing I need from you, Mr. Stephens, is if you could get a dark gray jacket and a fancy white dress shirt, perhaps something like what you might wear under a tuxedo. I’ve already got a hat we can use.”
Tate didn’t know how it happened, but he found himself nodding his head—in agreement?
Chapter Four
“Uncle Tate,” Matthias acknowledged him as he came into his office. “I he
ard you’re going to be in the school play.”
Word traveled fast in a school of nearly a thousand students. He’d avoided mentioning it this weekend when he visited his sister and Matthias because he’d expected to be relieved of this burdensome obligation. He’d suspected that Miss Fletcher’s intentions had been out of spite, wanting to discourage him from overseeing the production and how she handled students. If she’d intended to let him off the hook, she wouldn’t have incorporated Mrs. Porter in her little ruse. She obviously needed him—whether or not he liked it.
“What of it?” Tate slipped his laptop into the case and gathered up his belongings. “It appears your teacher is short on the male populace in her drama class, and since I told your mother I’d be giving you a ride home anyway, I might as well be useful.”
Truth be told, he had ulterior motives for monitoring the play. If not for an alma mater who’d gone into acting, the school wouldn’t have had the funding for this year’s play. If it wasn’t a success, then this would be the first and last play the school would put on. Personally, he saw the drama class as a waste. How many kids had gone to Hollywood with stars in their eyes and then ended up on the street, or worse? The students needed to focus on tangible careers and being better role models than most of the stars the students idolized.
Matthias leaned on his crutches while he waited for Tate. He didn’t look very happy.
“Why the frown?” Tate asked. “Are you having second thoughts about being in the play? If so, I can arrange to have you transferred to another class.”
“No.” Matthias’ eyes widened. “I love drama. Miss Fletcher is a fabulous teacher.”
Tate sensed there was more to it. “But. . .”
Matthias’ head slumped. He didn’t respond.
Perhaps his nephew sensed that he was trying to be overly protective. He was, but his nephew didn’t need to know. “Miss Fletcher had a student drop out of the play and asked me to fill the role as Scrooge. Apparently she didn’t have another male student who could play the part.” Which was true. Hopefully his nephew would be okay with this reasoning—for why Tate needed to be there.