Sylvia, the principal of a Milwaukee middle school laughed. “I don’t think I could go back into the classroom again now. We’re told to expect so much from our teachers and they’re so busy trying to do everything they’re told, there isn’t time for any real teaching. Sometimes, no matter what the teacher does, a kid just doesn’t learn. Their retention level sucks from one year to the next. It’s like they take a summer class in Stupid 101 or something.” She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her chair, and clasped her fingers together in front of her. “If a student is failing a class, I have to call in the offending teacher and have him or her explain why the kid is failing. Is there anything they could have done to get the little bugger to pass? I have excellent teachers, people who want to honest-to-God teach,” Sylvia lamented. “But their failure rates are unacceptable.”
Florence chuckled. “We have a chapter of what’s known as The Twenty Percent Club on our campus. Teachers who are members wear a little badge every day and dare administration to say something.”
“What’s The Twenty Percent Club?” Lauren asked. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“It includes any faculty member who has any class, even one, in which twenty percent of the students failed,” Sylvia answered. “I’ve checked everything they’ve done to make those students successful and most of them have gone way beyond the call of duty. In that particular group, for some reason, the students fail.” She looked at Pat. “You know how it is. Do any of your teachers ever complain that the counselors have deliberately dumped every poor student they could find in one of their classes?”
“All the time,” Pat answered with a nod.
“We always get blamed,” Florence fumed. “I’m a counselor, but a computer somewhere burps out the class schedules and it really doesn’t care who goes where as long as everyone has a place to be each period.”
“It’s the same course, the same teacher, the same lesson taught in exactly the same way. Every class passes except one,” Florence said. She shrugged. “And we don’t know why.”
“Maybe the students are all like that one Mrs. Fredericks had a couple of years ago. Remember that?” Sylvia asked with a smile.
Florence laughed so loud that other patrons of the bar turned to look in their direction. “I hope she found another position somewhere,” she said between bouts of laughter.
“I heard she retired. She had the time in.” Sylvia looked at Pat and Lauren. “We had this teacher, Mrs. Fredericks. She taught eighth grade science. Always been a decent teacher and enjoyed the kids. Anyway, one of the things a teacher can do, after working with the students a while, is make a referral for evaluation by the special education facilitator on our campus. You know, if she notices the kid might have a problem reading or whatnot. Mrs. Fredericks made a referral for one of her students who couldn’t pass gas, let alone her class. The facilitator scheduled a meeting and notified the parent about the referral. Next thing I know, mom is jumping up and down on my desk, livid and demanding to know what the basis was for the referral.”
Florence covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle another round of laughter.
“Anyway,” Sylvia started again, “I escorted mom to Mrs. Fredericks’ room and pulled her out of class for a moment to make the inquiry.” She raised her right hand. “Then, I swear to God, Mrs. Fredericks said the reason for her referral was because the kid just looked stupid.”
Pat and Lauren looked at each other and laughed loudly enough to draw further attention.
“I didn’t know what to say to Mrs. Fredericks’ response. I contacted my assistant principal to help me get this now thoroughly irate parent back to the office. I contacted Florence and had her make an immediate schedule change effective that same day.”
“What did you do about the teacher?” Lauren asked.
“She began using quite a bit of the sick leave she’d accumulated over the years and left at the end of that semester. Personally, I chalked it up to battle fatigue. She just lost it. Kid failed the course with his new teacher, one of those newbie eager beavers, too. The next fall mom came back and informed us junior was ADD, ADHD, one of those problems almost every kid has these days, and had him enrolled in the special education program.” She shook her head. “What a mess! I watch for teacher burn-out a lot more carefully now, let me tell ya.”
Pat looked at Lauren. “See what we have to look forward to?”
“I can hardly wait,” Lauren sighed as she chewed her last bite of food. “That was really good,” she said as she leaned back. “Thanks for recommending it.”
“I worried you wouldn’t like it after I ordered for you,” Pat admitted, rubbing her hand briefly down Lauren’s back before resting it along the back of her chair.
“It was delicious and just enough to not ruin my girlish figure,” Lauren said, returning Pat’s smile.
With her stomach appeased, Lauren turned her attention back to the lively conversation. She felt relaxed and was enjoying the company without having to consider every word she said, fearing a negative reaction. Her drink hit the spot and she ordered a second. She didn’t remember the last time she’d had an alcoholic drink, probably in Germany when she and Mandy polished off a bottle of wine while trying out a new recipe. Athon wasn’t supposed to drink alcoholic beverages because of her medication and there was never any in the house, just in case. Athon wouldn’t have cared if Lauren occasionally had a drink after a particularly arduous day, but Lauren felt safer, after the bar incident, not having the temptation around. She felt a pleasant buzz by the time she finished the second Jack and Coke and was glad she’d eaten. All thoughts of attending the mixer vanished as the four women continued their discussions about their schools. It had been a long time since Lauren had laughed so much.
An hour later, Sylvia stretched and stifled a yawn. “I think I’m going to have to call it a night,” she said. “This is the most fun I’ve had in forever and it felt good to laugh about some of the ridiculous things we have to put up with. Now that I’ve bent your ears venting, maybe I can readjust my attitude. It gets out of whack at least twice a year.” She patted Florence’s arm and looked at her watch. “I was having such a good time that we’ve missed most of the mixer. You can stay if you want and I’ll see you at breakfast" .
Florence stood. “We left early this morning. I can read for a while before going to sleep.” She smiled at Pat and Lauren. “It’s been wonderful meeting you both. Maybe we’ll see you in a session or at breakfast or lunch.”
Pat stood and shook their hands, promising to get together again the following day. “Want to see if there’s anyone still at the mixer?” she asked Lauren.
Lauren shook her head. “I can wait until tomorrow.” She laughed. “I’ve talked so much tonight that I need to give my vocal chords a rest.”
“You okay?”
“I haven’t felt this good and been this relaxed in a long time.” She looked down at her hands and said, “I should feel bad for having such a good time.” She shifted her eyes to Pat and smiled. “But I don’t. Thank you for making me get away for a while. You’re an excellent friend.”
“Ready to call it a night then?”
Lauren scooted her chair back and stood, grabbing the edge of the table to steady herself. Pat took her arm until she regained her balance.
“Remind me not to stand up so fast,” Lauren said. “Sorry about that.”
“Not a problem.”
Lauren felt the warmth of Pat’s hand through the sleeve of her blouse. It ran through her body, strangely comforting her. After they cleared the maze of tables, Pat removed her hand and placed it against the small of Lauren’s back, guiding her toward the hotel elevators. Once they stepped inside and the doors slid quietly shut, Lauren licked her lips and suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say. Both their rooms were on the same floor and Pat leaned forward to push the button for the fourth floor before leaning against the back wall.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” Pat sai
d.
“You don’t have to, Pat.”
“My room’s only three doors farther down,” Pat said with a laugh. “Pausing for a moment isn’t a hardship. Do you want to meet for breakfast around eight?”
“Sure.” Lauren brought her hand up to Pat’s arm. “We need to stop by registration so we can decide which sessions we’re going to.”
“I picked them up earlier while you were napping. Do you want to attend the same sessions or split them up so we cover more?”
“Whatever you think is best,” Lauren said with a shrug. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
“We can decide over breakfast,” Pat finally said when they stopped in front of Lauren’s room. “Is your room all right?”
“Very nice,” Lauren answered. “When I was at Carver, I think the district had a contract with No Tell Motel Incorporated.” She shivered involuntarily. “I once shared a bed with two other teachers because when we saw the roll-away bed they wheeled in, none of us had the guts to sleep on it. I swear it moved when you looked at it.”
Pat laughed as Lauren slid to key card into the lock. When she pulled it out, nothing happened. She tried a second time, but the light on the door remained red. Lauren made a growl in her throat and mumbled, “Locks hate me.”
Pat took the card from Lauren and said, “Let me try. Mine fought back earlier.” She jiggled the door and pulled it toward her as far as it would move. She slid the card in, holding it in place for a moment before withdrawing it quickly. She smiled when the locking mechanism blinked green. She turned the door knob and pushed the door open. “I think the card reader is out of alignment or something. You should tell the desk people in the morning and have it checked.” Pat pushed the door farther open and held it as Lauren rested a hand on her waist and stepped around her. Once in the door Lauren turned to say good night and sucked in a breath, surprised how close she was to Pat. For a moment she paused and looked into Pat’s eyes.
Pat’s hand rose and lightly stroked Lauren’s cheek. Her hand moved to the side of Lauren’s neck and held it as their lips met. Lauren didn’t push her away and deepened the kiss. She pressed a hand against Pat’s back and slowly turned their bodies into the room. When the kiss ended neither woman was able to speak. Lauren wrapped her arms around Pat’s neck and sobbed against her shoulder. She was cheating on Athon, seeking to bring her life back into balance.
Lauren lifted her tear-stained face, her eyes searching Pat’s calm demeanor. She raised her arms and ran fingers through Pat’s long raven hair, scooping it over her ears. She brought her arms over and around Pat’s head, clinging to her as their lips met again. Lauren felt her body react. Words were unnecessary as Pat’s touches, kisses, and tender strokes told Lauren everything she needed to know. It had been too long since her body had been treated in such a gentle, almost reverent way.
LAUREN STRETCHED AND groaned contentedly as she ran her hands down her naked body. She stopped and opened her eyes. She never slept in the nude. She raised the sheet and heavy bedspread and looked beneath them. She flopped back on her pillow and brought her hands up to rub her eyes with the heels of her hands. Pat! her mind screamed. Had it been a dream, a very vivid dream, or had she made love with Pat Stanton the night before? Two drinks? Come on! She wouldn’t have done something so—so deceitful after only two drinks! She couldn’t have. She closed her eyes and mentally ran down every part of her body. Her inventory only made it to her tender breasts before she knew. Oh my God! What can I say to her when I see her this morning? She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. After taking a deep breath she sat up and jumped out of bed. She stared down at the bed. Her own scent mingled with a lighter, familiar scent all over the pillow.
After almost scrubbing the skin from her body to erase the scent of her infidelity, Lauren found Pat cheerfully eating breakfast with Sylvia and Florence in the hotel dining room.
“It seems like I’m always the last one to arrive,” Lauren said with a smile.
“Did you get a good night’s sleep?” Pat asked nonchalantly.
“I did.” Lauren’s eyes met Pat’s. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Pat returned. “The breakfast buffet is pretty good. They’ll even make an omelet any way you want it while you wait.”
Sylvia and Florence excused themselves while Lauren continued eating.
“You can go with them, Pat. I’ll catch up in a little bit,” Lauren said between sips of coffee.
“The venders will be here during the entire conference,” Pat said with a shrug. “Are you better this morning?”
“I’m excellent this morning. I don’t feel any particular burden on my shoulders and am actually looking forward to having a good day. How are you feeling after an undisturbed night of rest?”
“Very well.” Pat finished her coffee and wiped her mouth. She looked at Lauren. “Have you ever read the children’s book A Dragon in the House?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It was my favorite book when I was a child and still is. It’s about this baby dragon that was brought into someone’s house. The longer it stayed, the more it grew. The people in the house spent all their time stepping around the dragon, ignoring its presence until its legs protruded out the windows and doors. Then one day it stood up and walked off with the house before the inhabitants realized it was even there.”
“I’m not ignoring or stepping around anything, Pat. I know what happened last night.” She made sure she had Pat’s eyes before continuing. “I—I knew what I was doing, but I’d rather not make an issue out of it. I cheated on my partner. It won’t happen again, but I’m not sorry it did. If you want me to resign for personal reasons, I will.”
“I don’t want you to think I took advantage of you and I certainly do not want you to resign.” Pat smiled. “Can we still work together?”
“Absolutely.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Duvalle, Texas December 2010
LAUREN ROLLED ONTO her side. She shifted her body closer to Athon’s knowing her partner’s body heat would warm her quickly. Her hand slid over the cool sheet feeling for her, but the bed was empty. She raised her head to look at the clock on the nightstand and sighed. Two-forty-five.
“Athon?”
It wasn’t unusual for Athon to rise in the middle of the night and wander around their house, usually falling asleep on the couch or in her recliner from exhaustion. Lauren turned on the light next to the bed and swung her feet from under the covers. She pulled on her robe and stopped to look out the bedroom window. Both cars were still in the carport and she breathed a sigh of relief. There had been times, when Athon couldn’t sleep, that she would drive for hours with no destination in mind. She seemed to be looking for something, but didn’t know exactly what. Lauren slid her feet into her slippers, grabbed her cell phone, just in case, and left the bedroom.
After flipping on the lights she thoroughly searched the downstairs rooms. She smiled as a thought from the past struck her when she saw the Christmas tree she and Athon had purchased and decorated earlier that evening. It reminded her of the little Christmas tree Athon placed on the table in the diner the last time she saw her before they were separated so many years ago. It reminded her of her arrival in Germany after they found one another again. She fingered an ornament they had found in a little shop in Kaiserslautern. It had been a perfect time as they made love beneath the lights of their Christmas tree.
She started to back away when she saw an ornament lying on the floor. She squatted down to pick it up and saw that it had been smashed, as if someone had stepped on it. Lauren picked up the helicopter ornament one of Athon’s crew members had given her before their final deployment. The sound of deep rolling thunder, followed by a bright flash of lightning startled her and she dropped it. As she knelt to pick it up again, she noticed small pieces of broken glass on the carpeting near the fireplace. In front of the hearth was a twisted picture frame, its glass broken. Lauren looked at the picture and her b
reath caught in her throat. She dropped the picture of Athon and her crew standing alongside their helicopter and walked quickly through the kitchen to the back door. A strong gust of wind tugged at her robe. Her hair whipped across her face and she twisted her neck to let the wind blow it away from her eyes as they searched the darkness.
“Athon!” she called, but the wind tossed her voice back into her face. She stepped away from the house and rotated in a circle for some sign of her lover. She lowered her head and pushed into the wind. There was only one other place she could think to look. It was where Athon always felt safest and the only piece of rusting junk she’d allowed to remain on the property.
When she finally made her way to the old camper shell, she placed one hand against the door frame and used the other to yank the aluminum door open. She caught her breath and looked inside. It was dry, with no sign Athon had been there. She secured the door and the rising wind pushed against her back as she retraced her steps to the house. She reached the safety of the carport before rain, ushered in by the wind and accompanied by lightning and thunder, began falling. It quickly grew from a light shower to a downpour.
WHEN HAD EVERYTHING gone so wrong? When had her life begun to unravel like an old piece of rotted cloth, one thread at a time until there was nothing left? The revolver rested comfortably in her hands as she leaned her head back and stared at the black sky above. Thousands of stars blinked through rapidly moving, gray clouds, beckoning her to join them. She closed her eyes, a sob escaping from her throat as a river of tears flowed down her cheeks and onto her neck. She didn’t know why she was crying. She only knew that an indefinable pain gnawed at her relentlessly and she hurt deep inside. She could see the faces of everyone who had hurt her and those she had hurt even though they had never done a thing to her except cross her life’s path for only a brief moment.
Picking Up The Pieces Page 22