“Dr. Levine’s being modest,” said the principal. “He’s a marine biologist, and we’ll be taking advantage of him this year. He’ll be teaching a seniors-only seminar in his specialty as well as handling regular earth science and biology courses. Science teachers are hard to find. We’re lucky he was available to take over for Mrs. Zack on such short notice.”
“Darn lucky.” The whispered words came from an attractive blonde sitting in the second row. Rachel stifled a groan. Faculty romances could get sticky. As she studied the room, Rachel saw that the blonde had competition. Even married ladies were feasting their eyes.
Rachel refocused on Jack Levine’s credentials. A Ph.D. in marine biology was impressive. More impressive was that he’d chosen teaching over more lucrative careers in science. She thought about her nephew David’s admiration of the man and felt reassured. The guy must really like working with youngsters, and that was exactly the type of person she wanted on the high school staff.
Dr. Bennett finished his welcoming remarks, his announcements, and then spoke about why the school had searched for its first-ever assistant principal for academic studies.
“I’m delighted to announce that one of our own has returned to Pilgrim Cove to take on that position. She’s had a remarkable teaching and supervisory career in a Kansas public school system and comes highly qualified to fill this important role for us. I know you’ll make her feel welcome.” He turned to Rachel and motioned her to stand up. “Some of you need no introduction, but for those who don’t know her, this is Rachel Goodman. I know she has some welcoming words for you.”
Dr. Bennett reseated himself, and Rachel looked at the full assembly. “Good afternoon,” she began.
“Rachel Goodman!” a female voice boomed. “My memory is still razor sharp, and you owe me a term paper!”
Rachel flinched, and a couple of chuckles filled the air. Mrs. Drummond had been a martinet of an English teacher in her younger days, and her style obviously hadn’t changed. She did, however, seem to command the respect of the faculty here.
“Mrs. Drummond,” Rachel said, forcing herself to relax and smile. “I probably owe you more than one paper if the truth be told. But as it turns out, I got straight A’s in college English including grad school, so something you did in class must have stuck.”
Drummond’s wide-eyed expression was followed by a reluctant grin, and Rachel hoped she’d succeeded in disarming the woman. The real problem, of course, was that Mrs. Drummond hadn’t looked beyond the young Rachel’s attitude and hadn’t recognized the girl’s ability. In all probability, she still wasn’t reaching out to her students. She wasn’t in the same hurtful league as Cornelia Stebbins, but she needed to pay closer attention to the kids in her classroom.
Rachel’s glance fell on Jack Levine who, with a wink, nodded his approval. Could he possibly understand the historic undercurrents behind her exchange with Mrs. Drummond?
“I look forward to working with all of you, and to meeting our goals,” Rachel continued. Quiet descended over the group at a rapid rate. She felt the almost-physical force of her audience’s attention on her and was gratified.
“Make no mistake. We’re on a mission this year. A mission to regain ‘exemplary’ status for this school in the state system.” She paused and tried to look at each teacher individually. “As you all know, status is determined by test performance at the end of the year, so I expect every instructor to cover the mandated curriculum using whatever creative method works. We need to reach every single student.”
Now people shifted in their seats, a few exchanging glances. “And yes, I know that some youngsters have learning difficulties and attention-deficit problems. We’ll be working with those students, too. I will be with you every step of the way. In fact, during the next two weeks, I plan to chat with each of you. We’ll discuss your classes, your concerns and your successes.”
“School starts next Tuesday, the day after Labor Day. Lesson plans are due every Friday starting this week. That means the first one is due in three days. Normally they’ll be returned to you on Monday, but because of the holiday coming up, they’ll be in your mailboxes early next Tuesday morning.” She stopped speaking and took note of her audience. A couple of frowns. A couple of people scribbling. “Are there any questions?”
“What about books? Do we have enough?”
“There are unopened cartons piled in the general office,” she replied. “Publisher names are on the label. We’ll need to do an inventory.”
“I have a question,” said a man Rachel recognized as a teacher from the Social Studies Department.
Rachel looked at him. “Yes, Mr. Maggio?”
“Can I ask Lou how his daughter went from giving him migraines to making him proud?”
The trouble with small towns was that everyone—including those with good intentions—thought they had proprietorial rights. “I think my dad’s still trying to figure it out himself, Mr. Maggio, but I’ll tell him you inquired. Thanks.”
“Let’s hope Lou’s headaches don’t return now that his daughter’s back.” Mrs. Drummond seemed determined to have the last word and wore a satisfied grin as she met the glances of some of her friends.
Rachel felt the burn in her cheeks this time. Couldn’t control it now. Had she made a mistake in returning home? Wasn’t this where she’d left off years ago with Lou’s colleagues commiserating with him, shaking their heads at how different his two children were?
“I think my dad is safe,” she finally replied to the English teacher. “So the only headaches you need to worry about are your own.” She had their attention again. “I believe every student can learn. It’s up to you to tap their potential so we’ll have a win-win situation all the way around. Dr. Bennett and I are expecting performance here—from teachers and students.” If she hammered her message any louder, they’d all get headaches. “Any other questions?”
No one responded and Rachel was glad. “I’ll be here every day for the rest of the week,” she said. “Stop in and see me when you can.”
The meeting broke up. Dr. Bennett was chatting to a group of people, and Rachel gathered her notes, wanting to return to her office to think. To figure out how to handle the old-timers who were at this very moment probably telling all the newer teachers about Rachel’s student days and her barely passing grades.
She stood up, but before she could take a step, her path was blocked by Jack Levine. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes shining, a smile lurking. “My, my. What a handful you must have been. Appearances sure can be deceiving. You look so serious and professional today.”
She tilted her chin up and looked him in the eye. “That’s because I am serious about getting this school back on track. Make no mistake, Dr. Levine, we will get results. I suggest you forget everything you hear about my misspent, unscholarly youth. That part of my life is over, and I am not the same person.”
Slowly shaking his head in mock sorrow, he said, “Then how do you explain challenging the ocean in the middle of the night?” He raised his eyes and deliberately scanned the room. “And why have you come back to these shark-infested waters?” He looked her in the eye. “You’re here to prove something—to the town, to yourself—I don’t know. But I wish you good luck. Lots of it.”
She’d need it. The words reverberated silently in the air. He didn’t have to say them. Well, she wasn’t one to turn down any good luck that came her way, but she wasn’t going to wait around for it, either. Hard work and perseverance would get her through.
RACHEL WATCHED JACK LEVINE work the crowd. He shook hands with the men, laughed with the women and made more than one of them blush. His easygoing charm seemed to come naturally to him. By the end of the day, he’d probably know every name in the room. She shrugged her shoulders and continued to gather her belongings. She couldn’t and wouldn’t fault him for personality. It was only when she saw him and Bob Franklin deep in conversation that doubt started to rise. Franklin was gesturing toward t
he back of the building, his face animated. Behind the school were the football and baseball fields. She could easily guess the topic under discussion.
She rested her hip against the desk and took a moment to observe. The athletic director continued to smile, talk and shake Jack’s hand before making his way to another teacher where his actions were repeated. Jack Levine wasn’t the only one working the crowd, thought Rachel. The difference was that Jack’s agenda was strictly social—he was a natural flirt. Bob Franklin, on the other hand, acted as his own political action committee, reminding everyone about how important sports teams were to the school. Rachel sighed. The man felt threatened by the need for a stricter academic performance.
Hadn’t he ever heard of a “no pass, no play” policy? Suddenly, Rachel wondered if Pilgrim Cove Regional had such a policy. She scribbled another note to herself. Maybe she’d have a quiet talk with Tom Sullivan.
Rachel stayed at school for the rest of the day, reviewing reports and familiarizing herself with the computer system. Her office was located in the administrative suite, near Dr. Bennett’s, behind the large general office on the first floor. By four o’clock, a couple of teachers had visited her. One had a question about class size; the other was new to the school and had wanted to locate Rachel’s office. She’d welcomed them both warmly. Then Mr. Maggio stopped by with the advice to ignore Edith Drummond.
“I’ll ignore personal remarks, Mr. Maggio, but I won’t ignore her teaching performance or her manner with the students.”
He look startled, and Rachel put up her hand. “Don’t worry. Everyone’s starting out fresh, with a clean slate, in this new year. Even Edith Drummond. Believe me, I want her to succeed with her students. I want us all to succeed.”
“Of course you do,” replied the teacher, his expression warm once again. “I want the same.”
A vote of confidence! Mr. Maggio had been popular with the kids when Rachel had been a student. Known as a good teacher, passionate about his subject and able to engender excitement for it among his students. Unfortunately, she’d never been in any of his classes.
“Thanks for stopping by. I appreciate it,” said Rachel.
“Anytime.” He waved and went on his way. Rachel stared at the empty doorway for a while. Why was it that the good teachers always took challenges to heart, while the mediocre ones ignored them? Why did they never think critique applied to them? Almost a hundred people on her staff, and Rachel had to discern each teacher’s philosophy.
She stretched her arms overhead, rolled her shoulders and returned to the computer and last year’s reports. She wanted to analyze the reasons Pilgrim Cove Regional High School had fallen down recently.
The next time she looked up, the room was in shadow and she was hungry. She rose from her chair just as Dr. Bennett appeared in her doorway.
“Tomorrow’s another day, Rachel. For both of us.”
“I agree.” She reached for her purse and walked to her car with him.
“We’ll have a ‘reserved’ sign painted for you—assistant principal—next to my spot, as soon as the maintenance crew is on full-time again, probably by the end of next week.”
“Is that really necessary?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“It’s about being practical and safe, Rachel, not elitist,” he said with a chuckle. “You need to be close to the door. I have a feeling tonight isn’t the only time you’ll be here after dark.”
“Point taken.”
“In addition,” he continued, “it won’t hurt to remind the staff that you aren’t part of the regular faculty. The reserved spot is a subtle announcement that you are on my supervisory team.”
She stopped walking mid-stride. “You’ve got a devious mind, Dr. Bennett.”
“Sometimes, my dear, actions do speak louder than words.”
“I’ll remember that,” Rachel replied, “if my words don’t get results.”
She stopped off at the diner for a burger, too hungry to cook for herself. No ROMEOs greeted her inside. Not even Dee and Chief O’Brien were there that night. But the tasty flame-broiled burger restored Rachel’s flagging energy, and she drove to Sea View House feeling content.
The pickup truck in the driveway startled her. She glanced up at the second floor. Not a light on. Completely dark. Parking at the curb in front of the house, Rachel tried to remember what Bart Quinn had said about her upstairs neighbor. She thought hard but couldn’t remember much. Something about working crazy hours, maybe working two jobs for a while.
She entered her apartment and closed the door quietly. No sounds came from above. She glanced at her watch. Barely nine-thirty, but obviously the man was sleeping. He probably had to wake up very early. Until she met him and understood his schedule, she’d try to be a good neighbor and make as little noise as possible.
She prepared a cup of decaf, intending to read for a while, then found herself yawning, her own eyes closing. Maybe her neighbor had the right idea. She fell asleep a minute after lying down.
Somewhere in her dreams, she heard a door creak, then close with a slight bump. When she heard a motor come to life, she opened her eyes. The bedside clock read 4:00 a.m. Ugh! She rolled over and slept again. When she left for school at eight, the pickup was gone.
The pattern continued over the next few days. Rachel worked late; the truck was parked in the driveway at night and gone the next morning when she awoke. The arrangement suited her just fine. The more privacy, the better.
She allowed herself to sleep in on Saturday, and at ten o’clock was brewing coffee. The four-cupper made two mugs, exactly the amount of caffeine Rachel needed to start the day.
The sun shone brightly through the kitchen window where Cape Cod curtains were no deterrent to the light. Her wheeled tote, filled with lesson-plan books, stood next to the large table. Rachel was eager to get started, but the morning was glorious, too glorious for her to remain indoors. She couldn’t resist drinking her coffee on the porch and enjoying a neighbor who never slept—the Atlantic Ocean.
A chilly breeze raised goose bumps on Rachel’s skin, but she didn’t care. This weekend marked the traditional last hurrah of summer, and she wanted to be part of it. She’d invited her family for a cookout the next day, and she’d have to go shopping later, but now, she needed to get moving!
She quickly dressed in a bathing suit and shirt, put on running shoes and set out along the beach. Smiling and waving to other beachgoers, Rachel covered a five-mile circuit with almost no effort and returned to Sea View House. Perspiration dotted her forehead, the air was warmer, and the ocean looked inviting.
She ran to the water’s edge, toed off her sneakers, tossed her shirt aside and waded in. Unexpectedly, the image of a sexy swimmer came to mind, a man with a scruffy beard who’d popped in and out of her thoughts since the faculty meeting.
Cautiously, Rachel looked over her shoulder. No one appeared, and she chuckled to herself. Had she expected him to by spying on her? Or was it a guilty conscience? She shaded her eyes and scanned the beach. Lifeguards had already come on duty. “Sheesh.” She was annoyed at her own hesitation. Since when did she allow someone else to regulate her swimming?
Twenty minutes later, she made her way back home, totally refreshed, ready for a shower, ready to attack the pile of lesson plans.
By late afternoon, she wasn’t laughing. Of all the plan books to lose, why did it have to be Jack Levine’s? She’d checked off every other teacher’s submission against her master list. Only his was missing. She searched everywhere—the hallway, kitchen floor and her car. Nothing. She grabbed her purse and drove the three miles to the school. The parking lot was empty. She parked in her usual place and searched the ground. Again, nothing. Her key to the side door worked, and she let herself into the building, deactivating the alarm system.
Maybe she’d left his book on her desk. But, no, it wasn’t there. Nor was it on the floor of her office, or in Dr. Bennett’s or the general office. She checked the halls leading to t
he front door. Nothing.
Darn it! So much for earning the confidence of the staff! How professional would the hunky scientist possibly think she was now?
“WELCOME, WELCOME,” Rachel said to her parents the next afternoon, taking Pearl’s offering of homemade coleslaw and placing it in the refrigerator next to her own three-bean salad, which was really six-bean plus a few other veggies. “Look around now that I’m actually settled in.”
“The place looks great,” said Pearl. “Those gray planked floors are wonderful. Looks like twelve-inch oak.”
“They are,” said Lou. “Throughout the house. Believe me, I know all the specs. With Bart giving orders, Ralph Bigelow keeps the electricals up to snuff, Matt Parker takes care of the plumbing and incidental carpentry fixes, and I help out when they need a helper.” He peered at his family. “They let me hold the nails.”
“Oh, Dad!” said Rachel, giving Lou a kiss on the cheek.
“They couldn’t accomplish anything without you.”
“Actually, I help Sam and Matt in their store sometimes. Max Rosen and I both help out. Matt can be gone for hours on outside calls. Sam’s arthritis frustrates him, and the Golden girls only work part-time.”
“The Golden girls?” Rachel repeated slowly trying to place them.
“Blanche and Ethel Gold,” chimed in Pearl. “You remember them, Rachel—the two sisters who married two brothers and wound up sharing a last name throughout their whole lives. They were the fishermen in the family, going out almost every day. They started working in the hardware store after they lost their boat and almost drowned. Did you know about that?”
Rachel shook her head. “Sorry, Mom. I just didn’t keep up with everything.”
“The sisters were undaunted, but their husbands said, ‘No more boats. If you want fresh fish, go to the Lobster Pot.’ So they did. And do. And on Wednesday nights, we all play mah-jongg.”
Rachel grinned at that revelation. She had no trouble conjuring the sights and sounds of five women sitting around her mom’s kitchen table playing the Americanized version of the ancient Chinese game. “Still gambling big, Mom?”
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