by Kim Mckade
In his mind he saw her stricken face, the flare of panic in her eyes when he’d turned on her. He didn’t know who he hated more—the gunman, for shooting her, or her ex-husband, for failing to protect her.
Or himself, for scaring her again. He swore under his breath.
“So,” Luke said, looking up during a commercial. “Early night?”
“Shut up.”
“Enjoy your dinner?”
“Kiss my butt” Toby picked up the stapler on Luke’s desk and toyed with it. “I didn’t even make it through dinner.”
“I think there’s a cheese sandwich in the fridge.”
Toby snorted then stood to pace the room. It was too late to go anywhere, too early to go home. And he couldn’t seem to think of anything to do with himself.
“If you want, Haskell, I can just shoot you now and get it over with.”
“You’re a real pal.”
“I’m serious. If you’re just going to go through all this again, you might as well let me put you out of your misery. I’d have to dig my bullets out.” With a lazy groan, Luke dropped his feet to the floor and started rummaging through drawers. “I think they’re here in the file cabinet somewhere....”
“If I’m going to go through all what again?”
“This thing with Corinne.”
“What thing?”
“She led you around by the nose from the time you were eleven years old. It was painful to watch. It’s going to be even more humiliating now that you’re supposedly grown-up.”
“She’s not leading me around by anything. I just went over there to fix her water heater.”
“Uh-huh,” Luke said, turning his attention back to the television.
After a moment Luke said, “She’s only here for a few months, you know.”
“I know that.”
“She never did like this town. Couldn’t wait to get out. Probably getting stir-crazy already.”
Luke was right. It was irritating as all hell. “Is this leading up to something?”
“I’m just saying,” Luke said philosophically, “that I don’t see any point in getting all worked up when you know she’s not going to stay.”
Toby decided he wasn’t the only jerk in the room. “I know she’s not going to stay. Believe me, I know. And who says I’m getting worked up?”
“Everybody. Since she came back to town, you decided we had to start using Tootsie Rolls instead of money in the weekly poker game. And just when I was starting a winning streak. You chewed out Joe Avedo because his dogs were running loose downtown. You’ve given out four speeding tickets in the past week. That’s more than you wrote all last year.”
“You know, gossiping is a feminine trait.”
“I’m not gossiping. I’m simply passing on necessary information so my best friend doesn’t make a complete ass of himself and go falling for the wrong girl. Again.”
“I’m not falling for her again I got over her a long time ago.”
“Sure
“Of course I did. What kind of idiot would carry a torch for over ten years? So she came back. I looked her up. We talked. No big deal.” He leaned back against his desk and tapped his toe restlessly. “Besides, look who’s giving me advice on my love life.”
“You could do worse.”
“Worse than listen to the guy who thinks true love is a myth?”
“I don’t think it’s a myth. I just think it’s as rare as a white Christmas is around here.”
“It’s not that rare. My parents loved each other.”
“Your parents were one in a million. I just don’t see why everyone makes themselves miserable looking for this thing that’s supposed to make them happy. It doesn’t make sense.”
“See, Luke, the thing is, you’re just expecting everybody to live down to your standards. It’s kind of a ‘Can’t win, don’t try’ thing with you.”
Luke shrugged. “Which one of us is enjoying a nice, relaxing evening and which of us is moping around because he got shot down?”
“I’m not moping. And I didn’t get shot down.”
“Up until a few weeks ago, you were fine. And since she came back, you’ve been walking around looking like you were about to get shot out of a cannon.”
“It’s serious business, getting a woman into bed.”
“Is that all it is?”
“Of course.” Of course, he repeated silently. “What more would it be?”
“You can’t kid me. I’m the one who held your head when you got puking drunk when she married that guy.”
“Just for the record, you were the one who got me puking drunk in the first place.” His casual laugh sounded forced even to his own ears. “Look, that was a long time ago. I’m not crazy in love with her anymore. I know she’s going to take off as soon as this substitute teaching gig is up. And if she doesn’t, she made it clear years ago that I’m not her idea of the perfect mate. I know what I’m getting into ”
“I hope so. You want to go out to The Corral tonight, get a steak and maybe stick around for the dance? That redhead was there again last week. Why don’t you try heating up her water?”
Toby shook his head. He could practically hear his father, chastising him for letting Corinne distract him from his duties for even a second. “Nah. I think I’ll stick around here, maybe go check on Mr. Davis in a while. Catch up on the paperwork.”
Luke sighed and stood, taking his hat off the rack by the door. “Suit yourself. But remember, the offer’s still open.”
“I will. Maybe I’ll head out to The Corral later.”
“I wasn’t talking about that. I meant the offer to shoot you. Somebody needs to put you out of your misery.” He patted his holster and grinned at Toby’s one-fingered gesture.
“Hello?”
Corinne looked up from her desk to see a pretty woman standing in the door of her classroom. She wore a floral print dress in a flowing fabric. Her long curly hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She held two cups of coffee.
“I thought you might like some company,” the woman said, smiling as she entered the room.
“That would be great,” Corinne answered, pulling up another chair beside the desk. “Have a seat.”
Corinne had noticed the woman the day before at the teachers’ in-service meeting, thinking that they were about the same age.
“I remember my first day,” the woman said as she handed Corinne a cup. “I was a nervous wreck. You probably haven’t had that problem, though.”
“What makes you think I’m immune to nerves?” Corinne asked as she sipped her coffee.
“You always seemed so...I don’t know. Together, I guess. I didn’t figure you’d get anxious about something this simple, after all you’ve done.”
Corinne murmured something noncommittal. As much as she disliked the thought, she knew she was something of a local celebrity after her years on television and her dramatic departure from the media. She didn’t want to talk about her reporting career, though. She’d shut that door, and she intended to see that it stayed shut.
“But then, you never worried about anything, even when we were kids. You always had plenty of confidence.”
At the blank look on Corinne’s face, the woman laughed. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“I’m embarrassed to say I don’t. Did we—”
“That’s okay. I’m not exactly upset that I don’t still look like that same mousy little wallflower. I’m Becca Danvers.”
Corinne couldn’t hide her surprise. “Becca! I don’t believe it. You look so...different.”
The Becca that Corinne remembered was painfully shy, always looking as if she were trying to blend in with the wall.
“I hope so. I look at those old school pictures and—ugh.”
“You weren’t ugly. You were just—”
“Too shy?”
“Too shy.” Corinne laughed. “You’ve come out of that, though.”
Becca shrugged
. “I had to get over my shyness if I was going to be a teacher. I could just see myself standing in front of a class and being so nervous I squeaked.”
Corinne made a face. “Don’t give me something else to worry about.”
“Has anyone prepared you for the nightmares?” When Corinne’s eyebrows shot up questioningly, Becca nodded and leaned a hip on the edge of Corinne’s desk, stirring her coffee with a plastic straw. “I teach all the math classes. I dream all the time that I’ve lost my grade book. Or that I can’t remember the lesson. Or I don’t understand the lesson. One night last week I dreamed I was trapped inside the quadratic formula and couldn’t get out.” She sighed and shook her head. “I was stuck. It was horrible.”
It was something of a surprise to hear the sound of her own easy laughter. What an entertaining idea, to have her nightmares of gunmen and murder replaced by ones of incomplete lesson plans. As if teaching could ever mean enough to her to actually give her nightmares.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be great. You always were the best at whatever you did.”
“There you are! Good, I can give both of you your grade books now.”
Corinne looked up to see Mrs. Meddlar standing at the door.
Mrs. Meddlar had been the school secretary since anyone could remember. She was still as energetic as she’d been when Corinne walked the halls as a student. She was Aloma High School’s source of transcripts, hall passes and, most importantly, gossip.
“I don’t know if Mr. Sammons had time to give you the complete details of your responsibilities when he hired you to sub,” Mrs. Meddlar said briskly. “I’ve compiled a list of the duties the English teacher generally performs.”
Corinne scanned the list quickly. “I’m the senior class advisor? What does that entail?”
“You help them fill out college applications, counsel them if they need it, things like that.”
“I can’t counsel anyone.” Corinne cast Becca a worried glance. “I’m not remotely qualified.”
“Relax, sweetie, it’s nothing. The students hardly ever ask, and when they do, it’s the same old thing. You know.” Mrs. Meddlar bent in close and raised her eyebrows knowingly. “Sex,” she stage-whispered. “And if you ask me, just skip that safe sex nonsense and tell them to keep their pants on and their knees together.”
Becca smothered her laugh with a cough and tried to turn away. Corinne warned her with her eyes not to desert her now before she moved discreetly on to the next item on the list. “I’m also in charge of senior class fund-raisers. What’s all that about?”
“The senior class always does the Haunted Hayride at the Halloween carnival. They put on the Christmas play, too. There’s one more big fund-raiser after spring break. But then, I guess you’ll be gone by then.” She stopped and eyed Corinne keenly. “Probably back to Dallas, eh?”
Corinne ignored Mrs. Meddlar’s thinly veiled dig for gossip and sat heavily in her chair with a sigh. She’d wanted a job that would be time-consuming. It looked as if she’d found it.
“I also brought you a list of all the students you’ll have in your classes. That way you can go ahead and fill out this grade book.” She plopped the book on Corinne’s desk.
“Good,” Corinne said, her eyes scanning the list. She wanted to get started learning their names. “Becca, if you don’t mind, maybe you could look over this list with me and tell me what you know about each one.”
“Sure.” Becca smoothed her hair back from her forehead and leaned over the desk to look at the list. “What do you want to know?”
Mrs. Meddlar couldn’t resist the opportunity to gossip and she came behind the desk to look over Corinne’s shoulder. One by one, the women went through the names, while Corinne jotted notes. It was much the same as the research she’d once done before she interviewed someone.
“Blake Handley. He’s a good student, but he has a real problem with spelling and punctuation,” Becca said. “You might want to keep an eye on him in that area.”
“His father works at the cotton oil mill,” Mrs. Meddlar added helpfully. “And his mother drove her Jeep Cherokee into the side of Mrs. Haney’s gift shop last year, right after they got into that quarrel about those Easter egg baskets. She told everyone it was an accident, but.. ” She let her voice trail off and raised her eyebrows.
“Carl Buchanan. One of the many Buchanans, of course,” Becca continued. Half of Aloma was either a Buchanan or related to them in some way. “You know, he’s the only boy now. They had a run of females in the family for a while, much to their dismay, I’m sure.” Becca smiled. “He’s got about fourteen girl cousins in this school. He’s basically a good kid, but he likes to cut up in class a little.”
“Do you know his father paid over forty thousand dollars for that car he’s driving?” Mrs. Meddlar asked Becca. “Forty thousand dollars! Of course, considering he owns half the town, I suppose he can afford it. He gave Carl his old pickup. Although it really wasn’t old. Two years, hardly long enough to wear the tread off the tires...”
They went through the list of names, with Becca remarking on each student. Corinne could tell the young teacher was trying to give each of the teenagers an honest reference. But she had a hard time saying anything bad about any of them. At worst, she’d say they needed improvement in some area, or might need a little extra help with some things.
Mrs. Meddlar had no such qualms. “That little heathen has stolen my stapler at least ten times,” she said when they got to one name. “She wears her jeans much too tight,” she said about another girl.
“Jeremy Huckaby.” Becca shook her head as she read the name and sighed.
Corinne raised her eyebrows and looked at the name on the list of seniors. This was as close to a bad reference as any of the students got from Becca.
Mrs. Meddlar tsked. “Sad,” was all she’d say.
“What?” Corinne laughed uneasily. “What is he, some kind of demon?”
Corinne was teasing, but Becca’s face remained serious.
“He’s a very angry young man. He’s been in a lot of trouble lately.”
Mrs. Meddlar nodded, her curls flopping. “Every day it seems like I hear some new kind of mischief he’s gotten into. He stole all the letters off the Dairy Queen sign. He took the garbage cans from the park and dumped them into Hank Edwards’ water tank. He’s just looking for trouble.”
“Why is he like that?” Corinne asked, then silently cursed the reporter’s instinct in her that had to eternally question everything.
“You haven’t heard about his father? Surely your mother told you about Pete Huckaby. He owned that little trucking company about five miles out of town?”
Corinne shook her head. It was highly unlikely that she and her mother would ever engage in a gossip session about the goingson in Aloma. “No. What happened? Did he have an accident or something?”
Becca shook her head and started to speak, but Mrs Meddlar interrupted her “He went to the state pen. He was using his business to transport...illegal substances,” she whispered
Mrs. Meddlar’s eyes were bright with a morbid excitement, while Becca’s held reluctance.
“What kind of illegal substances?” Corinne asked uneasily.
“Drugs.” Again Mrs. Meddlar stage-whispered her response.
Becca nodded hesitantly. “He was selling drugs out of his truck, trying to make some extra money. Toby arrested him last winter.”
“No wonder his son is so angry.”
“He’s a good kid, Corinne. But you’re liable to have your hands full with him.”
“Don’t worry about it too much, honey.” Mrs. Meddlar patted Corinne on the arm. “You’re only here for a few months. No one expects you to be a real teacher.”
Corinne lifted her eyebrows in surprise. She expected it. “I intend to do my best by the students.”
“Of course you do, and you will. But no one expects perfection. If the kids give you too much trouble, just send them to detention. Get them out o
f your hair.”
Becca left a few minutes later, after promising to help Corinne in any way she could.
Mrs. Meddlar lingered. “She certainly has changed, hasn’t she?” She nodded in the direction of the door Becca had just walked through.
Corinne murmured agreement and shuffled through papers on her desk.
“She was always such a wallflower. Who would have thought she was so pretty?”
“She was never ugly.”
“No, but she was never pretty, either. Her mother made her wear those plain dresses that hung so loose on her. She never got to style her hair like the other girls.” Mrs. Meddlar sighed and shook her head. “Her mother thought it was a sin to care about how you look. She used to lock that poor girl in the closet and make her pray on her knees for hours at a time. But since the hateful old bat died, Becca’s finally getting to spread her wings a little.”
Corinne raised her head in surprise. “Her mother died? When?”
“Oh, lands, it’s been about a year and a half, I guess.”
Corinne didn’t want to get into a gossip session about Becca. For one thing, no one had ever confirmed the rumors about Mrs. Danvers and her fanatical religious practices. And for another, Corinne knew what it felt like to have a less-than-desirable relationship with her parents.
Like Becca, Corinne’s father left when she was very young—in Corinne’s case, right before her second birthday Corinne’s mother, Linda, had made it plain, in deed and in word, that Corinne’s conception was an accident. She’d told anyone who would listen that if she hadn’t gotten pregnant at the age of seventeen, her life would have taken a far better path.
Corinne learned early on that she was a mistake, and in her guilt had done her best to make amends to her mother for that mistake. To prove to her mother and to herself that, though she hadn’t been planned or wanted, she still had a lot to contribute to the world. She realized now that she’d been looking for her mother’s approval and acceptance all her life. In that, too, she had failed.
Even the day of her shooting, with the eyes of the world on her, waiting to learn if she would recover from her injuries, Linda had done nothing more than call to see if she was okay. Unable to talk, Corinne had nodded to her aunt Muriel, who told her mother that she was indeed fine. A card from her mother had been in Corinne’s mail when she was released from the hospital. Alone, she’d cried silently that a two-dollar card was her mother’s only sign of concern when she’d been so close to death. But Corinne had kept that card with her everywhere she went for six months. Now it was tucked safely away in her dictionary at home.