“Are you going to call the police? Tell them I called you?”
Hannah weighed her words carefully. “If I think you’re a threat to yourself or others, then yes. If you’re using me as a sounding board, then no. You got caught in a situation I was partially responsible for and I’m sorry, but other than apologizing and making your science team experience fun, I’ve got nothing. But if giving the science team a try means calming things with your father, why not just do it?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Oh, it is,” Hannah assured him. “You’re making it difficult because you’re mad. And caramels are a great stress reliever. All that chewing does wonders for the soul.”
“Are you tempting me in so you can call the cops and have me put in the hospital against my will?”
Hannah tried to balance the situation with pre-Ironwood common sense in a post-Ironwood mind, and that was tough, but at least this kid was reaching out.
Father, help him. Comfort him. Sustain him with Your gentle hands, Your loving arms.
“And mess with all that drama? Please, it’s Saturday, I turn on my no-drama-zone force field the minute I walk out of the school. Come in here, talk face-to-face and eat candy.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Consider it candy store therapy. It works wonders for me.”
She walked back out front as he came through the door, his bearing less timid than last night. “Dude.”
The one-word greeting made him smile. “Miss Moore.”
She held out a small tray of candies and plastic gloves. “Wash your hands, put these on and keep people happy for a few minutes, okay? We’re swamped.”
He paused, startled, then made a face. “You want me to help you?”
Hannah pointed toward the front. “See all those people? If we feed them, they might not stampede the counter.”
A small smile softened his jaw as he surveyed the room. He nodded, washed his hands and donned the gloves. “Will you get in trouble for doing this?”
“Commandeering free help? That’s every businessman’s dream. Now get going. Time’s wasting.”
He moved forward, carrying the tray more like a shield, but by the time he’d made a pass through the crowd, he’d relaxed and actually exchanged smiles with a few customers.
And those smiles told Hannah that Dominic Fantigrossi III might be all right with a little tender loving care.
“We need more,” he announced a few minutes later as Hannah cashed out a customer.
“The sample trays are in the kitchen. They’re marked, and make sure you avoid anything with nuts, okay?”
“Anaphylactic shock being a bad advertising ploy.”
Hannah grinned at his joke. “Exactly. Now you’re catching on.”
And he was. He hung out for the afternoon, handing out samples and bagging orders. He even emptied the garbage cans at closing time. By the time they locked up at eight o’clock, he looked tired but pleased, exactly what Hannah had hoped for.
But was it enough or too little, too late?
She had no idea.
Hannah’s cell phone rang just after she arrived home. The Illinois area code listed no name. Hannah hesitated, then grasped the phone, trepidation snaking up her spine. “Hello?”
“Hannah Moore?”
“Yes.”
“This is Jill Kantry, Christi Kantry’s mother.”
Hannah’s heart fluttered. Christi had been one of the last students killed in Karen’s lab class. “You got my note, Mrs. Kantry?”
“We did.” A short pause followed before Jill continued. “I’ve put you on speaker. Is that okay?”
“Of course. And I just want to say I’m sorry I didn’t send that note sooner. I—”
“Miss Moore, this is Jacob Westman.”
“And Thomas Kwitchik.”
“And Anna Li Phan.”
“And…”
Hannah interrupted the litany of voices. “You’re all there?”
Jill’s voice came through again. “The ones still in this area. If it was possible, we’d have all hopped on a plane to come see you, but this seemed more expedient and affordable. Miss Moore, our consensus is that while your notes of apology were well received, they were unnecessary.”
“Totally unnecessary,” someone else added.
“But…”
“You offered our children amazing opportunities at Ironwood,” Jill interrupted her. “We realize that and felt honored to have our kids work with you. We just want you to know that the unrighteous acts of others can never negate the dedication and devotion our children received from you and Ms. Krenzer. And that’s all we wanted to say.”
Hannah stopped, searching for words and coming up short. “You’re thanking me?”
“And wishing you well,” added a strong male voice. “God bless you, Miss Moore. We’ll be praying for you.”
Praying for her.
They’d buried children. They’d lost their boys and girls, a host of bright minds and inquisitive natures, and yet…
They were praying for her.
Hannah couldn’t talk around the lump lodged in her throat, but she tried. “Thank you.”
“No, Miss Moore. Thank you,” Jill insisted. “And we’ll be watching, hoping someday you can do the same things for other kids because you’re special. And that’s all we wanted to say. You have a good night now, okay?”
“Yes. Okay.”
They disconnected the call with a shower of goodbyes, their encouraging voices food for her heart and soul.
“The righteous cry out and the Lord hears them…”
The sweet psalm’s truth echoed in that phone call, an upright blessing that strengthened Hannah’s determination to do the best she could for her new students, facing forward, no matter what. For when God is with us, who can stand against us?
No one, Hannah decided, strength warming her heart. She contemplated the phone, longing to call Jeff, but then decided against it, uncertain. A roomful of grief-stricken parents had just assuaged her soul with warmth and forgiveness. Jeff Brennan could learn a lot from their amazing example.
Hannah found two missed calls the next morning, both from Jeff, with a single cryptic message citing work constraints in place of church.
Hannah sighed, and headed to Holy Name, mixed feelings dogging her steps.
She longed to talk with him. Laugh with him. Spar with him.
But his exchange with Callie reaffirmed what she’d tucked aside. Jeff’s romantic side came off as sweet and sincere, but she’d been fooled before. Never again.
Hannah headed into the church, the grace of the Ironwood parents thrusting her forward.
Jeff Brennan was a player. He put work above all else and disavowed his brother, twin realities that said volumes more than sweet words.
Sure, he was nice to his grandma. And his sense of humor was a treasure she’d miss, that warm, frank smile and quick turn of phrase.
But an unforgiving nature left no foundation for building. Wasn’t making amends part of life?
Her cell phone rang and Jane Dinsmore’s name came up. “Jane, good morning. How are you?”
“I’m holding my own, dear, and I just wanted to congratulate you on a great beginning.” Jane paused for breath, her fatigued voice underscoring her laborious fight. “Laura and Rose filled me in and just knowing you’re there makes my physical struggles easier.”
Her gentle words pricked Hannah’s tears. “You focus on getting well. I’ll hold down the fort in the meantime.”
“And that’s why I called, Hannah.” Jane stopped again. Hannah waited, patient, allowing the older woman to catch her breath. “I’m putting in my retirement papers and I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“But—”
“No buts. I may beat this thing and I’ll be glad of it, but I’ve decided it’s time to make a clean break. God has always appointed the paths in my life, and he’s made this detour fairly obvious. I would love for you to stay o
n and apply for the full-time position, but that, of course, is up to you.”
Her strength both humbled and inspired Hannah. “I would love to, Jane. Thank you.”
A tiny laugh came through, a laugh that carried the hiccup of a sob before Jane disconnected the call. “No, honey. Thank you.”
Hannah closed the phone, decisive. She’d head to the library, clean out her files and let Melissa know the job was about to be posted. Since the library was closed on Sunday, she could get her work done quickly and put things in motion for a new chapter in her life. Remembering Jeff’s message, she longed for the whole brass ring, the fairy-tale happy ending, but if nothing else, she felt strong again. Ready to embrace life to the full.
She only wished that could have included Jeff Brennan.
Chapter Eighteen
Jeff watched the technician troubleshoot the factory’s robotic application system, a machine crucial to on-time delivery of a current military contract. Quick glances to his watch intensified the loss of time, a day when he’d planned to see Hannah. Talk with her. See if he could set things straight.
“You got somewhere to be?”
The tech looked exaggeratedly at Jeff’s watch. Jeff shook his head. “No, sorry, I just had things scheduled for today.”
“Don’t we all?” The tech resumed his position on the floor while adjustable work lamps flooded his area with light. “If it’s shopping, go online. If it’s family, I got nothin’.”
Trent’s foster father had reacted badly to his latest round of chemo. Trent had headed south, leaving Jeff on his own for a weekend that appeared worry free yesterday. Today?
Jeff squared his shoulders, refusing to sigh, but hating having things not right with Hannah. Was she avoiding his calls deliberately?
His gut said yes, and that made talking to her imperative, but so was this work obligation. Jeff knew his job, he understood the consequences if supplies got held up in manufacturing. But right now he just wanted a few free hours to see his girl. Convince her he wasn’t the conniver she thought him to be.
One look at the tech’s face said that wasn’t about to happen today.
Creak…
Hannah swung around, unable to identify the sound. She hadn’t bothered turning all the library lights on, but foreboding clouds had deepened the gloom in the outer reaches of the library. Tall shelves blocked the little light the window offered, leaving her desk area lit while the rest of the room was dark. She checked the online forecast and sighed at the thought of more rain, but then it was November in the Alleghenies. Rain was a given.
Creeeaaak…
This time the noise drew her up straight, awareness crawling up her spine, tiny hairs rising in protest along her neck.
She saw nothing.
But she felt something, and she’d taught science long enough to understand the God-given gift of instinctive fear.
Why hadn’t she locked the door? Why hadn’t she turned on the lights?
Because this is Jamison, you ninny, her inner voice scolded. You’re letting your imagination run away with you. Turn on the lights, sip your coffee and finish up.
She stood, crossed to the light panel inside the door and hit the bank of switches.
Dominic.
He stood framed in the back door, his hair messed up by the wind, his face haunted.
Hannah’s heart seized. The clutch of surprise coupled with the dark skies, strong wind and the young man’s angst transported her back in time to another place, another boy, another dark, stormy day.
Stay calm. Stay connected. Get to your cell phone.
She pulled in a breath, found it impossible to draw in fully with her chest constricted, and then worked to relax her gaze, her shoulders. “How did you get in? And why are you here?”
He came forward slowly, his eyes locked with hers, his look…
She’d seen that look before, she knew it well. Depression. Desolation. Desperation. The last time had preceded an out-of-control situation governed by a power-hungry gang of boys with no conscience, but this time…
Maybe this time she could help.
And then again…
Dominic withdrew a small handgun from the left-hand pocket of his trench coat as Hannah rethought her position. She held his gaze, nodded toward the gun and kept her voice firm with God’s help. “Lose the gun, dude.”
He shook his head, his jaw trembling.
Guide me, Lord. You wouldn’t have brought me all this way, over all this time, without a reason. Give me strength. And wisdom. And please, please, please…keep me safe. Don’t let me miss out on this new chance at a life renewed. Please.
She was near the door, but not close enough to escape, and she had no clue what Dominic intended. Did he want to hurt her? Hurt himself? Seeing the pain in his eyes, his face, she knew she couldn’t turn away, but she wasn’t willing to take foolish risks either. She thought of Jeff and regret stabbed her heart. Of Caitlyn, her little goddaughter, the niece she hadn’t held yet.
But there was something about this boy that encouraged her to take a chance.
A big chance.
Making a decision, she moved toward her desk area and motioned him to come with her. “Sit down and tell me what’s going on. But I don’t talk to guns. If you want my help, lose the weapon. I mean it.”
He stared at her for long ticks of the clock, then slid the gun back into his pocket.
Hannah sent him a disbelieving look. “Really?” She jerked her head toward the DVD drop box. “Put it in there, turn the lock and give me the key. Then we’ll talk.”
He paused, his indecision hiking her fears, but she absolutely refused to let dread govern this scene. She’d worked long and hard to retake her life, her destiny, and no way was she about to let anything mess that up. Or mess him up for that matter.
Although this kid had been raked over the coals already.
He headed for the lockbox, then darted a look over his shoulder as if expecting her to go for her cell phone or the library phone.
Hannah did neither; her inaction soothed the set of his jaw.
Good.
He put the gun into the box, turned the key and tossed it to her. “You know I can get to it from outside, right?”
She nodded and shrugged. “But I know you won’t. You didn’t come here to hurt me, but you’re thinking of hurting yourself and I won’t stand for that in my library. Way too much cleanup. So sit.” She motioned him to the chair alongside her and kept her face serene but strong. “And tell me what’s going on. What’s happened?”
“They’re sending me away.”
Of course they were. “Where?”
“Kessler Academy.”
“Pricey.”
He scowled. “Nothing but the best.”
“Why?”
“Because they don’t let you make choices at Kessler. If you’re lagging in any area, they force you to take part, their sole goal being the production of young men of the highest quality, Ivy League–ready candidates.”
“So if Penn or Princeton was your goal, you’re all set. Tell me, Dominic.” She put a hand on his arm after he sat down. “What are your goals?”
He dropped his head into his hands and grimaced. “I don’t have goals. I just get by.”
“Why?”
He looked up and frowned. “Because it’s what I do.”
“What you choose to do.”
His frown deepened. “Well. Maybe.”
“So choose differently.”
“It’s too late.”
“Not as long as you’re breathing, dude. What do you want out of life right now? As a teenager? And what do you want tomorrow? And next year? What do you see yourself doing, Dominic?”
“Designing.”
Hannah paused, surprised.
Dominic pulled a handful of folded papers from his pocket. “I like to design things. My mother was an artist.”
“Really?” Hannah opened the sheaf of papers and drew a breath, surprised by th
e depth and beauty of the commercial designs she held. “You did these? I mean, they’re not some building you copied from seeing it online? Because, dude, these are gorgeous.”
“You think?”
“Oh, Dominic, I know. Are the designs workable?”
The answer was there in the keen look of his eye, his quick nod. “That’s the fun part of doing this, making sure the weight-bearing specs complement the beauty.”
“Have you taken Computer-Aided Design?”
He shook his head. “My father won’t let me. But Mr. Eschler and Mr. Bernard let me into the CAD lab when no one’s around.”
“They do, huh?” Hannah would have to rethink her assessment of the gnarly school custodian. It took a good heart to see the brilliant artist inside the angry child’s body. “Do they have this option at Kessler?”
“No.”
“Well, then.” Hannah handed the speculative buildings and bridges back to him. “We need to talk to your father.”
“My father doesn’t listen. He talks. Then he walks away.”
“Did you ever wonder why that is?” Hannah crept into this subject, not wanting to quench the light in Dominic’s eyes.
“I know why. I remind him of my mother.”
“And yet you look like your father.” Hannah let the words dangle, then tapped the papers clutched in Dominic’s hand. “Maybe this is what reminds him of your mother. Her talent, her artistry. And then you couple that with your anger and depression…” She sat back and let him absorb the idea, the suggestion that his behavior inspired his father’s negative reactions. “Maybe your father is scared to death you’ll do what your mother did, and doesn’t know how to face that. Or change it.”
The spark of recognition said her idea intrigued him so she continued. “Perhaps you can take charge of the situation by changing your actions, therefore inspiring different reactions from your father. Maybe you can find a common ground.”
Mended Hearts Page 17