by Claire Adams
“What’s the matter?” Tony asked.
“Nina’s teacher wants to have a conference tomorrow about Nina’s History grade,” I said.
“So, go and hear what she has to say,” Tony shrugged. “What’s the big deal?”
“Not only am I going to have to hear about how Nina is failing to live up to her potential,” I said, “but I’m going to have to deal with Remy blaming me for it.”
“Oooh, ouch,” Tony winced. “Kinda sucks.”
My phone began ringing, and when I looked at the screen, I let out a string of swear words that drove Tony into the lounge in search of food.
“Hello, Remy,” I said flatly.
“I assume you got the email from Ms. Fowler,” Remy said in a clipped voice.
“I did,” I replied.
“Well, I simply cannot drop everything and be at the school tomorrow, Blake,” she huffed. “My schedule is tight, and I’ve got a meeting with the development committee at 2. I can’t exactly tell them that I need to postpone their multimillion-dollar contract negotiations because my daughter’s teacher says we need to discuss her History homework.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to inconvenience your precious strip mall developers,” I said sarcastically.
“Don’t be an asshole, Blake,” she warned. “You’ve got a flexible schedule tomorrow, so you can go without me.”
“Why do you always assume that my schedule is so flexible?” I shot back. “How do you know I’m not working?”
“Because you work one day on and three days off,” she said. That was one of the complaints she lodged in the divorce filing. Despite the fact that it was incredibly flexible, my work schedule was the primary focus of our married life, and it always had to be accommodated first. “You’ve worked the exact same schedule for the past 20 years.”
“Are you saying I’m predictable and boring?” I asked angrily.
“No, I’d call it boringly consistent,” she replied. “Are you going to go or not?”
“You know I will,” I grumbled. She had me up against a wall because she knew that I’d do whatever I needed to do to ensure that Nina was happy, healthy, and well-educated. She did not seem as dedicated to the task as I was, and that had always irked me even though I loved spending my free time with my daughter.
“Thank you,” she said, without sounding terribly grateful.
“Yeah, whatever,” I grunted, before hanging up. It wasn’t that I missed being married to Remy; I didn’t. It was that I resented the way she treated me as if I were another one of her office staff. As if my sole purpose in life was to raise our daughter so that she could later take the credit for what a great job we’d done. I knew she loved Nina, but it was at times like these that I wished I’d been widowed rather than divorced.
Chapter Six
Emily
Late Tuesday afternoon, I was cleaning off the board after a particularly productive class discussion when I heard a knock at my classroom door.
“Excuse me, Ms. Fowler?” a deep voice said from the doorway. I turned around to find a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark brown eyes standing in the entrance to my classroom. He smiled as he stood uncomfortably, waiting to be invited into my room adding, “I’m Blake Gaston, Nina’s dad. I’m here for a conference about her History grade?”
Unable to speak, I simply nodded as I stood frozen in place. It had been a long time since I’d felt the zing of attraction, and it took a moment for me to shake off the surprise and remind myself that, handsome or not, he was here to discuss his daughter’s academic progress — or lack thereof.
“Mr. Gaston, so nice of you to make it; please come in and have a seat,” I said, putting on my brightest parent-teacher conference smile as I offered my hand. He looked around, and then crossed the room to shake my hand. His fingers were warm and strong, and I bit my tongue to keep from gasping as I felt a jolt of electricity pass between us. He didn’t seem to notice as I quickly pulled my hand back and motioned for him to sit down. “Will your wife be joining us?”
“Who? Oh, Remy can’t make it; she’s got a meeting,” he said, shaking his head as he ran his hand through his thick salt-and-pepper hair. He unzipped his coat as he eyed one of the front desks before squeezing himself into the seat behind the desk. I had never been more aware of a man’s body than I was at this moment. His voice broke through my private thoughts, “It’s just you and me.”
“I see,” I nodded, as I reached across my desk and pulled my gradebook out from under the stack of homework I’d collected that morning. “I don’t know if Nina has told you anything about her History grade, but it’s not good.”
“I know she’s been slacking a little,” he said, looking around the room as if he were the student. I handed him a report I’d prepared detailing all of Nina’s missing assignments as he added, “She’s having a bit of trouble adjusting to the divorce.”
“Oh, you’re divorced?” I said, trying unsuccessfully to hide my surprise. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said with a mirthless grin. “It was for the best for all of us, but Nina has struggled to get used to living in two places, and I know she’s clashing with her mom right now. Nothing major, I think; just teenage stuff.”
“Well, at least you’re aware of the challenges,” I said, looking down at my gradebook as I tried to avoid openly gawking at Mr. Gaston’s handsome face. He had a square jaw that, when combined with his day-old scruff, gave him an air of rugged danger.
“Indeed I am, but I was not aware of her failing History grade,” he said, as he scanned the report with a furrowed brow.
“I don’t quite get it myself,” I admitted. “She’s a very bright student, and she’s capable of writing quite brilliantly, but for some reason, she’s stopped doing her homework or turning in the assigned essays.”
“I’m not sure what to tell you about that, but I can guarantee that this will not stand,” he said firmly. I couldn’t stop myself from noticing the way his jeans were stretched tightly across his thighs as he absentmindedly ran a hand down one of them.
“I think we can work together to get Nina back on track,” I said, forcing my attention away from Blake Gaston’s rock-solid body and back to the papers in front of me.
“Oh, I’ll get her back on track all right,” he said, as he slid out from behind the desk and stood in front of me.
“Well, don’t do anything too drastic,” I said, as I looked up into his eyes. I could smell the scent of smoke and pine wafting across the space between us, and the masculine smell only intensified my attraction. “I’m sure that if you speak to her and point out the need for her to consider her grades as part of her college goals, we’ll be able to move her back toward a more productive study path.”
“The hell with that; I’m going to tell her that I’m taking her phone away until she gets her damn grades up!” he declared, as he folded the report I’d given him into a neat little square and stuffed it into the front pocket of his shirt. “This may be the only thing her mother and I can agree on anymore.”
“Well, I’ll be here to support Nina and encourage her to live up to her potential,” I said, as he turned and stalked across the room toward the door. When he reached it, he stopped and turned back toward me.
“Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Ms. Fowler?” he asked.
“No, that’s all,” I said, even though my body was clearly giving me signs that there was a lot else I wanted to discuss with this man. He nodded and exited out into the hallway as I sunk down into my chair and ran a hand through my hair, trying to compose myself.
It took me awhile to get myself and my things together as images of Blake Gaston filled my mind. As I headed out to my car, I wondered if KO was working tonight and briefly considered making a detour to The Lucky Clover to have a drink and tell her about the conference, but the heavy bag of homework assignments I’d slung over my shoulder told me that this would not be a good choice.
I sighed as I started the car and headed home to feed Howard and get started on grading papers.
Chapter Seven
Blake
Friday morning, I rolled into work just as Tony pulled up and parked. The storm had left several feet of snow in its wake, but Chief had made sure the street in front of the station had been plowed first. It was the little things that he took care of that made a difference in the morale at the fire station, and we all appreciated the effort.
“What’s shakin’ Big B?” Tony called, as he walked toward me. “How’d the teacher conference go yesterday?”
“Good news, bad news,” I said. “My kid is failing History, but her teacher is gorgeous.”
“Ooooh, hot for teacher!” Tony yelled, as he slapped my back. “I’m liking the sound of this!”
“You’re such a damn pervert,” I sighed, as I pulled open the door to the station and walked inside. “She’s Nina’s teacher, for God’s sake. I mean, sure, she’s a knockout, but I didn’t exactly ask about her marital status or whether she’d like to go out for dinner.”
“Why not just ask if she wants to do you on her desk?” Tony asked, as we shoved our backpacks and coats into our lockers.
“You have got to be shitting me,” I laughed. “It was a parent-teacher conference, not some cheesy porn flick, you idiot!”
“I know, but I can dream, can’t I?” Tony asked.
“Not about me or my sex life, you weirdo,” I laughed, as I smacked the back of his head.
We joined the rest of the crew in the kitchen for a breakfast spread that included eggs, bacon, and pancakes. As we dished up our plates and poured ourselves coffee, Chief came into the dining room with a serious look on his face.
“Gentlemen and ladies, we have a new addition to the squad today,” he said, stepping back to reveal a tall, serious-looking young man standing behind him. “I’d like to introduce you to our rookie squad member, Cal Jordan. I’d like you to welcome him and show him the ropes.”
Muttered welcomes rose up from the lips of the squad members bent over their plates, trying to shovel in a meal before a call came in.
“Thanks, it’s good to be here,” Cal said, as he ducked his head and grabbed a plate. Chief shot me and Tony a look before walking back to his office.
I said nothing as I scooted my chair closer to Tony to make room for the new guy. The rest of the squad began asking questions and teasing Cal about his rookie status.
“Fucking great,” Tony mumbled, as he shoved another forkful of pancakes into his mouth.
Suddenly the station bells began ringing as a voice came over the intercom informing us that we had a call. Tony quickly shoved the last piece of bacon on his plate into his mouth and pushed himself away from the table.
“C’mon, rookie!” I yelled, as we all headed for the rigs. Once loaded, I reached over and adjusted the closure on Cal’s coat, telling him, “You have to make sure to close it properly or you’ll end up with a shitload of ash going down your neck and chest.”
He nodded solemnly as he looked down and took note of the proper way to fasten it. I didn’t mind rookies; I just didn’t want to have to babysit them while I was trying to do my job. This kid looked like he’d just graduated from high school, and I worried that he was too green to be of any use at the structure fire we were headed to.
“Rookie, hang back once we get there and just watch,” I said, as we pulled around the corner and parked. “There will be plenty of time for joining in the action, but today’s not the day.”
Tony and I hopped out of the rig and walked over to where Chief was standing, looking up at the two-story house. Flames were shooting out of the upper windows on the west side of the building, and two women stood on the east side of the house pointing up at the windows yelling that there was a man trapped on the second floor. Chief gave us our orders before Tony and I donned our masks and grabbed a hose. The other guys began hoisting a ladder up to the second floor as Tony and I busted open the front door and headed up the stairs. There were flames jumping from the ceiling in the upstairs hallway, and the large wooden banister caught fire as we slowly moved up the stairway toward the second floor.
“Watch out for the sparks!” Tony yelled, as a portion of the ceiling fell down in front of us. The embers lit the carpeting and burned brightly as I aimed the hose and doused the flames. To our left, the house was quickly being consumed by fire while the right side smoldered and threatened to go up at any moment.
“Find the guy they said is up here!” I yelled, as I turned the hose toward the flames.
Tony quickly ran up the stairs and began pounding on doors yelling “Fire Department! Call out!” When he pushed open the third door, he yelled, “Blake, he’s here! I need help lifting him!”
I secured the hose on the stairs and ran to help Tony lift the large man off the floor and carry him to the window. We loaded him on a backboard and then passed him out the window to the guys waiting on the ladder.
“We need to get the flames under control,” I said, as we headed back to the stairs. I grabbed the hose as Tony began chopping holes in the walls to make sure the fire hadn’t spread inside the walls. I could hear the guys on the roof using their axes to vent the fire as I doused the hallway and put out the flames.
When we emerged from the house an hour later, I saw Cal sitting on the curb with his head down between his knees, gasping for air. Tony walked over and slapped him on the back asking, “What the hell happened, rookie?” When Cal couldn’t answer, another of the guys spoke up and said, “He tried to pull the hose out without releasing the hook and knocked the wind out of his sails. Maybe busted a rib or something.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, rookie!” Tony shouted. “What the hell is wrong with you? Did you forget your brain back at the station? Hose usage is basic stuff! What the fuck, you idiot?”
When Cal didn’t respond, Tony stomped off swearing a blue streak as he helped roll up the hoses and store the gear. I walked over to where Cal was sitting and quietly said, “Hey, that was a dumb move all right, but we’ve all been there. Shake it off, rookie. You’ll do better next time.” Cal turned and looked up at me with a solemn expression, then nodded and pushed himself up off the ground.
“You should go over to the EMTs and have them check you out before we head back to the station,” I said. Silently, he nodded and turned to walk away.
Tony sidled up next to me holding a couple of axes in one hand and demanded to know why I was talking to the idiot rookie.
“Ease up, man; you’ve made your point,” I said quietly, as I looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “We’ve all been there before, or have you forgotten?”
“Fuck off, Gaston,” Tony said with a wry grin as he walked to the truck and stored the axes.
“Just saying,” I grinned, as we swung ourselves up into the rig and waited for the driver to take us back to the station.
Chapter Eight
Emily
Friday afternoon, as I was finishing hanging the best homework assignments on the board outside my classroom, I saw Nina Gaston walking down the hallway. She dragged her feet as if she were dreading whatever was waiting outside.
“Nina, can I talk to you?” I called, as she edged along the wall, intent on avoiding me. “Nina, I know you hear me.”
She looked up, surprised that I’d call her out this way, and stopped walking. I motioned to the classroom door, and silently she walked over and entered the room.
“I want to talk to you about your History grade,” I said, trying to maintain a calm, nonjudgmental tone.
“My dad already read me the riot act,” she said in a flat voice. “I know what you want and what I need to do. Is there anything else?”
“Nina, I don’t understand why you aren’t doing better,” I said, abandoning the pretense of neutrality. “You’re an incredibly smart student who has written some astute essays in the past. This change in attitude doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Not everythi
ng makes sense, Ms. Fowler,” she said, without further comment.
“Try and explain it to me,” I prodded.
“I don’t care about History,” she shrugged.
“Why not? I mean, I know my lectures aren’t the most scintillating, but the assignments are top-notch!” I joked.
“History is in the past; why dig it up?” Nina asked.
“Because we can learn a lot from it,” I said, wondering what had led her to draw this conclusion and why she was ruining her grades in order to prove her point.
“I don’t think anyone learns anything from the past,” she shrugged. “I find it boring and useless.”
“Nina, I don’t know why you feel this way, but I’m worried about what will happen if you blow off this class and sink your GPA because of it,” I said earnestly, trying to get through to her. “You’ve got to bring your grades up so that you can apply for college and scholarships next spring. You’re too smart not to take advantage of every opportunity you have.”
“Says you,” she said, looking up at me. I could see that there was something bothering her, but I was wary of prying when she was obviously intent on maintaining her defenses.
“I’m not trying to guilt you into anything; I’m just saying that I want to see you achieve your goals, and I know that staying in Waltham is not one of them,” I said bluntly, pointing out the fact that living in town and working at one of the low-paying minimum wage jobs that were available for non-college graduates should not be her first choice.
“You live here,” she said accusingly.
“Yes, but that’s because I finished my degree and made a choice to pursue a career that brought me here,” I said, suddenly feeling defensive. “I didn’t let this town become my default setting.”
“That’s nice,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest and backed away. “It’s not like Waltham is a terrible place to live, you know.”
“I didn’t say that,” I said, watching her move further away. “I simply said that you are too smart not to have options, and I don’t want your low History grade to keep you from pursuing them.”