“I— uh—” She gaped at him a moment longer, her mind whirling.
His hair was still black as the night, thick, and, though cut short, still tried to work its way into a curl. His shirt, the color of the Mediterranean, drew attention to his eyes.
The intensity Amy felt as she stared at him hit her like a sucker punch. The steadying breath she took was more a ragged wheeze. So much for attempting to regain her composure.
“Is there a problem with Shayna?”
What a stupid question. Why else would he be here? She bit back her disappointment and prayed for forgiveness…again. She would just keep reminding herself that Quentin had a wife and keep asking the Lord to scrub these thoughts from her mind.
“Amy, I— I can’t believe it’s really you. I wondered. Shayna keeps talking about Miss Welsh this and Miss Welsh that.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-hearted, distant smile.
So he’d expected her to be here, discussed her with his daughter. This revelation startled her. It really could have been Quentin who’d told Shayna about their past.
Calm down, it doesn’t mean anything. He’s just a dad who came to see his daughter’s teacher.
A married dad.
His face was weathered by years of hard work, sunshine, and laughter. Karen must make him very happy.
An awkward moment passed before Amy found her voice. “Yes, it’s me.” She laughed self-consciously.
“It’s been a long time, Amy.”
The smooth, honeyed tone of his voice made up for the warmth his smile lacked. And though she wanted to avoid it, she found herself looking into his eyes again. Amy tried to see past her painful memories but felt them blurring her vision.
“What are you doing in town? Besides the obvious, I mean.”
“Someone wrote and told me about the temporary position. I always wanted to come back, so I thought I’d give it a try.” She shrugged matter-of-factly and hoped she sounded nonchalant.
“You never married then?”
Blindsided by the question, Amy almost gasped out loud. Surely he didn’t think every relationship she’d ever attempted had been overshadowed by thoughts of him? Or that she woke up late at night haunted by their unresolved past?
Undeniably defensive, she folded her arms across her chest. “So is this a social visit? Or did you come to talk about Shayna?”
Something flashed in his expression and then quickly disappeared.
“Actually, yes, I did come to talk about Shayna.” His tone dropped in timbre. Amy recognized it as anger, and her stomach plummeted.
What could he possibly be angry about? Had Shayna told him about this afternoon? Even if she had, why would he be angry?
Amy neither confirmed nor denied Shayna’s questions. More likely he thought Amy brought the whole thing up, which likely meant he wasn’t the one who’d told Shayna about their former relationship.
“Shayna is one of my best students. Bright, eager, full of enthusiasm. Is she having a problem I’m not aware of?”
“She won’t be having a problem once you take care of it.”
Amy stiffened. His reply implied she was the one responsible.
“And what exactly is her problem?” She couldn’t help lifting her chin a notch.
“Bradley Baxter.” Quentin practically spat the name out.
“I don’t understand.” Amy frowned. A third-year journalism student, Bradley was one of her best students.
“You have Baxter paired up with my daughter. I don’t want him within fifty feet of her.”
“That’ll be a bit difficult to manage in here.” Amy glanced pointedly around the classroom.
“You know what I mean,” Quentin said dryly. “The less contact Shayna has with him, the better. I don’t want them working together.”
Amy arched a brow and attempted to give him her best ‘teacher’s-in-charge’ look, all the while ignoring the furious flutter of her heart. “Can you give me a good reason why not?”
“I have my reasons.” Quentin folded his arms across his chest, as if to signal the end of the conversation.
But they weren’t finished. Amy could tell by the set of Quentin’s jaw he was holding something back. Something must have happened between Bradley and him in the past. Nothing else could explain his reaction.
“Quentin, without getting personal...” She flushed. Just saying his name out loud tied her tongue in knots. “I realize there’s something you don’t want to tell me and that’s fine. But you have to understand I can’t just go around changing the assignments mid-way through. Each couple is working on their interview questions. They—”
“Couple?” Quentin pulled at his shirt collar as if it were suddenly too tight. “Understand this! My daughter is not going to be any part of a couple with that Baxter kid!”
Startled by his reaction, Amy took a step back. “Of course I don’t mean ‘couple’ the way you just interpreted it,” she said hurriedly. “I should have said each ‘pair’ of students.”
“And my say-so alone isn’t enough for you to change the assignments?” Now he sounded downright antagonistic.
Even though she didn’t like it, Amy had to admit she did understand. He probably knew all the girls threw themselves at Bradley. Quentin was a daddy looking out for his daughter. She’d always wondered what he’d be like as a father. The thought tugged tenderly at her heart, and she hoped Karen cherished this protective “daddy” part of his nature.
A lump formed in her throat. “Think about it for a minute,” she said. “I’m sure you know how girls this age are about things like this. You have to realize how humiliating this will be for Shayna.”
“She’ll get over it,” Quentin snapped. Something flickered in his eyes. Uncertainty perhaps?
“Quentin, if I reassign Shayna, I’ll need to give her a good explanation considering she’s the one who asked to work wi—” She broke off suddenly, realizing what she’d been about to say. Too late, she couldn’t recall the words.
“She what?” A bright red stain spread across Quentin’s face, and the storm she’d noticed earlier in his eyes was back.
“P-Perhaps she doesn’t know how you feel about him.”
“Oh, she knows all right. He worked for me briefly last summer, and let’s just say it didn’t work out. Shayna’s heard enough of the details to know how upset I’d be over them working together. So I don’t understand why she’d ask to work with him.”
“Maybe she has a crush on him?”
Quentin pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath then looked directly at her. The weariness on his face reflected in his voice when he spoke. “How can that be when she knows how I feel about him?”
Quentin rubbed his hand over his chin.
This turn-around tugged even harder at her heart. “There’s no logic to the emotions of a girl’s heart.” The words swelled from deep within and pushed past Amy’s lips in a whisper.
Taking one step closer, Amy placed a comforting hand on his upper arm. At least, she meant to be comforting. The instant she made physical contact, she wished she hadn’t. Quentin’s eyes widened. Hers probably did, too. She couldn’t think about the firm muscular strength of his arms, how they’d felt wrapped tightly around her all those years ago.
Amy forced her thoughts back to Shayna, and Quentin’s purpose for being here. “Does she date?”
“No, not yet,” he whispered.
In that one sentence, Amy heard a loving father torn apart by the inevitability of his daughter someday putting him second.
“She’s too young.” Quentin glanced away.
Could he be thinking about their high school romance and how, even though they’d never done more than kiss, they’d been constantly inundated with the desire for a more mature relationship?
High up on the classroom wall, the clock ticked. Its sound, suddenly loud in her ears, rivaled the pounding of her heart. Her hand went to her throat in a reflexive action.
Through the light blue threads of her sweater, she felt the single delicate pearl she always wore around her neck. Thankfully, the sweater kept it hidden from view. Quentin gave it to her the night he asked her to Homecoming—the dance she’d always dreamed of, but never did attend—and Amy didn’t want him to know she still wore the necklace after all these years.
“Listen, Quentin, I...” She let her words trail away because his gaze now rested on her hand, which still touched his arm.
She’d meant it as a natural gesture, an attempt to comfort him. But he may well have misconstrued it. So much for keeping things professional. Instinctively she started to remove her hand, but he covered it with his own.
Warm, firm, tantalizing. The sensations filled her, teased her.
Lord, please forgive me!
Swallowing hard past the furious pounding of her heart, she looked at the floor. “Why don’t I keep an eye on the situation? If it looks like a romance is developing, I’ll give you a call.”
“Sounds good, Amy. I’d appreciate it.” The warm, honeyed tones were back.
Amy looked up then and saw him watching her closely. He smiled and she smiled back. He released her arm and headed for the door, leaving her emotions wrestling in a tumble of relief and disappointment.
He hesitated and turned back toward her.
“It’s good to see you again, Amy.”
“You, too, Quentin.” She raised her hand in a half-hearted wave and instantly felt foolish.
The stinging sensation behind her eyes told her the truth with no uncertainty.
When Quentin walked through the door, a piece of her heart went with him.
Please, Lord, Jesus, help me. What am I going to do?
2
Quentin couldn’t wipe the grin off his face as he left the school. He didn’t have to wonder anymore. Amy was back. His Amy. For real.
Backing out of the parking lot, he felt like a teenager again. He recalled the many times he’d backed out of this same parking lot with her seated beside him, window down, a wide smile on her face, and her long hair flying free. Only this Amy was no longer a teenager. She’d matured, grown into a gorgeous, alluring woman, just as he’d always known she would. Though she was thinner than he remembered, she hadn’t grown any taller. She was still five-two, the perfect height to fit in the crook of his arm.
OK, so he shouldn’t be thinking this way. But he couldn’t help it. Besides, he wanted to. He wanted to pinpoint exactly what made her look like a woman instead of a teenager.
Could it be the way she carried herself? Her poise, her self-assured manner of speaking? Instead of the first blush of teenage love, always so apparent on her face when they were kids, her face reflected a quiet confidence and a hint of mystery. A mystery he longed to discover.
Amy’s short haircut surprised him, yet it suited her perfectly by accentuating the curvy planes of her face. It gave her a more womanly presence.
Things were finally looking up. In a burst of nostalgia, Quentin rolled his window down, turned up the volume on the “oldies” station, and roared down the street. Drumming one hand on the steering wheel, he sang along with Green Day’s Time of Your Life.
****
Quentin returned home to find Shayna still gone. After looking all through the house, he stepped onto the back porch. “Shayna? Are you out here?”
“She ain’t here, Mr. Macmillan.”
Quentin turned to his left and spotted Mrs. Parsons, his elderly next-door neighbor, peering over her side of the fence. “Hello, Mrs. Parsons.” He nodded to her and walked down the steps. “Have you seen her?”
“Sure have.” Mrs. Parsons bobbed her silver-topped head enthusiastically, her cheeks flushed like two ripe apples. She always reminded Quentin of the grandmother he’d never had, even now with her mouth collapsed into a tight frown.
Uh-oh. Quentin groaned and prepared himself for the complaints to start.
“She’s off chasing that duck of yours.”
Rufus. Quentin rolled his eyes and stepped closer, bracing himself for the usual speech. She didn’t disappoint him.
“Rufus quacks all day because he’s lonely. And you should hear the ruckus he causes whenever the planes fly over.”
Quentin sighed. Mrs. Parsons sounded rather like a quacking duck herself. He should be ashamed of himself for the wicked thought, but he wasn’t.
Sorry, Lord.
“It’s because he needs to be with other ducks, don’t you know. I think it’s cruel to keep barnyard animals as pets. And as for water, don’t you know ducks prefer a lake or ocean to the plastic swimming pool you use as a duck pond?”
As she droned on, Quentin tuned out the familiar spiel. He rubbed his hand over his chin, then up through his short-cropped hair. He’d heard it all before and wouldn’t waste his breath trying to give her answers.
Hens were the noisy ducks, not the drakes. He would admit Rufus probably quacked at the airplanes. Or when an eagle or hawk flew overhead. But all day long? No, he simply didn’t believe her.
As for being lonely, he’d tried giving Rufus to a buddy who lived out in the country. Nick had a pond full of ducks and geese, but it didn’t make any difference. Nick claimed Rufus pined away, lonely for Quentin and Shayna. He wouldn’t eat with the other ducks, wouldn’t swim with the other ducks, and finished dead last in the pecking order. After a week Nick called and told Quentin to come and get his homesick pet. He and Shayna gladly went and retrieved Rufus.
Everyone had been happy since. Everyone, that is, except Mrs. Parsons. She rested her plump arms atop the cedar fence, her chin propped on the back of her hands.
Quentin winced, thinking about itchy cedar splinters and the tiny welts they caused. But the thought vanished when he heard the rest of Mrs. P.’s lecture.
“Furthermore, I’ve done some checking. Do you know there’s a city ordinance against keeping farm animals in town?”
Were ducks considered farm animals? Horses he could understand. But ducks? He pulled his shoulders back and tried to pay closer attention.
He’d lived in this house all his life, except during his stint in the military and had ducks since he was a small boy. No one ever bothered to complain, let alone point out a city ordinance. The mayor lived right down the street and didn’t seem to see anything wrong with it. Sometimes he even came and fed Rufus his leftover lettuce leaves. Surely he wouldn’t do that if it were against city codes. No, Mrs. P. was probably just angry about Rufus nearly scalping her cat the other day.
“I’m telling you, Mr. Mac, you’d better do something about your duck or I will.”
Quentin blew out a heavy breath, hoping she was merely being a bored busybody. He’d have to do some checking though, in order to be sure. He’d been taught to respect the law. He taught Shayna the same thing, tried to teach her a sense of responsibility and how to make the right choices. How could he expect her to distinguish right from wrong if he couldn’t do the same?
He wished he could walk away from his neighbor and pretend she’d never said a word about it. But she had. And it would break Shayna’s heart if Mrs. P. spoke the truth.
“Oh, by the way...” Mrs. P.’s smug tone stopped him in his tracks. “Wait ‘til you get a gander at your daughter.” She pressed her lips together, clearly waiting for his response. Sometimes—times like this—Mrs. P. could be very exasperating. Annoying, really.
“Get a gander? What do you mean?”
“Then you really don’t know?” The corners of her mouth twitched, and a gleam of amusement brightened her watery blue eyes. The same look she always donned whenever she had something she felt was her absolute duty to report.
“What’s she done this time?” He sighed and stepped closer to the fence. At times, his daughter could be equally as exasperating as his neighbor.
“Oh, nothing for you to worry about,” she said quickly. “But you’re not gonna like it, not one bit.”
“What?” He closed his eyes briefly, annoyed with himself
for practically biting off the elderly woman’s head. Still, he checked the urge to apologize. An apology would only feed her delight.
“She cut her hair.”
For a moment Quentin wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. How could Shayna have cut her hair? She’d had long hair since she was a toddler.
Mrs. P. made a scissoring motion with her fingers. “It’s gone,” she said matter-of-factly. “All that beautiful honey-colored hair.” She paused, waiting for a response. But, at a momentary loss for words, Quentin couldn’t offer one.
His neighbor made a clicking sound with her tongue and cheek then sighed regretfully. “Well, I’ve gotta get in and stir my beef stew. You know how grumpy Foster can get.”
“Yes.” For once Quentin didn’t feel like laughing at her reference to her battle-scarred tomcat.
After a smile and a quick wave, she disappeared beyond the fence leaving Quentin feeling alone and confused. He didn’t mind if Shayna cut her hair. It was her hair, after all. As long as she didn’t do anything strange like shave it down the middle, he could deal with it. No, it bothered him because she’d never said a word about it.
His daughter was growing up, he realized as he trudged back toward the house. The days where she discussed everything with him were quickly ending. Smart and independent, of course Shayna would move away from being daddy’s little girl. It was only natural. He didn’t like it, but he’d have to accept it.
Unsure how to feel about all of this, Quentin went back into the kitchen. He hadn’t been there five minutes when the back door burst open and Shayna staggered in. She leaned against the frame with an exaggerated stance and let her chin fall to her chest.
“So?” Quentin smiled at his daughter’s dramatics. “Does this mean you caught Rufus?”
“Yeah.” Shayna lifted her head and gave him a quirky half-smile. And Quentin felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Her once long wavy hair now fell in soft curls and framed her face in a gentle halo of dark blonde wisps.
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