Carolina Home

by Virginia Kantra

  Six

  MATT RUMBLED INTO the school parking lot on his Harley like Stallone in The Lords of Flatbush.

  Not exactly the image of a responsible guardian for a ten-year-old girl.

  But he had no choice. He was already on the boat, prepping for an afternoon run, when the call came in on his cell phone.

  “Matt Fletcher?”

  He set down the oil, juggled the phone. “Yeah.”

  “This is Karen Nelson.”

  He searched his mind. There were over a dozen Nelsons on the island, descended, they claimed, from one of Blackbeard’s crew. Like having a murdering pirate in the family tree was something to be proud of. Didn’t Dick Nelson have an older sister named Karen?

  “Vice principal for the primary grades at Dare Island School,” she added smoothly. “I’m calling about your niece Taylor.”

  The back of Matt’s neck tightened. “Is she sick? Hurt?”

  “Taylor is fine. However, it is our policy to notify the parent or guardian when we have to remove a student temporarily from the classroom. I’m afraid Taylor became belligerent with her teacher this morning.”

  He cupped the phone, trying to cut the interference from the wind. “What do you mean, belligerent? The kid never opens her mouth.”

  “Apparently she found her voice today,” Nelson said dryly. “Perhaps it would be best if I spoke with Taylor’s grandmother. Is Tess at home?”

  “She’s on the mainland.” Picking up supplies for the weekend. And Tom was God knew where with the truck, hunting a replacement part for the inn’s generator.

  Which left Matt. If anything happens, I need to know you’ll be here.

  He eased the hatch into place, covering the twin diesels. “What do you need?”

  “We’ll be sending home a Problem Report with Taylor. The next step is a parent meeting. Taylor needs to understand what constitutes appropriate dress and language at this school.”

  The Nelsons always were tight asses. After two hundred years, the family had gone respectable.

  Matt thought of several possible responses, none of which could be considered appropriate language.

  “You want a meeting, I’m there.” He wiped his hands on an engine rag. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

  It was closer to twenty by the time he parked the bike and headed up the stairs. The administration offices occupied the original school building between the new elementary wing and the middle and high school. Since Matt’s school days, an attempt had been made to update the building with new lights and new carpet. But the scarred woodwork was the same, and the smell, a compound of bubble gum, dust, and sneakers.

  It took him back. Simpler times. Good times, mostly. Not that he was in any mood to feel nostalgic.

  This wasn’t his first trip to the school since he’d graduated. He’d made it to all of Josh’s open houses, to most of his basketball games. But Tess was the one who usually handled calls during the day. Matt couldn’t turn a charter trip around every time Josh threw up or got into a fight on the playground.

  It was pure luck Matt wasn’t already out on the water this morning.

  Through the glass doors, he could see Taylor slumped in the short row of chairs in front of the reception desk, shoulders hunched, small, miserable, and defiant as a kitten in the rain. His heartstrings twinged.

  He pulled open the door. “Hey, kiddo. What’s going on?”

  Her head jerked up. Her chin wobbled before she yanked her scowl back into place.

  “Matthew Fletcher!” The school secretary greeted him from behind the high counter, pleasure warm in her raspy voice.

  Lois Howell had survived two husbands, five principals, and a pack-a-day habit. She must be nearing seventy now, Matt thought, her orange hair a cloud around her weathered face, but she still had a smile that burst like sunshine over even the hardest case students.

  He grinned at her. “Hey, Mrs. Howell.”

  “You go right in, dear,” she said. “I told Karen not to keep you waiting. Third door, next to the copy room.”

  “Thanks.” He dropped a hand on Taylor’s bony shoulder, pretending not to notice when the girl flinched under his touch. “Let’s get this straightened out.”

  Vice Principal Karen Nelson looked up from her computer as he stopped in the doorway. She was all beige, her hair, her lips, her sweater. “Mr. Fletcher.”

  He recognized her now. She used to teach second grade, a thin, nervous woman with a fondness for rules and worksheets.

  “Karen. What’s up?”

  She pokered up at his use of her first name. “Won’t you sit down?”

  There were two chairs in the office. He lowered himself into one, nudged Taylor toward the other.

  “Taylor and I have already spoken. She doesn’t need to be here.”

  Matt rubbed his jaw. “I’d agree with you. So why isn’t she in class?”

  Nelson straightened in her chair. “I’m afraid there are discipline issues which need to be addressed before Taylor can return to a learning environment.”

  “Issues,” Matt repeated.

  “Her attire, to begin with. She’s in violation of the dress code.”

  Matt regarded Taylor, wearing jeans and a Kinston baseball jersey, Luke’s field cap pulled low over her eyes. Unless it was against school policy for a girl to dress as a boy, he didn’t see the problem.

  He turned back to the vice principal, his irritation in check. Keep it light. “You got something against the Indians?”

  “Her hat, Mr. Fletcher. It’s against the rules to wear a hat inside the school buildings.”

  “You pulled her out of class—you pulled me off my boat—over a damn hat?”

  Red crept into her beige face. “Of course not. But when Mrs. Williams attempted to deal with the situation, Taylor became blatantly defiant.”

  At least two people in the room were taking this situation seriously. Which meant Matt had to, too. Suppressing his grin, he looked at Taylor. “What did you do? Punch the teacher?”

  Taylor stuck out her chin. Christ, she looked like Luke. “She tried to take my hat.”

  Matt’s amusement died. He swung on Nelson, keeping his tone even. “That true?”

  “After Taylor refused to store her hat in her cubby, Mrs. Williams attempted to confiscate it, yes. Taylor was rude and disruptive.”

  “I called her stupid,” Taylor said, her expression torn between defiance and satisfaction.

  “Well, it’s a stupid rule,” Matt said. Karen’s mouth clamped shut like a bonefish biting on bait. He collected himself. “But you can’t call your teacher names.”

  “Headgear, including hats or bandanas of any kind that could display gang affiliation, is strictly forbidden in school buildings,” Karen said.

  “Gang affiliation? On Dare.” He didn’t bother keeping his voice down this time. “Are you kidding me?”

  Nelson drew herself up, a fearful, stubborn woman with wide eyes and a tiny mouth. “The island is changing. Our population is changing. A sixth of our students speak English as a second language.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Matt said. “Or I’ll have to think you’re racist as well as insensitive. You know damn well those aren’t gang colors. That’s a U.S. Marine cap given to Taylor by her father, my brother, who left yesterday to serve our country in Afghanistan. I can’t believe you have a problem with that.”

  MATT’S RAISED VOICE penetrated the hallway.

  Allison stood in the copy room with Monday’s quiz, her heart banging uncomfortably against her ribs.

  She wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. She definitely wasn’t going to get involved. Matt’s presence at school was none of her business. The little girl—his niece?—wasn’t her student. As a new teacher, Allison was trying hard to be a valued member of the team. To fit in. The last thing she needed was more talk.

  Or a reprimand.

  But the door was open, and she couldn’t help but overhear Matt’s angry words. Coul
dn’t help, either, the sympathetic lurch of her heart.

  My brother, who left yesterday to serve our country in Afghanistan…

  The copy machine glowed and clacked and hummed as phrases escaped into the hall. New home, new school…Just lost her mother…Doesn’t need this kind of grief…

  Poor baby, Allison thought.

  A deployed parent had a profound effect on a child’s behavior in and out of the classroom. The girl’s teacher should know better than to…

  Unless she hadn’t been informed.

  Allison retrieved her copies from the tray. She hadn’t been informed, and the deployed Marine was Joshua’s uncle.

  Of course, it didn’t surprise her that Joshua hadn’t said anything. A student who barely answered roll call was unlikely to volunteer personal family information.

  But Matt could have told her. If not over beer at the Fish House, then later, when he was driving her home. Or parked in her driveway.

  You really don’t know him very well, Gail had said.

  Her mind slid to the front seat of the truck, the soft cotton of his shirt, the roughness of his stubble, the taste and textures of his mouth…

  She dragged her thoughts back to hear Karen Nelson say, “I’m sorry, but we can’t make exceptions to the rules because of one student’s circumstances.”

  “Karen, it’s a damn hat.”

  “Matt, it’s school policy.”

  “You always were a stick, Karen. Lighten up. It’s not going to kill anybody if she wears a hat to class.”

  Allison winced. Matt was doing the right thing—her heart warmed at the way he was standing up for that little girl—but he was going about it all wrong. She knew school administrators like Karen. The harder he pushed, the deeper the vice principal would dig in behind her wall of regulations.

  Not her business, Allison reminded herself.

  Not her problem.

  Gail had warned her against taking too personal an interest in Matt Fletcher. Tangling with the VP over a discipline problem was no way to quiet the school gossips.

  Chest tight, Allison slipped the original test paper from the glass.

  And rapped on the vice principal’s doorjamb. “Hi, Karen. I just overheard…I wonder if I could help?”

  All three people in the room looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  And maybe she had.

  Allison gripped her test copies until the paper trembled. Okay, she could fix this. She was good at fixing things. Growing up she had been the one to keep the peace, to smooth over heated words and icy silences.

  “I don’t know what you think you can do, Miss Carter,” Karen said coldly from behind her desk. “I have the situation under control.”

  It was important that the vice principal go on believing that. Any solution would be as much about saving face as following the rules.

  “Of course.” Allison edged into the office. After that one brief glance, she hadn’t dared look at Matt. “I already heard you tell…”

  Oh, crap. She glued her smile in place while she tried desperately to recall the child’s name.

  “Taylor,” Matt supplied. “My niece.”

  Gratefully, she grabbed the lifeline he’d tossed her. “Taylor that it would be all right for her to keep the hat in her cubby.”

  Maybe Karen hadn’t used those words, exactly. But close enough, Allison hoped.

  Karen frowned. “I don’t see—”

  “So the issue isn’t whether Taylor has the hat in her possession,” Allison said hurriedly. “She just can’t wear it in class.”

  “Well, obviously,” Karen said.

  “So she could keep it in her book bag,” Allison continued.

  Taylor scowled. “I don’t want—”

  “Hold on,” Matt said quietly, his eyes on Allison’s face.

  “I suppose,” Karen said.

  “Or even on her book bag,” Allison suggested. “Like, pinned to it or something.”

  “I fail to see the point,” Karen said.

  “But it’s not against school policy,” Allison said.

  “Well, no.”

  “And there’s no rule against her keeping her book bag with her at her desk.”

  “It would be very inconvenient if all the students’ book bags were at their desks, cluttering the aisles. Someone could trip.”

  “I know you’re concerned about the students’ safety,” Allison said. “It’s so important for the school to maintain a sense of order and stability and…and security. Especially for a student like Taylor, who’s going through a tough time.”

  A pause, which Allison counted in heartbeats, while Karen considered the child in front of her.

  “We certainly don’t want to make things more difficult for any of our students,” the vice principal said at last.

  Allison beamed at her. “Exactly.”

  “Anything we can do to support our servicemen…”

  “I appreciate that, Karen,” Matt said.

  “As long as Taylor understands that we do not wear our hats inside, there’s no reason she can’t keep her father’s hat with her,” the vice principal concluded.

  Matt stuck his thumbs in his pockets. “It’s not a bad offer,” he said to the girl.

  “It’s a good compromise,” Allison said.

  Matt kept his gaze on Taylor. “You okay with it?”

  The girl put her head to one side, her blue eyes wide and doubtful in her thin face. Someone, sometime, had done something to destroy that child’s trust, Allison thought.

  Slowly, Taylor reached up and dragged off the hat.

  “Right.” Matt turned back to the VP. “We’ll take the deal. But she’s not going back in that classroom until you square things with her teacher.”

  Karen rose from behind her desk. “If you’d like to wait here, I can certainly discuss the situation with Mrs. Williams.”

  “You do that,” Matt said. “I’m taking Taylor home for the day. She can come back on Monday.”

  Karen pursed her lips. “Perhaps a fresh start would be best for everyone. Thank you for coming in, Matt.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for calling me.”

  Problem solved, Allison thought, relieved and gratified. Now she just needed to make her escape before Karen started questioning why the new high school Language Arts teacher was negotiating disciplinary consequences in her office.

  “Well,” Allison said brightly, backing toward the door, “I should get back to my planning period.”

  “We’ll walk out with you,” Matt said.

  Taylor raised her head.

  Karen looked from Matt to Allison, speculation in her eyes.

  Allison bit her lip. “It’s not necessary.”

  “We’re going the same way.”

  “I don’t want to intrude.”

  A corner of Matt’s mouth kicked up in a smile, the warmth in his eyes raising the room temperature by about twenty degrees. “Too late for that now.”

  SHE LOOKED SO damn cute, Matt thought as they walked down the hall, her blond hair in a long, straight tail, her cheeks pink with victory and embarrassment. Taylor scuffed ahead of them, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum tile.

  “I appreciate what you did in there,” Matt said quietly.

  Allison’s chin firmed. “I would have done the same for any child.”

  Something had put a chill in her voice since their last meeting, a reservation in those big, brown eyes.

  Which made it even more remarkable that she’d gone to bat for Taylor.

  “Maybe so,” Matt acknowledged. “But most people wouldn’t have done anything at all.”

  Nobody but family had ever stepped up for him, stepped in like she had. Not even his wife. It took compassion to take on somebody else’s problems. It took guts.

  “Maybe you know the wrong people,” Allison said.

  Matt grinned in acknowledgment. He’d used almost the same words to her two days ago. “Maybe. Anyway, thanks. I owe you.”
/>   “You stopped to help me.” A brief smile. “I stopped to help you. I’d say we’re even.”

  With another woman he would have shrugged and let it go. But something about Allison Carter got under his skin, tugged at his gut.

  “I didn’t know we were keeping score,” he drawled.

  He watched her quick color with satisfaction. Why should he be the only one getting hot and bothered?

  But her voice was cool as she said, “Now isn’t the time for this discussion. You need to get Taylor home.”

  The kid was waiting up ahead by the heavy wooden double doors.

  He nodded. “Fine. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Saturday. Come out with me.”

  “I barely know you.”

  He held her gaze. “We can change that.”

  The echo of her words reverberated in the space between them. I don’t jump into things with someone I don’t know.

  “Take a chance,” he said, his voice husky. “Take a leap.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  A tall black girl, one of the Jackson kids, bustled out of the high school wing. Running an errand to the office, Matt guessed. She slowed as she passed, throwing a greeting at Allison and a curious glance at Matt.

  “Hi, Miss Carter.”

  Allison smiled. “Nia.” She turned back to Matt, drawing a deep breath that did nice things for her blouse. “I’m going back to my classroom now. Before the entire school starts speculating what we’re doing together.”

  He could think of all kinds of things he’d like to do with her, to her, on her, but not with people watching. Not in front of Taylor and whatever students happened to wander by.

  “I’ll call you,” he said, like he was Josh’s age again, trying to make it with some pretty girl after school.

  He’d never had to try this hard, he remembered as he strode to the exit. There had always been girls dropping by the Pirates’ Rest to watch him mow the grass or tinker on his bike or play one-on-one with Sam.