Simon cocked his head. Was she serious?
Isabel chuckled lightly. “Relax, Mr. Ackerley, I’m only teasing. Miss Soares is the best secretary I could ask for. She’s very well compensated for her hard work, I can tell you that.”
“Either way, my feet thank you for the flip-flops.”
She waited for him to retrieve his messenger bag and a plastic sack containing his water-logged socks and ruined shoes.
When they locked the front gate, she turned to him. “I didn’t do it for you alone, you know. I was getting tired of the sloshing sound in the hallway.”
At the little hint of a smile, Simon chuckled.
They stopped at the top of the street and she turned to him. “I wanted to thank you for holding down the fort while I was away this morning.”
Her expression was open and friendly and its effect on Simon had him wishing he could step forward and hug her. He slipped his hands in his pockets instead. “No need to thank me, just doing my job.” It had been a busy morning, for sure.
“Well, you had everything running smoothly by the time I came back. I wouldn’t have known anything out of the ordinary ever happened.”
“Except for the bathrooms situation,” he reminded her.
“The sixth graders owe you a pair of shoes, Mr. Ackerley.” She strode to the crosswalk.
“We’re not at the academy, Isabel. Call me Simon,” he said after her.
She gave him a thumbs up before crossing.
*
Isabel sat on the stage facing Simon Ackerley during the morning meeting in the assembly room while the sixth graders led the announcements. He wore caramel corduroy pants, an olive green button-down shirt, and an eggplant necktie. The fifth and sixth graders had worked off their debt and bought him a new pair of brown leather wingtips, which he also wore.
Once again, he’d pulled off the style effortlessly. Even his hair color was not an issue. From this distance, the shirt enhanced his eyes. He turned her way and smiled. She wasn’t staring; she was only looking at the students to make sure nobody was absent today. He could very well wipe the smirk off his face.
He was too efficient in his abilities. Some days, Isabel couldn’t make up her mind whether she appreciated it or disliked it. On any other person, it would be a quality worth admiring. But the better Simon did his job, the more redundant Isabel felt. How long would it take before they asked her to resign?
Isabel bit her lip. And just how paranoid was she? His work ethic was irreproachable and he hadn’t done anything for which he didn’t have a reason and an explanation. It was the board’s fault for placing them in a situation where she felt the need to prove her worth. She didn’t like the tension it created and she liked even less how distrustful she’d become. Most days, she wanted to like Simon, and not wonder about any hidden motives. Like right now—why did he smile so irresistibly at her? Did he do it on purpose to rattle her?
No, of course not. That was ridiculous. He was not that kind of man. Isabel shook her head and thought a quick prayer. She needed the strength to be patient and honest and, more importantly, fair.
Cristina leaned over to her. “Eggplant with light brown polka dots,” she said in a hushed tone.
Isabel looked her way. “What are you talking about?”
“Mr. Ackerley’s socks. Haven’t you noticed how he coordinates his socks with his neckties and the rest of his clothes?”
Yes, she’d noticed, but she wouldn’t be admitting to it. “I have better things to do with my time than keeping track of Mr. Ackerley’s choice of socks.”
Cristina smiled. “Well, the kids love it. The first graders in Miss Pereira’s class asked him to stop every morning to show his socks, and even my classes have started running statistical reports on the probabilities of his neckties and socks. At his suggestion, I might add.” She looked in his direction again. “A genius strategy of applied math. I was jealous I didn’t think of it first.”
“He’s been here for over a month already. The kids will run out of stats soon.” Isabel turned away and faced the stage. “Besides, how many crazy socks can one man own?”
“That’s what the kids are trying to find out.” Cristina winked.
At church he dressed more conservatively, and she couldn’t decide which look she liked better. Isabel shook her head. She indeed had better things to do than spending any of her time thinking about Simon Ackerley’s wardrobe.
Her phone pinged and she swiped the screen. From the secretary: Miss Nesbitt has called in sick.
Isabel turned to Cristina. “I need to find a substitute. The first grade teacher is sick.” She walked back to her office.
Isabel called down the whole list, but didn’t find anyone available. She’d have to split the class among the neighboring classes. She stood and made her way to the first and second grade hall to talk to the teachers.
When she returned, the door was ajar, and Simon Ackerley stood inside by her desk. She stopped. Her hands tightened on the class list.
“Mr. Ackerley, is there something you need?
He turned to her with a puzzled expression. “Do you always leave your door open?”
“Excuse me? What is this about?”
“The door to your office was ajar.”
Isabel folded her arms and raised her chin. “And that was an invitation for you to come in and scope out the office?”
“No,” he said firmly. “That’s not—” He blew out a long breath and lowered his voice. “I’m just assessing the accessibility of the offices and other rooms in the academy. It’s a security matter.” He walked to the door.
She narrowed her eyes at him. He was hiding something. “Is that everything?”
Simon passed a hand through his hair and his expression softened for a moment. “I heard you’re in need of a substitute.”
Isabel put the paper down on her desk. “Unfortunately, my regular substitutes are all busy today. There’s one who can come after lunch, but I’ll have to split the class till then.”
“If you have no objections, I’ll take them,” he said.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m already here and there’s nothing urgent on my schedule. Why not put me to good use?”
Isabel looked at him for a long moment. As much as she wanted to press him for the reason he’d been in her office, filling in the absence for the sick teacher was more important.
Isabel walked around her desk. “Well then, Mr. Ackerley. Let’s get you acquainted with those kids.”
At the mid-morning recess, Isabel paused by the glass door and looked out to the playground. A smile teased her lips. Simon Ackerley was outside with the first grade class, holding one end of a jump rope for a line of waiting girls. She’d hesitated to accept his offer to substitute, but it proved to be a good thing, a very good thing. Simon Ackerley was an excellent teacher.
“Will you look at that?” Cristina said by her side. “Could he be any more adorable?”
Isabel crossed her arms. “You mean the kids are adorable.”
Cristina swatted Isabel’s arm. “Why are you so determined not to like the man? I don’t see anything wrong with him.” She ticked her fingers. “He has a great sense of fashion, he’s a dedicated worker, the kids love him. And maybe he’s not British, but his manners are very gentleman-like.”
Isabel had noticed that. There wasn’t much she could fault him for. But she had to remember what he was doing at the academy, observing and taking notes and placing her position in peril.
“And you know what they say. You can always tell a man’s personality by the way he treats his mother and how he interacts with children.”
“His mother is dead,” Isabel said, remembering their conversation. Fifteen was so young to lose a beloved parent.
Cristina turned to her. “He told you about his dead mother? Aren’t you two getting cozy?”
Isabel ignored the comment. She watched Simon pass the rope to an older girl and jump in himself, laug
hing with the children. How did he manage to make jumping rope so easy and attractive? She shook her head.
Cristina gestured towards the playground. “Well, he can’t get any more genuine than that. I have a feeling he’d treat his mother just right if she was around.” She paused and then turned to Isabel. “Is pizza night still on?”
Isabel nodded and Cristina turned and left down the hallway.
He was waving at her. He’d caught her staring again, and he had the first graders smiling and waving at her.
Absolutely not adorable.
CHAPTER NINE
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Dear Amélie,
I’m glad you’ve brought up the subject of prayer. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it and not quite knowing how to do it. (Maybe we should revisit these “rules” we set up years ago. They’re kind of ancient, anyway.)
There was a time when I was mad at God and I stopped praying. I blamed him for something that happened and I couldn’t accept that He still cared about me. If He was a loving God, like my family said, why did He let bad things happen to good people?
It took me a while to understand that people make their own choices and that God’s love is unconditional. Sometimes things happen whether you love God or not, but He’s always there waiting to give you His love. When I finally went back to Him in prayer, I felt His love and His concern for me.
Next time you wake up in the early morning, say a prayer, Amélie. I promise you will feel God’s love for you. It will come.
It’s all right to be sentimental once in a while. It’s part of growing old, I guess. I too think about getting married and having a kid or two but my track record with relationships is not very good. Sure, I’ve dated and I’ve had girlfriends, but it’s hard finding someone who shares the same values. And when you think you do find someone, she’s not ready to accept everything about you. So I remain single for the time being.
Well, I’d better move on to other subjects before you tell me I’m getting too personal.
So a hospital for dolls, huh? Is that what inspired your career? I think you’re giving me little clues about your job. How many shifts are you working this week, nurse Amélie? Or is it doctor Amélie? :)
Your friend always,
Elliot
*
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Dear Elliot,
Your guess is wrong. I’m not a nurse, nor a doctor, nor do I work in the medical field in any form. I’ll give you a real clue: what I do is not exactly a nine-to-five job. ;) If you guess, I won’t deny it, but I won’t make it easy for you.
Are you going to give me a clue about your job as well? Or maybe a clue about where you are right now? What does the sky look like when you get up in the morning? There was a blue sky in Lisbon today, and some thin white clouds, wispy and fluffy, and almost spring-like.
I haven’t gone out on a date in a long, long time. First, I’m too busy. Second, my last boyfriend told me he didn’t like the person I grew into (ouch!), but I think he wanted more from me than what I was willing to give him (and not just what you’re thinking about). It turned out to be a relief when he ended the relationship, and I was disappointed in myself that I stayed with him for that long. Live and learn, right?
Since then, I haven’t met many guys, but I must confess I’m not trying too hard to go out and meet them. It’s so much work! My friend says I’m not putting any effort into it and she’s right. Maybe I’ll try online dating instead. What do you think? Not all guys are as easy to talk to as you are but maybe not meeting in person takes the pressure off a bit.
I’m always talking about bravery, as long as it’s others being brave. Maybe it’s time I try something brave myself. I could go out and strike up a conversation with a guy. Or maybe I’ll try to be nice to someone I already know. Or I could set up a profile on a dating site.
In other news, I started rereading Harry Potter. I want to know if it’s as great as I found it to be when I was in school. I hope it is.
Your rambling friend,
Amélie
CHAPTER TEN
Pizza night. Cristina had come up with the idea one time after a long day at the academy, and Isabel had offered to host it. The new part for the oven had finally showed up and the technician had repaired it with two days to spare. Isabel had made the dough in the morning and had it rolled out in floured baking sheets. The shrimp waited in the pan for a last minute sauté and the vegetables and other toppings were arranged on the counter in square ceramic bowls.
Cristina arrived with her boyfriend, Armando, who held a canvas bag with glass bottles in his hand. Isabel let them in and they followed her to the kitchen.
“I’ll warm the oven.” Isabel turned the knob and slid the stone slab inside.
It was Armando’s first time at the apartment. He sat on the sofa and clicked the TV on low volume. Isabel didn’t know him very well but, from Cristina’s comments, he seemed like a nice guy.
Cristina placed the bottles in the refrigerator. “I hope you don’t mind, we brought a bottle of dry white wine along with the sparkling water and the Sumol.”
Isabel wiped her hands on the apron. “As long as you take the leftovers with you.”
“If there are any, we will.” Cristina gestured to her boyfriend. “Mando wanted to bring two bottles so I explained to him why you don’t drink.”
The doorbell rang. Isabel raised her head from spreading the white garlic sauce on the surface of the first pizza. “I’m not expecting anyone else.” She rarely had anyone knocking this late in the evening.
Cristina rose from the bar stool at the counter. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I invited Simon Ackerley to join us for pizza night.”
Isabel stilled. “You did what?”
“You left early, and I saw him in his office all alone. I asked him what he was doing tonight and he said nothing, so I gave him your address and told him to come.”
Cristina walked out the kitchen door and Isabel jogged after her. “Why would you do that? You know I don’t like him.”
“You don’t mean that, Isabel. We both know it. I’ve seen the way you look at him.” Cristina reached for the door handle.
This was not happening. Isabel took a deep breath. “He’s after my job, you know that. That pretty much makes him my enemy.” Maybe enemy was a strong word but that didn’t mean he had to come over.
They stopped when the bell rang a second time. Isabel leaned against the peephole. The red hair. It was him, indeed.
Cristina glared at her. “Well, he’s on the other side of this door. If you don’t want him here, you tell him that.” Then she walked toward the living room.
At least he didn’t speak Portuguese, or he would have heard the whole conversation. He wasn’t even inside yet and already it was awkward.
She unlocked the door and opened it. “Mr. Ackerley.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “I mean, Simon. Hi.” She brightened her voice, hopefully not so much that it sounded fake. “Sorry for the wait.”
He still wore the caramel pants, but his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he’d lost the necktie. How was it possible that he looked even better than earlier in the day? His hair was styled messily, like he’d raked his fingers through it too many times, which worked well for him. Isabel clung to the side of the door.
Simon Ackerley in her home. Too bad she’d given up alcoholic drinks or a glass of white wine would have been great. Liquid courage and all that.
He smiled at her. “You did know I was coming, right? Cristina Fonseca invited me over.”
Isabel returned the smile. How could she not? It was the first time she saw something akin to insecurity in his eyes. She knew the feeling all too well. “Yes, of course. Come on in, we’re just getting started.”
He followed her to the kitchen.
“You already know Cristina and that�
��s her boyfriend, Armando.”
Cristina stood at the counter, separating the sliced onions into rings, and Armando waved from the sofa.
Simon help a hand up to them. Then he turned to Isabel and handed her a box. “Here, you might want to put this in the freezer for later.”
Isabel took it from him and put it away. “You didn’t have to, but thank you.” She took over from Cristina and finished arranging the rest of the toppings for the first pizza.
Cristina washed her hands at the sink. “My boyfriend’s English is not very good, so I’m sorry if we seem to exclude you from our conversations. We’re not being rude on purpose.” She walked to the sofa and sat next to him.
Simon smiled. “It’s fine, don’t worry about me. I never say no to a home-cooked meal, so I hope you don’t mind me coming.”
Cristina cocked her head at Isabel and gave her pointed a look. Even without words, Isabel knew what she was trying to convey from across the room. Isabel wanted to roll her eyes. Yes, he was nervous, she could see that herself. And no, he wasn’t that adorable. Puppies were adorable, not grown men with messy red hair.
Isabel worked on the pizzas. After a moment, Simon took the stool and sat by the counter. “So I’m guessing you got your oven repaired.”
The timer beeped, and Isabel carefully transferred the pizzas onto the hot surface, side by side but with room to expand. She closed the oven and turned back to the counter. He remembered their conversation at the academy’s kitchen. “Yes, I was beginning to have withdrawals.”
He leaned his elbows on the granite surface and glanced at the pizzas. “Not pepperoni?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but pepperoni is not on the menu tonight.”
“I’m curious, but definitely not disappointed.” A crooked grin tugged at his lips.
He had a large mouth with full lips. On anyone else it would have looked out of proportion, but not on his face. It fit well with the straight nose, the green eyes, and the myriad freckles. She looked down at his arms. Strong arms with the russet hair and more freckles.
Simon cleared his throat and Isabel grabbed a bowl from the counter. He’d caught her staring at him. Again. He was supposed to be the one feeling uncomfortable, not her.
One Small Chance: a novella (a Love Story from Portugal) Page 6