Ignite The Spark Between Us: Searing Saviors #4

by Parker, Weston

  I laughed. “Relax. I didn’t say no. I said not right now. He wants me to think on it. We’ll check back in later and see where things stand.”

  Trace narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Hmm. All right. Just don’t fuck up a shot like this, all right?”

  “When have you ever known me to fuck something up?”

  Trace shrugged as he backed away toward his truck parked at the curb. “Crazier things have happened. I’m just looking out for you, man.”

  “And I appreciate that.”

  He waved as he turned around. “Good luck with meeting the teachers. Don’t embarrass that kid of yours.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said, tucking my hands into my pockets as I made my way to my own vehicle, parked a little farther down the street. I swung up into the cab of my truck, turned the key in the ignition, and pulled out onto the road to head home.

  I was lucky to live so close to the firehouse. On foot, it was only a twenty or so minute walk, and by car, if I didn’t hit any traffic lights, I could be home in five minutes. Sometimes less.

  So, within six minutes of leaving Rinehart’s office, I was pulling in the driveway.

  When I unlocked the front door of the house, Olivette’s excited cry reached my ears. Within seconds of me stepping into the house, which smelled like maple syrup and cooked fruit, my little girl came racing around the corner from the kitchen. Her socked feet slid on the hardwood floors, and she catapulted herself toward me with her little arms straight out in front of her.

  Laughing, I dropped to a knee and met her with a huge hug.

  “Morning, kiddo,” I said, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Her hair smelled like strawberries. My grandmother must have run her a bath last night. “How are you? How was your night with Nana?”

  Olivette beamed up at me when we broke apart. Her eyes, the same deep brown as her mother’s, lit with excitement. “It was so much fun. We made crafts. And baked cookies. And I had a bubble bath, and Nana read her book, and then we cleaned my room, and—”

  “Olivette,” my grandmother called from the kitchen. “Your pancakes are ready. Let your father come inside now. He’s had a long night.”

  Olivette giggled bashfully and pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Sorry, Daddy. Are you hungry? We made extra pancakes. And there’s lots of fruit. And Nana made coffee. And we have whipped cream. And—”

  Laughing at her inability to stop herself from talking, I got to my feet and messed up her blonde hair. “I have room for a pancake or two. Come on. Let me go say hi to Nana.”

  4

  Allie

  Searing Elementary School’s front doors were propped open. A handwritten sign was plastered to one of the windows, declaring that the teachers were meeting in the break room. I shouldered my purse and stepped inside into the air conditioning and out of the summer heat.

  The school smelled like it always did, of construction paper, glue, floor cleaner, and Ms. Pearson’s borderline intolerable rose and lilac scented perfume. One of the kids in my class last year had asked what that stink was when we went to the library, and I’d tactfully had to explain to him that Ms. Pearson wore very strong perfume, and not all scents smell the same to everyone. I then told him that it wasn’t polite to tell someone they smell bad, worried that he would go right up to her and tell her how downright awful he thought her perfume was.

  I wouldn’t have put it past the little guy.

  I marched down the hall toward the break room. The heavy perfume smell grew stronger when I rounded the corner and stepped into the low-ceilinged, nicely lit staff room.

  Apparently, the space had been much different before I started at the school last year. It had been dingy and outdated, and then one of the old students of the school, who now worked in interior design, came in for a visit and helped with a mini-renovation.

  Now it had an almost luxurious vibe. The sofas were full and comfortable. The kitchen had a full-sized fridge, oven, and dishwasher, as well as a coffee machine. It was like a home away from home, and I always enjoyed sneaking away to this little spot. Sometimes, I even came to work early to have coffee here before making my way to my classroom to start the day.

  The break room was pretty packed with faculty. A brief look around the room told me almost everyone was present, save for our office administration staff, janitors, and teaching assistants. I took up a spot beside one of the other teachers, a woman in her early fifties named Ellen Roe, and settled my purse in my lap.

  “Did I miss anything?” I asked.

  Ellen shook her head and crossed one leg over the other. She was wearing a long brown skirt decorated in little sunflowers and a loose beige top. She always wore natural warm-tone colors, and I always imagined her home was full of plants and smelled like sage. “Nope. Not a thing. But I suspect we’ll be starting soon.” Ellen glanced at the clock on the wall above the stove. “At least we’d better. There’s a chilled glass of white wine in my fridge calling my name.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “You know it. Now that summer is over and it’s back to the daily grind, it’s going to be my ritual. These kids keep getting worse, you know? And the parents.” Ellen shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Appalling.”

  I was about to disagree when Mr. Vickers, the school principal, called everyone’s attention.

  He stood at the front of the room. He wasn’t dressed in his usual principal attire, a gray suit with a fun-colored shirt underneath, but rather normal summer clothes, khaki shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, sandals, and sunglasses hanging from the collar. He was a bit round in the middle with a big white smile and warm brown eyes. His beard, thick and brown, would likely be shaved on the first day of school.

  “Thank you everyone for coming out this evening.” Mr. Vickers clasped his hands together and looked around the room, making eye contact with every member of the staff. “I know you’d all rather be at home soaking up your last week of summer, but you know how it is. We have to be prepared to start the new year. With parent-teacher meetings happening tomorrow evening, I must ask that your classrooms are prepared. After our meeting, you’ll all have an hour to go into your rooms and make sure everything is in order. If you have any questions, please come find me after the meeting. If you don’t and your classroom is ready, you’re free to go.”

  “Excellent,” Ellen muttered, leaning back in the sofa and folding her arms. “I’m outta here the minute he finishes up.”

  “You’re not going to take advantage of the extra time to prep your classroom?”

  Ellen, never one to not say exactly what she was thinking—so long as it was behind Mr. Vickers’s back, of course—gave me a deadpan stare so hollow I thought her soul had actually vacated her body and was floating in the open air above our heads. “Um. No. Definitely not. I have the next nine and a half months to spend in that room, and I don’t intend on setting a foot in there unless I absolutely have to. Like tomorrow night. God damn parent-teacher meetings.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. I tried to hide my amusement from her, but Ellen was a hard woman to get anything past, and she chuckled, nudging me in the ribs with her elbow.

  “You’ll come to the dark side. Just you wait and see. You’re still new. Fresh.” Ellen widened her eyes like she was talking to one of the very young students and trying to uphold their belief in Santa Claus. “This job will take a toll on you, and you’ll be just as I am now.”

  “And what’s that?” I asked. I wasn’t a fan of people telling me who I was going to become or where my life was going to lead, based on their own perceptions and experiences. In fact, it was probably my biggest pet peeve, aside from people who ate with their mouths open. There was nothing more appalling than trying to share a meal with someone whose lips are flapping like burlesque dancers—only the dancers flashed their pretty legs. The chewers flashed ground-up bits of whatever was on their plates.

  Gross.

  Ellen turned her attention back toward Mr.
Vickers, who still obliviously stood at the front of the room, chattering on about parent-teacher conferences.

  “Bitter and ready for retirement,” she said.

  “I don’t think that’s my fate,” I said. “I chose this. I’ve always wanted this.” And it wasn’t like I didn’t have other options, either. I could have been an engineer. I had the schooling and the masters for it. I just lacked the passion for it. That passion lay here, in molding the young minds of our future.

  “I used to say the same thing. But all my years here have taught me one thing for certain.” Ellen paused for dramatic effect. I did my best not to cater to it, but I found myself leaning toward her. “These little half-pint soul suckers will ruin all of us. You just wait and see.”

  No wonder Ellen hadn’t had any children of her own.

  Ellen bumped her knee against mine. “Do you think he has any idea what half of this faculty thinks of him?”

  “Who?”

  “Vickers. Obviously.”

  Frowning, I turned my attention back to the school principal. He was pacing back and forth in front of the onlooking teachers. Several of them, like me and Ellen, sat closer together and indulged in some whispered conversation. Vickers was either blind and deaf to their disregard for his authority or too passive to do anything about it. It was unfortunate. I liked Vickers. I had since I’d first started teaching there.

  He’d been the one to greet me at the front doors on my first day. It was a day like this last summer, right before the start of the year, and he’d been dressed much like he was now. The beard was thicker last summer. And he was wearing a button-up with little sailboats on it, as opposed to the Hawaiian print he rocked now. He’d chuckled, shook my hand, introduced himself, and said “Welcome home” in a cheery voice.

  And home was exactly how the school had felt to me since that moment. The teachers were kind to me. How they handled their own classrooms was their prerogative, and I never overstepped, and that might have been what kept everyone on such a good basis with me.

  I knew as the new girl on staff that my opinions wouldn’t go very far and I’d have to earn my place there. There was no harm in that. I believed it fostered good culture with mutual respect, and if I ever did need to put my foot down on something, I had no doubt it would go my way. That was what happened when you picked your battles and fought for the things that were important to you, not the things that only rubbed you a little bit the wrong way.

  Like Ellen’s bad attitude and Mr. Brock’s inability to chew with his mouth closed during lunch.

  I could have sworn I was able to hear him walking down the halls sometimes, chomping on his apple that he ate every morning at ten o’clock on the dot.

  Mr. Vickers grinned broadly and clapped his hands together at the front of the room. “All right. That pretty much wraps everything up, folks. Thanks again for taking the time to be here this evening. Does anyone have any questions before we disperse?”

  Nobody raised a hand or said a word.

  Ellen leaned toward me. When she spoke, her voice was a muttered whisper. “If someone makes this last any longer, I swear to God I’ll—”

  “That settles it then,” Mr. Vickers said. “See you all tomorrow night for parent-teacher meetings. Remember. Put your best foot forward. Please dress appropriately. And during your appointments, please, for the love of all that is good, keep your phones away. I don’t want a repeat of last year.”

  Apparently, one of the teachers had taken a personal call during her meetings last year, and Mr. Vickers had suffered the wrath of the slighted parent, an upper-class woman with a chip on her shoulder.

  Must have been hard driving a Range Rover and spending a hundred dollars on a manicure every ten days.

  Mrs. Tully.

  Nobody wanted her son, Brady, in their class. Word in the halls was he was a rowdy little hellion who got away with murder because his mother would do everything in her power to pin his poor behavior on the teacher. I supposed women like her might have been the cause of Ellen’s eroding love for teaching.

  Teachers started getting to their feet and leaving the break room. Ellen stood up, stretched her arms over her head, and nodded down at me. “I’m out of here. Have fun prepping your room tonight. I look forward to seeing it tomorrow. You did a great job last year.”

  Her compliment surprised and flattered me. “Thank you, Ellen.”

  She winked. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  And she was back in normal firing condition.

  I waved as she slipped out without Mr. Vickers catching her. Maybe he kept his attention on other parts of the room on purpose. It was well known that Ellen was itching for retirement. She only had three more years to go, and we were all as aware of her countdown as she was. She reminded us on a daily basis that it was fast approaching.

  As I headed toward the front of the room, I caught Mr. Vickers’s eye. He smiled, and I smiled back and waited for him to finish chatting with two other teachers. When he did, he came over and slid his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “How has your summer vacation been, Allie?”

  “It’s been great. Hot. Relaxing. But I’m ready to get back in the classroom. There’s only so much I can do before the boredom starts to creep up on me, you know?”

  Mr. Vickers laughed softly. He had a nice laugh. “I get it. Although I think you might be the only teacher on the premises who feels that way.”

  “I don’t think you’re wrong.”

  He laughed again. “I saw you got caught sitting beside Ellen.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Never asked if it was,” he said, clearly amused.

  “Are you trying to entrap me?”

  He laughed in earnest this time. Deep and low. “No. Not at all. I just admire that you can have a conversation with her and walk away smiling. It’s not an easy feat. She’s as done with this school as this school is with her.”

  I blinked. “Jim, I don’t think—”

  He waved me off. “Forget I said anything. I shouldn’t speak badly of staff.”

  I shrugged and peered around. “I can’t blame you.”

  Mr. Vickers, or Jim as he insisted I call him, pointed his chin toward the break room door. “Are you going to get your classroom organized for parent-teacher meetings?”

  “You bet I am. And you’re cutting into my precious prep time. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Okay?”

  Jim nodded. “Have fun.”

  I knew that I would.

  After slipping out of the break room, I hooked a left. Then I cut across the foyer and moved down the second hall, following it to my classroom, the second on the right. The door was unlocked. Pushing it open, I stepped over the threshold and gazed in at my blank canvas, empty powder-blue walls, pristine light gray desks, empty and unlabeled cubbies, bare whiteboards with brand-new dry-erase pens sitting in boxes on the ledge.

  “Oh yes,” I said, smiling at my class.

  My favorite part about school as a young girl had been the prep work that went into planning for the new year ahead. My mother used to take me back-to-school shopping a full month before school started so I could have all the time in the world to get my books and everything organized just how I liked.

  I had a different theme every year, and they progressively became less and less juvenile. Barbie and Winnie the Pooh were high contenders in my younger days, and those soon gave way to magazine collages of cute boys cut out of teenage magazines that I glued onto the inside cover of my binders.

  Ah yes. The inevitable progression of youth.

  Now I was blessed with another clean slate and another chance to get everything just right.

  And that was exactly what I was going to do prior to these parent-teacher meetings.

  Before I started, I was going to have to track Jim down and ask if I could have an extra couple of hours.

  I was going to need them.

  5

  Mav

  “Dammit,” I muttered, tuggi
ng at the knot in my tie around the collar of my shirt. I’d been at this for over fifteen minutes now, and no matter how many times I tied it, I couldn’t get it to sit right. The knot was too thick, the tie ends were uneven, and it sat crookedly. I didn’t own a tie clip to rectify the problem, so I was left with no other option than to tie it.

  Again.

  I pulled the cursed thing over my head and tossed it down on my bed with a disgruntled sigh before sinking down onto the mattress beside it. My closet doors, two full panels of mirrors, showed me my reflection of myself, a tired single father who should probably forgo the tie all together in favor of a simpler, less stressful ensemble.

  I cast a wary look down at the discarded tie. “Piece of shit.”

  Then, with more energy than I thought I had left after a sleepless night and early morning, I stood back up and went to the mirror to figure out the tie once and for all. If this round didn’t work, I’d opt for a plain black T-shirt and pair it with a nice jacket, despite the end-of-summer heat in Searing.

  I was about halfway done when a little shadow appeared in the doorway to my bedroom. Olivette poked her head in and peered up at me. She hid her body behind the doorframe, so all I could see was her head of blonde curls.

  “Did you talk Nana into doing your hair for you?” I asked.

  Olivette giggled. “Nana offered.”

  Somehow, I doubted that. My little girl, despite her young years, was a con artist. Perhaps it was her adorable smile, her big brown eyes, or her button nose. Maybe it was a combination of all those things. I, for one, was incapable of saying no to her.

  If she wanted something, chances were she was going to get it, and speaking of getting it, my grandmother made sure to remind me every time I caved that I was teaching my daughter poor life skills and that I was going to raise a woman who couldn’t do anything for herself.