Your Hand in Mine (Blackbird Series Book 2)

by Lily Foster

  “I saw your effort in the garbage can this morning. I’ll go out on a limb and assume that broccoli was on the menu last night?”

  “Salmon, too. And yes, while it didn’t go over very well, I’m not giving up. No more fries, no more chicken nuggets, no more mac and cheese.”

  “Good Lord. My kids grew up on that, and do I need to remind you that both of my sons went to ivy league schools?”

  “First off, chicken nuggets weren’t even around back then, and second off…”

  “What?”

  Nope. I’m not going to remind her that attending an ivy league school and actually graduating from said school are two entirely different things.

  “Nothing. I just want her to be eating better foods. It’s good for her.”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  She says this with no conviction whatsoever.

  Maureen is a salty old lady who is wise, kind-hearted and very set in her ways. And she’s got me by the balls right now.

  She’s basically been my saving grace, the only person I’ve trusted around Olivia since her mother’s been gone. She lives across the street, so the set-up is more than convenient, but it’s not optimal. Libby is safe in her care, but that’s because she plops her in front of the television and lets her watch cartoons all day.

  And why the hell is no one responding to that ad I posted? You’d think college kids would be lining up around the block for a gig like this. I pay well, I’m easy to work for and Olivia is a dream.

  Maybe I should have asked Ed post the flyer in every department, not just in the education building. But that feels like settling, and I don’t want to settle where my daughter is concerned. I have this image in my mind of an aspiring teacher spending quality one-on-one time with my daughter.

  Maureen is like the anti-Mary Poppins. There’s no pep in her step, she’s undisciplined, and she’s basically driving through her golden years on cruise control. And Maureen has already raised her own children. She’s entitled, I get it. But I want better for Olivia. I want Mary Poppins.

  I’ll ask him tonight at that ridiculous fundraising event he conned me into attending.

  Crap. That means I’ll have to ask Maureen if she’s available to babysit again. At least I can leave after Olivia’s bedtime, that way I can be sure she won’t be hopped up on ice cream watching television on the couch when I get home.

  Yeah, the best laid plans and all that.

  I had a crazy day at the shop working on a custom order to begin with, then had the added stress of being pulled in to participate on a few conference calls to trouble shoot problems with my team of engineers. I always feel like I’m being pulled in a million different directions, but with the race season gearing up to go, the pressure has been constant these past few weeks.

  The chicken I planned to prepare is still sitting in the refrigerator raw, and the corn I was going to grill on the cob sits on the counter still wrapped in its husk. I took the easy road, swapped it out for mac and cheese. I remind myself that I did toss some frozen peas in while the pasta was cooking, but as I pull on my sports coat getting ready to run out on my daughter, I know I’ve messed up yet again.

  “No ice cream, got it? No cheese crackers. No juice.”

  Maureen looks to Olivia. “Are you writing this all down, Libby?”

  She’s mocking me. Again. And I get it. She’s told me straight out she’s an old dog not looking to learn any new tricks. But seriously, is feeding the kid an apple and putting her to bed on time asking too much?

  Sighing, I cave in like I always do. “Be good for Maureen, honey, ok?”

  Olivia barely looks over her shoulder as she’s opening the freezer in search of her mint chocolate chip ice cream. “Love you, Daddy. Bye.”

  By the time I get into the car I feel defeated. This is so damn hard. She’s just one little girl. Why is this so complicated?

  My mother made everything look effortless. She worked and had a good meal on the table at least four or five nights out of the week. As a kid I wanted for nothing. And unlike me, my mother never seemed all that stressed out about my schooling, my friends or my mental well-being.

  I’m tempted to flip the guy behind me the bird when he honks his horn for the second time, but road rage is for morons and I know it’s not him that I’m mad at.

  I’m mad at her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Skylar

  “Wow, Skylar…You look like an adult!”

  “Is it too much?” I ask, pulling up the neckline of my black wrap dress. “I didn’t know what to wear to this thing.”

  Looking at Miss Dawson’s more relaxed, bohemian get-up, I decide that I do look out of place. The professors are in blazers and dress pants, not necessarily suits, and the women look chic but informal. I’m dressed like an upscale member of the catering staff.

  “You look gorgeous. You can never go wrong with black.”

  I side-eye her. “Says Stevie Nicks.” And she giggles at that one.

  “I am a bit on the colorful side tonight, so I’ll be the one sticking out.” She tilts her head to the side. “Jack will not be amused.”

  “Can I call him Jax when you introduce us?”

  “No!” She can barely contain her laughter now. “Although his reaction would be freaking priceless. And while we’re on the subject, stop calling me Miss Dawson. You’re not my student anymore and it makes me feel ancient. Call me Grace.”

  “You got it, Grace. So, do you have to come to these events often?”

  “Not so much…Once every other month? I don’t really mind it. I usually get to hear some great music or see a performance. Oh, and the stuffy professors Jack has to suck up to? Watching that scene reaffirms the decision I’ve made not to leave my job, so that’s an added incentive to suffer through these nights.”

  “Why does he have to suck up?”

  “It’s all about tenure. Until you get tenure you’re in limbo. And your future rests in the hands of these guys,” she adds, scanning the room. “There are a few women too, but this is still an old boys club.”

  She turns when a man taps her shoulder and smiles down at her. “You’re late, Gracie.”

  “Jack.” For all her teasing, it’s clear in the way she looks at him that she genuinely likes him. “Sorry, I told Skylar I’d meet her outside.”

  With that, he looks to me and extends his hand as Grace introduces us. “It’s nice to meet you, Skylar.”

  “Skylar is one of my former star pupils.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  Jack nods. “She doesn’t hand out praise very often, so if she says it, I’ll take it as is bible truth.”

  He takes Grace’s hand, and I can’t help but look down to study the way their fingers lace together, to watch as his thumb moves back and forth slowly over her skin.

  “Skylar’s an education major. She just transferred here.”

  Jack rouses me from my fog when he says, “Then welcome to Pitt.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, education…What drove that decision?”

  “I know it’s a cliché, but I’ve wanted to be a teacher since I was in kindergarten. I remember playing school all the time when I was a little kid.” Looking to Grace, I add, “And I had some fantastic teachers along the way who really inspired me. I want to be that person for someone else.”

  “It’s a noble profession.” He looks down at Grace and then winks at me. “She inspires me too.”

  Ok, he’s too cute. I’m going to give it to Grace later on for making him out to be something that he’s not. And I’m suddenly feeling bad for the guy. He does seem more like a Thaddius than a Jax, and it must be awful living day to day in the hopes of impressing guys like my department chair.

  Doctor Thompson is Grayson Thompson the Third, Ph.D. He’s as nice as can be, but now that I think about it, I’ve witnessed him being dismissive to the younger professors more than once or twice, maybe giving off a vibe that’s superior or self
-important. Maybe these waters aren’t so easy to navigate for Jax.

  “Skylar, can I borrow Grace for a minute?” Looking to her, he adds, “I want you to meet my new graduate teaching assistant. She’s great.”

  “Sure. Will you be ok, Skylar?”

  “Of course. I’ve been eyeing that cheese board over there for the last five minutes. I’m going to go introduce myself right now.”

  Grace pinches my hip. “A dancer who eats cheese. You’re my kind of girl.”

  I watch the two of the make their way across the room, watch as he taps another woman on the shoulder, watch the way Grace and the woman politely size one another up.

  In my Human Behavioral Ecology class we study mating behaviors in animals and the natural parallels between animals and humans. Some of the rituals are so bizarre. Male birds of paradise practice a complex dance taught to them by their fathers, perfecting it until that special day when they perform it in front of the females, all in the hopes of winning the dance off. Sage grouses puff out their chests, raise their tail feathers and whistle, hoping to stand out among the crowd and lure in a lady friend. And don’t even get me started on giraffes. Just, ew.

  Usually the guys have to work to lure in the ladies, but mimicking the mating ritual of the silverback gorilla, across the room right now two beautiful females are vying for the attention of one bespectacled, clueless male specimen.

  Jack is smiling, seemingly pleased that his woman and his new co-worker do, indeed, have lots in common and are getting along well, but I’m studying their interaction from a different angle.

  I watch as the graduate student straightens her posture when she greets Grace—possibly in a show of dominance—and she’s been either consciously or subconsciously tilting her head to the side and smiling up at Jack whenever she addresses him. Grace, who is obviously no dope, has stepped closer to Jack and laced her fingers through his—a show of possession—and leans her head against Jack’s shoulder right after he says something that’s obviously complimentary—a clear demonstration of intimacy. New girl’s expression drops when Jack laughs at something Grace says, and excuses herself a moment later.

  Winner, winner, chicken dinner for Grace. And I shake my head in wonder after bearing witness to this theory playing out in real time. Nope, we aren’t all that more sophisticated than animals after all.

  “Skylar?”

  I raise my hand to my mouth and speak around the mouthful of gruyere and grapes I’m chewing. Awesome. “Hi, Doctor Thompson.”

  He looks down at my dress and his brow wrinkles as if he can’t figure out why I’m here. “Are you working this event?”

  I knew I looked like the wait staff. “No.” I brush the crumbs off my hands and try my best to look cool and composed. “I came with a friend. She’s here with her boyfriend. He teaches in the Humanities Department.”

  “Excellent!” Hmm, he seems super happy to have cleared that up. “You know, it’s an unbelievably odd turn of events. I was just thinking about you and it’s like you’ve magically appeared.”

  “Really?” I’m kind of shocked right now that he even knew my name.

  “If you don’t mind, there’s someone I want you to meet.” And before I can say yes, I’m being led clear across the room. “You’ve actually met my colleague before,” he says before approaching a small group. “Ed, do remember this young lady from a few weeks ago?”

  He studies me for a nanosecond before breaking into a wide grin. “I do! You saved the day if I recall.” I return his smile but haven’t a clue as to what’s going on or who this guy is. “I’m Doctor Sheffield. I head the Mechanical Engineering program.”

  I shake his outstretched hand. “Skylar Perillo.”

  “Wait here, Skylar.”

  He shoots Thompson a smile and then goes to tap another guy on the shoulder. My cheeks turn a blazing shade of crimson when I come face to face with none other than Grumpy Daddy, otherwise known as the guy I’ve used for inspiration the past couple of nights in my quest to get off.

  Thompson says, “We were just discussing a dilemma Mr. Hale is having.”

  “Mr. Hale?”

  He shifts on his feet before extending his hand. “Leo Hale. Olivia, uh, Libby’s father.” I smile and take his hand, letting him off the hook because he looks hella uncomfortable. “And I owe you a proper thank you…Maybe even an apology.”

  “It was nothing, and I’m glad it all turned out fine. She’s an adorable little girl.”

  Thompson says, “Skylar, you actually came to mind when Mr. Hale was telling me about his difficulty in finding a babysitter. You did ask Diana for more hours, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but…I mean, I was asking for more hours in my work study position.”

  He gives me a slick smile, which makes me question what the hell is really going on here. “Perhaps interacting directly with children would be more beneficial to your growth and development as a future educator.”

  Sheffield looks to his friend. “I’m kind of shocked you haven’t gotten any responses to your ad. Hell, for what you’re willing to pay I’d consider giving up my day job.”

  Grumpy, er, Mr. Hale shoots his friend a look. “Maybe I need someone older. If I haven’t gotten any bites, maybe it’s because undergrads don’t have the kind of experience I’m looking for.” He looks to me and adds, “No offense.”

  Something clicks into place, and before I can think better of it I blurt out, “That’s your ad hanging up on our bulletin board?”

  His tone is defensive when he answers, “It’s mine.”

  I try to stifle the giggle that’s pushing past my lips but it’s no use. I’m picturing that ridiculous flyer, but now I’m hearing this stern, borderline angry guy ticking off each and every qualification. No exceptions!

  “I could venture a guess as to why you’re not getting any bites.”

  Thompson’s eyes go wide while Sheffield cracks a smile and pats Libby’s dad on the back. “Was it lacking in, say, civility?”

  I look past Mr. Hale to his friend. “It was somewhat off-putting. You could say that.”

  Oh boy. Mr. Hale is mad now. “How is it off-putting? It’s concise and direct.”

  I’m playing him now, because riling him up is fun, especially since I have no intention of working for him. “I was laughing when I read it. Would I have to submit a transcript, recent bloodwork, fingerprints and a DNA swab? I mean, requiring a 3.5 GPA and Red Cross certification for a babysitting gig is a little much, no?”

  Thompson is looking a little horrified, and starts babbling like he’s nervous or something. “I can personally attest to her qualifications in terms of GPA. Skylar earned a full merit scholarship as a transfer student from her local community college, and I know you need a near-perfect grade point average to qualify for that award.”

  “Skylar has always been a model student.” Grace has joined us now. She’s smiling at Mr. Hale when she adds, “And lucky for you, she worked summers as lifeguard at our town pool.” She snaps her fingers. “First aid and CPR certified to boot.”

  “Grace!”

  She extends her hand. “My name is Grace Dawson. And you are?”

  He takes her hand while I stand there like a bystander to my own life. “Leo Hale.”

  “Well, Leo, I can’t think of a more qualified young woman for this job or any other.” She’s really laying it on thick and enjoying this entirely too much. “I’ve known Skylar for years, and as her former teacher I can tell you that she’s a dedicated and hard-working person who also happens to be kind and caring.”

  “Stop. Talking,” I whisper to Grace.

  Sheffield is enjoying this too. “And we already know Libby would be over the moon.” He looks from Hale to me. “She still hasn’t stopped talking about you.”

  Now Jack has joined us, and he zones in on Thompson, obviously eager to make a connection with one of the department heads aligned with his program. Grace stands by her man’s side to join in on the schmooze fe
st just as Sheffield excuses himself, which leaves just me and Mr. Hale.

  Can you say awkward?

  Looking to the ground, he stuffs his hands in his pants pockets. “I didn’t realize the ad would come off as obnoxious.”

  “It’s not that bad. And I’m sorry for poking fun, especially in front of your friends. You’re just looking out for Libby. And even though it did make me laugh, I get it.”

  He looks around the room. “Not exactly my friends. Ed, kind of, but your boss is just another faculty administrator kissing up to me. He also chairs the Endowment Fund Committee.”

  “I didn’t know that. I guess I need to personally thank him for my scholarship, huh?”

  The big man finally cracks a genuine smile. “It sounds like you earned that on your own. So, are you really looking for a job?” When I don’t give an answer right away, he adds, “It pays twenty-five an hour.”

  “Dollars?”

  That’s more than double what I make at my work study gig.

  “Yes. But, uh, it is contingent on a few things.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Do you drive?”

  “I do.” I immediately raise my palm to stop him. “And before you ask, I have no accidents or speeding tickets on my record.”

  He nods, jaw tight. “My hours are flexible, so we can figure out a schedule working around your classes, but I’d need a commitment of at least fifteen hours a week.”

  Did I say math wasn’t my strong suit? Well, when motivated I can multiply pretty damn fast. Three-hundred and seventy-five dollars a week to babysit? Is he high?

  “I can do that.”

  “Some weekend nights occasionally?”

  “Sure.”

  “And,” he rubs at the stubble along his chin, “this would be on a trial basis.”

  “Of course.”

  The amount of money he’s dangling before me is unreal, but still, I’m thinking he’s the one who will be on trial. Yes, twenty-five dollars an hour is a king’s ransom for me right now, but let’s face it, I’m not entirely sure this man will make a fair or sane employer. Maybe his last few babysitters quit on him. Maybe that’s why he has to pay so much.