by K. A. Tucker
“I also paid your bill.” She seems oddly sober for this time on a Friday night. It’s unusual for her. But it’s nice.
“Right. Let me know how much I owe you.”
She waves it off, chomping on her gum. “Don’t worry about it. Extenuating circumstances and all that. You can treat next time we go out.” She bites her lip, her eyes darting over to where Peter Rhodes stands, his arm around his wife. “That was quite the scene back there.”
“Yeah, well, Melissa Rhodes’s anger is long-standing, and misguided.” And apparently, it has seeped into every fiber of her daughter. Had my mother not had an affair with Melissa’s husband—and such a public and humiliating one, at that—would the Rhodes women be so adamant about railroading my career? I guess we’ll never know.
“Still, dating your student’s father.” Mom waggles her eyebrows. “Even I never did that.”
I know she’s attempting to lighten the mood. That’s what she does—keeps things light and fun and flirtatious. Shallow.
“You were never a teacher,” I remind her. “But you slept with Madame Bott’s husband. Does that count?”
She wrinkles her nose. “That man was so unhappy.”
I shake my head. This conversation embodies my relationship with my mother, in a nutshell. It’s why I’ll always keep her at arm’s length while questioning how I became a functional human being.
“So, is the boy going to be all right?” she finally asks.
“It seems like it.”
“Good.” Her eyes widen knowingly. “He’s going to be a real looker when he’s older, that one.”
A mental flash hits me, of Cody leaning against the Route Sixty-Six bar in ten years, ordering shots with his friends, and Dottie Reed strolling in to flirt shamelessly with men young enough to be her grandsons.
Oddly enough, the anger that usually flares with thoughts of her Blanche Devereaux behavior remains dormant. There’s no point in being angry. I have my own life, and I’ll only make myself bitter concerning myself with hers. She’ll never change. She’ll just have a harder time stuffing her sagging body parts into those skintight dresses.
I see Shane’s head swiveling around the waiting room. He’s looking for me. “Thanks for bringing my things, but you should probably get going.”
Mom’s gaze strays back over to Peter Rhodes. She regards him thoughtfully. “You know, it wasn’t him who broke it off. He was willing to leave her for me. I turned him down.”
“Do you want a medal?” I hear myself say.
“There’s no need to be snippy.”
It’s not the time or the place for this conversation. And, really, it doesn’t matter. Though, if that’s true and Melissa Rhodes is aware of it, it might explain her reluctance to forgive the man and move on with her life. “Just go. Please. You’ve done enough damage for one night.”
“Fine.” Mom disappears out the door in a huff as Shane reaches me, the deep amber of his eyes shining.
I push aside the dark cloud that always forms whenever I’m in the same room as my mother and give him my full attention. “How is Cody?”
“His leg and wrist are broken, a lot of scrapes and bruises. They want to keep him overnight for observation but he’s going to be fine. No internal bleeding or anything.”
“Oh, thank God.” My shoulders sag with relief.
“Yeah. I don’t know how.” Shane lets out a breezy laugh. “He didn’t even get a concussion out of it. The kid was so lucky.”
“And you’re okay?” I reach up to graze my fingertip over the scratch Shane earned along his jaw when he tumbled to the pavement. Everything happened so fast, it’s hard to keep track of who hit what first. All I remember with nauseating clarity is the sound of Cody’s nimble body colliding with the car. But the driver slammed on the brakes at the last moment, minimizing the impact.
“I’m fine,” he dismisses. But then he rolls his shoulder and I notice his wince. I’m guessing if I lifted his shirt, I’d see a swath of black and blue.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life.” I’m not sure if my scream ever escaped my lungs, if it came out as anything more than a gurgle of noise.
“Yeah, me neither.” He rubs his face with his palms. “Things got way out of hand tonight.”
“I know.” It’s all I’ve been able to think about, when I wasn’t praying for a miracle. And while there seems to be a momentary truce between Penelope and Shane, I’d be a fool to think it’s going to last. That all these years of festering animosity will simply vanish, that the leopard will change its jealous, possessive spots within hours.
Shane and Penelope were growing civil with each other. Dare I say, they were in a good place, sharing custody of their son.
Then I entered the picture.
And now Cody is in a hospital bed because of the strife I’ve inadvertently caused. How much is because of me, personally—being Cody’s teacher, being Dottie Reed’s daughter—and how much is because I’m any female, stepping into Shane and Cody’s life, I can’t say. What I do know is, I have a difficult choice to make.
No, not difficult.
A painful choice.
“Listen …” I take a step back. “I’m going to head home now.”
“But they’re about to let us go back and see him.” He says this like it’s obvious that I would join them.
“Good. But I think it’s best that I leave,” I say slowly.
“No, seriously. Hey, why don’t you come meet my parents while we wait? I know it’s not under the best circumstances, but they really want to meet you.” He slips his hand into mine. It’s warm and strong and just thinking about it on my body makes me ache.
He hasn’t figured it out yet.
Mr. and Mrs. Beckett are standing in the far corner, chatting with each other. Shane must get his height from his father, because his mother, who steals frequent glances our way, is a diminutive thing.
I slip my hand out of his. “I don’t think I should meet them.” It’ll make this easier.
Shane frowns. “Scar, what’s going on?”
I feel the slight tremble in my limbs as a voice inside my head screams, “You don’t want to do this!” I really don’t, but it’s what’s right. Though, I was going to wait until a more appropriate time than standing in the ER waiting room.
I swallow against the rising dread. “I don’t think it’s a good idea that we see each other anymore.”
“No.” Shane tips his head back with an exasperated groan. “Come on, Scar—”
“At least not while I’m Cody’s teacher. Maybe next year, after he’s moved on …” I let the words drift, not feeling hopeful that Penelope’s attitude toward me will change.
Anguish and confusion fill Shane’s beautiful eyes as he studies my face, dumbfounded. “You can’t really want this.”
“I don’t.” My voice wavers.
“Then don’t do it,” he pleads. “I won’t let her go after your job. I promise.”
“You can’t make that promise.” Penelope is a loose cannon, guided by anger and jealousy rather than compassion and common sense. She can’t help it; it’s how she was raised. Ironic, given I was the one tarred and feathered for my mother’s worst faults. “But this isn’t about my job. It’s not even about my reputation.” Which I imagine might be on shaky ground after tonight’s story runs rampant through the school and mommy groups, growing legs and teeth, distorting the facts of an already bizarre reality.
Shane shakes his head in disbelief. “I thought you were into this. It’s why I brought you into Cody’s life.”
I’d laugh, if my heart weren’t breaking.
Into this? I’m utterly consumed by this. I’ve never been this happy. Not even for those two delirious months one summer thirteen years ago. That was child’s play. This?
This had the potential to be “till death do us part” everlasting.
“I was. I am.”
“Then don’t end it.”
A pric
kly ball of emotion swells in my throat. “I have to. For Cody. His happiness is more important than mine or yours.” Damn it, Bott, you pickled-pigs’-feet-eating witch.
Shane lets out a mirthless chuckle. “But he is happy. He likes you. He likes us being together.”
“But he needs his parents getting along right now. Until you two can figure out how to do that without him getting caught in the crosshairs, I can’t be a part of this.”
“Shane!” Penelope nods her head toward a nurse with a clipboard.
He turns back to me. “Don’t let her win, Scarlet.”
“She’s not. Cody is.”
Resignation weighs his features. There’s no arguing around that, and he knows it. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”
“No. Go and see your son.”
He looks torn but, finally, he nods. “Too complicated, huh?”
I back away, forcing a playful smile that is probably pitiful but it’s keeping my tears at bay. “You’re way too complicated for me. I need easy.” I push through the revolving door before he has a chance to respond.
A lone taxi sits outside. I manage to climb in and give the driver my address before I let myself cry.
Shane Fucking Beckett.
For the second time in my life, he’s managed to break my heart by being everything I thought he wasn’t.
I regard the red Hyundai sitting in my driveway when the taxi drops me off.
Justine is waiting for me on the porch, her compact body curled up in a rocking chair, huddled within her black bomber jacket and knit hat.
“What are you doing here?” I call out, unable to muster excitement in my voice as I drag my heels up the path. “I haven’t listened to your message yet. It’s been a bad night.” Did she somehow sense that I would need my best friend’s shoulder to cry on tonight?
Not until I reach the porch do I see her puffy, red eyes and hear her sniffles. She’s been doing some crying of her own. “Justine, what’s wrong? What happened?”
Her bottom lip wobbles. “Bill’s been cheating on me!” she wails.
Twenty-Nine
“How long has it been going on?”
“Two months, off and on.” The woman is another trader. Isabelle. Justine had heard her name plenty of times in idle conversation. She was a friend. Just another one of the guys.
Until Just Another One of the Guys and Bill shared a spontaneous, heat-of-the-moment kiss while having drinks at the bar after work. It has since snowballed into multiple dinners and Bill inventing a piano recital for his daughter so he could shack up overnight in a hotel.
The name Isabelle now joins the reviled ranks of Debra. That name can no longer be uttered without earning Justine’s sneer.
Becca shifts away from the kettle in the staff room, giving others space while she dunks her tea bag.
And I do my best to ignore Bott’s dissecting stare from her seat at the table where she chews her apple.
“How’d she find out?” Becca asks.
“A text.”
She nods. “Of course.”
That’s always the case nowadays. A text, or an email. Some sordid message intercepted with the guilty parties growing bold in their treachery. When she questioned Bill, at least he had the decency not to deny it. “He wanted to see where it would go before he broke up with Justine. He says they’re in love.”
Becca’s mouth gapes. “Oh my God. She must be devastated.”
That’s an understatement. Justine looks like she’s suffering from a horrendous allergic reaction. Her eyes are so puffy and red after days of around-the-clock crying, interspersed with rants about castration. “She’s still at my house. She called in sick today and told her boss she’s working remotely for the rest of the week.” That her boss is her uncle helps. Though, I can’t say he’ll go for this long-term, and she’s already told me she’s never going back, period. She’s been flipping through paint chips for my spare room, with plans to convert it to her own.
“Wow.” Becca’s eyes bulge with shock. “And she had no idea?”
“None of us did! I’m a terrible best friend for not seeing it!” Am I not supposed to? Is it because I moved away and I’ve been too wrapped up in my own life to notice? Bill and Justine had moved in together. I thought his initial reluctance had to do with one failed marriage, not the fact that he’s secretly a douchebag who wasn’t sure he wanted to commit. I didn’t see it. Nobody saw it. Nobody who’s talking, anyway. “Her brother said he’s going to murder him.” Bill and Jeff have been best friends for decades, so to do this to his baby sister is reprehensible. Of course, they’re guys, so they’ll likely get drunk, punch each other out, and then go golfing the next day.
But Justine … she’s not getting over this betrayal anytime soon.
Selfishly, her life’s drama has helped suitably distract me from my own. Or maybe it’s that I can cling to the relief that it’s me who pulled the plug on Shane and our relationship this time, and I did it for a noble cause. At least I did not discover an illicit text thread on his phone detailing all the ways I’d been deceived, with NSFW photographic evidence.
But it’s still a chest-constricting ache every time the reality that Shane and I are over flitters through my mind, which is almost constant.
It’s been three days since we broke up and my life feels hollow. I miss looking forward to seeing him. I miss waking up with his hard, warm body pressed against my back. I miss his weight on top of me. I miss the sound of his laughter and the sparkle in his eye as he teases me. I miss the obnoxious way he assumed he was welcome to use my spare key without an invitation.
I miss the way he has infiltrated my life.
And I’ll be reminded of every one of those things every time I hear the rumble of his truck or car engine from right next door. But Cody is my student for another seven months. I also need to remember that.
While Shane didn’t want to end things, he also hasn’t come by to try to dissuade me. In fact, he’s barely been home. It’s understandable, given the situation, and that Cody is probably with his mother while he heals. But a lot can happen in seven months. Time and distance can give him perspective. It can tell him that, yes, we are too complicated, and this isn’t worth a lifelong headache with Penelope. Within seven months, he can meet another woman who doesn’t bring baggage. Within seven months, he can become intimate with her.
He can fall in love.
“Boy, you had a rough weekend all round, then.” Becca gives me a gentle rub against my shoulder.
As expected, the story of Cody’s run-in with the Subaru made rounds by first bell, embellished by the fact that Cody isn’t here. I had to sit my students down and calmly inform them that, no, Cody is not dead or paralyzed or missing any limbs. He’s going to be just fine. Jenny Byrd was sobbing at her desk. Unfortunately, she witnessed the aftermath.
“Ms. Reed, please report to the office. Ms. Reed, to the office,” the school secretary’s voice crackles over our lackluster PA system.
I sigh, even as my stomach clenches. What now?
I quickly fill my water bottle at the cooler and, ignoring the curious glances from the other teachers, duck out of the staff room.
Wendy catches my eye the moment I step into the main office. She waves me into her office, gesturing that I close the door behind me.
I settle into the chair. It feels like my chair now, where I sit when I receive my verbal reprimands.
“How are you doing, Scarlet?” she asks with a motherly smile, her hands clasped on her desk in front of her.
“I’ve been better.”
She nods as if she understands. “Penelope Rhodes phoned this morning.”
I brace myself for the cannonball that’s about to drill me in the head.
“Cody is going to stay with her for the next week while he recovers. She’s asked if it’s at all possible for you to pull together a homework package for him, so he can keep up while he’s at home.”
“Yeah, sure. I�
��ll gather some things and leave them with Shane after school.”
“She expects that he’ll be back in class next Monday, but she doesn’t want him staring at computer games all day, every day until then.”
“Right. Makes sense. If she thinks he’s up for schoolwork.” I wait a few beats. “Is that all she wanted?” She didn’t ask for my head on a spike?
“Yes, it seems to be.” She leans back in her chair, taking on a more visibly relaxed position. “She didn’t make any more mention of her complaint to the board about your relationship with Cody’s father, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Shane and I are no longer together, so …” I let my words hang. Maybe Penelope feels as though she’s won.
Wendy’s forehead wrinkles. “Was it mutual?”
“No,” I admit on a sigh. “I ended it. After the accident. It’s clear that family still has issues, and me being there as a constant reminder isn’t what’s best for Cody.” And I never would’ve been able to live with myself had the accident led to a different, tragic outcome.
“Are you okay?” she asks gently. She looks genuinely concerned.
“No.” I laugh, hoping it’ll squash the ball of emotion that flares in my throat. “But I will be.” I’ve survived losing Shane once already.
“You will be,” she agrees with a firm nod.
The bell chimes, signaling the end of morning recess.
“If there’s nothing else?” I start to rise.
“I remember your mother coming in to speak to me after the incident.” Wendy’s eyebrows arch on that word. “She sat in that very chair.”
“Really?” I assumed she’d never set foot on school property again after the night of the pageant. “What’d she want?”
“Advice. She was worried about you.”
My mom? Worried about me? “Are you sure you’re talking about Dottie Reed?”
Wendy chuckles. “Yes. Most certainly. I’ll remember Dottie long after I’ve lost my wits and my bladder control.” At least she can find humor in it now. “She wanted to fix things, but she had no idea how. She’d lost her job and you hid in your room all day, refusing to talk to her. And, according to her, Peter Rhodes had promised to leave his family.”