Straight on Toward Paradise

by Kristin Wallace

  He shook his head. “No, actually. It’s been a long time since any woman—” Again, his voice trailed off, but this time with some kind of dawning realization.

  Grayson Kendall appeared in the doorway. “Brent, here you are.”

  Brent straightened. “Gray.”

  The two went through the one-arm, back slapping, embrace of men the world over.

  “I ran into Paige, and she told me you’d wandered back here,” Grayson said, with obvious affection in his voice. He tilted his head toward the doorway. “Why don’t we go somewhere and talk?”

  Brent didn’t move right away. Instead, he looked around the dusty music room. “What have you gotten yourself into, Gray? I’ve been talking to Annaliese, and the stories she’s conveyed have me concerned. Are you really going to direct a show here?”

  The famed director folded his arms across his chest. “It’s not as bad as it seems,” he said. “We’ve actually made a lot of progress, but I need your help.”

  “And I owe you,” Brent said, with a grimace.

  The corner of Grayson’s mouth tilted. “Not to put it bluntly, but yes.”

  Brent turned, and Mary had the sudden notion that he was reluctant to leave, which seemed ridiculous. “Duty calls, it seems.”

  He sounded like a hero in a period movie. “Indeed,” she said, lifting one brow, giving her best impression of a duchess.

  His grin spread as he took in her gesture and tone. Keeping with the theme, he reached for her hand and bowed over it, delivering a single kiss to its back. He looked up at her through impossibly thick, dark lashes. “I hope you rediscover your voice again, Mary Bertram.”

  Gray rolled his eyes and slapped his friend on the back. “Come on, Lord Byron.”

  Brent straightened, spun on his heels, and followed Grayson out of the room. At the door, he looked back over his shoulder and tipped an imaginary hat. Then he was gone.

  Mary slid onto the piano bench, staring at the space where he’d disappeared.

  What just happened?

  Chapter 13

  The whole parent thing raised its ugly head a couple weeks into the school year when Paige and Imogene wandered into the kitchen while Emma was making dinner. Paige handed over a note about Parent-Teacher Night.

  “They still do this?” Emma asked, as she scanned the flyer, which invited all parents to join the school’s teachers, staff, and administrators to “discuss the academic enrichment and enhancement their children would be experiencing this year”.

  Emma’s memories of Parent-Teacher Night were vague. Mostly, she remembered hoping her parents wouldn’t embarrass her in front of everyone. Or having her math teacher declare, at two weeks in, that she would never make it out alive.

  The girls sent her a confused look.

  “Yeah, they do it every year,” Paige said.

  Emma made note of the date and folded the paper. “All right, thanks for letting me know. I’m sure it’ll be fun,” she said, trying to add an air of enthusiasm in her tone.

  Paige shrugged, and glanced over at her sister.

  “Something else you need?” Emma asked, looking from one to the other.

  Imogene glowered as she handed over another flyer. “I have Parent-Teacher Night, too,” she said in a tone that suggested Emma had invented the activity as a way to torture her.

  Emma took the other flyer, which looked almost exactly like the middle school version, right down to the line about “academic enrichment and enhancement”.

  “Oh, I guess that makes sense,” she said. “It’ll be twice the fun then.”

  Imogene’s glare became more pronounced. “They’re on the same night.”

  “What?” Emma unfolded Paige’s flyer and glanced at both. Sure enough, they had the same date and time on them. “What’s this? How are people with kids in both schools supposed to work this?”

  “A lot of parents split up,” Paige said. “My friend Carrie has a brother in high school, and his dad goes with him, while she goes with her mom.”

  “Well, that’s fine for them, but what about people without a plus one? Surely there must be divorced or otherwise single parents in this town,” Emma said, realizing she’d have to come up with a more creative solution.

  “Maybe Miss Mary can come with me, and you can take Imogene?” Paige suggested.

  Emma tried not to care that her youngest sister now preferred hanging out with her mother. Paige had been helping Emma’s mother in the prop room, and a couple times she’d heard singing echoing through the hallways. Whatever they were uncovering in that huge, dusty room must have induced spontaneous bursts of song. She was glad the youngest Bertram seemed a little less grief-stricken, but wished she could find a way to connect with Paige in the same way.

  Asking her mother would be an easy answer…maybe too easy. Emma liked having the extra support, but she should be able to handle things, without always needing “mommy” to fix it.

  “I don’t want to bother my mother again,” Emma said. “I’ll figure something else out.”

  “You’ll have to ask Uncle Reece,” Imogene said.

  Of course…He was the perfect solution, but that didn’t make it any easier on her ego. Asking Reece Casings for any kind of favor put her back up. It also meant spending more time with him, something she’d been avoiding as much as possible lately.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Emma said, with reluctance. “I’ll call him later.”

  “You should do it now so you don’t forget,” Imogene said.

  “I won’t.”

  Imogene sniffed and folded her arms. “You forgot to put money into my lunch account this week.” Her tone intimated that Emma had deliberately set out to starve the teen to death.

  “Why don’t you give me a break?” Emma bit out in frustration. “I’m doing the best that I can here. I’m not exactly an expert at this parenting thing, let alone the laws of school lunch accounts.”

  “I noticed,” Imogene said, the old lip curl making an appearance.

  Emma opened her mouth to respond, and then remembered she was talking to a grief-stricken teenager who missed her parents. She reached back and massaged her neck. “Don’t you guys have homework? Why don’t you both go upstairs and work on it while I call Mr. Casings?”

  Emma half hoped she’d get sent to voicemail, but no, Reece answered after the second ring. “Miss Bertram, this is a surprise,” he drawled.

  His voice seemed to reach out, almost like he’d run a finger down her spine, and she bit her lip to hold back a gasp. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t even hear his voice without going into convulsions.

  “Emma?” His tone was sharper now. Concerned.

  Emma shook off the instantaneous lust and collected her scattered thoughts. “Yes, I’m here.”

  “What’s going on?” Reece asked. “You sound out of breath.”

  I’m trying to remember why it would be a bad idea to slake the hunger you've stirred up.

  “My breathing is fine,” Emma said with asperity. “I’m calling because I have a favor to ask of you.”

  There was a short pause, and she could practically hear the smile on his face when he spoke again. “That must have hurt.”

  “What?”

  “Admitting that you need a favor from me, of all people. No wonder you’re out of sorts.”

  He was definitely grinning on his end of the phone, the arrogant jerk. “It’s not for me,” she snapped, pretty certain her face might go up in flames. How did she allow him to push her buttons so easily? One word and she turned into the hissing cat he’d described.

  “No?” Reece said, still having a good chuckle over her discomfiture. “Who is the favor for then?”

  “Well, it is me, but it’s also for the girls,” Emma said. “I need a second in command since the Middle and High School Gods of Shellwater Key decided to have Parent-Teacher Night at the same time. As I’m pretty sure 3-D printing hasn’t advanced to the level of creating actual sentient hu
man beings, I can’t be in two places at once.”

  “I see, divide and conquer?” he said, reigning in his amusement a bit.

  “Something like that, yes. Can you do it?”

  “Emma, you know I will. I’ll always be there for you and the girls,” Reece said, his tone once again stroking her nerve endings like velvet against skin.

  Emma had long ago given up on believing anything a man said. In her experience they lied and disappointed, but when Reece made a promise, she believed him. Which scared her to death. Taking a man at his word was such a foreign concept.

  “Emma, you’re breathing heavily again,” he said. “I hope asking for a favor hasn’t caused permanent damage to your delicate constitution.”

  “I think you know my constitution is anything but delicate,” Emma returned, glad he’d brought levity into the conversation for once.

  He chuckled. “No, you’re a strong, capable woman.”

  “I’m not sure about the capable part,” she said, thinking of the permanent glare of disappointment she always received from Imogene. “I forgot to put money in Imogene’s school lunch account this week.”

  “Is that all?”

  “What do you mean, ‘is that all’? I forgot to provide lunch for my sister. What kind of person does that?”

  “The kind who’s trying to figure out the ropes of being an instant parent,” Reece said. “Give yourself a break.”

  Emma straightened. “Wait a minute…is this a pep talk? From you?”

  “Ouch,” he drawled once more. “Have I been that harsh?”

  “Yes.”

  There was another moment of silence, and when he spoke again his tone was huskier, without a hint of amusement or edge of teasing. “Then I’ll try to be better. I’m really not the enemy here.”

  “Are we declaring a truce?” Emma asked, with something akin to amazement.

  “I guess so.”

  Emma took a breath, trying on the idea of not fighting with Reece. “Okay… truce. I’ll see you for Parent-Teacher Night.”

  “Text me the date and time, and I’ll be there.”

  “Great…good…thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She hung up and then stared at the wall for a full minute. No fighting with the girls’ pseudo uncle anymore? Emma liked the idea, but at the same time, a nice Reece Casings would make it much more difficult to ignore the attraction. A nice Reece Casings could damage her heart in ways she’d never imagined…and that was the most frightening thing of all.

  On a list of things Emma hoped she would never do again, entering her old Middle School might have ranked at the very top. From the relative safety by the trophy cases in the entry, she watched the mob of parents and students milling about the hallway like ants in a glass terrarium.

  How on earth had she gotten here? She was about to join that teeming mass of people. She’d find out the amazing things Paige would be learning this year and act like she understood everything these leaders of education said.

  In other words, tonight she had to pretend to be a parent. A shudder worked its way through her body.

  “You okay?” Paige asked from her perch near Emma’s shoulder.

  “I’m fine. Just trying to get my bearings. It’s been a while since I’ve been here, and I forgot to bring bread crumbs so I can find my way out again.”

  “I know where everything is,” Paige said, with inherent sweetness. “I won’t let you get lost.”

  Imogene would have left Emma for dead without a smidgeon of guilt. Good thing she’d sent Reece to the High School event.

  “So where do we go first?” Emma asked. “Is there a schedule or something?”

  Right on cue, a tall, African-American woman approached with a stack of printed flyers. She handed one to Emma and the other to Paige.

  Bold letters at the top declared, ‘Parent-Teacher Night Schedule’.

  “Handy,” Emma murmured.

  Right now they had to go to Paige’s homeroom, and then they would follow her class schedule at twenty-minute intervals.

  “Do you have your—”

  Paige shoved a class schedule under Emma’s nose without saying a word.

  “Good job, kid,” Emma said, flashing a grin. “Why don’t you take the lead? You’re better prepared than I am.”

  From homeroom, they followed Paige’s schedule from Math to English, American History, Biology, Spanish and Chorus. Emma listened to roughly the same speech about “academic achievement and enhancement” in every class, so the teachers must have been following the same script. By the end of the night, Emma figured she could probably recite the lines herself. She also realized how out-of-her-depth she was in this sea of experienced parents. They all seemed to speak a secret code Emma had failed to crack. She’d never felt more unprepared in her life. It felt like being hit with a pop quiz on the very first day.

  Far worse were the looks of pity and abject horror that flashed across peoples’ faces once they realized who she was. No one seemed to know what to say once they got past “I’m so sorry”. The rest of the conversation involved a lot of shifting glances and awkward attempts at small talk, until finally Emma would take pity on them and declare she really needed to be…somewhere else.

  Near the end of the Chorus Class, the students went up to perform a couple of songs. Emma stood near the back in the hopes that she and her sister could make a break for it as soon as the kids finished. Getting out would likely be a mob scene, and she needed to leave ASAP.

  The African-American woman from earlier approached once more. “Miss Bertram?” she said, in a tone that was probably meant to sound non-threatening. Emma pegged the woman as an administrator, so despite the friendly overture, there was already an implied threat.

  “Yes?” Emma said, her shoulders stiffening in defense.

  “I’d appreciate a moment of your time.”

  Oh boy. Red flags went up. “Um…okay?” Emma wondered what she’d done and if the trespass would result in a detention.

  “Don’t look so terrified,” the woman said as a smile softened her features. “I only want to talk.”

  Emma tried to calm down, but the butterflies wouldn’t quit. “Maybe you should just tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Of course.” She waved her right hand and another woman, this one taller with dark hair, approached. “I’m Principal Laverne Macon, and this is our school counselor, Dolores Bannister. We just wanted a word with you about Paige.”

  “What about her?” Emma asked, giving up on staying calm.

  The counselor touched Emma’s arm. “Nothing yet, we hope. We wanted to make sure the avenues of communication are completely open.”

  “Of course, the school is aware of the recent tragedy in your family,” Principal Macon said, her eyes showing nothing but sympathy. “Naturally, we’re concerned for Paige.”

  The show of “concern” was making Emma freak out. Why would they seek her out if everything were fine? “Look, is Paige all right or not? Should I be worried?”

  “We don’t think there’s real cause for alarm yet,” Dolores Bannister said. “However, we are worried that Paige still seems so withdrawn. All of her teachers report that she rarely speaks in class, and often seems to be ‘somewhere else’.”

  Talk about a vague diagnosis. “What does that mean?” Emma almost snapped. “She’s a daydreamer so obviously we need to lock her in a padded cell?”

  Principal Macon shook her head. “No one is suggesting anything of the sort, Miss Bertram.”

  “Then what are you suggesting?” Emma rounded on her. “What’s the point of this conversation, other than to tell me that Paige is still grieving the loss of her parents?”

  Dolores Bannister clasped her hands together and stared into Emma’s eyes. “By somewhere else, we mean Paige usually spends her time in class looking out the window, doodling in her notebook, or generally staring ahead with a faraway look on her face.”

  “Maybe she needs to be
somewhere else for a while,” Emma said. “Maybe that’s how she’s coping. Paige is quiet and keeps a lot to herself.”

  “Yes, and right now we’re willing to let her take all the time outs she needs,” the principal said. “We just wanted you to know so you could be watching, and perhaps get her to open up when she’s ready.”

  “We also think it might be a good idea if Paige could find something to focus on besides everything she’s lost,” Mrs. Bannister said. “Maybe an activity or a sport. Simply having something to look forward to every day might help her to reengage.”

  Not bad advice, Emma thought. She had her new job, and Imogene had soccer. Perhaps Paige needed her own thing. Emma took a deep breath. “Okay, thank you for letting me know. I’ll try to talk to her and see what she might enjoy.”

  “Good idea,” Principal Macon said. “And please know we are all here for you and Paige. We understand this is going to be a difficult time for everyone, and you’re not alone.”

  “If you have any concerns, please come talk to us,” Mrs. Bannister added.

  “I will.” Emma nodded. “Thank you again.”

  The chorus kids were wrapping up, and the principal and school counselor drifted away. Paige appeared by Emma’s side a moment later.

  “Hey, kiddo!” Emma tried to put extra excitement in her voice. “That was really great!”

  “Yeah?” Paige wrinkled her nose. “We didn’t have much time to put something together.”

  “I couldn’t tell.” Emma put an arm around Paige’s shoulder, but she wriggled away. Emma tried not to feel disappointed. “Are you ready to go? I don’t know about you, but I’m wiped out. School is exhausting. Let’s get out of here.”

  “We have to wait for Genie and Uncle Reece,” Paige reminded her. “And you said we could go for ice cream on The Strip.”

  Emma slowed her steps. “Right…ice cream…I did say that.” She’d promised to spend more time with Reece Casings. Smart move.

  Emma’s plan to make for the exit must have been a good one, because there were like a million people milling around outside. It was hard to take a step without running in to someone. She managed the feat almost immediately, colliding with the heel of a tall, blonde woman with a blonde and beautiful girl about Paige’s age.