Jeannie Watt - Just Desserts

Layla wasn’t fooled. She’d have the position for much longer than one semester. Life Skills—a glorified term for gonzo math and reading for those kids who could buy their way into the school, but didn’t give two hoots about grades or learning, despite their parents’ desire to make them industrial leaders. Oh, yes, she’d be at the helm until the next new teacher was hired, or another staff member made a misstep—serious enough to alarm parents but not serious enough to be fired. She could have this gig for years and years the way the budget was looking.

“I understand,” she said, ever professional. “And I’ll quit before I go back to Life Skills.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE©WORDS©STARTLED©HER as much as they did Ella.

What had she just said? Why had she said it?

Because she had truly and passionately hated teaching Life Skills during her first year at Manzanita before being moved to Advanced English when Melinda hired on. Life Skills was the baptism by fire at Manzanita, and being a starry-eyed neophyte, she’d felt guilty for not being able to inspire the lazy, entitled kids that populated the class. A teacher taught. But teaching the arrogantly unmotivated was not her cup of tea, and apparently it wasn’t Melinda’s, either.

“Don’t be silly,” Ella sputtered. “You were excellent teaching that class. I have a copy of the most recent syllabus,” she said, pushing a folder across the table toward Layla. “You can also access it online. Melinda will answer any questions you have.”

Layla was certain that Melinda would be delighted to answer all her questions.

“I know you will return the favor,” the principal added.

“This is not the solution,” Layla said adamantly. “These parents are wrong. One misrepresented incident doesn’t make me incapable of teaching as I’ve always taught.”

“It’s the most logical solution,” Ella insisted, nudging the folder closer to her. “Many of the concerned parents have children in your advanced classes. Besides—” she tapped her pencil on the folder “—Melinda just received her master’s degree in English, which makes her more qualified.”

On paper. “I have every intention of getting my master’s,” Layla said, focusing on the part of the issue that didn’t involve parents. “But I just spent the last two years revamping my English classes, which took up any time I might have used for university courses.” Class planning, prep and grading had barely left her any time for a social life, much less continued education. “And,” she added, “I won a state merit award for those revamped classes last year.” Which Melinda hadn’t. That had to eat at her.

Her boss’s expression remained impassive. No, it remained stonily stubborn, so Layla gave in to desperation and allowed herself to beg. “Please do not take these classes away from me.”

Ella stared at her for a long moment, the end of her pencil making a slow tap, tap, tap on the desk. Finally, she let out a long sigh. “Let’s meet tomorrow, after we’ve both had some time to evaluate the situation.” She drew in a long breath through her nose, then opened her calendar. “Say, nine o’clock?”

“Nine o’clock will be fine,” Layla said, relief coursing through her at the possible stay of execution. She’d be there at nine, after a good twenty-three hours of figuring out how to save herself. She’d probably look like hell from lack of sleep, since unfinished business invariably gave her insomnia, but she’d be there, and somehow she’d convince Ella to allow her to keep her classes.

USUALLY, JUSTIN©WENT©TO the catering kitchen in the evenings after Patty had prepped during the day, and worked on his cakes alone. Just him and the music. No interruptions.

He had a lot to do, especially with Patty about to take sick leave, but tonight, the tenth anniversary of signing away parental rights to his then unborn son, he stayed home. Turned on a basketball game and started drinking. Alone. Never a good thing to do, but right now it seemed appropriate.

The first few anniversaries had passed practically unnoticed. Yes, he had a child out there somewhere, one he’d been totally unprepared to care for at the age of eighteen. When his girlfriend, Rachel, had opted for adoption, it had seemed a godsend. No child support. No confessing to his sisters what he’d done. The child was better off with parents who were married and had resources to provide for it. Problem solved.

And if every now and again, in the early hours, he found himself dwelling on the matter, he shoved it out of his mind. A strategy that had worked fairly well until his niece, Rosemary, had been born.

From the moment he’d first felt her warm little body snuggle against his shoulder, watched her mouth form a tiny O as she yawned, he’d been overwhelmed with protective instincts he hadn’t even known he possessed. Who would have thought that a baby could make a guy feel like that?

But the kicker was the lost baby, the miscarriage his sister, Reggie, had suffered a little less than a year ago, when she’d been four and a half months pregnant. It had devastated both her and her husband, Tom, to the point that they’d talked of having only the one child because they didn’t want to risk another loss. They eventually decided, though, to try one more time and so far, so good, but Justin was still on edge. He never wanted to see his sister go through that again. He never wanted to go through it again vicariously.

From that point on, denial lost its effectiveness. Kids were not something one signed away and forgot about.

Even if he tamped the thoughts down deep, as deep as he could possibly get them, they slowly but surely worked their way to the surface. He began to notice babies everywhere. And kids. Especially kids about the same age that his son would be.

Justin was a father. Somewhere in the world he had a child. A kid who needed to be protected and loved, as Rosemary needed to be protected and loved.

And he hadn’t done that.

It ate at him. Maybe it had always eaten at him in ways he refused to acknowledge.

Last year on the ninth anniversary of the day he’d signed his child away—four months after Rosemary’s birth and before Reggie had acknowledged her second pregnancy—he’d sat down in front of the TV to have a single beer and ended up drinking himself into oblivion.

He planned to repeat the performance tonight. Kind of a yearly ritual, like a birthday party, which worked, since he didn’t know when his child had been born. Rachel was sent across the country by her wealthy parents shortly after they’d discovered she was pregnant, and he’d never received word. All he knew was that he had a son, information Rachel had given him after her first ultrasound.

He was on his third beer, blindly watching the game and thinking that whiskey would work faster, when the doorbell rang.

Layla. She’d stopped by the kitchen earlier that afternoon to pick up her overnight bag, which was still here at his apartment. Eden had given her directions and sent her over, then called to warn him.

He appreciated that, because now all the scattered gym socks were in the hamper and he wasn’t too deeply into a bottle. That would wait until after she left.

But truth be told, he was on his way to a pretty good buzz. Maybe Layla wouldn’t notice.

LAYLA©STOOD©NERVOUSLY on the concrete outside Justin’s second-story condo, hugging her coat closer to her body as protection against the stiff breeze. Why was she so agitated? Not a clue.

Liar. She was tense because Justin made her that way. She never knew what he was going to do, and she hated unpredictability. The door swung open and there he was, barefoot, dressed in washed-out jeans and a plain white T-shirt. His dark blond hair was out of control as always. She wondered if he still cut it himself.