Dying to Teach Read online

  “No charge,” Cilla said.

  “No way,” Kiana said. “None of this was your fault.”

  “All right then, half—and I won’t take any arguing. The fire wasn’t any of your doing either.” Cilla wrote up a bill and shoved it into one of the bags. “So, are you free for dinner tonight?”

  “Barring any more catastrophes, I’d love to.”

  Cilla scribbled directions on the back of a business card.

  Angie put it in the side pocket of her handbag. “I have a pot roast in the crockpot, if that’s all right.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  They made their good-byes. On the way out, Angie passed the lovely cup and saucer. Its price tag was only $15. Fantastic for real bone china.

  Cilla helped carry the bags to the car; Angie checked each of the tires by doing a complete circle around the vehicle while Kiana told Cilla what happened earlier.

  “So, you’re having dinner with Mr. Philmore,” Kiana said once they were back on their way.

  Angie sipped the now-cold coffee she’d left in the cup holder. “Should I read something into your comment? Or from their invitation?”

  “I guess not. I just find him strange. No, that’s not the right word. He’s changeable. One day up and one day down. Evan and I wondered if he was on some kind of drugs.” Seeing Angie’s surprised glance, she added, “No, nothing like that; I mean, like prescription drugs. You know, for depression or something.”

  “Are you in any of his classes?”

  Kiana nodded. “He’s kinda boring, sticks strictly to curriculum. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to keep awake.” She drank from her cup, set it in the holder, knocking knuckles with Angie as she set down her own. “I like Mrs. Philmore though,” Kiana added.

  “Me too, so far. We’ve only met twice so the verdict’s still out. Do you plan on making acting a career?”

  Kiana’s sigh took Angie’s attention momentarily from the road. “I did.”

  “Did?”

  “Well, Ms. Forest…”

  Angie tried but couldn’t make a connection to help the girl past her obvious trouble finishing the sentence.

  “If we can’t save the drama program my chances of getting into the best college will dwindle to nothing. I really need the credits from this last semester. I thought about changing high schools but my parents are pretty adamant against it.”

  “Against changing schools?”

  “Well, they’re against me acting at all. They don’t think it’s lucrative enough.”

  “What school are you trying to get in?”

  “Greensboro’s advanced program. Ms. Forest told me it was the best in the country. She was helping me work toward it. She helped me enroll in the local Thespian Society. I go to their regular meetings. That earns me credits.”

  “I’m not fully up on the requirements of colleges. And I’ve only just joined the Thespian group. Because of my schedule, I don’t get to attend many meetings. Why might you not be able to get in now?”

  “With my grades, I qualify for any school. And I can get into Greensboro’s school, no problem. I needed this year’s credits to meet the criteria for the advanced program. Also…I can qualify for a full scholarship if I meet certain other requirements.”

  They’d arrived back at the school. Strangely enough, the same parking space was still open. They collected cups, handbags, and shopping bags and met on the sidewalk outside the school. At Kiana’s comments about the Greensboro acting program, a thought had popped into Angie’s head. Kiana had stepped toward the school doors. When she saw Angie hadn’t moved, she came back.

  “Need help with something?”

  “About Greensboro’s requirements… Would it help if an operating theater hired you?”

  Kiana nearly dropped her bags. “Definitely, but—” When she faced Angie her eyes were lit like lasers. “You mean you’d hire me?”

  “I need to run it past my partner first, but I’m confident something can be worked out.” She touched Kiana’s arm, suddenly not sure a teacher should be touching a student, but at this moment, not caring. “Let’s get this show under our belts, save the school program, then worry about your future. Okay?”

  Angie’s concerns about physical contact with a student were erased when Kiana did indeed drop the bags and fling her arms around Angie’s neck. “Thanks.” She dropped her arms. There was an awkward moment where neither woman seemed to know what to say. “I can’t help you pick them up,” Angie finally said, squeezing her own bags tighter.

  Kiana bent to retrieve the fallen packages. Someone came out of the left double door. Kiana ran to get inside before the door could swing shut. She propped a foot so the door would stay open, and waited for Angie to precede her.

  To prepare for the performance’s new outdoor venue Randy had excused cast and crew from classes. The pair of janitors were invaluable in helping move the heavy sets, though Angie noticed Lincoln Underwood stood around till someone specified what he should do. His attitude was surly and he often snapped at the kids. Angie also noticed Kiana kept much of her attention focused on him.

  At lunchtime, Randy had a dozen pizzas delivered. While a yard crew mowed the football field, wafting a fresh-cut-grass scent into the air, the jovial group sat on the bleachers to eat. Some of the actors recited their lines to each other as if making normal conversation—which sent everyone else into gales of laughter.

  As the last of the food boxes were cleared away, the topic switched to speculation about who might be trying to sabotage the show. Angie turned her mind to the upcoming performance, fitting details here and there, and making sure they hadn’t forgotten anything.

  Evan appeared in front of her bleacher seat. “Can we talk a sec?”

  She waved at the bleacher space beside her.

  He sat. Which meant the subject was serious.

  “What do you do when you learn something that absolutely blows your mind?” he asked after gazing around to make sure nobody was listening. “I mean, how do you face the person—the one the news is about—on a daily basis?”

  “Hard question. I guess you have to put the information into a special file in the back of your mind.”

  “What if you can’t? What if, every time you see this person you get angry, or want to say something? What if, every time you see him you want to shake him and ask ‘how’ and ‘why’?”

  Angie let out a small grin. “That’s how I feel about my ex husband.”

  “How do you deal with it?”

  “Like I said, I have a special file. Evan, I don’t know what this is about but here’s something you should try to remember…and I know I’m coming off sounding like a lecturing adult, but here goes…you can’t go through life letting things bother you. If you do, they’re going to build up and build up. Someday they’ll explode all over someone—probably someone you love.” He gave a half-nod. “Does this have something to do with Kiana? I noticed a bit of a strain between you today.”

  “It’s like you just said. Some of my build-up overflowed on her.”

  As she expected, they must’ve been arguing. Angie hoped it was school-related and nothing to do with Gwen. She’d no sooner thought the thought when Evan asked, “How do you feel about…homosexuals?”

  So this had nothing to do with Kiana. The only mention of homosexuality she’d encountered was to do with Randy.

  “How can I face him every day?”

  “What is it that bothers you the most about this person being gay?”

  An involuntary shiver shook the boy from head to foot. “It’s gross. It’s against the bible. It’s against life. It’s…well, it’s just gross.” His hands clenched in his lap and buried themselves between his knees.

  “I do think this is one of those things you need to lock in that special file in your head.”

  He sat there, as if trying to do what she suggested. He blinked. He unclenched his hands. He blinked again, this time squeezing his eyes tight as though squashing the im
ages that wreaked havoc with his brain.

  Evan stood up. His usually brilliant green eyes looked dull. “I know you’re right. I guess I’ll have to work on this.”

  “Think of it as a math problem. Work on it, solve it and store it away.”

  He nodded. “Thanks Mrs. D.” He moved on long, wiry legs toward the building.

  So, the news about Randy was out. It did explain a few things. Most especially why he and Gwen got an annulment all those years ago. Yes, the news explained a lot. Angie wanted to yank out her phone and call Jarvis.

  But the topic of conversation suddenly stood before her.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Randy seemed to have come to check on things and not ask questions about the so-called case. He asked how rehearsal was going. Asked if the pizza was all right. He never mentioned a word about the investigation. Probably because several of the kids had moved into hearing range. Angie felt like gathering them close and keeping them there a while. Finally Randy left to check on the construction crew.

  Though there was still a lot to do, she sent everyone home at five o’clock so she could get back to the hotel to change for dinner with the Philmores. Angie couldn’t stop thinking about Evan’s turmoil. She’d gone through much the same thing after her breakup with Will. Finding that spot in her brain to hide the pain had been the only way she could handle the sadness, the shock. Every now and then she revisited those feelings, often when faced with tough decisions or seemingly impossible situations. She thought it helped keep the events and emotions in perspective. Had she explained it well enough to Evan? Was that special file a good enough way for a teenager to deal with conflicting emotions? Ultimately it would be up to him to decide.

  Would Evan confront Randy? Probably not. A strong boy, Evan would find a way to work through his emotions. Again, she considered phoning Jarvis, if just to hear him say she’d handled Evan’s situation the right way.

  How had the kids come into possession of that decal? Had they broken into Randy’s office? News wasn’t spreading like wildfire through the school so that meant they weren’t talking about it. Which also meant they probably had broken in. Angie heaved a long breath. Those kids were going to get hurt.

  An hour later Angie knocked on the door of the Philmore’s colonial style house. Josh answered wearing the same clothes he’d worn in school. He gestured Angie inside. Since Cilla had said they’d be eating beef, she’d bought a bottle of merlot. She handed it to him. For a moment he seemed confused. Finally he said “thanks” and shut the door.

  The muted strains of Chopin’s piano came from the living room that they bypassed on their way to the back of the house where Cilla bustled around the stove. She set a wooden spoon on a trivet and came to greet Angie. Ever the stylish one, she’d changed into a flowing peach color caftan. Her long hair flowed loose around her shoulders. She pulled Angie into a quick hug.

  “I thought we could eat in the sunroom.” Cilla gestured through a set of sliding glass doors where a white wicker table had been set. Daylight was fading. Flickering candles lit the room, two on the main table and three more on small tables around the perimeter.

  “Can I help with anything?” Angie asked.

  Josh showed Cilla the wine Angie had brought. Cilla nodded her thanks. “Will you open this for us, please?” she said to Josh. “Let it breathe for a few minutes. Sure Angie, you could carry the salad and the dressing. Josh, bring the butter too, if you would.” Cilla picked up a cutting board that held a loaf of what looked like fresh baked bread. “I hope the music is all right.”

  “Believe it or not Chopin’s Polonaise-Fantaisie is one of my absolute favorites.”

  Cilla shot Josh a smirk, at which Angie raised her brows. Cilla laughed. “Josh didn’t peg you as a classical lover.”

  Josh gave a sharp, “Cilla!”

  Angie laughed to cover the awkward moment. “What sort of music lover do I look like?”

  “Jazz.” This he said with a note of hesitation.

  “Ooh, I love Chick Corea.”

  Josh seemed satisfied. He held Angie’s chair and she settled facing the house. On the kitchen counter, steam rose from an enormous crockpot.

  Cilla made most of the conversation. Josh chomped on salad and feigned interest. His face wore that same glazed-over look Jarvis got when her mother visited. The only difference was, quite frequently Angie felt her own face getting that glazed-over look too since Gloria tended to monopolize all conversation.

  It didn’t take long to figure out that tension existed between these two people. Not the sort of tension that comes from a discussion…“no, I really think she’ll prefer jazz music.” Angie had felt the same thing the other day when Josh dropped his arm around Cilla’s shoulder. There was something going on, or maybe not going on, between these two.

  Cilla brought the crockpot and set it on a trivet with a mosaic picture of a butterfly. Seeing Angie looking at it, she said, “Our youngest son made it for us. We were talking the other day about all the things in our house that the kids made.”

  “And how much stuff we have,” Josh added. “And how we should get rid of some stuff.” A flicker of a scowl crossed Cilla’s face. This too must’ve been a conversation they’d had before. And not one Cilla wanted aired in public.

  To cover some of the awkwardness, Angie said, “My ex husband and I had that too. Though we don’t have children, we did manage to accumulate things through the years.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Almost thirty years.” A shiver welled up inside her, as it did every time she thought about the demise of her marriage.

  “That’s a long time,” Josh said. There was no envy in his tone.

  Cilla shoved the ladle into the pot. Drops of boiling broth shot around the table. Some landed on Angie’s hands but she didn’t raise attention by wiping at them. Josh did.

  Cilla spooned out a delicious smelling mix of potatoes, carrots and beef. She gestured for Angie to hold up her plate. Which she was more than willing to do. Anything to hurry this meal along.

  “Mmm,” Angie said, “smells great.”

  “It’s Josh’s favorite.”

  They were finishing the last of the entrée when the phone rang. Josh slapped his napkin on the table and left the room muttering about damned telemarketers. He came back quickly—probably he’d hung up on them. But he didn’t return to the table. “That was Brent. He needs help moving a new sofa into his apartment.”

  Though Cilla protested, “Does it have to be tonight?” Angie had the idea she was glad Josh’s negativity might be departing the premises.

  Josh laughed. “Apparently they’ve got it caught in the stairwell. I’m sorry Angie, I was looking forward to getting to know you better.”

  “Same here. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  As her husband disappeared through the kitchen, Cilla stood up. “What if we have our coffee and dessert in the living room? I’ll light the fire. It’ll be cozy.”

  Angie rose and began stacking plates.

  “No. Company doesn’t do that.”

  “We’re passing the sink anyway, might as well carry something.”

  Cilla brought the crockpot and set it on the counter. She punched the button to start a pot of coffee. “I made pumpkin mousse.” Cilla removed a pair of white ceramic ramekins from the fridge.

  Angie snatched one of the containers from her hostess’s fingers. “Not on my diet.”

  “Same here.” Cilla laughed.

  They strolled into the living room carrying the desserts. Cilla stopped at a long wall of artwork obviously done by children. At the top was a picture of each of their three sons. Judging by the similar backgrounds, probably school photos. Below each one, fanned in a rainbow arc, were framed pieces, obviously done at all stages of the boys’ development. A great wall of childhood history.

  Cilla pointed to a purple scribble on yellow lined paper. “Brent did this when he was two.” Above this, a cute brown haired bo
y who looked a lot like Josh, grinned down at them.

  “How old is he?”

  “In the picture, he’s eight. He’s nineteen as of next week, attending a two-year college in town,” she said with a mother’s obvious pride. “He’s the one Josh went to help with the sofa.” She thumped a finger on the middle group of artwork. “Scott is our middle son. He’s eighteen.” Scott looked a bit like Josh also. The third son had Cilla’s blonde hair and blue eyes. He looked to be about seventeen years old. “You had your boys close together.”

  Cilla laughed. “In just over three years. It was quite stressful for a while, as you can imagine.”

  “I can only imagine. As I said, we didn’t have children.”

  “Didn’t you ever want any?”

  Angie’s insides tightened as a whisper of guilt passed through. It had been one of the discussions between she and Will in the early stages of their marriage. He’d wanted kids and she didn’t. It wasn’t till after their divorce that she realized she’d been too self-centered. Kids would’ve gotten in the way of her lifestyle. Kids would’ve messed up the house. The recognition of this flaw in her personality was, as they say, a bitter pill to swallow.

  “It just didn’t happen,” was all she could think of saying that wouldn’t bare the painful memory.

  Cilla led Angie to a leather sofa and chair set atop a low pile carpet in a pretty cinnamon color. She placed her ramekin on a coaster then went to push the button to turn on the fireplace. “I’ll get the coffee.”

  She returned and placed a carved wooden tray on the coffee table. After cups were fixed according to each person’s tastes, Cilla leaned back against the deep cushioned sofa with the dessert.

  “You have a very nice house,” Angie said.

  “Thanks. We bought it two years ago when we moved here to Nashua. Josh is responsible for most of the decorating. He has great color sense. He told me you live in Alton. I’m not sure where that is.”

  “It’s at the very southernmost tip of Lake Winnipesaukee.”

  “Nice. We went there on vacation about ten years ago. Do you live right on the lake?”