Authors: Lacey Black
Abby grabs her book bag from the floor and starts to shovel her books and papers inside. “I can’t stay tonight, Ms. Brady. My mom is bowling so dinner is already waiting,” she says as she stands up and walks into the living room to retrieve her coat.
“See you tomorrow, Abby,” I say as the teenager heads out the front door.
“Bye,” she hollers over her shoulder before stepping out into the brisk, evening air.
“So, I was thinking that we could get pizza on Thursday night since Dad promised that we’d get cheeseburgers and fries on Friday night,” Zach exclaims from the kitchen table.
I exhale deeply before I head back into the kitchen, dread gripping my chest so tightly I can hardly breathe. I hate doing this to him. I hate that his father does this to him. Crushes him continually with empty promises and leaves me to pick up the broken pieces.
“Why don’t we order a pizza tonight?” I offer as I step back inside the kitchen and head towards the sink. Distracting myself won’t erase the hurt I’m about to bestow upon him. I’m just hoping that his favorite deep-dish mushroom pizza will soften the blow just a bit.
“What’s wrong?” Zach asks, his eyes filled with concern.
“Why do you think something is wrong?” I answer his question with a question.
“We never get pizza on Monday nights,” he mumbles and looks back down at his homework. “Unless you have bad news,” he adds as he goes about his math worksheet.
“Let me order the pizza, and then we’ll talk, okay?” I ask, heading over to grab the cordless phone off the base. Zach offers a grunt for a response and gets back to the papers in front of him.
Once the pizza is ordered, I sit down at the tiny two-person table. “So, your dad called today,” I start, meeting sad, brown eyes. I watch as he swallows his emotions and dredges up his best brave face.
“It’s okay, Mom. You can say it,” he says.
“Your dad has to leave town on Wednesday and won’t be back until Monday at the earliest. He sends his apologies and promises to call you later,” I tell him.
“Work?”
I swallow my own emotions. “Yeah, work. He has a potential new client in Los Angeles that he is going to meet,” I say. “It’s a big, public case and he needs to meet with the client as soon as possible. He promises to see you next weekend.”
Zach snorts. “No offense, Mom, but I’ve heard that before,” he mumbles as he drops his attention back to his homework.
He’s right. He’s heard it so many times in the past that it’s not even funny. Hell, recently, he’s heard it over and over and over again. The last weekend Zach spent with Nick was the weekend after Halloween and even that one was cut short by an emergency hearing on Sunday afternoon. Four long, lonely weekends where I tried my best to step in and fill the shoes of the one man I’ll never be able to properly replace. It’s an impossible job. Every boy needs his father, and it pains me that Nick has no idea what he’s missing. And that is the reason so many of our phone conversations turn heated lately. But my words fall on deaf ears. As much as I try to shake some sense into my ex-husband, the fact still remains that even though I know he loves his son to pieces, he will always choose work over his family.
“So, I’m going to stay with you again this weekend,” he finally states after several minutes of silence.
“Afraid so, buddy. We’ll figure out something fun this weekend. What do you want to do?” I ask, eager to see the light return to his eyes and a smile cross his face, knowing that the sweet, fun-loving, carefree boy I once knew hasn’t been the one who sits at this table every day.
“We don’t have to do anything, Mom,” he says with a small, empty smile.
“I want to. How about a movie?” I ask, pasting my own big smile across my face. “I think the new superhero movie is out,” I add.
“Superheroes are for babies, Mom. I want to go see something scary,” he exclaims, excitement filling his eyes for the first time in I don’t know how long. I dread the thought of taking my twelve-year-old to see a scary movie. He’s too young, isn’t he? Or maybe it’s just my own fear of scary movies that holds me back.
“We’ll see,” I reply without committing to anything.
“Well, that’s a no,” he mumbles. “
We’ll see
always means no,” he adds with the shake of his head, sending brown locks of hair falling towards his eyes.
I look over at my son as he returns his concentration to his homework and make a vow. I will take him to see a scary movie this weekend. Even though I know it will keep me up at night with nightmares, I want to give him this little piece of happiness. “Okay. We’ll go see whatever movie you want,” I confirm.
“Really?” he asks, eyes lighting up with excitement.
“Really. Just don’t complain when I make you sleep with me in my bed for at least a week,” I add, laughing.
Forty minutes later, the doorbell rings signaling the arrival of our dinner. With homework wrapped up, Zach grabs two paper plates from the cabinet and the carton of milk from the fridge. We both sit down to enjoy the rare weeknight treat.
“So, how is school going?” I ask as I take a bite of my deep dish pizza.
“Good,” Zach mumbles, leaning over his plate and inhaling his second slice of pizza.
Zach isn’t aware, but I am in weekly contact with his principal, Mr. Kohlmann. After everything that went down at Zach’s previous school, I never want to be in the dark again. I assumed that my son’s terrible attitude and slowly floundering grades were due to the divorce. I mean, divorce is devastating for everyone involved, especially kids. But, when I received the phone call that there was an “incident”, my heart rate elevated to stroke level and I knew there was more to the story.
Sitting in the principal’s office and learning that your son was being bullied, and that it had been going on for some time, is quite the shock. I felt so many emotions as I sat in that hard leather chair and silently allowed the tears to leak from the corners of my eyes. Shock. Sadness. Anger. Devastation. Frustration. Nick, of course, was in court and was unable to stand beside me, to present a united front, as I listened to the devastating recounts of my son’s torture. I was alone, and I had failed him. I had failed to protect my son. As a mother, there was no worse shame.
Zach has always been a quiet kid. He excels in reading and science - really, everything but math. A small group of five or six boys a grade above him chose my sweet little boy to be the recipient of their ridicule. Their taunts. Their harsh punches and crushing words.
Zach never once mentioned to his father or me that there were any issues at school. In fact, the administration and the teachers appeared surprised when Zach was discovered by another student bleeding from the lip and nose and curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor. His teachers all admitted that they assumed his recent struggles with his grades were due to the rigorous schedule he carried his first year of junior high or the divorce. No one suspected.
That entire year of sixth grade, nothing I did seemed to help. I asked him constantly about the random bruises I noticed on his arms or legs and he always said he fell down. He tripped over a ball in PE. Hit his arm on his locker. I tried helping him study for tests or assisting him with his homework, but that seemed to set him off even further. He became belligerent towards his father and me, and I took it. I felt like it was what I deserved for wrecking the home we once shared as a complete family. The divorce. I just knew that Zach was struggling and reeling from his parents’ separation and inevitable divorce.
The entire school year. That’s how long my son had been punished and ridiculed by a group of older boys. His first year in junior high and it was torture for him. Yet, he never led on that there was an issue. Never told anyone. But, I should have seen it. I should have pushed for answers. I should have called and met with his principal.
I should have…
The bullies were suspended, but the damage was done. Zach didn’t want to go to school anymore. His grades plummeted from straight A’s to barely passing. He tried to stick it out for the remaining couple of months in the school year, but it proved to be too much for him. He was emotional and struggling, and I couldn’t take his pain anymore. It was time to leave St. Charles. It was time to remove my son from the odd looks and mumblings under the breaths from his classmates. It was time to help my son heal and start somewhere new.
It took me no time at all to make the decision to move to the small, quiet community of Rivers Edge, thirty minutes away from St. Charles. Nick would remain in the large house we once shared as a family, and Zach and I would relocate and start fresh. We were close enough to my ex that they could spend every other weekend together. That is, if Nick’s work wasn’t constantly pulling him away from his son.
*****
After two rounds of some gory aliens invasion game that his father bought for him behind my back, I finally get Zach settled down and into bed. I grab the bottle of Chardonnay and pour myself a hearty glass. Nights like these - conversations with him about his father choosing work over him - always stress me out. Wine helps. Wine helps a lot.
I grab my iPod off of the counter and head into the bathroom. I can’t help but reminisce about the incredible tub we had at the old house. This one is your basic shower and tub combo and works just fine. But when you’re used to a jetted garden tub built for two, the standard tubs just seem lacking.
Pity Party, table for one!
When the tub is filled with soothing hot water, sprinkled with lavender scented crystals, I turn on my iPod, set it to shuffle, and step into the tub. Smooth classical music bounces off the walls of the confined space. The comforting sounds of Beethoven fill the room, relaxing me instantly and bringing my mind to a place of pure tranquility. After all of the stresses of the workday, I can always count on Bach, Mozart, or Beethoven to bring me inner peace.
Tonight, however, my inner thoughts are invaded by intoxicating blue eyes and tight navy pants. Will Stevens attacks my serenity in the most unwanted, yet entirely delicious of ways. My thoughts turn to his youthful, yet devastatingly handsome looks. From his tall, lean body to his golden hair, this man oozes sex in the most powerful way. Top it off with boyish glasses and I could totally envision Will Stevens as lead in my fantasies. Plus, he has big hands.
And you know what they say about big hands…
No,
I chastise myself and down a healthy gulp of the sweet, dry wine. Will has no business being in any thoughts - dirty or otherwise. Will is an employee plain and simple. He is underneath me.
Oh hell! I want Will underneath me…
I give my head a firm shake and attempt to dislodge the naughty images parading through my subconscious. I have no business picturing Will in any capacity other than co-worker. Boss and employee.
This is precisely why I prefer to call him William in person. I overheard a conversation in which Will prefers his friends call him by his shortened name. Well, I am not his friend. I am his boss. So, William seems like a firm way to keep that proverbial line drawn in the sand. Separate. I must keep the employee and the man separate.
Besides, William seems more exotic and sexy…
I exhale a dramatic breath and decide to get out of the tub. Obviously my mind is not going to completely unwind tonight. Not when Will Stevens is invading it like that zombie game Zach was playing earlier.
After I dress in my long, cotton nightshirt and my warm, fuzzy slippers, I check on Zach who is finally out like a light. Apparently zombie killing wears him out. I slip beneath my flannel covers and fire up my e-reader. I always said I wouldn’t get one; that I would always continue the timeless tradition of holding a physical book within my hands, but I do have to admit that the e-reader is convenient. I’ve read many more books on my unit since they offer more historical and contemporary romance online than in the local bookstore.
I lie back, nursing the final swallows of my chardonnay, and set out to discover if Sir Philippe and Lady Annabelle are destined to be together. Can the hero save the heroine from the wrath of her traitorous father? Can he storm the castle and rescue her from the clutches of a deranged prince, hell bent on making Lady Annabelle his own? Will their first kiss be as magical as I imagine it will be?
I can’t wait to find out…
*****
Standing in line at the concession counter at the local movie theater, my phone rings. I hadn’t turned the ringer off yet, so I quickly dig it out of the confines of my purse. Not recognizing the number, I consider letting it go to voicemail. But when I took this job, it was with the assumption that I would make myself accessible to the department 24/7. I’ve been fortunate since my arrival at REMC that only a handful of late night or emergency administration calls have pulled me away from my family obligations.
“Hello?” I say into my cell phone.
“Carmen, this is Tim Gordon. My wife, Macy, went into labor a few moments ago. We’re on our way to the hospital and as I mentioned last month, I will be starting my vacation days tomorrow.”
“Yes, Tim, I recall our conversation. I have you down for taking five days of vacation. Is that still accurate?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am. Looking at the current schedule, I would be taking my next five scheduled days off and return on Tuesday, December seventeenth.”
“That sounds acceptable, Tim. I will note your vacation days and work on covering your shifts.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Tim says just as a muffled moan and some terse words roll through the phone line. “I need to go. The contractions are getting closer together and she says it’s time to leave,” Tim adds in one big rush of breath. Even in his slightly frazzled state, I can still hear the excitement in his voice.
“Go. I’ll take care of it,” I reply. Just before Tim can sign off, I add, “Good luck and congratulations.”
Silence greets me on the other end of the line. I start to think that Tim hung up when he finally replies, “Thank you, ma’am.”