Never Too Late (10 page)

And Ms. Brown was to monitor her class in the third period. The ice principal. “Class, this is Ms. Brown, our principal, if you haven't already met her. She'll be sitting in while you're testing so please try to impress her.”

The class managed fifteen minutes of control as they buckled down to the test, but then it began. “Aw, this is such crap,” someone muttered rather loudly from the back of the room. “Mrs. Wilson,” a student called, waving her hand. “I don't even understand half the questions on this test!”

“Do your best and we'll go over it later,” Clare said. “Don't overthink it, just give it your best shot. This is one of the few tests you'll get this year that you can retake.”

“I read the stupid handbook,” a usually quiet young man said. “I don't remember any of this shit. Oops. I mean stuff. Sorry.”

“Now look, no more complaints. We're stuck with the test so take it, do your best, and if we have to—we'll go over every question and take it again. No more outbursts.”

The hour was nearly over, the comments had subsided but the grumbling had not, and Ms. Brown's frown got deeper and meaner looking. Clare guiltily thought that it was difficult not to hate her just for her mannerisms, her lack of congeniality. Then Ms. Brown got up and went to the classroom door to leave. She turned her back on Clare as she exited and Clare felt as though the wind was suddenly knocked out of her. She saw her life pass before her eyes, literally. It was
her.
She had glanced at the face for a couple of seconds a little over six months before, but the back of that head as she balanced atop Roger was burned into Clare's memory for all time. She leaned heavily on her desk as the principal left.

Fourth period was a nightmare. It was her worst class, and they thought it the most ridiculous and punitive test they had ever seen, the tantrums were rife with anger, and the students were animals. About halfway through the class one of her most difficult boys stood up, ripped the test in half and left the room. When the door slammed, Clare turned to the blackboard and as serenely as possible, began to write:
See me for test rescheduling after class.

She had barely started to write, having forgotten the
cardinal rule that teachers never turn their backs on the class, when one of her complimentary apples found her head with a
thunk,
driving her forehead into the blackboard. The class was never more quiet. She was momentarily stunned. She kept her brow pressed against the blackboard while she mentally and emotionally assessed the damage. It hurt, but not terribly. She wasn't dizzy or light-headed. But she was
mad.

She straightened slowly, turned, pulled her purse out of the bottom of her desk, and left the classroom. She went to her car in the parking lot.

I can't do this, was all she thought. I've been out of the classroom too long and I have dangerously little compassion for the kids. If I ever become effective, I will hate every day of my life while I try. And I cannot work for that woman.

She spent an hour there—the last thirty minutes of her class, while the abandoned students were probably tearing the classroom walls down, and her entire lunch break. Then, gathering her courage, she went to Ms. Elizabeth Brown's office and told the secretary it was an emergency. Ms. Brown didn't even bother to look up as Clare entered—she continued writing and said, tritely, “You seem to have very tenuous control of your students, Mrs. Wilson.”

“I quit,” Clare said.

Now she sat up straighter, folded her hands primly in front of her on the desk, and said, “In the middle of the fourth day. Now there's the fighting spirit.”

“I've been gouged in a cat fight—”

“That you were strictly instructed to stay out of—”

“And just an hour ago I was beaned in the back of the head with an apple.”

“I can't think of a more ridiculous gesture—to arm them on the first day.”

“And now I can place you. Roger's birthday present.”

She took a steadying breath and said, “I was given to understand the two of you were not together.”

A few things became crystal clear in that moment. This was not a nice person. And while young and pretty, she was increasingly unkind. There had been a lot of blather about how she got her job, when there were so many older and more experienced contenders, and after seeing the way she behaved with Pete, Clare thought it might be true. And of course, Clare knew Roger. Roger had a real penchant for easy women. It was rare for him to latch on to one with actual standards.

Clare didn't care anymore who Roger slept with. The accident had made that all seem so long ago. Even if she had not accomplished a divorce yet, he was clearly her ex in her mind.

“I said I quit,” she said.

“You have a contract,” said the principal.

“Sue me,” she said, turning to leave. She stopped. “But really, if there is anything, but
anything
you don't want to air in public, let's not go to court.” She shrugged and smiled bravely. “But what the hell. Go for it.”

 

By reflex, Clare drove toward her father's hardware store. He was the only person she could think of at this moment. But on her way there, she pulled over on a street in the older business district where the traffic wasn't heavy. She sat in her car, dazed, thinking, Oh my God, what have I done? Walking out on a teaching job in the middle of the day before the first week was com
plete was a death sentence in terms of getting another position. It was the only thing she was qualified to do—besides running a home.

Her cell phone chimed in her purse. She flipped it open and recognized Jason's cell number. Oh, God, how could she have ignored what this might do to him? “Jason,” she said.

“Mom! Do you know what they're saying? They're saying you
quit!
”

“Oh, honey, I'm sorry! I should have pulled you out of class and explained!”

“You did? You
quit?
”

“I'm sorry, honey.”

“Just like that? In fourth hour?”

“Can I explain later? It was kind of crazy.”

“Sure, but did you? Really?”

She took a breath. “Yes.”

There was momentary silence, and then he said,
“Hot!”
And he laughed. “Mom, you're cool.”

“I am?” I'm jobless is what I am.

“Yeah. I'll see you later. At
home.
”

“Okay then,” she said. “Love you.”

“Yeah,” he said. Which was the best he could do while his friends might overhear.

She went to McCarthy's hardware. She'd practically grown up in the store. When she was little, she begged to go with her dad and when she was a teenager she worked there. So did the other girls, some. But they hadn't liked it as much as she had.

When she walked in her father was behind the cash register taking care of a customer. He looked up, saw her and said to a clerk, “Marty, finish this up for me, will you?” He wore a slight frown as he regarded her and
without even saying hello, led the way to his office in the back of the store. George was the one person who could read all his daughters, no matter what. He might not know the details, but he could read the emotions on their faces and at that moment Clare was resonating shock and panic.

“Is Jason all right?” he asked.

“Fine. I just talked to him, and he's perfectly fine.”

“Then what's the matter?”

“Dad, I walked out on my job. Quit in the middle of the day, four days into a one-year contract, and told the principal to sue me if she didn't like it.”

George lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. Clare stood awkwardly for a moment, then sat in one of the facing chairs. “Well, you must have had a good reason,” he said, but his expression was dubious.

“I can't do it, that's all. I'm a
horrible
teacher!”

“I don't believe that,” he said.

“Oh, believe it. If I'd been subbing, I would've stayed out the week, blamed the lack of control in my classroom on the substitution. But I had to get out of there. By the second day I was hating them all!”

“Clare, you've had a lot of adjustments the past six months. You might be a little overwrought or something. Calm down. Maybe if you go talk to the principal later, after classes are out, you could negotiate—”

“I was in the middle of a fight on the second day,” she said. “In my classes they were throwing things, cursing, muttering things about me that were less than complimentary….”

“Teenagers are tough.”

“It was a war zone.”

“I've heard it's gotten worse over the years, but—”

“I walked out after someone launched an apple, hitting me square in the back of the head.”

He half rose out of his chair. “What?” he asked angrily.

She nodded. “It was very deliberate. The principal imparted that this was as much my fault, as I brought apples to the students.”

He slowly sat again. “For the love of God,” he said.

“So I quit. And I'm not going back, no matter what. The principal—young and pretty—is a viper. And she made it quite clear she hates me. Possibly she hates everyone. The women, at least.”

“I just can't believe all kids are that bad,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Well, they're not,” she relented. “But the new teacher on the block doesn't get any honors students who are actually interested in school. And in the remedial classes there are some real jerks with an ax to grind and the rest of the classroom isn't safe from them. It's easier for the others to go along with the disruption than to behave. It takes a special teacher to make that many silk purses. I'm just not the one.” She hung her head pathetically.

“Don't cry in your beer,” he said. “You made a decision—stick to it. You must have been passionate, walking out like that. I've been waiting a long time to see some of that.”

When she lifted her eyes, she had tears in them. “Quitter, that's what I am. You didn't see Reenie quit—and she's up against way more than I am.”

“Reenie?”

“This little bitty thing in the classroom next to mine—she looks fifteen. And the kids scare her to death. But does she cut and run?”

George leaned forward, stretching across his desk. “Maybe she wants to teach,” he said.

“What if I could've made a difference in just one kid's life?”

George drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment, then stopped. “What if you can make a difference in your own?”

“But I feel like such a failure at everything I try.”

He grinned. “You make a damn fine bran muffin. Keeps me out of the Internist's office, that's for sure.”

“This is no time to joke.”

“Clare, I'm not joking. I'm sorry the job didn't work out, but I'm tired of watching you stay with things that aren't worth it. It's time to stop punishing yourself and start working for yourself.”

“Dad, I really didn't think I was punishing myself. I have a degree in education.”

“That doesn't necessarily make a teacher, but never mind that. I was talking about a lot of things.”

“Roger, yes. I know. But how am I going to get my independence without a job?”

“You'll need a job, of course. You can always work here until you figure things out. You know the store as well as I do.” He sucked on his teeth. “Never could figure out people who could work for other people. I couldn't do it. This old store might not be so much, but I'm the boss.”

“This is a great store. I'd give anything to have this store.”

He grinned at her. “I don't suppose it comes as any comfort that you and your sisters will inherit it?”

“Not any time soon with you as healthy as you are. I'll be too old to run it when that time comes.”

“It's imperative that I outlive Dotty at least,” he said. “I don't want to have the biggest funeral in three counties.”

She laughed at him.

“There's that smile. Don't tell anyone I said this, but of my three daughters, you have the most beautiful smile. Most expensive, too, as I recall.”

Just as he said that, of course it disappeared. “What am I going to do, Dad?”

He stood up. “You're going to think, Clare. Think of the kinds of things that make you happiest in life. What gives you satisfaction. What do those things have in common with making a living? How can you find the right job or create the right job—one that makes you want to get up in the morning.”

“I really enjoyed being a homemaker. I guess I could clean houses….”

“Try to use a little more imagination,” he suggested. “And for God's sake, take your time. You need a little walking-around money?”