Читать книгу Triplets Find a Mom - Annie Jones - Страница 9

Early that next morning, Polly hurried to the school, still feeling badly about the whole hat thing. With that weighing on her mind, she didn’t even feel like chattering out loud to her canine passenger as she drove the four blocks from her house to the place where her street, Mills, met Main. At the intersection, governed only by a four-way stop sign, she took a moment to read the official signs.

“Baconburg Business District.” She glanced toward the road that she knew wound around toward the highway where a chain hotel, a couple of fast-food places and a mega grocery store dotted the landscape.

She took a peek down at a patchwork of buildings that told the story of a town that had known growth spurts and setbacks. Polly smiled. “Baconburg Historic District, which means the cool stuff is thataway.”

But Polly was headed straight down Mills to the school and she couldn’t linger any longer. She sighed. “Too bad there isn’t a hat-blocking place back there.”

Oblivious, the dog bounced right to left, then right again. In a few minutes she pulled into the school parking lot. The only other cars seemed to belong to the staff.

Today was the day the students would be finding out whose classroom they would be assigned to. The principal had okayed her coming in to collect some supplies but had asked that Polly not stick around to avoid “complications.” Polly understood the code word for school politics. She knew that as a fairly new teacher—just three years out of college—and totally new to Van Buren Elementary, some parents would have misgivings about their kids being assigned to her. Others would demand to have their children in Miss Bennett’s class, thinking she would have fresher perspective, all the latest approaches and no preconceptions about which were the good kids and which were the “problems.” Though Polly couldn’t really imagine how much of a problem your average small-town second grader could be.

“No more problem than you right now, mister.” She whirred the window down a few inches, got out and shut the door. She started to turn toward the front door of the single-level blond-brick building, then suddenly felt compelled to explain, “You just have to stay here for two minutes while I run into my classroom here to get some paper. I can make up flyers there so we can find your parents, okay?”

The thick tail thumped against the back of the seat and he whimpered softly as if to tell her he understood.

She tapped the window. Did she really have to make flyers today? She had moved here to learn to take her time, relish the past and not be so anxious to press forward, after all.

A silvery-blue minivan came gliding up past her car and pulled up to the curb in front of her.

Parents were beginning to arrive. She had two choices. Go inside and get what she came for and get out. Or run away.

The passenger door of the minivan swung open and Polly couldn’t help taking a peek.

One little girl with a bright red ponytail, dressed in canvas-colored overalls over a lime-green camp shirt scrambled out onto the sidewalk with so much energy that she almost fell over herself. No, that wasn’t herself she had fallen over. It was …

“Twins!” Polly couldn’t help it. She whispered the word in a rush of excitement to the little dog.

The second child emerged. Her red hair was woven into a gorgeous French braid tied with a pink ribbon. In fact, everything she wore was pink. Pink top, pink skirt, pink sparkly shoelaces in pink sequined tennis shoes.

Polly laughed out loud at the sight. “A set of identical—”

A third child climbed out.

“Triplets,” Polly murmured.

This one wore tennis shoes, too, plain white ones. With faded jeans and an ill-fitting gray shirt. Her hair was caught up in pigtails, the right one a good two inches higher than the left.

That was the one that got to Polly. She felt a smile start that grew beyond simple amusement to recognition of a kindred spirit. All three girls turned and looked at her, their eyes wide.

Polly wondered if she should say hello. It seemed wrong to just get in her car and rush off now. Maybe she should wave and say, See ya soon, I hope. Or should she ask their names? Before she could speak or move or even make up her mind, the driver’s door swung open.

“I told you girls we were leaving too early. I don’t know if the doors are even open yet.” A large, weathered cowboy boot hit the concrete followed by more than six feet of tall, muscular man.

Polly leaned back against the car, a bit for support, a bit to give her room to take in the whole view. “You!”

“Me!” Sam grinned as he shut his door and started toward her. “So, you have a kid in this school, too?”

“Too?” Polly looked at the children, then at the van and realized nobody else was getting out.

He pointed toward the girls each in turn. “Hayley, Juliette and Caroline.”

“Those are … your daughters?” Sam Goodacre had identical triplets. Some women might have wanted to run from a situation like that, but for Polly, just seeing these girls made her feel less homesick for her own twin.

“Yeah.” He held up three fingers. “All mine. And you …”

Three high-pitched squeals tore through the quiet air of the summer morning.

“You … brought … a dog.” They all sang out a variation of almost the same thing.

“I don’t have any kids, Sam. I’m not even married.” Polly moved closer to him to speak softly enough that the girls wouldn’t hear as she whispered her confession, “I’m the new teacher.”

“Of course you are.” He shook his head. “You are the single, new teacher with an adorable, homeless puppy.”

In a flash of red curls and giggles, the girls ran up to the car. The puppy rushed to the side and licked the place where the small hands pressed against the glass.

“You say ‘new teacher’ like it’s a bad thing.” She ducked her head to try to meet his lowered gaze. “It’s because of the hat thing, right? It’s the hat?”

“Forget about the hat. That’s the past.” He waved his hand as if actually pushing it behind them. “No, it’s more complicated than that, starting with the fact that my girls are starting second grade this year. This is Hayley. That one is Juliette.” He pointed to each girl as he spoke. “And that is Caroline.”

“Oh.” Polly whipped around and saw the girls in another light—not as fellow multiples but each a potential student.

The one Sam called Caroline gasped, her eyes grew wide and in that second there was a light in her to rival her other sisters’ natural vivaciousness. Caroline turned her head to tell Polly, “I like your dog.”

“He’s not mine, really.” She slipped away from Sam and went to the children. “I found him hanging around my house. I’m going to put up flyers to see if I can find his real owners.”

“You don’t have to do that. I know his real owners.” Caroline jerked her head around to fix her huge, pleading eyes on her father.

“Me, too.” Juliette ran to the car to peer inside.

“Me, too, too,” Hayley said with sweetness but conviction.

Sam strode forward from the parking lot to the sidewalk, motioning the girls away from the car. “Okay, girls, you know the rules.”

“We weren’t matchmaking, Dad,” they all protested together in perfect harmony, a trick only identical multiples could fully pull off.

“Matchmaking?” Polly laughed, a bit too nervously for her own comfort. What was this all about? Sam had a rule against matchmaking?

Sam scowled. “I meant the rule about dogs.”

“Oh, so we can matchmake?” Hayley rushed forward.

“No.” He spread his hands wide as if calling a runner out at home plate.

Polly felt a blush rush from the constriction in her chest to the tips of her ears. She didn’t know if she should say something or get out of there fast.

“You know we can’t have a dog right now. You have too many activities. Juliette, you want to give up ballet?”

The girl opened her mouth, but before she could actually give an answer, the man moved on, intent on making his point quick and clean. It was a familiar means of “communicating” in her family and it made Polly tense up.

“And, Hayley, you have your hands full with your 4-H projects, right?”

Hayley put her shoulders back and didn’t answer—a means of getting her message across that Sam did not seem to notice.

“And, Caroline … well, when school starts I’m sure you’ll find some things to keep you busy. We’re all busy. Bringing a dog into our lives now wouldn’t be fair to your aunt Gina having to care for it, or to the dog not getting our full attention.”

Caroline glanced back and the dog. “But …”

“We don’t even know.” Sam tried to glower at the girls then at the dog, but he didn’t quite pull it off. “This dog may belong to someone.”

“He does belong to someone, Daddy, to us,” Caroline insisted in such a plaintive voice that Polly could feel the longing in her own bones.

“No.” Sam’s insistence told a story of something more going on than his simplistic explanation. “He is not ours.”

“He should be ours,” Hayley said firmly.

“He could be ours.” Juliette spoke a bit more tentatively.

Caroline fixed her eyes on her father and added, “If Mama was alive, he would be ours.”

Sam pressed his lips into a thin white line.

Maybe she was overly sensitive because she’d been so lonely last night, or because she felt so guilty about Sam’s hat, or maybe because she honestly liked Sam and felt a connection to his daughters. Whatever the reason, Polly couldn’t stay quiet another minute. She hurried to the driver’s side door, her keys jangling in her hand.

“You know,” Polly said as she rushed to his rescue and put the key in the lock, “I think I’ll just take care of him until we find out if someone is looking for him. Right now I’ve got to go. The teachers aren’t supposed to be here when the kids and parents start to show up. Bye, girls, it was so nice to meet you.”

The girls all groaned.

Sam mouthed a thank-you that made her feel good and a little sad at the same time. How she longed to point out those missed clues with the girls. Why wouldn’t he allow them to have a dog? And the no-matchmaking deal?

Suddenly instead of seeing a funny, kind man of faith she perceived the hurt he hid even from himself.

As she drove away from the family scene, her gaze fell on the hat that she had left in the car last night. She couldn’t talk rules or matchmaking with Sam, couldn’t interfere with his parenting, but she could help him out here. She could do everything within her power to get this puppy back to his real home so that she could give the dog and the girls a happy ending. But to do that she had to act fast.

“You know, for someone who came to Baconburg to slow down the pace of her life—” she told her passenger, who woofed softly in response “—I sure have been in an awful big hurry ever since I met that Sam Goodacre.”

“So?” Sam’s younger brother, Max, called out the second Sam came blowing through the back door of Downtown Drug.

He had taken the girls back to the farm after they’d gotten their class assignments. The whole process had taken longer than he’d expected and he was late getting in to open the store. The girls had actually taken their assignments pretty well. Hayley and Juliette patting Caroline on the back as a kind of congratulations, even, and saying they didn’t mind. Until they learned just who the new teacher was.

Sam had met the cries of “unfair” and pleas for him to go to the school and let them all be in Miss Bennett’s class with his usual “let’s not let this slow us down” answers, which hadn’t helped much. Maybe it was because for the first time in a long time, he hadn’t really believed his own proclamations. In finding out Polly had this connection to his children, it wasn’t just the two girls in the other classes that felt just a little bit cheated.

“So?” Max’s voice rang out again. “Just how cute is this new teacher?”

The first thing Sam encountered was the last thing he had the time or patience to put up with.

“I spoke with her for five whole minutes in front of the school this morning.” Sam slipped the long white lab coat he kept hanging on the door of the pharmacist’s station over his street clothes. He strode farther into the old store where his little brother, Max, stood amid a disarray of power tools, how-to manuals and a row of still-crated restaurant-grade appliances. “Do not tell me it’s all over town already?”

“Hey, you belly crawl across the new lady in town’s driveway one evening, then get spotted talking to her in front of the school the next day?” Max grinned his famous cocky grin, and gave an unconvincing shrug. “People are gonna talk.”

“She’s Caroline’s teacher.” In Sam’s mind that was the end of the discussion. He moved on toward the front door, flipping on display lights and setting things in their rightful spots.

“So?” Max called after him, not budging so much as an inch to help prep the place for the coming day.

So. Max had a way of asking something that Sam had no way of formulating an answer to.

“Look, it’s Baconburg. Everyone is somebody’s teacher or scout leader or church youth-group leader or cousin or … You get it. As long as you keep things on the up-and-up and don’t give anyone reason for concern vis-à-vis the whole teacher-as-a-role-model thing, I think you could manage a few dates with the lady.”

Sam gripped the door’s ice-cold metal handle until the chill sank through all the way to his fingertips. He clenched his jaw and looked out at the town where he had grown up, the place that had cheered him in his youthful triumphs and embraced him in his time of deepest grief. He had fully prepared for his faith and this town to sustain him as he raised his girls and they grew up and had their own triumphs. That had been his sole priority.

Then he’d seen Polly Bennett trying to rescue that stray dog from under her car and for a split second his whole life hit Pause.

“She takes in strays,” he said loud enough for Max to hear, but not so much for Max’s benefit. “Raggedy, sad-eyed, not-too-great-smelling strays.”

“Great. That means you might actually stand a chance with her.”

“Very funny.” He glanced back and laughed at the brotherly jab. Max had always been the ladies’ man of the Goodacre boys, so Sam could understand why Max’s mind would immediately jump to the romance conclusion. “But really, how could I ever get involved with someone who wouldn’t hesitate to take in a lost dog, an animal she might have to give back if the real owners showed up? I can’t put my kids through that.”

“Then let them have their own dog, like lots of kids their age do.” Max sifted through the plans and pencils scattered on a makeshift table in the soon-to-be lunch-counter area of the store.

Sam’s throat constricted just enough to strain his words as he shot back, “Lots of kids their age haven’t suffered the kind of loss my girls have.”

“Did you ever think it might be good for them to have a dog to take care of, not to mention a nice lady in their life—in your life?” Max took up a pencil and tucked it behind his ear. “It might help them find a new kind of normal.”

“There’s a piece of the puzzle you’re not seeing.” Sam turned and headed back through the store. Time to get this subject and this day back on track. “This dog she’s found could be the model for the dog in those bedtime stories Marie used to tell the girls.”

“The ones Gina has written up and wants to publish?”

“The triplets have grown up with an idealized version of an adorable little dog who never gets sick, never gets old, never …” Sam gave a thumbs-down gesture rather than say what he meant. He met Max’s gaze and gave his final word on the matter. “No dog could live up to the one in their imagination. It wouldn’t be fair to the animal.”

Sam headed back to the pharmacy.

Max moved around the work space, putting himself in a place to make sure Sam could hear him as he folded his burly arms over his broad chest and asked, “Have you noticed, big bro, that every time you give an excuse for not letting the girls have a dog, it changes a little?”

“I have work to do.” Sam stood still for a moment, aware that Max had a point but that he also didn’t have any say in Sam’s life. “You have heard of that, right? Work?”

Max withdrew the pencil and a tumble of his shaggy, sun-streaked hair stuck out over his tanned ear. “Hey, I’m working on this.”

“If that were true we’d have an operational lunch counter by now.” Sam didn’t mean to sound mad, but he’d reached his limit on this subject today. No dog. No matchmaking with Polly Bennett. Why couldn’t anyone get that? “You know they call it a lunch counter because people expect to come in, sit at the counter and get served a hot, quick lunch, right? Not because everyone is counting the days until this project eats your lunch and you take off again.”

“You know you sound like a grouchy old man, don’t you?” Max laughed. “Go count pills.”

“I will. And while I’m doing that, can you handle taking care of the store? I do not need to be disturbed any more today.”

“Any more? You’re saying something … or someone … has already disturbed your tightly wound little world, bro?” Max chuckled. “Good for her. If she’s as cute as they say, good for you, too. It’s about time.”