Читать книгу Four Little Problems - Carrie Weaver - Страница 8

Two years later…

PATRICK STEVENS GLANCED at the meeting agenda and almost aspirated his coffee right there in the teachers’ lounge.

God, no.

He couldn’t possibly be that unlucky, could he?

“What’s wrong?” The new, perennially smiling kindergarten teacher slapped him on the back, as if that would help.

“Did you see who’s running for PTO president?”

She shrugged. “Some woman named Patterson.”

“As in, mother of Jason Patterson.” That should have said it all.

“And that’s a problem because?”

She was obviously still too wet behind the ears to understand the implications.

“Jason Patterson, the kid who threw cherry bombs in the boys’ toilets.”

No recognition.

“Led his own gambling and extortion ring.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t that bad.” She flipped her hair and gave him that sparkling, you’re-just-old-and-burnt-out smile.

At thirty-eight, he considered himself far from old. But she might have a point about the burnt-out part. Today, a little over two months into the second semester, summer break still seemed very far away. And other days, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but in the classroom. It was a dichotomy that would have intrigued him if he had time to contemplate abstract thoughts. But, as it was, he barely had time to knock back a cup of coffee before his kids returned from music class.

Jason Patterson. His ultimate failure.

“The little delinquent told the playground aides the dice were for improving his math skills,” he muttered under his breath as the newbie practically skipped out of the lounge. Obviously, she hadn’t heard the mousetrap story and he wasn’t about to enlighten her.

The girls’ physical education teacher came in before the door clicked shut. Her eyes were on the prize—the coffeepot.

Patrick reread the agenda, hoping he’d been mistaken. No such luck. He suppressed a groan.

“What’s your problem, Stevens?”

“Did you see who’s running for PTO president?”

“The Patterson woman. You can kiss that field trip of yours goodbye. I doubt the woman can head up a fundraising campaign. But with poor Mrs. Bigelow deader than a doornail, I guess we have to take what we can get.”

“Yeah. A heart attack at thirty-three. Who’d have thought?”

“Mrs. Bigelow was such a nice woman, too. And her kids know how to behave. Not like that oldest Patterson boy.”

“Jason. His mother transferred him out of my class the first year I taught here.”

“Yeah. I heard something about that.” She shrugged. “It happens.”

“Not to me, it doesn’t. At least not since Jason Patterson. I’m here because I want to make a difference. Otherwise, I’d still be a chemist, making serious money.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Spare me the greater-good lecture, Stevens. You better figure out how you’re going to work with her and fast. No PTO sponsorship, no Sea World trip. It’s as simple as that.”

“I am not letting that woman ruin sixth grade for these kids. They’ve worked hard. Car washes. Bake sales. Sold candy out the wazoo. All the PTO needs to do is come up with the money that was promised.”

She tilted her head to the side, tapping her chin with her index finger. “I hear Jason Patterson plays point for the basketball team.”

“So?”

She smiled mysteriously and grabbed an insulated cup. For a woman who’d been in such a hurry, she took her time pouring her coffee. Returning the pot to the burner, she said, “It means Emily Patterson probably has a soft spot for the sports programs. And if your SeaWorld trip doesn’t work out, maybe the PTO will spring for that new sports equipment I’ve been requesting forever.”

Then she punched him playfully on the shoulder and headed out the door, whistling cheerfully.

The vultures were already circling.

EMILY’S STOMACH CHURNED as she approached the cafeteria, which had recently been renamed the multipurpose room. Straightening her spine, she pasted on a confident smile.

“You’ll do fine.” Nancy, her best friend in the world, patted her arm.

“You think? Some of the parents act like I’m something they scraped off the bottom of their shoes. That Tiffany Bigelow was the worst. Not that I want to speak ill of the dead.”

“Since when? She wasn’t nice when she was alive, so why should you pretend now?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m doing this, either.”

“Because you love children and you don’t want to see all the programs go down the tubes this year, just because of Tiffany’s hard heart.”

Emily chuckled in spite of herself. She whispered behind her hand. “I was a little surprised she even had a heart.”

“You’re not the only one. Her über-volunteer act didn’t fool me. I’ll never forgive the woman for telling Ana I adopted her from Russia because they wouldn’t give me an American baby.”

“I would have gladly scratched her eyes out for you.”

Nancy slid her arm through Emily’s. “I know. And I’m here to return the favor tonight. It’s finally my chance to be there for you.”

Emily swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thanks, friend.”

“You’re very welcome. Now, let’s go show them who the next PTO president is going to be. The woman who will change things around here for all the parents and children who don’t have a voice. The anti-Tiffanys and their kids.”

Nodding, Emily adjusted the neckline of her blouse.

Nancy tipped her head. “The gray’s lovely. But I’m glad you didn’t go with the turtleneck. It didn’t suit you.”

“You don’t think this is too, um, revealing?”

“No. You’re absolutely beautiful just the way you are. Besides, the black camisole makes it downright respectable.”

Emily tucked her hair behind her ear. Though she loved Nancy like a sister, her friend’s cheerleader looks precluded her from ever really understanding what it was like to be slightly overweight and unsure. Or from totally understanding the reasons behind Emily’s tendency to overcompensate by talking a little louder and allowing R-rated jokes to slip out at inopportune times.

No, when Nancy spoke, she was always classy and intelligent. People listened.

When Emily spoke, people rolled their eyes.

The multipurpose room door loomed.

Nancy patted Emily’s arm again. “Okay, time to go in there and show them what you’ve got. You’re smart, you’re capable and children love you. You will be the best PTO president Elmwood Elementary has ever seen.”

Emily raised her chin. Taking a deep breath, she flung open the door and strode inside.

It felt like all eyes were upon her.

The principal smiled, though it looked forced. She had to be remembering the mousetrap incident. “And here is Emily Patterson, who has so graciously stepped forward to take over the job of PTO president. Emily, please come sit here by the podium.” She gestured to a row of seats.

It was a long walk to the front of the room, or so it seemed to Emily, who wished she’d lost that last fifteen pounds. And it wouldn’t hurt if she had a few impressive initials after her name, like B.A. or Ph.D. But she was just plain Emily Patterson and that would have to do.

She headed toward the chair the principal indicated. She almost froze when she realized who sat in the next chair. Patrick Stevens.

He nodded tersely and shifted in his seat, his body language saying he didn’t want to be within a mile of her.

Fine. She didn’t particularly want to be near him, either.

Emily sat, her back ramrod-straight.

“Now,” the principal said, “voting is just a formality, since we only have one candidate for the position.” She smiled brightly at the handful of parents assembled. “All those in favor of Emily Patterson taking over as PTO president for the remainder of the school year, please raise your hand.”

Most of the hands shot up immediately. None of the busy parents wanted the job themselves, and normally, Emily would have been right there beside them. But this was too important.

“Good. It’s approved.” The principal beamed.

There was a rustle as the parents lowered their arms.

Emily was aware that Patrick Stevens, beside her, didn’t move a muscle. Because he hadn’t raised his hand to vote.

She steeled herself not to let it get to her. Two years ago, she’d apologized for the mousetrap. She’d also made Jason apologize and work cafeteria cleanup for a week as penance. But it had been obvious Stevens had had it in for Jason, so she’d eventually asked to have her son moved to a different class.

Since then, she’d managed to avoid Patrick Stevens. Until now.

“I’m sure we’ll all do our best to help Emily transition into the position.” The principal gave the science teacher a pointed look. “I’ll give her Mrs. Bigelow’s files, and Mr. Stevens will be working closely with her regarding fund-raising for the sixth-grade Sea World trip. This is bound to be the most successful year yet.”

Emily would have believed the principal, except for the nervous twitch under her right eye.

PATRICK STARED at his planning guide. It didn’t give him any answers. Only told him a quiz was long overdue.

Removing a file folder from his desk, he flipped through his notes and the information on Sea World. The kids would be completely blown away by the experience. And maybe, just maybe, he could ignite that flame of scientific enthusiasm in one or two of them. He wanted to make this happen for Ari and Kat. He needed to make this happen.

And there was only one way to do that.

He picked up the phone and dialed. “Ms. Patterson, this is Patrick Stevens. I’d like to meet with you as soon as possible to discuss the Sea World trip. And make sure all the information Mrs. Bigelow had is there.”

“Of course, I want my files to be complete…” she answered.

Patrick exhaled with relief.

But his relief was short-lived when Emily continued. “…so I can properly weigh all the requests for PTO funds.”

“But Tiffany agreed to pay at least half the Florida expenses if the students could raise the initial deposits.”

“Hm. I’m looking at her notes, and there’s no indication she agreed to that.”

Patrick gripped the phone. He could almost see the disappointment in Ari’s eyes when he told the class they wouldn’t see Shamu or the Shark Encounter as planned.

Calling on his very limited schmoozing skills, he managed to keep his voice even. “Do you think we could meet at the coffee shop on Cedar tomorrow after school, say four o’clock?” He had a better chance of convincing her in person.

“I don’t get off work till five. I can meet you briefly about five-fifteen. Then, I need to get home to my kids.”

“Great. That’ll be fine.” He didn’t have anyone he had to get home to. Other than his salamander, Newt Gingrich, tarantula, Hairy S. Truman, and boa constrictor, Arnold. But being predominantly nocturnal, they probably wouldn’t even notice he was late.