Читать книгу A Shocking Request - Colleen Faulkner - Страница 11

Lights flickered on upstairs in Becka and Maddy’s bedroom in the front of the cape cod as Jenna backed her Honda out of Grant’s driveway and onto the street. “’Night sweeties,” she murmured. “Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.” She chuckled. “Don’t let the weird dad bite is more like it.”

Jenna knew it was Grant’s and Ally’s wedding anniversary today. She knew they would have been married sixteen years if it hadn’t been for Ally’s death from breast cancer. That was why she had taken the girls with her after school and done the dinner out and shopping thing. To give Grant a chance to be alone. Cry a little if he wanted to. The man certainly had the right.

She had expected him to be out of sorts at the very least when she brought the girls home, but what she had not expected was for him to be acting so strangely. What was with him tonight? Why had he looked at her in such an odd way?

Jenna crossed Route One, the main road through the southern Delaware beach communities and headed for her small neighborhood on the ocean side. Her two-bedroom cottage, left to her by her grandmother, was only four blocks from the beach. Over the years, real estate agents had tried again and again to get her to sell, or at least turn the house into a rental during the summer months. Houses like hers brought in an incredible amount of money June through August, she was told. But Jenna wasn’t interested in money. She was interested in having a comfortable home to live in and providing a safe, happy environment for her sister, Amy.

Jenna turned onto her own street. The sky had grown dark, but the streetlamps illuminated the sidewalks and the small, older homes that lined both sides of the street. Seashell Drive was one of the streets that consisted mostly of year-round residents. Here, everyone knew their neighbors and no one had to worry about late-night partying next door in the summer. It was a nice place to live.

Jenna pulled into her driveway and grabbed her soft leather backpack that served as a purse as well as her book bag. She had some work to do for the kindergarten class she taught. She, Ally and Grant had all started at the Starfish Academy as teachers, then Ally had gotten sick and had to give up her job. Last year, Grant had been named principal when their principal had taken a job elsewhere. Jenna loved her job. She loved the school. She loved her students. And having Maddy Monroe this year just made it all the better.

Jenna let herself into the house with her key and flipped on the living room lights. The cottage was small with just a living room that also served as the dining room, a small galley kitchen, two bedrooms, a bath and a laundry/mudroom. What made the house, though, was the back porch, which her grandfather had closed in with glass panels. Even in the middle of the winter, it was warm and cozy on the sunporch, and plants thrived there as if living in a greenhouse. Beyond the porch, in the backyard, was a well-groomed garden of flowering plants, stone paths and dribbling water fountains that was Jenna’s pride and joy. Even now, in September, when the days were growing short, the garden was alive with late-flowering plants, fresh herbs and even a tiny patch of peas.

Jenna tossed her backpack onto the couch and went back out the front door. At the house next to hers, she tapped on the door and walked in, knowing she was expected. She could hear the TV going and the sound of a familiar newscaster’s voice as he reported on unrest in the Middle East.

“Your turn,” Jenna heard eighty-three-year-old Mrs. Cannon say. “One more roll.”

“But I haf to go. Bedtime,” Amy answered.

Jenna and Mrs. Cannon had no trouble understanding Jenna’s twenty-six-year-old sister, but she knew there were others who did. Amy’s speech was gruff and halting, but it just took a little patience to follow what she was saying. Amy, born with Down’s syndrome, was mentally handicapped and had been Jenna’s responsibility since their mother died just after Jenna received her teaching degree from the University of Delaware.

“Jenna?” Amy looked up, bright-eyed and happy to see her sister when she walked into the living room. Amy and Mrs. Cannon were playing Yahtzee on the coffee table in front of the couch. The TV was on in the background, the sound of guns going off, low but audible, but no one seemed to be paying attention to the news show.

“I won. I won,” Amy said, awkwardly waving her score sheet at Jenna. “Look, Jenna, I won the game.” She beamed at her partner. “Mrs. Cannon says I’m a good Yahtzee player.”

The gray-haired woman began to clean up the game. “You’re the best I’ve seen,” she said, obviously genuinely pleased to have Amy there.

It was an arrangement that seemed a gift from God to Jenna. Mrs. Cannon no longer drove and spent most of her time home alone, so she loved having Amy for company. And Jenna was fortunate to have Mrs. Cannon here to keep an eye on Amy whenever she needed her.

“You ready to go home?” Jenna asked her sister. “It’s almost nine and I have homework to do.”

“And I haf to take a shower,” Amy told Mrs. Cannon, rolling her eyes. “Work tomorrow.”

Jenna smiled. Amy worked at the Starfish Academy, too, as an assistant custodian. Her sister loved the job and enjoyed getting up every morning to go to it. Hiring Amy had been a brilliant move on Grant’s part. Before her job at the school, Amy had been working at a shop that employed many mentally handicapped adults, but Amy had been bored there and hadn’t liked it.

At the Starfish Academy she could easily handle the work that mostly included sweeping floors, refilling paper products throughout the school and picking up the grounds. Not only did she like the fact that she was good at her job, but she loved the excitement of being there with the children. Everyone loved Amy at the Academy, and they made her feel as if she were a part of something. With no family left except a brother who lived in Oregon, Jenna and Amy’s family included the children and staff of the school.

“Thanks for having her over,” Jenna said, always careful not to imply that Amy needed to be taken care of. Amy had become very sensitive lately to her own independence.

“You know I love Amy’s company.” Mrs. Cannon slowly rose from the couch as Amy popped up off the floor. “Having her sweet face around keeps me young.”

“We can let ourselves out,” Jenna said, giving the elderly woman a peck on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Amy said, giving Mrs. Cannon a sloppy kiss on her other cheek.

Mrs. Cannon smiled. “Good night, dearies. Lock the door behind you.”

“We will.” Jenna ushered Amy out the door, turned the lock, and pulled it soundly shut behind her.

Amy ran across the yard, leaping over a small azalea bush. “Cold out here.”

Jenna followed Amy across the yard. “Not cold, but chilly. It’s late September.” She pointed to the oak and maple trees that lined the street. “You see, the leaves are beginning to fall. Autumn is coming.”

“And we can cut pumpkins,” Amy said happily, clapping her hands.

“That’s right, and we’ll go to the orchard and pick apples and make applesauce.” She opened the door for Amy.

“And Halloween,” Amy squealed.

“And Halloween.”

“And we can get dressed up like ghosties and tell everyone ‘Boo.”’ Amy’s eyes were wide with the same excitement that Becka and Maddy had when speaking of Halloween, but that was okay because it was Jenna’s favorite holiday, too.

Jenna closed the front door behind them and clicked the dead bolt in place. “Go get your shower and hop into bed.”

“Will you read?”

Jenna glanced at her wristwatch. “Amy, it’s late.”

“Please?” Amy clutched her hands together. “Please, Jenna please. I’ll wash real quick.”

“Okay, but a real shower, Amy, with soap and shampoo. I’m serious.”

“All right.” Amy stomped off toward the bathroom. “I’ll be right back quick.”

Jenna reached for her backpack to take it to the dining room table where she would cut out apples and stems and worms from paper for her students for tomorrow. “Then just a short book.”

“Inside, Outside, Upside Down,” Amy chanted as she danced down the hallway, her short bobbed haircut swinging.

“Not that book again,” Jenna groaned. Amy loved the Berenstain Bears. “We read that one last night,” she called after her sister who had slipped into the bathroom. But of course, Jenna would read it again. She would do anything for Amy.

While she waited for Amy to finish in the bathroom, Jenna went to the dark kitchen to put on the kettle to make a cup of tea. As she leaned against the counter, she saw in her mind’s eye an image of Grant leaning against his counter tonight, looking at her. He’d had the oddest expression on his face, as if she were a stranger he had just met.

The teakettle whistled and Jenna shrugged as she turned to fill her teapot with boiling water. Men.

“Good morning, Catherine,” Jenna said cheerfully as she walked into the main office of the Starfish Academy the next morning.

“’Morning, Miss Cartwright.”

Jenna smiled as she passed Catherine’s desk on her way to the copy machine. Here at the Academy, every-thing was very informal between the teachers and administrators. Everyone on the staff called everyone else by their first name, even their principal, Grant. Everyone except Catherine Oberton who insisted on using the same titles the children used. She had been Grant’s secretary for more than a year, had known him for almost four, and still called him Dr. Monroe.

Jenna had punched her personal identification number and hit Print to make fifteen copies for her students as Grant came in from a rear door that led to the teachers’ workroom. There was a copier in there, too, but Katie McAllen was hogging it. She hogged it every morning.

“Good morning,” Jenna said to Grant.

He halted and looked at her with a deer-in-the-headlights stare. It was so funny that Jenna almost laughed.

“Grant?” she said. “You okay?”

He ran his hand down his red tie. Grant always wore a red tie, but this one had tiny flowers on it. “Fine, great.” He nearly tripped as he turned to pass her in the small room and the toe of his shoe caught on the corner of a box of paper. Jenna put out her hands to catch him—as if all one hundred and forty pounds of her was going to catch all one hundred and ninety pounds of six-foot-one Grant.

“Easy there,” she laughed, releasing her grip on his arm.

Grant’s face reddened. “Sorry. Excuse me.” He turned again to pass her, and this time made it successfully through the gauntlet.

Jenna turned to watch him retreat. What was going on with him? He was always so in control. Grant Monroe did not trip on boxes of paper. He never had a hair out of place. The man was a deity.

Grant walked into his glass-walled office, and Jenna turned back to the copier that was trying to eat her original. She punched Print again. She had to finish up and get to class. She could already see uniformed cherubs in blue and green kilts and white shirts with navy ties hurrying down the hall to make it to their rooms before the late bell rang.

Jenna walked through the main office and glanced at Grant. He was sitting at his desk, but his door was open. She walked behind Catherine’s desk and stuck her head in Grant’s office.

“You okay?”

He glanced up and his pen slid across the page, dissecting some school form that Jenna guessed did not need to be dissected with a black line. “Fine.”

“The girls okay?” she said slowly, watching him.

“Fine. Great.”

She didn’t believe him, but she had to get to class and she didn’t have time for twenty questions. “Okay then,” she said suspiciously. “Let me know if you or the girls need something.”

He had righted his pen and gone back to filling out the form, ignoring the black line that now cut the page into two nice triangles. “Sure thing,” he said, not looking up.

Jenna thought it was odd that he didn’t make eye contact with her. They had always been good friends, and after Ally died, they had seemed to grow closer. Grant wasn’t the kind of guy to cry on a friend’s shoulder or reveal his deepest, darkest fears, but he knew he could depend on her.

Jenna glanced over her shoulder as she exited the main office into the hallway, and caught him watching her….

As Jenna walked out of the front office, it was all Grant could do to keep himself from lowering his head to his desk and pounding his forehead on it. He couldn’t believe he had tripped over that box in the copy room while gawking at Jenna. He couldn’t believe he’d let her startle him like that. He balled up the form he had been filling out, tossed it into the waste can beside his desk and grabbed another from a file in the drawer to his left.

Grant hadn’t slept well last night in the chair in the den. His entire night had been riddled by strange dreams—Ally and Jenna on the beach calling him. Ally sitting beside him in front of the bonfire he had built for them. An anniversary celebration. But, when he had turned to her to offer a glass of celebratory wine, it had been Jenna beside him. The dream had been so real that he could still feel her warmth at his side. He could still smell that slightly flowery-musky fragrance she wore that permeated everything around her, her car, her house and even her classroom.

The dream had made him feel badly. Not so much because Ally was gone, but because he was dreaming of another woman. Never in all of the years of marriage to Ally had he dreamed of being with another woman and it scared him. He and Jenna had done nothing in his dream, but there had been feelings between them. Desires.

His face growing warm, he jumped up from his desk. The late bell had just rung. It would be time to do the morning announcements in a minute, he thought, pushing aside thoughts of Jenna and the smell of her.

“The morning announcements,” Catherine, his secretary said, appearing at his side out of nowhere.

Grant glanced at Catherine with her tight chignon and wire-frame glasses. She was wearing a slim, dark skirt that fell well below her knees and a white blouse that tied in a big bow beneath her chin. It looked like something his grandmother wore. Though Catherine was the age he was, she always seemed much older to him. She would have fit perfectly with Grandma Cora’s generation, had it not been for her flirtatious manner.

“Thanks, Catherine. Have you got those attendance numbers I need?”

She batted her lashes. The gesture was so overt it was almost funny. Almost. “Putting them on your desk, Dr. Monroe.” She used the title, as if he were a world-famous heart surgeon who had gone to medical school for a zillion years rather than a guy who had gone to a local university at night to get his doctorate in education administration, while balancing a teaching job, a family and a new baby in the household.

Grant read the morning announcements over the intercom as he always did, ending with a quote from someone famous. Sometimes the quotes were serious, sometimes they were funny. Sometimes they applied directly to the pursuit of knowledge, and sometimes they applied to life in general, but everyone seemed to appreciate them.

The announcements over, Grant left the front office and Catherine’s adoring eyes to walk the halls as he did each morning. The remainder of the day was spent tending to his duties and thinking about what Ally had said about dating Jenna. Attending a parent-teacher conference and thinking about Jenna. Sitting at his desk pretending to be diligently at work, while thinking about Jenna.

It was three o’clock and the school day was almost over when he strode out of his office, having no real purpose whatsoever except to change the scenery. Maybe if he took a walk, he could get Jenna out of his mind. Get what Ally had said out of his head. All day he’d heard his dead wife’s voice in the back of his head like a never-ending audiotape.

Date Jenna. I think you’ll fall in love with her and marry her…fall in love and marry her.

The idea was utterly absurd, Grant knew that. The trouble was that at the end of the videotape, Ally had made him promise he would give it a try. She had asked him to promise her that he would at least try one date. When he’d heard Ally’s words, he had had no intentions of making any promises, verbally or otherwise. But the second time he watched the tape after the girls went to bed, the promise had just popped out of his mouth. Without thinking, he had said, “I promise.”

So, a promise was a promise. Obviously, that’s what the dreams were all about. That was why he couldn’t stop thinking about Jenna. Because he had promised his wife. The logical answer to the problem was to ask Jenna out, have a nice evening and then go back to his den and tell his dead wife face-to-face that there was nothing between him and Jenna but friendship. No spark. Ally understood “the spark.”

Grant found himself passing the nurse’s office, passing the library headed straight for the kindergarten and first-grade wing. Headed straight for Jenna’s classroom as if she were a magnet.

He rounded the corner, and nearly fell over Jenna, who was on her hands and knees on the floor of the hall, lining up wet paintings of what appeared to be apples…or maybe roundish fire engines.

Grant made a noise in his throat, caught off guard. He had almost stepped on her.

“Whoa,” she cried, glancing up, smiling. Jenna was always smiling.

“What are you doing?” He slipped his hands into his pants pockets, not because he wanted them there, but because he couldn’t think of anything else to do with them. Suddenly his arms were long, gangly appendages that seemed to serve no purpose but to make him look and feel awkward in Jenna’s presence.

She began to crawl along the floor, spreading out the paintings along the wall. “We were doing watercolor painting this afternoon. Nice huh?”

He glanced over her shoulder. “Nice.”

“Hey, I called about that software again, but I’m not getting anywhere. The guy said teachers can’t place the orders, only ‘the brass.”’ She glanced up at him. “Think you’re considered the brass?”

Today, she wore her golden-red hair in a ponytail the way his girls often did. It was the best hairdo he could manage when Ally had first gotten sick. He had branched out to pigtails, doggy ears and doorknobs, though ponytails were still his best ’do. But somehow the ponytail didn’t look the same way on Jenna as it did on his girls. On Jenna, it was almost sexy.

He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Leave the number in my mailbox.”

“Great.” She scooted along the floor, sliding more paintings against the wall, her fingertips tinted with wet red paint.

Inside the classroom, Grant could hear the children lining up to be dismissed. He could hear Jenna’s assistant, Martha, giving last minute reminders. If Grant was going to get this over with, he was going to have to do it now. “Um…” he said.

She didn’t seem to hear him. “Amy has soccer tonight. We didn’t find those Cliffs Notes for Hannah, so if you want me to, I can track them down tonight. I have a few errands to run anyway.”

“Hannah should not be using Cliffs Notes. She needs to read The Crucible. I read The Crucible in high school; you read it,” he heard himself babble. He stopped short, and took a deep breath. “Jenna, you want to go out to dinner Friday night?”

She glanced up at him, a soggy red paper in her hand with a name that resembled Anthony scrawled across it. She didn’t hesitate. “Sure. That would be nice.”

Jenna smiled and Grant relaxed. Hadn’t been so bad after all.

“Great,” he said. “Meet me at seven at that little French place you like?” He didn’t have the nerve to pick her up. That would, after all, make it a real date, wouldn’t it? “You know…separate cars in case I have to run home,” he explained.

“Sure. Works for me.”

The door to Jenna’s classroom opened, and kindergartners spilled out. “Oops, better get to the buses,” she said, getting to her feet.

Jenna went one way with her fifteen kindergartners, including his Maddy, and Grant went the other way. Only this time, his hands were in his pockets because he wanted them there, and he was whistling. He couldn’t remember the last time he had whistled.