Читать книгу Under An Adirondack Sky - Karen Rock - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

“AHHH, THERE’S MY elusive tenant.” Rebecca’s foot froze on the top step to her loft’s landing. Darn. First she’d woken in a stranger’s apartment, realized her cold was replaced with a pounding headache only caffeine could cure, except that she’d boycotted JavaHut, and now this. Her landlord.

She turned and forced a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Trotsky. I’m actually running a bit late. School’s back in session today.” And she hoped to arrive early and speak to her principal about her tenure...

The man peered up at her with eyes as black as the mustache he smoothed. A nervous tick that she and Laura had nicknamed “the groom of doom.” Her heart pinched at the thought of returning to her lonely loft. Would she ever get used to her friend’s absence?

“Have you got rent for me?” His fingers glided over his top lip once more. When a door opened behind him, his comb-over lifted in the stale breeze.

“I have something better,” she temporized. How much money did she have? Her fingers delved into her purse. Twenty bucks from last night’s tip jar and her white envelope from the Rosellis. Not even close. And she didn’t dare sell her aunt’s latest gift. The purse would be expected to make an appearance at their weekly luncheon, its presence debatably more important than hers. “How about those raisin oatmeal bars Laura taught me how to bake?”

“So you have money for groceries and—” he gestured to her rumpled outfit “—going out all night, but nothing for Trotsky, eh?”

Perspiration beaded her brow as she remembered her wretched evening capped off by a surprisingly nice end. She’d opened up to a warmhearted barkeep, a man who’d listened to her rattle on for an embarrassingly long time.

She wished she was back at the White Horse, making a fool of herself in front of the overworked man who’d made time for her. Now, there was no more charming her landlord. If she confided she’d lost her second job and was in danger of losing her first, too, he’d probably evict her on the spot. Not that she could blame him. He was running a business, not a charity. And she never wanted to be considered that.

“When my paycheck comes on Friday, I’ll sign it over to you. So sorry for the delay.”

How many more paychecks would she get? If the board denied her tenure, she’d have to leave at the end of the school year and then where would she go? Tenure meant a permanent position. It safeguarded against arbitrary firing. She could stay on and hope they’d grant it to her in year four, but typically educators were either “counseled out,” meaning convinced to resign, or fired before another vote was ever taken. A chill finger-walked up her spine and she shivered.

Mr. Trotsky’s mouth twisted to the side and his narrow eyes studied her. After a long, breathless moment, he nodded, his teeth appearing in a beaver’s smile.

“You’ve always been a good renter, Rebecca. And I’ll have that check, and the cookies, by Friday. Good day.”

With a sharp turn on polished dress shoes, he disappeared in a cloud of Old Spice.

She sagged against her wrought iron railing. Phew. That at least settled the potential homelessness problem...for now. But how would she pay the rest of her bills or eat for the next two weeks if she didn’t find another job, stat? As if on cue, her stomach rumbled.

A scratch at her door and a low, wheezing woof had her scrambling for her key. Poor Freud. Eating would have to wait until she took care of her pug’s needs.

Minutes later she was out in the morning sunlight, its pale gold gilding the brick, pre-war era buildings on her cobblestone SoHo street. A stream of chatting customers flowed in and out of JavaHut, she noticed, her grip tightening on Freud’s lead. The aroma of hazelnut and cinnamon buns floated across the street and Freud began to pull, his nails scrabbling on the pavement.

“No more banana walnut muffins for you.” She gazed down at her pet’s wet, bulging black eyes and felt the familiar heart tug that’d made her snap him up at a pet-shelter street fair last year. “The doctor says you need to lose a few pounds anyway, though I think beauty comes in all sizes,” she added then clamped her mouth shut when a passing couple looked from her to her pet, agog. Oops. When would she learn to muzzle herself around her pug in public? At least she’d be with kids soon...no judging there.

And an hour later that’s where she found herself, in the middle of a group hug as students streamed through Washington Irving High’s front door after their week off.

“Ms. Day, what’s up?”

“Look, I got braces, Ms. D.”

“I went to band camp and almost drowned.”

“Do you have more Skittles?”

The bell shrilled and she herded the group inside, promising to set up this week’s lunch group visits and her candy jar right away. How good it was to be here. She felt warmed to her toes, her heart full. She was accepted. Loved even. She hoped, as a school psychologist, that she gave back a fraction of the happiness the children gave her. She could not lose this job.

This was what she’d wanted last night when she’d stumbled into the pub and lingered, reluctant to leave such an understanding listener. If Rebecca had waited, she would have found the understanding she needed right here at school.

Of course, then she would have missed out on a surreal encounter with a man whose hazel eyes had hijacked her thoughts all morning... Her disorientation on waking earlier had turned to horror when she realized she’d passed out at the bar and slept in the pub owner’s apartment. Luckily, it’d been an early enough hour to escape without running into anyone.

Her principal’s unmistakable heel clack sounded in the now empty hall ten minutes later. The diminutive woman, whose teased brown updo strategically added a few inches, appeared. “Rebecca, I know this is early, but we have a readmit hearing in five minutes. Can you pull Connor Walsh’s file and join us in the conference room?” Mrs. Carpenter made a face, her bright red lips twisting. “The superintendent’s already here,” she whispered in warning, then clattered back down the hall before Rebecca could request a meeting about her tenure.

Whoa. So much for easing back into her routine after working double shifts this break. Rebecca hustled to her office, breathed in the clean scents of freshly waxed floors and polished counters, and crossed to her file cabinet. Connor Walsh...he’d caused trouble the day before their break. A fight, if she recalled...

She’d been working with the bright loner on his impulse control and anger issues for a few weeks prior to the incident. When he’d failed to make progress with the other school psychologist, Mr. Miller, they’d transferred Connor to her. Despite it tipping her strained relationship with the traditional-minded, senior therapist into cold war status, she’d been proud and excited to see what she could do with the boy.

In three weeks...not much. Not yet, anyway.

Some of the teachers tossed Connor out of class at the first sign of trouble, but she liked the kid. Saw some of herself in him, especially when he’d admitted to being on his own a lot at home, his guardian mostly absorbed in his job. Since the man had evaded her recent attempts to meet with her, claiming work obligations, she imagined him to be some career-obsessed suit. Definitely not a fatherly type. She already couldn’t stand him.

She scooped up a mug of coffee she’d made earlier in the teacher’s lounge and gulped. Not bad. Not latte. But it was better than supporting JavaHut. As for Connor, he deserved better, too. If the school didn’t grant readmission, she wouldn’t be able to help him with his disruptive behavior and make him discover his self-worth the way she had.

In fact, she and fellow area psychologists had designed an innovative intervention program that’d be perfect for him and other students with behavioral issues—if only he’d have the chance to take part. She wished she had time to peek in his file and familiarize herself again with his background specifics, having met with him only a few times prior to his fight. But with the superintendent already here, Rebecca had to rush.

She grabbed his folder, tucked it under her arm and speed-walked as fast as her narrow heels allowed. “It’s nice to see you, Rebecca. How was your vacation?” boomed the superintendent, Mr. Williams, as she took her seat at the conference table. He smoothed his red tie over a trimmer waistline than she remembered, his gray goatee also new.

The narrow room overflowed with staff members, paperwork and coffee cups. To her left sat Connor’s guidance counselor who advised on academic rather than behavioral issues. To her right sat Mr. Anderson, the math teacher who’d broken up the fight before vacation. Both looked at her with barely disguised disapproval, judging her, as they sometimes did, when one of the students she counseled acted out.

Did they think she had a magic wand hidden in her desk? A Taser? As for the inconvenient, first-day-back-from-vacation timing of the meeting, she had no control over that, either. Another black mark. Would it tip the scales about her tenure? She knew the board strongly considered the staff’s opinions when they made such decisions. Could her disapproving colleagues be part of the reason it hadn’t been granted in January? Was a plan in place to let her go at the end of the school year?

Given that schools typically did their firings over the summer, to minimize any disruptions to students, it was a possibility.

“Great,” she fibbed, as a flashback to double shifts at the coffee shop and the calluses left on her feet came to mind. Not to mention getting laid off... “And yours?”

“We vacationed in Hawaii,” piped up his wife, the high school’s assistant principal. Her clipped hair looked freshly frosted at the tips, though her green eye shadow sparkled as bright as ever. “And put away your iPhone, Jim. Rebecca doesn’t need to see you dancing with hula girls, for heaven’s sake.”

Her superintendent slipped his phone into his suit pocket just as a knock sounded on the door. The secretary’s short perm peeked around the frame.

“The family is here. Shall I send them in?”

“Please, Martha, before Jim starts showing us more video of his dolphin swim,” sighed his wife.

“I’d like to see it later, Mr. Williams,” the principal, Mrs. Carpenter, said, then nudged Rebecca’s toe beneath the narrow table.

Rebecca fought back a smile that faded when a tall, dark-haired man with broad shoulders and hazel eyes filled the doorway. Eyes she remembered...

She nearly spit out her coffee. Last night’s handsome bartender. Her cheeks warmed as she took in the muscular forearms exposed by the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt. He’d carried her upstairs; she remembered it vaguely now, along with the fairy-tale feel of his heart against hers. What must he be thinking as his gaze traveled the room and stopped on her, his eyes suddenly wide?

“Welcome, Mr. Walsh. Connor.” The principal smiled and gestured, her long, French-tipped nails pointing to empty seats in the middle of the conference table. “Please sit and we’ll begin with introductions.”

As the staff took turns giving their name and position, Rebecca ducked behind the file. She perused the cover sheet, noting with disappointment that this was Connor’s guardian, his older brother, Aiden. The neglectful workaholic. Not the sympathetic man she’d imagined him to be last night, after all.

If she’d been in a better state, she would have thought to ask for his last name. Connected him with Connor. Known who she was dealing with and not opened up so much. Now that she thought about it, hadn’t Connor mentioned his family owned a pub in SoHo?

“Ms. Day.”

The silence pressed around her and she lowered the folder, her eyes leaping to Aiden’s. How humiliating. After last night, he must think the worst. Given his flinty expression, his disapproval came across loud and clear. Parents and guardians also had the right to speak up during tenure hearings...

“Sorry about that.” She pulled her chair closer to the table with a scraping sound. “I’m Rebecca Day, school psychologist. I’ve had the privilege of working with Connor these last couple of weeks.” Mr. Anderson scowled at her and she smiled nervously. “Hi, Connor.”

He returned her wave with a slight nod, his frown temporarily disappearing as his rounded eyes flashed from beneath overgrown bangs. Looking at his defensive body language and frightened expression, Rebecca felt her heart go out to him. She knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of negative attention...the only kind he probably ever got.

The principal cleared her throat. “Yes, well. We’re here to discuss readmitting Connor to school after his altercation. Connor, would you care to share with us what happened?”

“No,” the teen muttered. He lowered his head to the table, his vertebrae showing through his worn shirt.

Rebecca looked over at Aiden. To her rising irritation, his thumbs flew across what must be a cell phone screen on his lap. Didn’t he care at all?

“Tell everyone what happened, Connor,” Aiden commanded without looking up, his voice low and authoritative. Even Rebecca’s spine straightened. But the youth only slid lower in his seat and shook his head, his eyes on the floor.

Did Aiden actually think his directive would work? Of course Connor would defy an inattentive guardian. Rebecca ran her eyes over the file again, taking in that Aiden indeed ran the White Horse Tavern and was raising six siblings after his father had died of a heart attack and his mother became afflicted with early-onset Alzheimer’s. On paper, he looked like a sympathetic figure. In person, not so much.

“Sorry about that, everyone. An urgent supply order mix-up.” He pocketed his phone. “Connor...” Aiden prompted, staring at his silent brother for a long, uncomfortable minute.

“Yes. Well,” Mr. Anderson interrupted, clicking his pen impatiently. “Clearly this is a waste of time, as Connor has no intentions of cooperating with us, the school or Ms. Day’s—shall we say—unique therapy approach.”

His pointed glance at the clock spoke volumes. He wanted swift judgment—as did many of the old guard teachers, who’d vocalized their frustration with her positive rather than punitive approach to behavior modification. She’d heard some had even vowed to request the superintendent not recommend her for tenure this year, a move that may have worked so far, though she had no proof that they’d gone through with it. Just whispers.

Why couldn’t they see that she gave kids chances, not free passes, and stop whispering about her inability to discipline and control students? After her own straitjacket of a childhood, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—be a negative force in their lives.

Her gaze slid to Connor. Surely she was right not to be tough on him...

She stopped chewing the tip of her pen and tucked back a strand of hair that’d escaped her bun. Her rewards-based system might take more time to show results, but the effects lasted longer and had the best chance of becoming permanent. Implementing the progressive program took patience, however, something the overtaxed staff seemed to have in short supply.

She had to change their opinions before they succeeded in convincing the board to deny her tenure. Success with Connor and other disruptive students would earn her the credibility needed to gain a permanent staff position. If she didn’t get tenure... Her brain halted the terrifying thought.

The prospect of failing and having to return to her old life where money, not people, counted, where prestigious jobs, rather than rewarding ones mattered most, loomed dark and ominous. If she moved back in with her aunt, she’d demand Rebecca “do something important” with her life, like open a private practice that served a more privileged clientele. Not that this group didn’t have real problems, too...it was just that kids in the public school system needed her more.

She downed more coffee, then drummed her fingers on the side of her mug. Somehow she had to make this work. Prove to the staff, once and for all, that she was an asset to the school and deserving of joining them permanently.

“When I arrived,” continued the educator, clearly relishing his dramatic tale, “I had to pull Connor off another student. Since he was still swinging, I took a punch to the shoulder. It didn’t look as though it mattered who he hit, even an adult.”

Connor’s shoulders rose and fell as an irritated breath escaped him.

“Do we know why this fight happened?” asked the guidance counselor. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. With graduation approaching, she must have spent long hours over break checking transcripts, Rebecca guessed.

“Look, I know Connor comes across rough around the edges, but he’s had a hard life.” Aiden leaned forward, his eyes earnest. Connor glanced at his brother and his mouth opened slightly. He tapped a stray paper clip on the table until the assistant principal yanked it away with a stern look.

“Growing up without a dad—and a mother who rarely recognizes him—hasn’t been easy. I’m not making any excuses. He was wrong and acted like a delinquent.” Aiden’s large hands splayed across the table. “But he hasn’t been given the structure and discipline he needs at this school. Lunch detention in Ms. Day’s office isn’t a real punishment, when Connor mentions playing video games and eating Skittles.”

An awkward hush fell and Rebecca’s cheeks warmed as the math teacher smirked. “We do those activities during my lunch groups, not lunch detention,” Rebecca clarified, striving to maintain a professional tone as she imagined throttling the clueless guardian. He’d know that if he actually listened to his brother. Attended one of her requested meetings.

Aiden’s chest rose and fell sharply. “And what is lunch detention, then? M&M’S? You’ve been enabling his behavior.”

“And how much time have you spent addressing his actions?” she challenged, her control slipping through her fingers like sand. Darn it. She was not some easy, soft touch the kids took advantage of. Her gaze roamed around the table, taking in the shuttered expressions of her colleagues.

Was she?

“That’s your job,” he said through gritted teeth. When his cell phone buzzed again, he yanked it out of his pocket and punched it off, his eyes never leaving Rebecca’s.

“No. It’s—”

“A village.” Mrs. Carpenter interrupted Rebecca smoothly. “It takes a village to raise a child. We all need to work together. It’s why we’re here today. For you, Connor.” She reached over to pat the boy’s hand and he yanked it away, knotting his fingers on his lap.

“And Connor goes to Ms. Day’s when he acts out because, as a behavioral therapist, she’s the best person to defuse his outbursts,” she finished.

Rebecca subsided back against her chair, fuming, though grateful for her principal’s support. Guardians like Aiden drove her crazy. They pushed her near the line she could not cross. She bit the inside of her cheek and focused on the sting instead of what she really wanted to say to the jerk who’d fooled her last night into thinking he was a nice guy. That he cared. Wanted to hear about her problems.

Oh no. Had she really complained about her control-top panty hose?

“Right,” Aiden said, after a beat of silence, not looking as though he agreed at all. “The facts are that, according to Connor, Marshall started the fight by picking on our youngest brother, Daniel, when he arrived to walk home with his brother, and I believe Connor. Please readmit him and reassign him to his old therapist. He knew how to be tough on my brother.” Aiden ran his hand through his thick, short waves. His eyes met Rebecca’s, then slid away, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.

“Hear, hear,” murmured a few of the other teachers.

“And his failure to help Connor was the reason he was transferred to me,” Rebecca insisted. “Although we’ve only been working together a short time, I believe I’m making progress with him.”

“Some progress...is boxing one of your methods?” chimed in another teacher, Mr. LaValley. “I agree with Mr. Walsh, Connor should be sent back to his original therapist.”

Connor’s head snapped up and Rebecca sent him a reassuring look. No. That wouldn’t happen. A guardian requesting a transfer from her caseload looked bad for her tenure prospects. More importantly, Connor, who struggled to build rapport with adults, would have to work with someone he already disliked. It’d taken almost three weeks of patience, good humor and losing badly to him at card games for him to open up to her...a bit.

“Well, we certainly know who ended the fight.” Mr. Anderson scowled. “I didn’t see Marshall picking on Connor’s younger brother or hitting back. And I certainly didn’t deserve the violence I received.”

“I say we vote,” chimed in Mr. LaValley. He looked down the table at Connor, who was unraveling the metal spiral binding from his notebook. “Connor, you’re in my study hall five minutes, tops, before you’re causing problems and I don’t see that changing. Do you?”

The youth ripped out a length of the wire without acknowledging the teacher, and Rebecca winced. She hated that Connor was required to be present in order to hear these remarks. Superintendents’ hearings deliberately included students so they could understand how their behavior affected the staff and school. Yet it rarely motivated students to make lasting changes, in Rebecca’s opinion.

Murmurs of agreement circled the table and the teacher continued. “Other kids can’t work with that kind of troublemaking going on. We’ve given Connor too many chances, let him off easy. Let’s vote.”

Rebecca scratched her ear, trying not to squirm at the man’s condemning stare or the labeling they heaped on Connor. He’d slid so low in his chair he looked ready to fall under the table. Poor kid. How could he ever see himself positively when so many adults told him otherwise? Someday, if—when?—she had tenure, she’d fight to change the way these hearings were conducted.

Rebecca cleared her throat. “I’d like to propose a third alternative to readmitting Connor or expelling him.” The meeting and the teen’s fate were spiraling in the wrong direction. If she didn’t act fast, she wouldn’t be able to help him or disprove her detractors. If he succeeded, so did she, and they’d both be permanent school members.

She met Aiden’s speculative stare dead-on. Imagine. Blaming her for Connor’s poor choices—which were really just a cry for attention, a pattern of behavior he’d fallen into after being overlooked at home. Aiden might have inherited a lot of responsibility ten years ago when he’d been—she glanced at the file—just twenty-one, but that didn’t excuse a lack of caring. He needed to be a brother to Connor, not just a provider. Show up for more of Connor’s life than just the bad parts.

If he didn’t approve of her tactics now, just wait until he heard her plans.

“Psychologists in nearby districts and I are piloting a cutting-edge program that gets kids out of the city for a couple of weeks, in the Adirondacks, where we’ll provide therapy as well as teamwork, trust and esteem-building activities.”

“He’ll miss classes.”

“How will our budget pay for that?”

“Who’s supposed to supervise this? Not us.”

Comments exploded around the table and Rebecca’s head throbbed. Cold/flu, take two.

“The program starts during summer break so that it won’t interfere with academics,” she replied, noting when the guidance counselor caught her eye and nodded slowly. “As for the budget, we’ve received a generous grant, so it won’t affect school programs already in place.”

She returned her principal’s broad smile. They’d been particularly proud of receiving government funding for their request. Even better, there would be a stipend for Rebecca that would offset her financial woes this summer. Most important, success would make her tenure nearly undeniable. “As for supervision, a psychologist from each of the participating schools will attend, as well as trained staff at the camp and a few parent chaperones.”

“Where is it?” asked the guidance counselor. She pushed her slipping glasses back in place, suddenly looking interested.

“Tupper Lake. There’s a hundred-year-old farmhouse on the 230-acre property, which includes the west branch of the Ausable River, forested land and open fields, all owned and donated for this use by the Sikes family. We’ll use it as our base camp and all activities will be conducted around it.” Rebecca warmed to her topic, despite Aiden’s chilly expression.

“And how is that supposed to be a punishment?” grumbled Mr. Anderson.

“Connor needs to be accountable for his actions, not taken on vacation,” interjected Aiden. He drummed his fingers on the table.

“It’s not a punishment or a vacation,” Rebecca said evenly, after counting backward from ten. And taking a sip of coffee. And unnecessarily shuffling through her papers.

Control. Patience. Understanding. The tenets of her profession. “It’s behavior modification.” She pressed on, ignoring the subtle looks being exchanged between the study hall and math teachers. “Moving to the wilderness is a significant life change. It removes adolescents from their emotional comfort zone and requires different skills for self-care.”

“Making s’mores?” scoffed Mr. Anderson.

“Learning to make their own food is a part of it.” Rebecca had planned to present the program during a faculty-wide meeting, sell the skeptical teachers on it before recommending students. Now, she had to speak on the spot. Never her strong suit.

She pretended to sip her coffee again, even though there was nothing in her mug. At last, she set it down and took a deep breath. “The simplicity of the wilderness environment helps teenagers to recognize the results of their behavioral choices and encourages them to employ different coping strategies,” she continued, reciting the words she’d written in the grant proposal. “The challenges and activities we provide, in conjunction with group and individual therapy sessions, help students to address personal issues, increase self-esteem, achieve success in a safe environment, engage in healthy relationships and develop leadership potential.”

Connor stopped chewing his nails and stared at her.

“Leadership,” guffawed Mr. LaValley, until the guidance counselor tapped the table in front of him with her pen.

Mr. Williams leaned over the table, his crisp red tie dipping into a puddle of spilled coffee. “I’m liking the sound of this, Ms. Day. What efficacy statistics can you share?”

Rebecca released a small breath at his encouraging smile. “Studies show that outdoor behavioral health care results in clinically significant reductions in severity of behavioral and emotional symptoms. In similar programs, 83 percent of participants made a clinically significant improvement, with the most progress shown in the thirteen-to fourteen-year-old range, like Connor.”

“This is ridiculous!” Mr. Anderson declared. “So kids just go camping when they act out? Put on some ridiculous—” he squinted down at the paperwork “—talent show at the end?”

Connor’s eyes slid the man’s way, then back to her before dropping again. He looked interested. For once. Her hunch was right. This retreat could be good for him.

“It’s a showcase that allows the students to demonstrate their growth through personal and creative expression. While it looks like fun and games, trust me, it’s work,” Rebecca insisted. “Physically, mentally and emotionally. Connor deserves this last chance.” She glanced around the table, noting the softening expressions of her peers and a small, upward curve on Connor’s mouth. Aiden, however, looked ready to walk.

A muttering broke out and Rebecca’s stomach clenched. What if they turned this down? It was her last chance to prove her worth to the district.

“All in favor of him attending, please raise your hand.”

Four of the nine hands rose and then, with a shoulder shrug, the study hall teacher raised his palm, adding to the tally.

“This is outrageous.” Mr. Anderson half rose in his chair. “Can we at least have some oversight? Proof this has worked beyond Ms. Day’s report? Given her lack of tenure, I believe she should be held more accountable.”

Rebecca flushed, recalling that his wife served on the school board. Hadn’t she been elected president this year? No wonder he thought he could throw his weight around when it came to Rebecca. Her colleagues had been careful not to mention the board’s delay on her employment status after January, February, March, and then April meetings rolled past without her name on the agenda. To have it thrown in her face so publically was humiliating.

“We always do an Adirondack hiking trip in the summer, don’t we, Jim?” interjected the assistant principal. “We could stop by for the talent show—I mean the showcase—and see how everything’s going. Add our observations to Ms. Day’s report.”

Rebecca’s heart sank. Of course she didn’t have any intention of lying on her report about the success of the trip and her students, but now she’d have the superintendent himself looking over her shoulder. What if the kids didn’t perform well in the showcase? Demonstrate enough improvement to satisfy him? It took a professional eye, like hers, to see the value in even small gains. So much rode on the showcase now, when it’d been intended to be a low-pressure summative expression of their experience.

The superintendent rubbed the bald patch on his head. “Sounds like a good compromise. I agree then, that Connor will attend this retreat and—” he peered at the slouched teen until the boy met his eye “—we’ll revisit the expulsion decision based on Ms. Day’s report of your behavior while away, as well as my firsthand—” he raised an eyebrow at a frowning Mr. Anderson “—observation of student behavior and performance at the showcase. In the meantime, Connor will finish the school year at our off-site facility, where we expect exemplary behavior and attendance. Understood, young man?”

Connor jerked his chin in the barest of nods, then closed his eyes as though going to sleep.

“And when does this program start, Ms. Day?” The assistant principal tapped on her tablet drawing up a monthly schedule screen.

“We’d planned on the end of June.”

Mrs. Williams leaned close to Rebecca and whispered, “FYI, board members and staff—” her eyes swerved to Mr. Anderson “—are raising doubts about your tenure decision and plan to hold off on voting about it until the summer. If you don’t impress the superintendent, there’s a chance you might get denied and be let go.”

Something like a cold headache jabbed Rebecca between the eyebrows as she heard her suspicions confirmed.

“So we have to meet again during the summer,” Mr. LaValley noted, cheeks puffing. “Will we be paid for the extra hours?”

“Noncalendar hours are always compensated,” affirmed the superintendent, his tone abrupt, his expression impatient.

“And you agree with this plan, Mr. Walsh?” trumpeted the red-faced math teacher, Mr. Anderson.

Aiden nodded slowly, shifting in his seat. “I don’t see that I have a choice, though I doubt it’ll make a difference. He’d be better off put to work at the school than fishing and hiking.”

She raised an eyebrow, maintaining her professional facade while her insides twisted and crumpled. “Then it’s a good thing you’ll be there to witness it yourself.” Connor needed attention and she’d guarantee the kid would receive it.

Aiden blinked at her. “Come again?”

“As I believe your relationship with Connor is contributing to his behavioral problems, a condition of Connor attending the wilderness retreat is that you accompany him. You’ll be one of our chaperones.”

Aiden’s mouth worked and Rebecca didn’t bother holding back her small smile. “Consider it a mandatory request.”

* * *

AIDEN COULDN’T BELIEVE the woman he’d dreamed of last night, searched for this morning and thought of nonstop was at the meeting he’d dreaded. Worse, she offered his brother salvation, while simultaneously putting Aiden in the worst position possible. He had Mary Ann to pitch in and take care of the family, along with a neighbor who watched his mother during the weekdays, but he couldn’t just take off work. As it was, his weekly tallies barely kept them in the black. What would happen without him at the wheel? Especially with the tourist season starting to peak?

“Ms. Day?” he called as the faculty ambled out of the meeting room. “A word?”

The curvy woman turned in the doorway and her blue eyes studied him cautiously. Gone was the affable woman who’d disarmed him last night, replaced by a polished professional. Still, with Psycho Therapist emblazoned on her mug, and her crazy ideas for getting Connor in line, she didn’t fool Aiden. She might have the job title, but she didn’t have the skills. Not when it came to managing teenage boys.

“Yes?” She moved aside as the last of the educators exited, leaving him and a still-seated Connor alone.

“I’ll need to send my sister Mary Ann in my place.”

Instead of answering, Rebecca turned to his brother. “Connor, since you’re still not officially readmitted, please have a seat in the main office until Aiden comes for you.”

The youth shoved back his chair and paused as he passed her, his oversize Converse sneakers treading on one another. “I made this for you.” He pulled something from his backpack and shoved it into her hand, then stalked through the doorway without seeming to hear her thank-you.

“Origami,” Rebecca muttered, staring at the folded-paper dragon and shaking her head.

Aiden shared her surprise. When had his brother learned to do that? Aiden knew Connor had gotten into Anime and Manga. Had even asked about Tae Kwon Do classes—which Aiden couldn’t afford. Was this another part of his sudden curiosity in Japanese culture? Interesting...especially when so little caught apathetic Connor’s attention.

A bell shrilled and the sounds of shouting, screeching kids penetrated the room. Rebecca put her folder and the dragon on the table, crossed her arms and looked up at Aiden. “I’m sorry about last night. The combined effects of the muscle relaxers and NyQuil I’d taken made me groggy and I wasn’t myself.” She cleared her throat and shoved back her shoulders. “We didn’t meet under the best circumstances, but I hope we can put that behind us for Connor’s sake.”

He nodded. She was right. So why did he keep noticing how pretty she looked in her navy skirt and silky top? Time to focus. His brother was in trouble.

“I’m afraid having Mary Ann instead of you won’t work.”

“And why not?” he retorted, moving restlessly, as if life was about to spring another trap. “She’s Connor’s older sister. A per diem nurse who makes her own work schedule. It’d be handy to have a health care worker there.”

“We already have that covered. What I need is the source of Connor’s problem. You.”

“Me?” Aiden squelched his rising ire. “I work hard to make sure the kid has a roof over his head, food on the table and clothes on his back. What more does he need?”

“That’s for you to find out on this trip.”

An older woman appeared in the doorway. “Ms. Day, you’re needed down in the girls’ locker room. Caitlin, I mean, one of your students—is refusing to change or leave one of the stalls.”

“I’ll be right there,” Rebecca assured her, before turning back to Aiden. “You can contact me later today with any further questions. Otherwise, I’ll see you in a few weeks. Pack warm. The Adirondacks can get chilly at night. Even at that time of year.”

Casting an irritating smirk over her shoulder, she strode from the room, leaving him to stare at the empty space she’d occupied.

Aggravating. Infuriating. Stubborn woman.

Aiden hadn’t taken more than a day off in—he wasn’t even sure how many years. Even Mary Ann’s wedding had been held in the pub.

And the business would suffer without his vigilance. As a per diem nurse at an assisted living facility, his sister could take time off to work at the tavern, but the operation needed his oversight. They couldn’t afford even a bad week’s take, let alone two. Ms. Day’s crazy ideas were no longer simply affecting Connor. They threatened a livelihood he’d never asked for...but must make succeed, nonetheless.