7. Summer
Chapter 7
Summer
I watch Aoife from my desk. Head down, her strawberry-blonde hair falls around her face. She studies the pack of Skittles on the table, eyes shifting back and forth like she’s unsure if she should open it. Vibrant blue eyes, that must be inherited from her mother, are a lifeless gray, and my heart breaks for her.
School dismissal was half an hour ago. We marched the students to the usual pickup spot, releasing each classmate to their family until she was the only one left. It’s unlike her nanny to be late, so I stood there with her an extra ten minutes before kneeling down to ask her if she’d like to wait with me in the classroom. She agreed, and I walked her back while she anxiously fidgeted with her pleated skort.
Frozen, she stood in the door. She didn’t seem interested in talking, so I reached into my bag for the Skittles I’d swiped from the swanky teacher’s lounge and shook the candy in my held-out hand. She timidly smiled at me before walking up to take them. That was the last smile I got.
Now she stares at the bag. Her crisp white collared polo shirt is pressed and tucked into her green skort. A matching cardigan with the Ardenbrook emblem embroidered on the chest is draped over the chair where she took it off along with her gray peacoat, and her white knee-high socks peek out from the sturdy white shoes she wears with easy to fasten Velcro straps.
The outfit is what all the girls wear to class. The only difference for the mini gentleman is that chinos replace the skort.
That’s one of the reasons I hate the uniforms—lack of individuality. I realize the uniforms are encouraged to promote unity, and I’m sure instances of bullying are cut down because the kids don’t have an option to wear other clothes, name brand or not. But … sometimes I long to know what they’d pick for themselves. What would they wear to school if they could choose?
I lean back in my chair, nearly tipping back. The squeak of it prompts Aoife to look up, and she finally picks up the Skittles and rips open the wrapper.
She dumps the candy out on the table, letting them tumble onto the desk where they bounce in several directions. Picking out the purple, she gathers them into a pile while sliding the others over. Her tiny hands count the six purple before she pops one into her mouth.
“Is purple your favorite color?” Leaning forward, I’m enraptured by her and the possibility that this sweet girl came from an asshole like Kieran.
She nods and scoops another into her hand.
“And what do you do with the other colors? Do you like to eat those, too?”
The chair shrieks with an awful sound as I stand and move to sit with Aoife. The tiny stools around these tables are made for little children ages four and five, and I’m only slightly annoyed with myself that I don’t fit.
“When will my daddy get here?” Her voice shakes, and my heart aches for her.
“Soon, I’m sure. He most likely got caught up with something. But for now, you can hang with me.” I grin at her, while offering a slight nudge to her shoulder with mine that almost sends me toppling off the miniscule stool.
“What color is your favorite?” Aoife asks, pointing at the remaining Skittles on her side of the table.
“Hmm. Flavor wise I’d have to go with red.”
She sorts out the red ones this time and slides them over to me.
“Thank you,” I say as I pinch one between two fingers and set it on my tongue. It’s been ages since I’ve had candy and I’m grateful for the urge to have swiped them earlier.
“See? Not so bad, huh?” I say, trying to cheer her up. Frankly, I’m getting annoyed with Kieran and his nanny. I had the office call them both, but they couldn’t reach anyone. Someone should be here for Aoife … on time.
It’s irrational because I know something horrible could’ve come up, but still …
It used to be me. I was the one who showed up late, expecting others to wait for me because of who I was. Again, I’m not a stranger to it, but I changed. Now I make an effort to be on time. Early even.
“Do you think they forgot about me?”
“Not possible.” I give her little hand a squeeze. Needing to distract her, I stand again and move back to my desk. I log into my computer and search for The Little Mermaid -themed coloring sheets. I’ve noticed Aoife likes to sing the music from that movie while she’s on the playground, pretending the tallest section of it is a castle under the sea. Her spirit seems to lift when she talks about Ariel and Flounder.
As the last Sebastian coloring page prints, I glance at Aoife. She tracks the colorful posters around the room, and though I know she’s seen them before, she still looks like she’s taking them all in for the first time.
I scooch the pile of coloring pages in front of Aoife along with the plastic bucket of crayons I keep over on the overly organized supply shelf. It’s my second favorite thing about being a teacher. Having to organize and decorate my room to be the most functional space for the kids—having the stations organized to foster their creativity. Obviously my first favorite thing about being a preschool teacher … the kids.
I place my hand on Aoife’s shoulder as she digs, searching for the perfect blue.
Where is her nanny? Or better yet … where is her father?
He surprised me the other night. Sitting down next to me to share a drink. I’d say it was his way of squashing the awkward tension from our meeting, but honestly, I think he was looking to make me uncomfortable.
After he left to speak with the business associate who wandered into his bar, Shelly, with my blessing, ditched me to go home with the “exceptionally attractive” man seated to her left. She left the bar mouthing “O.M.G” as she walked hand in hand with the man through the door.
I was on my own. And with the pub filling with more and more intoxicated men getting a touch too interested in my solo presence at the bar, I decided it was time to call an Uber and catch a ride to the train station.
I made it home entirely too late, having just enough energy to eat a row of Double Stuf Oreos and snag a quick shower. I never did get the food Shelly promised me when I agreed to go out with her.
I glance back at the clock on the wall and note it’s almost 4:00 p.m. Taking out my phone, I type out another quick message to the front office asking if they were able to get ahold of Aoife’s nanny or Kieran. I receive a not yet message back and tuck my phone away into my high-waisted dress pants. Then because it’s past four and I’m usually halfway home to sweatpants and a crop top by now, I untuck my light pink blouse before pulling out the stool next to Aoife and pick out a coloring page of the mermaid’s fishy companion.
Ten minutes later my fish is colored a deep green, and when I lift to show it to Aoife she giggles. “He can’t be green. He’s yellow.”
It’s so infectious I crack up, too.
A throat clears startling me, and I jolt up to see Kieran leaning casually in the doorway. I focus on his dark blue jeans that are wet from the bottom hem up to about his calf, and then move up to where his cream-colored Henley is open, two buttons exposing a trace amount of chest hair.
My mouth goes dry. When I finally meet his eyes, he smirks, and I glare at him before he pivots to Aoife, expression softening.
“Daddy!” Aoife notices her father, and she jumps up, knocking several crayons off the table to run to him.
I stand, tidying up the coloring mess we’ve made and take a bit longer to clean up each individual crayon. Unfortunately, I betray myself and glance over to see Kieran kneeled down at Aoife’s level, embracing her in a giant hug.
“I’m so sorry, Aoife. Allie had a family emergency, and I was stuck at work longer than I meant to be.” She nods into his shoulder while his eyes move to meet mine. I raise my eyebrows at him.
Stuck at work? He’s an hour late. Not ten minutes. Not thirty. A whole hour late with a little girl worried about her dad. I harrumph under my breath. He didn’t even call.
Kieran’s soft expression hardens as he raises his chin at me. Standing, he helps Aoife into her cardigan and coat, handing her the colorful mermaid backpack she carts around.
His glower stays pinned on me. “Aoife, would ye mind waiting outside in the hall. I need to speak with ye teacher.”
I blink. I’m not intimidated by powerful men. There was nothing but a sea of them around me growing up. I actually made it an art form to manipulate these men. It’s easy until it’s not.
However, Kieran’s scowl has me fiddling with my hands and cracking my knuckles—a habit I’d broken two years ago. Jeez. Guess I’m going to need another thirty days to re-break it.
As Aoife steps through the door, I walk backward toward the windows in the classroom that overlook the courtyard. I need to close the blinds to go home, but I’m having trouble with the idea of turning my back to him.
“Thanks for staying with her.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. She’s so sweet … it really was no problem at all.”
He steps forward, gaze lingering on my middle where I’m pretty sure my blouse has wrinkled beyond what’s acceptable for someone of his status.
Looking toward the door, I flinch as I remember Aoife’s frozen worry when she wasn’t picked up, and against my better judgment, I open my mouth again.
“I know how important work is for you, but Aoife seems like she may need a bit more from you.”
I watch the muscles in his neck strain and his jaw clench.
Oh, no … I’ve crossed the line.
“What makes ye think ye know me?”
I step forward, hands on my hips. “I know powerful people like you.”
“Ye have no idea what I deal with. Or who I am.”
The pressure to take back my earlier comment gnaws at me, instead I’m dumb and double down.
“Listen it’s none of my business why you’re late, Mr. O’Donnell.” Using his last name earns me another nostril flare. “But?—”
“Ye’re damn right it’s none of yer business.”
I glare at him, having lost my train of thought. “Well, ye’re infuriating .” I mimic his accent and immediately slap my hand over my mouth. What the actual hell is wrong with me? I’m going to lose my job over this.
When I pull my hand from my agape mouth, the corner of his mouth twitches.
“Oh, shit—I mean … jeez. Oh jeez. I’m sorry, Mr. O’Donnell. That was … unprofessional.”
“Aye.” He steps back, lifting his hands from his pockets to cross his arms in front of his chest. “Ye sure ye’re in the right profession, Miss Smith? Hell, ye’re a child yerself.”
I stare at him—at those eyes that are hauntingly beautiful. A wavy curl falls into his face, but he shakes it away. I want to crumble under his scrutiny. More like punch him in the face, but that would definitely get me fired, if I’m not already.
My jaw drops open as I try to formulate a response. I’m not a child. Who the hell does this man think he is? He has no idea what I’ve been through for the past seven years. The changes I’ve made. Who I’ve had to become. Except this man is threatening to expose the very person I’ve worked to bury. This asshole is just that, a power-tripping ass.
“Listen, you selfish pr?—”
“Daddy?” Aoife shuffles in to stand at the doorframe, and I wince at my behavior. Sweet girl has been out there waiting patiently while I’ve been monopolizing her father’s time and fantasizing about wringing his neck. I struggle to wipe the irritation off my face but smile at Aoife as she looks between us.
“Daddy, I’m hungry. Is it time to go now?”
Kieran tilts his head to the side still looking at me. He squints while peering in my eyes. Do I have something in them?
“Yeah. Let’s go grab some food.” He finally releases his stare, turns back toward Aoife, and strides to her, guiding her out the door without another word.
I’m left in the classroom stunned, and thoroughly uncomfortable by how quickly that escalated. Agh. He drives me insane.
I stomp over to the windows and close the blinds, then gather up my computer and other materials to take home. It’s already late and my commute is rather long, so I decide to walk to the nearest sandwich shop and grab a quick bite for the train ride.
A light dusting of snow covers the sidewalks. The sky is a pale gray as the sun dips toward the horizon. The air has a chill to it, and I pull the thick scarf from my coat, wrapping it around my neck to cover my mouth and nose.
I balance my bag over my shoulder so I can tuck my hands deep into my pockets while navigating patches of hidden ice. The blocks surrounding Ardenbrook are quieter than usual, and I nod to a few people passing on the other side of me.
About a block from the shop, hurried footsteps sound behind me, and I slow to allow whoever’s rushing the ability to pass me. But instead of anyone passing by, the footsteps slow in time with mine.
My breathing quickens as my pulse picks up and I clench my fists in my pockets. No, no, no, please …
I speed up. Perhaps there isn’t anyone behind me anymore. Maybe they were in a hurry to get a coffee at the shop I just passed and ducked in. At least there are other people around and it’s broad daylight.
But as my pace quickens, so does the crunch of what sounds like boots behind me. I walk faster and faster until I’m practically jogging to a bus stop where several people wait by a bench. Slowing down when I reach them, I glance behind me, following the path I just walked.
No one.
There’s no one there. However, a sinking feeling in my chest blooms and I know …
Someone was following me.