12. Summer
Chapter 12
Summer
I t’s only been a few days since our field trip to the aquarium, and I’m already itching for another trip. Perhaps a trip to the Public Garden in May when the weather warms and the flowers reach their peak bloom. Getting out of the classroom is addicting, and watching my students enjoy it is the icing on the already sweet cake.
Today’s an average day full of giggles from our pretend play and circle time with the letter of the week. The exception from the norm is that two of my students are missing. Tommy and Aoife are both out sick. At least that’s the call I got from the main office today.
“All right, everyone, to your seats. You’ll notice we have crayons and markers on the tables. For craft today, we are going to be drawing pictures of what you want to be when you grow up. It can be anything you dream of—an astronaut, a doctor, a teacher …
“I’ll be passing out this paper to each of you.” I hold up a white sheet of paper with a rectangular box. Underneath are three checkboxes. “Please draw what you’d like to be when you grow up in the box. Then, when you bring your paper home, I want you to find three people and show them what you drew and tell them what you’d like to be.
“You’ll place a check, or an X in each box after you’ve done that. Then you’ll bring them back and we’re going to place them on the wall for our career day.” I gesture to the blank wall space below the animated career posters.
Passing out the sheets, I smile at the chatter amongst the kids. Many of them want to do something their parents do. Another little boy, Logan, said he’s drawing a superhero because that’s what he wants to be.
I smile, thinking about the starkly different plans I had when I was growing up. Being a teacher never crossed my mind. I wanted the limelight, the party, and fame. So much so that I?—
“Miss Summer,” Logan says. “Can I be a superhero with a cape?”
Laughing, I answer, “Of course, Logan. Some of my favorite superheroes wear capes.” I wink at him, and he beams up at me, reaching for a blue crayon.
Wandering back to my desk, I pull out two extra sheets for Tommy and Aoife and put it in their pile of papers to go home. Never would I assume a preschooler would need to pick up “missed work,” but I guess the office had calls from both of their families requesting it.
Additionally, I put in a paper asking for parent volunteers to come in and talk about what they do for a career. Tommy’s mother is the only nurse in the class, and Kieran is a successful business owner. I’m hopeful they’ll both consider volunteering, although I’m not sure I’ll be holding my breath for Kieran. The field trip to the aquarium may have been his one-and-done.
Near the end of our craft time, the classroom assistant, shared between Mr. Terry’s class and mine, pops her head in the door. “I’m headed to the office and copy room. Need anything?”
I hold up a finger as I glance around my desk. “Yes! Do you mind making copies of this? I need twenty-two.” Standing to walk it over to her, I grab the two folders of work for my kids out sick and deliver those to her as well. “Do you mind taking these up at well? They just need to go to the main office. Thank you so much.”
The door closes and I sigh, ready to tackle the rest of the day.
* * *
Dismissal blows through like a tornado, and by the time I make it back to my room, all I want is to go home, put my pajamas on, and cuddle with Deuce. After resetting my room for tomorrow, I pack my bag up and slide on my coat.
With a few papers to drop off in the main office, I stop by there first.
“Hey, Mark! Heading home soon?”
Mark pokes his head up from behind the front desk while I lean on it. It’s the perfect height for my elbows to rest on the counter, both arms propping my chin up.
He adjusts his bow tie, giving me an eye roll. “No. Not even close.”
I offer him a pouty face, then slide my stack of purchase order requests across the counter with a single pointer finger. “Well, I’m beat and headed home but wanted to turn these in first. I need a couple more iPads for the classroom, and I’m hoping I still have some money in the budget.”
Mark harumphs. “Please. If anyone still has money after the second semester, it’s you.”
“Usually. Except Shelly’s been threatening to petition for my funds since I haven’t used much.” I shake my head. She’s joking, of course, but Mark’s right—I try hard to make the money for my preschoolers stretch. Shelly might call it frugal, but I’ve been the one who never cared about whose money I spent and what I spent it on. Again, I’ve worked hard to put that girl to bed. Plus, when I was thrust out on my own, it became a necessity.
“Well, don’t stay too late,” I say, dragging my hand from the counter and offering Mark a wave. He blows me a kiss before I turn back toward the door, but not before I notice one of my pink open-end envelopes sitting on the counter. I back up.
Aoife O’Donnell is scrawled across the top in my handwriting, and I hold it up to Mark. “Why is this still here?”
He shrugs. “Not sure. Must not have been picked up.”
“The office called and told me to have it ready because the nanny was going to get it.”
Mark shrugs again. “No idea. Maybe she’ll get it tomorrow.”
I stare at the packet. It’s not pressing Aoife gets it, but part of me wants to know she does. Aoife is one of my students who hates to be left out. She won’t complain or whine, but she pulls inward and my heart cracks knowing she may be sad she’s missing school. I want her to know that her education matters; that even at a ritzy school with thousands of students, I see her. Not just a job.
I pause on my thoughts, thinking I might need to unpack this further because it resonates with me. I’m pretty sure the adults in my life growing up saw me as a job, a means to an end. My teachers and personal tutors. My tennis coaches. They saw the money and the status my family could provide. Even my parents, the way they treated my sister and me. My sister bore the brunt of it while I was too wrapped up in my own selfish world to care.
Tucking the folder of schoolwork under my arm, I exit the building and splurge on a rideshare to Beacon Hill.
When the car pulls up in front of the Federal-style house that belongs to the O’Donnell’s, I nearly melt. It’s gorgeous.
It’s apparent someone renovated it, but they preserved much of the home’s original features. The traditional Federal entry, the triple-hung windows, dainty iron work—jeez.
I step out onto the charming yet irregular cobblestone driveway, and my driver pulls away. I should’ve just gone to O’Brien’s. It’s not too far from here, and that might be less … weird. That will be my plan B.
Where there is slush and patches of ice on the street sidewalks, there isn’t any on the driveway, and I march toward the gate praying this isn’t awkward.
A guard station sits to the left of the driveway. Huh. Well, that’s intense. Then, as I approach it, I spot the cameras mounted under the guard shed and propped up on the gate itself.
I assumed Kieran had money, considering he owns multiple well-known restaurants, but this is on a whole other level.
Slowing near the guard station, a man in dark jeans and a tactical vest steps out, holding his hand up at me. “Ma’am. Stop right there.”
I do, plastering a grin on my face. “Hey, I’m Summer Smith. Aoife’s preschool teacher. She was out of school today, and I noticed the nanny didn’t come to pick up her work, so I decided to run it over.” Oh jeez, I sound like a nut.
The man raises his eyebrows and scratches his bald head. “One second. Please wait right there.”
I look down, fighting the urge to step forward a stone’s length merely because he told me not to move.
The man disappears into the guard shed and I overhear him speaking to someone. I busy myself studying the ivy climbing the deep red brick of the house, and before I have time to admire the fanlights over the doors, the man is walking back toward me.
“You’re clear to enter,” he says, and my mind wanders thinking how Aoife’s childhood is with all of this security. I suppose a man of his success and business acumen would have reason to protect his assets. But it doesn’t assuage the uneasy feeling I get when the gate opens.
There was a time I used to jump gates like these. Meant to keep people out, it can backfire and make those sequestered behind them feel trapped.
I shiver, unsure of whether it’s from my memories or the chill of the cold air. Then, flats scuffing against the driveway, I scurry to the front door.
Two evergreen shrubs in planters flank each side of the entrance, clipped to perfection. In front of me stands a dark green paneled door. The bronze lion’s head knocker is fierce while staring me down, the eyes narrowed and intense. Luckily, there’s an upgraded doorbell to my right, and I press it instead.
The faint chime of the bell rings just behind the walls of the home, and not a few seconds later, the door swings open with Aoife’s nanny answering.
But … whoa. She looks awful.
I blink. “Uh. Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you. I noticed Aoife’s packet still in the main office, and I just …”
She sniffs, drawing her plush cream robe together and fixing the tie around her waist. My gaze lingers on her face. She looks to be in her mid-fifties, but her complexion is paler than a ghost. Mostly I interact with her in quick passing during pickup and drop-off, but typically she’s put together in a Mary Poppins type of way.
Dark circles line underneath her red and glassy eyes, and her eyelids seem to droop, barely able to stay open after each slow blink. Her unkempt hair is pulled back, the silver streaks frizzy around her sweaty forehead.
She nods at me. “I’m so sorry. I meant to come by to get Aoife’s work but decided it was best to stay put.” She coughs, then leans against the doorframe for support, like the mere action of coughing exhausted her. She tries to muster a smile, but it falls short and comes across as weary and strained.
I’m so stupid. What was I thinking bugging this family when clearly they aren’t well.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, Miss …” Crap, do I know her last name?
“Allie. It’s just Allie,” she wheezes out. She extends her hand, intent on formally introducing herself, but quickly slicks it down the front of her robe like she’s thought better of the idea.
My thoughts wander to Aoife. Is she this sick, too? Is Kieran home?
“I’m sorry, Allie. I just wanted to drop off the work for Aoife,” I reiterate. “I know she can get worried about missing school.”
Allie’s lips twitch. “She does. Thank you so much for dropping this off for her.” She lets out another cough, but this time she hacks up a lung. By the time her coughing fit is over, she’s braced herself with the door.
“Is Mr. O’Donnell here? It’s terrible you and Aoife are this sick.”
She shakes her head. “Mr. O’Donnell is out of town on business.”
She shivers, and I’ve already overstayed my welcome. I nod and hold out the pink folder for Allie to take.
“Miss Smith?” Aoife’s raw and raspy voice croaks behind Allie, and when the nanny steps back some, my heart nearly shatters.
Aoife’s little face is gaunt and also pale. Her normally vibrant blue eyes are dull, and oh so tired looking. She’s dressed in a long-sleeve mermaid nightgown, her feet bare and curling on what must be the cold hardwood floor.
Friday she was engaged and her normal bubbly self, so they must’ve come down with something over the weekend.
I look between the two of them, both sick with fever and cough. I hate the thought of Aoife sick without her father while her poor nanny is also exhausted and barely holding on.
At least when I was little and sick, my sister took care of me. My mother usually avoided being around me in fear of coming in contact with the germs herself, but my nanny and sister never failed me. So I offer something that I hope will cheer Aoife up.
“Listen, Aoife. When you get better, I can show you some of the fun projects we did today. I took some pictures on my phone. I could send them to your nanny, or you can see them when you’re back at school, okay?”
“Aw … Can I see them now?” Aoife attempts to ask, excited, but it comes out in almost a whisper.
I glance toward Allie, ready to read the ire in her expression for bringing this up, perhaps annoyance, but she just looks out of it. She nods and moves to the side. I think she’s inviting me in, but I hesitate.
“Please. Come on in.” Allie opens the door even farther, and I follow her inside the O’Donnell home.
It’s wrong on so many levels, but I’ve never been a rule follower. Aoife wants to see the pictures, and I have a strong pull from somewhere deep inside me to make sure her spirits are lifted.
There’s a short entryway with stairs to the left. A grand parlor, or what used to be, sits to the right, which is now a cozy living room. A white brick fireplace stands as the focal point of the room with a rustic wooden mantel above it displaying a few black and white baby photos. Across from it is a forest-green plush couch that looks like it’s made from down. With deep cushions, the thing looks heavenly. A live edge coffee table hovers over a bearskin rug. Between the three dominating windows, covered with cream curtains, sits sturdy built-in bookcases, covering the wall.
I’m not sure what I pictured Kieran’s house to look like, if I pictured it at all—but this is not it.
Aoife’s tiny cold hand grabs mine and leads me to the couch where I sit and swipe through some of her classmates’ drawings of what they want to be when they grow up.
“You have one of these sheets in the folder for when you feel up to it,” I say. Aoife nods, then yawns, and when I look up, Allie is struggling to stay awake in a tufted chair in the corner.
“Allie?” I say. “Can I get you anything?”
“Oh. No, Miss Smi—” She coughs, loudly, hand patting her chest.
“Let me get you some water.” I stand, looking at where Aoife has nuzzled down into the crack of the couch cushions, and venture through the doorway in a hunt for the kitchen.
It isn’t long before I find it. It’s grand and sweeping. A stout island sits proudly in the center of the room, immediately grabbing my attention. But almost as quickly, my gaze snags on the back door and the wall mounted hook beside it. A puffy pink coat sits between two larger black coats that look almost identical. There’s one empty hook, and I can’t help but wonder if Kieran is wearing it.
It’s silly. You’re being silly.
I glide my fingertips along the cool countertops as I walk to the fridge in search of water. I pass a deep basin-style sink that looks out over the back patio made of the same cobblestone as the wide driveway, and I wash my hands.
Opening the fridge, I’m impressed with how organized everything is. Canned drinks are in a special holder that pushes the next one up front when a can is removed. There’s a pull-out snack drawer with cheese sticks, yogurt pouches, and prepackaged sliced apples. I snort thinking how my fridge has leftover chow mein containers from the Chinese restaurant around the corner several nights ago.
Water bottles line the top shelf of the refrigerator and I grab one, along with one of the apple juice boxes lining the door shelves.
When I hand Allie the water, she shakes trying to open it.
“Here. Let me,” I say, taking the bottle and cracking the top.
“Th-thank you.” Her teeth chatter and I can practically feel the heat radiating off her body from fever.
She takes a sip and tries to set the bottle down.
“You should drink some more.”
Shaking her head, she says, “I need to make dinner”—she coughs for a decent spell—“for Aoife.”
I look at Aoife, then back at Allie, who’s slumped over in the chair. Would it be inappropriate to ask if she needs help? There’s no one else here, and I hate the idea of Aoife being here without her dad while her nanny is also struggling.
How horrible she looks wins out over being the random teacher asking to stay and help. Honestly, I’m kind of shocked the words come out of my mouth. “Is there something I can do to help? Get you guys dinner or anything? You really need to rest.”
I’m already here. I might as well help.
Allie lets out a sigh of relief and nods. “I have ch-chicken soup ingredients in the fridge. I-I bought with the intention of making it for Aoife. One of her favorites.”
I’m no cook. Hadn’t had to do much of it until a few years ago, but I’ve learned fast. I made homemade chicken soup last year when I had the flu, so I can give it a shot.
Helping Allie to her feet, I take her bottle of water and follow as she shuffles out of the living room to a door across the main hallway. It’s right before the stairs.
She opens the door, and instead of a room I enter a massive suite. A compact entryway gives way to a bedroom with a small kitchenette and couch seating area. It’s bigger than my place. I notice two other closed doors, which I assume to be a closet and bathroom.
Allie continues toward the bed and practically face-plants on it, pulling a crocheted blanket up around her.
I set her water bottle on the gray nightstand beside her bed.
“You don’t mind I’m in the kitchen, right?” She would’ve kicked me out by now if she was uncomfortable, right? Jeez … it sounds like I’m a creep.
She smiles. “A-Aoife talks about you all the time. She says you’re her favorite teacher of all time.”
I huff out a modest laugh considering I’m the only teacher Aoife’s had. She still has kindergarten through high school to go, but at this point I’ll take the compliment.
“What I mean is … I know you want the best for her.” Allie’s eyes drift closed, and I lower the light on my way out of her room.
Checking on Aoife in the living room, she’s still passed out, tucked into the side of the couch. I move into the kitchen, staring at the massive space. Then I get to work.