Chapter 4
four
BONNIE
A quiet knock sounded before I heard “Hey, Bonnie. You got a minute?”
I glanced up from my planner to see Alex Brinkman leaning in the open doorway of my classroom.
“Sure,” I said, giving him a smile despite feeling the edges of it turning brittle and digging into my cheeks.
With hurried movements, I worked fruitlessly to slip errant papers back into my spiral notebook and to straighten the stack of mandala designs my fourth graders had placed on the end of my desk, all before Alex made his way across the room.
I wondered what my principal could want at almost four on a Friday afternoon. Surely he wasn’t going to—
“So, our office manager was going through her checklist for the new school year, and she happened to notice that your background check was set to expire.”
“Oh.” I frowned, trying to mentally backtrack and remember how often that needed to be renewed.
“It’s okay,” Alex said quickly, stopping in front of my messy desk with a reassuring smile and his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his khaki pants.
My attention snagged briefly on the tan fabric as I recalled Jack’s teasing comment from last night about principals. And the smirk that went along with it.
“You’re not the only one,” Alex added helpfully, drawing my attention back to his face and away from his pants. Good lord. “You submitted the required contact hours and continuing education credits back in May. So it’s just the background check left.”
“Right,” I said easily. But inside, I was shocked that I’d forgotten something like that.
I was already reaching for my phone so I could pull up my more detailed online calendar.
Surely I’d had a reminder to update my background check for the state.
But as I scrolled backward and forward, I found nothing.
“I’m so sorry,” I finally managed. “I can’t believe I missed that.”
Alex’s smile was genuine. “It’s really alright. You’ve had a lot on your plate.”
I was mid-nod when my brain registered the implication from his statement. And by a lot on my plate, he meant my crumbling marriage and subsequent divorce.
My face must have reacted without my permission because Alex straightened and backtracked. “You know, with summer and everything. It’s a busy time. I know my summers get away from me. All that freedom,” he rambled.
“That must have been it,” I agreed quietly.
“Well, I called around and they can take you at the sheriff’s office this afternoon, if you can make it there before six. Just a couple of forms, a small fee, and fingerprints,” he said cheerfully, like doing my job for me was no big deal.
Shame and guilt had my shoulders going tight. My principal felt so sorry for me that he’d taken time out of his day to handle this. “You didn’t have to do that, Mr. Brinkman.”
His affable smile slipped a little, and I felt like even more of a jerk. But it suddenly seemed important to keep this professional. The way I’d gone cold and clammy when I’d thought Alex might have been stopping by to ask me out solidified the fact that I was not ready for that. Not at all.
“It was no big deal,” he insisted.
I nodded. “I’ll be sure to hurry over to the sheriff’s office and get this all taken care of. Sorry for the trouble.”
Alex smiled, but his face was laced with sympathy. I’d seen the expression on enough people to know when I was being pitied. I’d heard it in their voices, too.
It was present in how carefully my mom watched me during family dinners—when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
Or how Mac checked on me all the time. The way Magdaline down at Apollo’s softened her voice when I called in a to-go order.
Or how nosy Sheila Jessup said “How are you, honey?” every time she saw me at the grocery store.
“No trouble at all,” Alex said. “Have a good weekend, Ms. Jensen.”
“Thanks. You too.”
He gave me another smile before turning and walking toward the door. I watched as April came barreling in and nearly collided with our principal. The second-grade teacher apologized, and my coworkers shared a laugh before Alex eventually made his way out.
April approached my desk, eyes wide and face flushed. She tucked a strand of brown hair behind one ear, and I noticed pen ink or dry-erase marker smeared down the side of her hand.
She exhaled roughly. “I didn’t expect a traffic jam in your doorway.”
“Yeah, me either.” I started packing up my things. I could finish my upcoming lesson plans over the weekend. Plus, I needed to hurry over to the sheriff’s office.
Ugh. I’d been looking forward to staying in panda mode for at least the next twenty-four hours.
That was where I wore my most comfortable sweats, snacked liberally, and lazed around the house, not going anywhere or seeing anyone.
Panda mode was sacred and necessary in order to recharge as a teacher.
It was usually reserved for weekends, but not always.
Tonight, I’d planned on grabbing Mexican takeout for dinner and watching the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice.
Having a crappy week? There was a Darcy hand flex for that.
Suffering from a hangover from hell and having thrown up in front of the coolest guy from your high school?
Yeah, you’ll need to watch Matthew Macfadyen walk through a foggy field at sunrise with visible chest hair and a long coat flapping.
Instead, I would be a little delayed in getting the weekend started. But that was okay. It was my own fault for dropping the ball at work.
“Sooo,” April began with raised eyebrows. “What was Principal McCrush-On-You doing here?”
The look I gave her was one I reserved for smart-ass students who thought they were cute. “Mr. Brinkman,” I emphasized, “stopped by to let me know that my background check will lapse soon and I need to go over to the sheriff’s office tonight to get that taken care of.”
“Wow, a personal visit.” She grinned. “And all I got was an email from Mrs. Fowler in the front office.”
I paused in stuffing my planner in my bag. “You need a background check, too?”
April nodded. “Yep. Five years fly by when you’re trying to get a class full of seven-year-olds to stop eating their boogers.”
“And do you have to go tonight to do your fingerprints and stuff?”
“No,” she replied, still looking pleased. Then she tossed up some air quotes as she continued, “I am responsible for making my own arrangements to remedy the state of my licensure before October first.”
I frowned. “Why would Alex . . . ?”
April had no problem jumping in when my voice trailed off in confusion. “Because he has the hots for you and will do anything to keep his favorite teacher happy.”
“April, stop. He’s just being nice.” I resumed shoving my things into my bag, but a little part of me thought there might be some truth to her statement.
I didn’t want that, nor did I endorse that sort of favoritism.
But I couldn’t decide if it was worse than him going the extra mile for me because I was pathetic and distracted by my marriage falling apart.
“Bonnie. The man has a massive crush on you.”
I couldn’t look at her. I didn’t want to think about that or hear about it either.
“It would be okay if you were interested,” she said gently.
Despite the tenderness in her tone, my head jerked back as if she’d hit me.
“Or not,” she amended quickly, eyes wide.
“I can’t—I’m not—I’m not ready for something—” I shook my head as my breathing grew labored.
“Hey,” April said softly, taking a step toward me, palms out in surrender. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have suggested that. I’m sorry. There is no pressure at all.”
I could feel my face flushing scarlet from my overreaction.
My friend could tease me about Alex. That shouldn’t have been a big deal.
I just—I couldn’t think about dating anyone, even in a hypothetical sort of way.
It made every one of my muscles go tight.
Made me feel like I was doing something wrong—cheating on a husband who didn’t exist anymore.
There was too much pressure, too much expectation.
I nodded woodenly and finished packing my bag.
“Do you care if we stop by my room on our way out? I need to grab Cocoa,” April said.
She was using her careful voice with me, like I might bump the edge of my desk and shatter into a million pieces.
Although, to be fair, she had just witnessed my minor meltdown over the innocent suggestion of dating my boss.
“Of course. That’s no problem.”
Cocoa was April’s classroom pet. The four-pound, black Holland Lop rabbit was a new addition to our school.
As an animal lover, April had been begging for a classroom pet for several years.
Earlier in the summer, she’d gotten the other second-grade teacher, Angie Morris, to finally agree to have a pet in her classroom too.
With both grade-level teachers on board, Mr. Brinkman had signed off on April’s request.
Cocoa was a sweet and sociable little thing. The students loved the rabbit and took turns feeding and caring for her. But on the weekends and over school breaks, April brought Cocoa home with her.
When we made it to the second-grade classroom, I gave the bunny a few scratches before April loaded her up in her carrier.
“Are things smoothing out next door?” I asked.
While Ms. Morris had agreed to host her own Holland Lop, she didn’t exactly love having a classroom pet the same way April did.
My friend spared a glance at the darkened classroom across the hall and hesitated. “Not exactly.”
“What happened?”
“Well,” April began, “she’s been leaving Oreo at school over the weekends. I guess her cat doesn’t appreciate having another animal at home. And Morris has been asking students and their parents to take Oreo for school breaks.”
I made an affronted sound. “Oreo stays all weekend by herself?”
April nodded tightly. “She has enough food and water and everything—I’ve checked—but you know how these little bunnies like to run and play.”