Chapter 8 #2
My former pre-school teacher clapped her hands and all movement paused. Holding up a picture book of ‘The Night Before Christmas,’ she announced it was now story time and that all the busy bees should gather on the carpet and put on their listening ears.
As Mrs. Boone began to read, my attention snagged on Alaric’s girl bear. I couldn’t help but admire her defiant expression. It was actually. . . quite pretty. That is, it was pretty for a rolled out, cookie cutter cinnamon ornament caricature of a stern girl bear.
Whatever. Point was, I caught myself smiling at the ornament. Luckily, I wiped my expression mere seconds before Alaric opened the classroom door and slipped inside. He scanned the space, stopped once he spotted me, and walked over.
Dropping into the tiny chair beside mine, he leaned close to whisper, “What’d I miss?”
I angled my head in his direction, doing my best to not interrupt Mrs. Boone’s recitation of the Christmas classic. “Sugarplums dancing.”
Alaric nodded like this was a perfectly rational answer and turned his attention to the carpet.
Mrs. Boone sat in a rocking chair at the front.
Her voice had the timbre of a seasoned reader-aloud, one who knew how to emphasize “long winter’s nap” and make “a clatter” sound like it was both a threat and a promise.
I let my eyes drift over the crowd of heads—brown, blond, curly, spiked, short, buzzed—and tried to imagine a world where my primary responsibility was to make sure a roomful of miniature humans didn’t eat glue or each other.
Surprising myself, I realized I could see the appeal.
There was something peaceful and comforting about the idea of knowing—every day—you made a difference in peoples’ lives, and that difference was net positive and lasting.
As the room erupted in the tiny applause of sticky hands, Mrs. Boone closed the book with a gentle thud and stood, clapping her own hands for order. “Okay, Busy Bees! Who’s ready for playground time?”
A cheer went up, and the stampede toward the coat cubbies began. Alaric leaned sideways so close that his arm pressed against mine. “I’m sorry to say this, but we’ll have to head out, too. We have a plane to catch.”
I was halfway through a squint of confusion when Mrs. Boone appeared at my side, her presence immediate and enveloping. “Katie will take over my spot for playground time so we can catch up a little.”
I stood. So did Alaric.
But before I could speak, she said, “I know you can’t stay long. How are you? How are things? Where are you living? Tell me everything!”
Mrs. Boone still held my hand in her soft grip and I managed, “I’m in Chicago these days. I work up there. It’s been, uh, good. Uneventful.” Then, desperate to redirect, I asked, “But how are you? How is your family?”
Mrs. Boone’s eyes sharpened, but she smiled wide enough to make the skin around them pleat. “Fine. If you don’t want to talk about yourself, that’s fine. I won’t push.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “Well, let’s see, what’s going on with me…”
I glanced to the side to where Alaric waited, hovering next to me. He wasn’t looking at us, but there was a tension in his stance that said he was listening to every word. My skin prickled.
“Oh. I know. Jacob is retiring! This is his last year.”
The name pinged in my memory. Jacob was her husband, a quiet, barrel-chested man who’d once taught me to tie a bowline knot during a field day activity. I’d never known what he did for a living, just that he wore Dickies work pants and had hands like sandpaper.
I said, “That’s great. Are you excited?”
She laughed, a little sheepish. “Oh yes. We’re going to use our summers to travel. He’s been working at Weston Chemical for twenty nine years and can get his pension next year, can you believe it? Twenty-nine years, but it feels like it was yesterday.”
There was a sharp spike of renewed dread in my chest. I felt Alaric’s gaze flick toward me, then away again.
Forcing a smile, I struggled to keep my tone light. “Your husband is retiring next year from Weston Chemical?”
Mrs. Boone’s face glowed. “Worked himself up to warehouse manager of chemical distribution.” She said this with unvarnished pride.
“I honestly don’t know what they’ll do without him, but all three of our kids are at Weston, too.
Recruited them right out of high school.
I’m so blessed to have everyone nearby.”
My stomach fell through the floor and kept falling.
My plan for the Weston Company included zeroing out the pension fund to pay off Duke’s debts, debts I’d acquired, leveraged, and planned to collect, fully aware of what would happen to the employees who’d worked there for decades.
It was legal; Duke had used the pension fund as collateral, and now I was holding the note.
But the reality of devastation—the actual human faces behind those numbers—had never once bothered me until now.
Throat working, I did manage to eventually croak, “All three of your kids work at Weston now? All three?”
She nodded, then dug in her back pocket for her phone. “Yes, but my youngest just had a baby and is on maternity leave. Let me show you a photo of my grandbaby.”
I tried to look at the photo—an absurdly cute infant with a tuft of brown hair—but the image wouldn’t stay in focus. The world had gone watery, the edges of everything oscillating. The only solid thing was Mrs. Boone’s hand, still holding mine, and Alaric’s silent, unblinking attention next to me.
Perhaps sensing my self-inflicted distress, Alaric stepped closer, slid his hand around my elbow in a way that was probably meant to be subtle but felt like a lifeline, and interrupted our conversation.
“I am so sorry to say this, but we have a plane to catch.”
Mrs. Boone’s face flickered with disappointment even as she nodded goodnaturedly. “Okay, okay. I understand.” Letting my hand go, she lifted a finger and pointed at both of us. “But you have to promise there will be a next time.”
“I promise,” I said, the words coming out low and thick but real.
Mrs. Boone reached forward and hugged me so hard I could feel her heart knocking against my ribs. I hugged back, hating the thought of her letting go, but also knowing with certainty she would never want to hug me at all if she knew what I had planned for Alenbach.
Alaric said a final goodbye. I followed him numbly out of the classroom. We made it to the double doors leading outside. The air was cold and stung my cheeks, but I didn’t mind.
I’d spent our silent walk down the hall running numbers in my head, calculating severance and health insurance buyouts and whether it was possible to keep the pension accounts secure and funded without taking a huge loss on the whole deal.
Alaric paused just outside the doors, then turned to face me. Absentmindedly, I glanced up and met his gaze.
When he said nothing, just looked, I crossed my arms and sighed.
“Go ahead. Say it. I know you’re thinking it.
I have to maintain the pension fund. Right?
But if I do, I might as well keep the business intact and try to salvage it.
The pension fund was the collateral that allowed me to make a profit. Without it, I’m sunk.”
Blue eyes calm and clear, he suddenly lifted one hand to my elbow and the other to my jaw, bent down, and kissed me on the opposite cheek.
It wasn’t quick.
At first, just an achingly soft brush of lips against skin, but then he pressed his mouth more firmly into my cheek, the scent of his aftershave mingling with the persistent smell of cinnamon and apple.
Removing his lips, his nose nuzzled my temple for two seconds before he finally leaned away, his eyes ensnaring mine as he straightened.
The shock of it all made me forget about the internal audit I’d been conducting and I stared at him, feeling unaccountably breathless, likely because my heart was now racing.
“What—” I licked my lips reflexively as my eyes dropped to his mouth. “What was that for?”
Saying nothing, he pointed upward. Frowning my confusion, I followed the direction of his finger.
A sprig of mistletoe dangled from a red ribbon, tied to the outdoor light. I’d missed it on our way in.
But then, it never would’ve occurred to me to look for it in the first place.