Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jif jumped as a crack of sound echoed through her classroom. Whirling, she pressed a hand to her chest to slow her galloping heart, eyes sliding over her students, frantically searching for the threat.
“Elias! Be more careful!” She gulped a breath, softening her voice to add, “Please, buddy.”
“Sorry!” Elias leaped out of his seat, collecting the heavy textbook from where it had fallen to the floor.
Jif forced herself to relax, then swung around to check her other kids.
Hannah’s eyes swam with tears, and she clutched her pencil in a white-knuckled grip.
Laila patted her shoulder while Shera leaned across their table island, comforting her.
In the reading nook, Jacob and Danny stared white-faced at Emma, huddled under a blanket.
“One, two, three, eyes on me!” Jif infused her voice with every ounce of excitement she could muster.
“One, two, eyes on you,” the kids responded, and even such a tiny sliver of normalcy brought the tension in the room down.
Jif waved them toward the reading rug. “Bring your quiet work, and we’ll do group read aloud today, okay?”
Her fingers danced over the books on the case, rejecting The Boxcar Children as too intense.
Winnie the Pooh would be sweet and innocuous, but the slow pace might not keep the kids engaged enough.
Finally, she settled on Paddington Bear.
Paddington’s silly antics would keep their attention while the story remained light and entertaining.
They needed something fluffy, a quiet moment to collect themselves and reset for the last hour of school.
They’d had Wednesday and Thursday off before returning to the classroom on Friday.
Several of the other teachers had heavy plastic duct-taped over their shattered windows until replacements were ordered and installed, and while grateful hers wasn’t one of the rooms impacted by the accident, that didn’t mean Jif’s kids were immune from the effects of those first few chaotic minutes, nor the hours of stress afterward.
On their first day back, and a Friday, she wasn’t surprised they were all a little on edge.
Herself included.
Objectively, time didn’t change how it passed, but this day had lasted an age.
The kids were by turns antsy, jumpy, and noisy, then silent and white-faced.
Her own inability to control her emotions didn’t help.
She’d snapped at Hannah earlier, precipitating another round of tears, and Danny had shut down completely when she’d been a bit too harsh, reminding him about quiet working time.
Paddington found himself deep in yet another spot of trouble before she glanced over the edge of the book.
Shera nudged Hannah with her elbow and showed off her picture of the bear in his iconic duffel coat and red hat. Blue scribbles must be water, though Jif couldn’t tell if he was submerged or surrounded by fountains of it.
Hannah grinned and showed her art back.
Shera giggled, but before it could escalate, Jif cleared her throat gently.
Both girls froze, then bent their heads over their pages and went back to coloring. Jif frowned, voice on autopilot as she read. Had she been too harsh again? Were they worried because she’d been ill-tempered all day? She hated the idea of her students walking on eggshells because of her.
Deciding to toss her lesson plan for the rest of the day, she finished the chapter, then adjusted the afternoon to be as low-stress as possible for them and for herself. As soon as they left for the bus lines, she picked up her phone and texted her friend, Abby.
I need a favor
She waited while a little bubble appeared.
Where are we burying the body?
Abby always used proper grammar, even though it took longer.
No body fortunately
A moment later, her phone buzzed.
Very few people called Jif. Despite being born on the cusp of two generations, she considered herself Gen Z to the core, relying on text for most of her communication.
The first exception, Colton, insisted on calling because his phone had been hacked a couple years ago, leaking his definitely NSFW pictures.
Getting front row seats to the one and only time her mother had lost it at her older brother almost made his humiliation worthwhile.
Abby, on the other hand, called because conversation and connection were more relational.
She held her own in the group text, but for the important stuff, you could always count on her even voice reassuring you everything would be okay.
Jif could use some of that today, so when her friend’s face lit up the screen, she swiped to answer.
“Hey, Abby, how’s it going?” Jif tucked the phone into her shoulder as she straightened the papers in the pass-in basket. She’d have to grade them tonight, but at least it would go quickly.
“We’re fine. Dylan’s orchestra has a recital on Sunday, so Scott’s at dress rehearsal with him this afternoon. Raptor and I have another hour here at the hospital before we head home.” She paused, then continued, “I heard about the accident at the school. How are you?”
“Me? I’m fine.” She’d been saying it for three days. Eventually, it might be true.
“Really? Because it sounded like a pretty terrifying experience.”
Jif’s eyes burned as they flooded with tears.
Of course, Abby, with her years of therapy, her shiny new psychology degree, and her therapy dog business, would have exactly the right words.
“I don’t know, actually.” She sniffed. “I thought I was fine, but today has been rough.”
Abby hummed. “It’s your first day back, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not surprised everyone is struggling. Stability is important, and you haven’t had any this week.”
“I guess. The kids are all on edge, and I keep snapping at them, even though I don’t mean to. I thought, maybe if you came to visit, we’d all feel a little better.”
“Hmm.” Jif pictured Abby tapping her finger against her lip the way she always did when carefully considering something. “I don’t have a school outreach program. I hadn’t thought of doing one.”
“Not anything official,” she blurted out. “But maybe as a friend?”
“I would, Jif, but I’m booked up with all three of mine through the end of the month.”
Abby had her older, original therapy dog, Gen, plus two younger dogs. Raptor, named for the football team for whom her husband, Scott, played quarterback, and Rêve, who technically belonged to her stepson, Dylan, but Abby worked with her the majority of the time while Dylan went to high school.
“Suri and Jess are booked out a couple weeks, too. We can barely keep up with the requests lately. And Willow finally got a second job. Never mind the college demanding an initial class list for the new certificate program...”
“How’s that going? Did you finally choose a department?”
“Animal Science and Psych still refuse to share it between them, so I have a meeting with the provost next week to find a solution,” Abby replied, a hint of desperation in her tone.
Abby had pitched the idea of a therapy dog certificate to a half-dozen schools over the last year, but only one had shown any interest. Since then, they’d done nothing but wrangle about the overseeing department, the course load, and the individual classes.
Abby really wanted a joint program, insisting the handlers needed Psych classes to support clients, but also dog training and behavior classes to ensure the highest caliber of canine partners.
“Not that I get a say, but I agree with you,” Jif declared.
Solid, steady Abby usually reassured everyone else; she rarely asked for reassurance in return.
A short huff came through the phone, then Abby spoke again, notably calmer. “Thank you. I wish I had the bandwidth to help.”
Jif’s shoulders drooped. “No, I get it. I thought I’d ask.”
“I’m sorry. We’re home this weekend, though, aside from Dylan’s concert, if you want to come by for some therapeutic cuddles.”
“I would, but I’m going to the gala tomorrow night. Maybe Sunday?”
“Oh, I forgot! We’ll be there, too. I wish I could bring one of the pups with me, but since they’re therapy dogs...”
“They don’t have access, I know.”
“Exactly.” Abby made sure all her friends understood service dog laws and wouldn’t let a single one of them bend even the smallest rule when it came to protecting their rights.
“But they’ll be at Scott’s event next month, right? You got permission?”
“You bet we did! Can’t have a fundraiser without the guests of honor.”
“I’ll make sure to wear something black so the fur doesn’t show.” Jif ran through her options in her head.
“Rêve will save an extra cuddle for you.”
“Not a chance, girl. I can’t match black and yellow fur, so I’ll have to take my chances with the more prevalent color.”
“Bailey and Jorge are both lighter. And Phoenix is...” She trailed off.
Jif grinned. Scott had retrofitted his three-car garage into a kennel for Abby, and now her therapy dog business had expanded to almost a dozen dogs serving in hospitals and care facilities, police, fire, and dispatcher stations, and they’d even done some emergency response after several hurricanes had whipped through the Carolinas last fall.
“No, Raptor. Off. Sorry, he’s doing this jumping thing when he’s supposed to be lying down. I should go; I think he’s bored. Males.” Abby huffed. “Never again. Even neutered, they have big opinions.”
“As if Gen doesn’t have opinions of her own,” Jif teased.
“Well, she is the queen, isn’t she?” Abby paused. “I might have an idea. If I can figure it out, I’ll shoot you a text in a couple days, okay?”
“Really? I’d owe you forever, Abby!”
“You don’t owe me anything, yet. Let me see what I can do. Yeah, yeah, we’re going, boy. Sorry, Jif, I have to run.”