15. Nate #2
“Hey, I’ve had plenty of dates. I just don’t do the legwork for them at the station.” He points at me as he says the last words.
And honestly, he’s not wrong.
But Rory finally agreed to go out with me. I don’t want to wait.
I can’t wait.
Plus, it’s not like I’m shirking on my actual work here. My paperwork is in order, the desk is clean, and there are no active calls at the moment. All that’s on the schedule is a visit to the elementary school with Ollie later today.
Conrad leans back in his chair and laces his fingers behind his head. “So what are your plans for winning back your woman? Dinner and a movie?”
I blow out a breath, wondering if he’s actually interested or just fishing for things he can use to razz me about later. His joking doesn’t bother me because it’s all in good fun, but I’m realizing I’m a little raw where Rory’s concerned.
“Options are pretty limited around here. I’m going with bowling and then dinner.” I wait for the laughter.
Conrad lifts an eyebrow, but then he nods, looking thoughtful. “That checks out. Bowling, you can talk but also have something to focus on other than the intense conversation I imagine you’re in for.”
While Conrad isn’t the audience I had in mind for vetting my date idea, his approval makes me feel more optimistic.
“That’s the plan,” I say.
I swing the police SUV into a parking spot in the teachers’ lot.
High Lonesome Elementary School actually houses kindergarten through seventh grade, so maybe Elementary is a stretch, but we don’t have enough population to warrant more than one school for the lower grades.
As it is, the school is regional, with students from HiLo as well as those from surrounding areas. When towns or villages don’t have the population to support a school system, they combine with larger towns.
In this case, believe it or not, High Lonesome is the larger town.
Ollie’s tail wags as I clip his leash in place and lead him from the car. He’s been a part of lots of these types of community outreach events, and he’s well-trained on how things go.
As much as he loves taking down bad guys, he loves seeing the kids even more.
I ring the buzzer at the main entrance. This should be fairly quick, with only a couple of presentations: the second and third graders first, followed by the younger kids.
Ollie, a seasoned veteran, sits nicely while we wait for the secretary to let us in.
The second and third graders sit respectfully through my little talk. Every one of them has heard it at least once, with the exception of Martin Vasquez, whose family moved to town over the summer.
I know this because he announced it to the assembled class, his hand still in the air as he spoke. He also let everyone know that his father is a pharmacist at the drug store, so they should go see him if they need some drugs.
I sense Martin will go far in life.
Unlike Martin and his friends, the kindergarteners and first graders are beside themselves with excitement. They wiggle in their seats on the carpet, as though the anticipation is too much to keep inside.
Stacey—Miss Hiller to them—introduces me, then stands off to the side while I start my usual introduction about who Ollie and I are and what police officers do.
Most of the kids manage to focus their attention, listening attentively, until I ask if anyone has questions.
“What does Ollie eat?” a boy in the front row asks, rubbing his nose.
“Dog food. Just like a regular dog.”
“Does he like peanut butter?” This question comes from a girl with her hair gathered in two dark braids, and it briefly takes me off guard.
Ollie does love peanut butter, in fact. More now than he used to, probably, since Rory fed it to him as much as she did.
I wonder if he misses it. Misses her.
I swallow against a lump that’s grown in my throat. If the thought of fucking peanut butter can move me practically to tears, there’s no hope at this point.
“Yeah. He does,” I confirm, nodding, once I gather myself. “It’s not good for him to have too much of it, though, so it’s only for treats.”
I point to another girl, this one with blonde curls, whose hand is raised.
“My dog likes peanut butter.”
I nod. “I bet he does. Any other questions?”
The same girl raises her hand again. “My dog is a she. Her name is Unicorn. So Daddy likes to say the house smells like Unicorn farts.”
Now multiple hands are in the hair, and most of their owners aren’t waiting to be called on, instead just shouting out their contributions.
“My dog likes to fart, too.”
“I have a stuffed unicorn.”
“My daddy farts all the time!”
“I just farted!”
“Officer Patterson is going to arrest you for farting!”
It comes out as Offither Patterthon ith going to arretht you for farting.
This is getting out of control.
“Whoa, whoa,” I say, trying to get them to settle.
Apparently, that’s too subtle for these little hooligans, who continue to share anecdotes about farting. Some fart noises, too.
Is this what I was like at this age? God help us all.
I raise my hand, attempting to get their attention again, but none of them seem to be even looking in my direction.
Accepting that I’m in over my head, I look over to Stacey for help.
She raises her shoulders with a smile, which I suspect means that this is normal for her class, but she finally claps her hands three times.
The kids fall silent immediately.
I blink at Stacey. That was freaking magical.
She nods, the gesture seeming to say get on with it so I can move on with my day.
“Okay.” I try to think of a way to redirect the conversation to something other than flatulence and potential jail time for tooting in class. “So. Does anyone want to see Ollie do something cool?”
They do, apparently, even more than they want to discuss farting.
All attention focuses on Ollie as he sits, then balances a treat on his nose. When I give the signal, he flips it into the air and catches it in his mouth.
It took a few weeks for him to learn that one, and it’s not like it’s particularly helpful in our police work, but it’s a big crowd-pleaser, at least for the kids.
Just as I’m about to run out of things to show them, a bell rings for lunchtime, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Saved by the bell.
The kids stand and move in one mass of tiny bodies to the door, where they sort themselves into two lines, like tiny soldiers reporting for duty.
The two teachers count their students, and Stacey’s coworker leads both lines out of the classroom.
Stacey tucks a hair behind her ear as she turns back to me, the two of us alone in the now-empty classroom. “Thanks, Nate. The kids always enjoy that.”
“Anytime.”
She grins. “Nice redirecting from the farting discussion, by the way.”
A laugh rumbles through me at the memory of the kid who proclaimed I was going to arretht someone for their toots.
“It’s always something, eh? Unicorn farts are a new one, though.”
“Yep. I’ve gotten to hear about Unicorn and her farts for a couple of months now. Welcome to the club.” She crosses to the desk and picks up a stack of papers. “When are you going out with Rory?”
“Thursday. Has she said anything about it to you?”
Yeah, I’m fishing here, and maybe a little desperate. But Stacey’s already seen me grovel. And I’m pretty sure the whole town is going to see a lot more groveling from me in the next few days.
Or weeks.
Or months.
However long it takes me to prove myself to her.
“She hasn’t said anything. But Nate?” She turns to me, holding the papers to her chest. “We’re all pulling for you. We want to see you guys happy together. But you’re the one who has to get her to realize you’re the one for her.”
The lump in my throat returns with a vengeance. “I’m going to do whatever it takes.”