10. Eleanor
Eleanor
The air is cool when I step onto the beach with Skye that evening. I’d love to have my own dog, but I work too much, and I’m grateful to Hettie for letting me borrow her pup when I need the company.
As always, Skye pulls at her leash until I release her, and toss a tennis ball along the sand with a laugh. I watch her long, black and white fur ruffle in the breeze as she chases the ball, then returns it to me to throw again.
I needed this after today.
Presenting my Safe Harbor idea to Headmaster Wright went exactly as I’d expected. He barely glanced at my proposal before throwing it aside. Sure, he said he would talk to Danny, but I know what he really thought.
That the idea is silly. That I’m silly.
I kick my toes through the sand, breathing in the moist, salty air. Pink and coral hues stretch across the sky, clouds streaking the horizon like brush strokes. The sound of waves hitting the shore is a balm to my soul, and as I throw the ball again for Skye, I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter.
But his opinion matters more than I care to admit. Not only because I’ve developed an inappropriate crush on the man, but because I want my contributions to be taken seriously. I want to be taken seriously.
I wander closer to the surf, letting the cool water wash over my bare feet. I’m miles from the city, from my family, but the moment plays through my mind all the same. I’m there, at my parents’ dining room table, reliving the evening…
My heart battered my ribs as I worked up the courage to tell my parents the truth. That I wasn’t happy studying pre-law, that I had no desire to become a lawyer like them and my two older brothers.
Taking a deep breath, I finally said it: “I’ve decided… I’m leaving pre-law to pursue teaching.”
Honestly, with the shock on their faces, you’d think I’d announced I was going to live under a bridge.
Mom and Dad exchanged nervous glances, then Dad finally laughed.
He laughed.
“Good one, Eleanor. Very funny.”
Mom breathed out in relief, and they all returned to their meals. The clinking of silverware on plates was too much to bear.
“I’m serious,” I said, my voice unsteady. This time when my father met my eye, the amusement was gone.
“Not on our dime, you’re not.”
I swallowed, expecting this, but it still stung.
“I understand, and will take out a student loan.”
“But…” Mom shook her head, mystified. “Why?”
“Because I want to do something truly meaningful. Something that makes a difference. Not to one person, but to many. To society.”
My brother Chad snorted on a mouthful of green beans. “How is being a glorified babysitter going to help society?”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Dad cut me off.
“He’s right, Eleanor. Teaching might make a nice hobby, but it’s not a real career.”
I poked at the chicken on my plate, ignoring the tightness in my throat. If I cried, that would only confirm what they already thought. That I was a joke.
Mom gave a weighted, sad sigh. “We had such high hopes for you.”
“But this is a chance for me to help future generations—”
Dad scoffed. “You’re being idealistic and soft. That’s not how the world works.”
“Dad’s right,” my other brother, Tom, said. “Spending your days coloring and running story time isn’t going to change the world.”
“And the money,” Dad said. “You’ll get by for a while, sure, but how will you support yourself long-term? It’s ridiculous, Eleanor.”
And that was it.
I’d stared at my plate, eyes stinging. I’d known from the start they wouldn’t be supportive—that’s why it took two years for me to admit the truth—but I hadn’t expected them to laugh.
When the conversation moved on to Tom’s latest case at work, I knew that was it. If I wanted this life, I’d have to build it without them.
So I did.
Now, I only speak to my family on holidays and birthdays. As much as I wish I had their support, getting distance from them was the right move.
Not only from them, but from the city. I watch Skye splash in the shallows chasing a fish, thinking about my first job at an inner-city elementary school in Brownsville, Brooklyn.
It was unbearably tough, and when the burnout crept in after two years, I applied to Wetherly Prep on a whim.
What a dream, I thought. To live by the beach.
To teach smaller classes. To finally have access to resources.
A chance to breathe. A chance to make a difference.
I hadn’t counted on the headmaster standing in my way at every turn. Hadn’t expected a frustratingly handsome, maddeningly aloof man who would look down at me with the same condescension my parents once did.
With a weary sigh, I call Skye over, turning back toward the house. I need a long bath, a good movie, and a glass of wine.
A meeting. He’s called me in for another meeting after school today. Well, Margaret called the meeting, but she wouldn’t have done so without his approval.
Part of me thinks, what’s the point? If every idea I have is going to be ignored, am I really contributing anything positive?
I guess I can tell him I spoke with the local businesses over the weekend like he asked me to, because I was too nervous about my proposal to mention that yesterday.
But given their reticence, that hardly seems like something that will make him happy.
The day drags on for hours. I waffle between telling him I can’t make it, leaving him to deal with the fundraiser on his own, and showing up anyway.
It’s silly because I know I’m going to go.
Regardless of how frustrated I am, how much I wish he’d let me contribute more, I know I’d never cancel a meeting with the headmaster. He’s my boss, for God’s sake.
But it’s nice to pretend, for a few moments at least, that I have the power to do so.
He’s not in the upstairs conference room when I arrive at four, so I sit and wait. After a few moments, Margaret pops her head in.
“Mr. Wright would like to see you in his office, please.”
I nod, smiling tightly, and follow her across the hall. I know what this means. He’s giving me privacy to tell me my proposal sucked, or he’s outright letting me go from the fundraiser.
The realization lands heavy in my chest as I enter the headmaster’s office.
He’s at his desk, a huge, over-sized piece of wooden furniture, and I can’t stop my gaze from moving to the rest of the room.
Leather chairs sit by a low table and a large unlit stone fireplace, books line heavy wooden shelves, and a brass telescope stands in front of the window.
There’s a turntable on a sideboard with a stack of vinyl records, which takes me by surprise.
He doesn’t strike me as the type to do anything other than work in here.
“Miss Hart,” he says, as Margaret closes the door behind me. He motions to the chairs across from his desk. “Have a seat.”
I perch on a wooden chair, back rigid with tension. It’s embarrassing, if I’m honest. To have another person tell me I’m not good enough—and my boss, no less. The person I’ve tried so hard to impress.
His eyes meet mine across the desk, lingering on my face. Deep blue, inquiring wordlessly, as unreadable as always. Handsome, as always.
“We’re moving forward with Safe Harbor,” he says at last.
I freeze. I must have misheard that.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“We’re going to use your proposal.” His voice is steady, a little softer than usual. I wait for him to continue, maybe add “However…” but nothing more comes. He simply looks at me patiently.
“Really?”
“Really. It’s good.”
My heart jumps, sending my pulse scattering. He said it’s good. He actually said it’s good.
“You’re serious?” I ask, breathless, still waiting for the catch.
But he doesn’t roll his eyes or sigh. Doesn’t get impatient. Instead, what appears to be a tiny smile plays at the corner of his mouth.
“Yes.” He catches himself, looking down to loosen his tie briefly, then straighten it, tighter this time. When he glances up, his expression is all business again. “We’ll pitch it as a pilot for now, and I still have to get board approval, but yes. I’m backing it.”
He’s backing it. He’s backing me. No one’s ever done that before.
A grin breaks across my face before I can stop it, wide and unguarded. Something flickers in his eyes when he sees. Like maybe he’s glad to be supporting me, rather than shooting me down.
Like maybe there’s more to this than simply Safe Harbor.
I look at my hands, dismissing the outlandish thought immediately. I’m too excited about my idea being accepted, that’s all, and he’s no doubt relieved it’s one thing off his plate.
He clears his throat, hesitating, before pushing to his feet as he speaks. “I hope you realize this is when the actual work starts.”
“I do,” I say quickly.
“We still have to organize the fundraiser itself and get the rest of the faculty on board with Safe Harbor. That will take long hours. Late nights working together…” he trails off.
“I know.”
I glance at him as he paces behind his desk, dragging a hand through his hair, body tense.
I was sure I almost saw a smile from him before, but I must have imagined it.
He’s so uptight all the time. So serious about everything.
Even his clothes; the three-piece suit, buttoned up tight, the tie choking his neck.
Everything about him emphasizes control and restraint.
I wonder what he looks like when he finally lets go?
His gaze collides with mine from where he stands, stern and unyielding, and for a moment I think he knows what I’ve been thinking.
He settles back at his desk with a frown, and I straighten in my seat.
If I want to work with him on this project, if I want to be taken seriously and treated like a professional, I need to behave like one.
“Shall we get to work?” I ask, pulling my binder from my tote. I scan his desk, cluttered with his computer, notes, his brass nameplate, and an empty coffee cup. “Should we go back to the conference room?”
He sighs. “Probably.”
“Or…” I glance at the fireplace with the cushy leather chairs and low coffee table in front of it. The perfect place to spread our work out, without the harsh fluorescent lighting or the uncomfortable chairs of the conference room. “We could work here?”
He eyes me carefully, as if debating something, then nods, sliding on his glasses, picking up his laptop and folder. I stare for just a beat too long as he crosses to the chairs.
Honestly. Those glasses.
When he glances back at me in question, heat singes my cheeks, and I scramble across to one of the chairs.
Focus, Eleanor. For God’s sake.
“I appreciate you taking a chance on my idea, sir,” I say, voice formal as I open my binder. “Thank you.”
His gaze comes back to mine, expression softening slightly.
“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, before glancing at his laptop.
We’re sitting so much closer than we usually do in the conference room, and I get a hit of his cologne, crisp and clean with the faintest trace of sandalwood.
There’s something deeply masculine about it, enough to leave my mouth dry and my thoughts scattered.
I swallow, leaning away. “It means a lot to me,” I add, forcing myself to stay on task.
His typing slows as he asks, “Why?”
I hesitate, not sure what he’s asking.
“Why does this matter so much to you?”
Oh.
“I guess… because I know what it feels like to have no one on your side.”
He glances up, leaning back and sliding off his glasses as he listens. His attention is unexpectedly sincere, and I continue.
“When I left pre-law, my family didn’t exactly throw a party. They laughed. Literally laughed. Like the idea of me teaching kids was hilarious.”
He frowns at that, a deep groove etching into his forehead.
“I think about the kids who feel like they don’t fit in,” I continue, gathering momentum now.
“Or the ones who struggle and no one notices because they seem to be doing fine on the outside. I know what that feels like. When people look right through you, or worse, laugh because they’ve already decided you’re not worth taking seriously.
Safe Harbor is for them. For the kids no one believes in. ”
He gazes at me, expression more open, less guarded, than I’ve ever seen it. As if something in my words has gotten through to him.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence hums between us, not tense, but full with something that feels a lot like understanding.
Finally, he gives a slow, thoughtful nod. “That’s an excellent answer, Eleanor,” he says quietly.
My breath hitches. It’s the first time he’s called me Eleanor, and that tiny shift feels as though it carries a lot of weight. I look down, suddenly self-conscious, wondering if I shared too much.
Or maybe it was just the right amount.
“Anyway.” I issue an awkward laugh, flipping open the binder. “That’s if the board approves it.”
He’s quiet for a beat. When he finally speaks, I’m not prepared for what he says.
“They will. I’ll make sure of it.”