Sometimes this job called for deciding what was best for students as a whole, implementing policies that would affect the nearly three hundred kids at Woodside, but other days, it was far more personal, trying to help each child one at a time. And, as exasperating as her parents could sometimes be, Shay loved them both and couldn’t imagine how difficult a time this was for the motherless first grader.
Though her door was open, Mark Hathaway rapped his fist against the doorjamb, looking tentative. “Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t interrupting a phone call or anything,” he said as he walked back into the office. Instead of regaining his seat, he stood behind the chair, shifting his weight.
“I asked Roberta to hold my calls until after we talked to Vicki. I figure she’ll be unnerved enough without having to sweat it out while I’m talking to someone else. Barring any sudden emergencies on campus, you two have my undivided attention.”
Frankly, Mark Hathaway probably had women’s undivided attention no matter where he went. Now that she’d been able to put a face with the name, it was a bit surprising that this man “never ever” went on dates. Was his daughter exaggerating? Or was he still in mourning for his late wife?
Shay cleared her throat. “Mr. Hathaway, I apologize if this is a difficult question, but do you mind if I ask when your wife passed? I’m just trying to get a handle on Vicki’s state of mind.”
His knuckles tightened on the back of the chair. “About two years ago. She—”
“Ms. Morgan?” The secretary’s voice crackled through the phone on Shay’s desk. “I’m sending back Vicki Hathaway now.”
“Thank you.” Shay stood and returned to the table by the door so that they could all sit together.
A little girl who looked absolutely nothing like Mark appeared in the doorway. Judging from their facial features, one wouldn’t even guess them related. Where his dark hair was silky, her ginger-colored hair was a profusion of curls. Shay’s hair had always been naturally straight, requiring determined use of a curling iron and lots of hair spray to achieve any kind of body. Vicki Hathaway was adorable and, Shay suspected, probably a miniature of Mark Hathaway’s late wife. Did it comfort him, seeing part of Mrs. Hathaway live on, or did looking at a version of her face make him miss her even more keenly?
Vicki’s chin was bravely raised even though her lower lip quivered and her brown eyes were huge with trepidation. “Hi, Daddy.”
Still standing, he turned to wrap an arm around his daughter’s slim shoulder. “Hi, Bug.”
“Would you like to sit down with us, Vicki?” Shay pointed to the empty seat between herself and Mark. “I’m Principal Morgan.”
Vicki nodded solemnly.
“Do you know why your dad and I want to talk to you?” Shay asked softly.
Vicki slouched down in the chair. “B-because of the letter that Bobby and I—I mean, the letter I sent?”
Mark exhaled with a huff. “We already know your cousin was your partner in crime. This was his idea, wasn’t it?”
“No.” Despite her trembling lip, Vicki’s expression was resolute when she swiveled her head to look at her father. “It was my idea to help you meet a nice lady. I had that idea even before Christmas. You’re too shy, Daddy. You need my help! You and Aunt Dee and Pasture Jack—”
“Pastor Jack,” her father corrected automatically.
“You all say we should help people, right?”
“Well, yes,” Mark conceded, “but we have to be careful how we do it.” He cast a beseeching glance in Shay’s direction. The expression in his gray eyes clearly read Help! which, she had to admit, was enormously gratifying. This parent had gone from questioning just what she knew about his daughter to seeking out her expertise.
She cleared her throat. “Vicki, do you remember when that policeman visited the school last week and talked to us about 9-1-1? He said it was important to know your phone number and address but that we don’t share that information with strangers.”
Vicki nodded. “Wanna hear my phone number?”
“Maybe another time. Right now, I need you to understand that email addresses are a little like phone numbers. People want their privacy. When they filled in their personal contact information for the PTA, we promised that they would only get emails with official PTA updates. You and your cousin didn’t have any right to use that mailing list. And I think you know that it was wrong to go behind your dad’s back like that. Don’t you?”
Vicki’s gaze fell momentarily to her lap, where she was wringing her hands. But she made one last attempt to plead her case. “Do you think little girls should have a mommy?” She raised her head, hitting Shay with the full force of those chocolate-brown eyes.
Shay had worked with children for enough years to understand that the smart ones started trying to manipulate adults from an early age—testing the grown-ups around them and testing boundaries. To some extent, she was being played. Still, even if they were being exaggerated for effect, the pain and frustration in Vicki’s small voice were real. Shay had the urge to scoop the girl into a hug.
But she hadn’t become principal by letting children wrap her around their little fingers—not even supercute, resourceful, motherless children. So she chose to answer Vicki’s question with one of her own. “Do you think your mommy would have wanted you to do things that upset your dad or other adults?”
“No, ma’am,” Vicki whispered.
“Can you promise me that nothing like this will happen again?” Shay asked gently.
“Yes. But someone has to do something,” she whined, foreshadowing what she was likely to sound like as a teenager.
“I know it’s difficult not having your mother around,” Shay said. “But you still have a dad who loves you very much.”
“Very,” Mark interjected, taking his daughter’s hand.
“And he wants to spend even more time with you.”
“He does?” Vicki whipped her head around, looking to her dad for confirmation.
The first grader seemed blatantly skeptical, which proved Shay’s earlier point. Part of this mom search probably stemmed from the little girl’s feeling neglected. If Mark made a concerted effort to be more involved in his daughter’s life, not only would it be good for her emotional well-being, it would save him a lot of trouble in the long run.
Shay nodded emphatically, addressing Vicki but shooting a pointed glance toward Mark. “Yep. He’s going to find some ways to help out at the school.”
“Just like Lorelai’s mom,” Vicki said excitedly.
Oh, let’s hope not. One Carolyn Moon was more than enough for any administrator.
Shay suppressed a grimace, instead offering a smile of encouragement. “Before I send you back to class, I need you to make us one more promise. You and your cousin used those email addresses without permission and what you did was a violation of privacy. I need you to write an apology.”
Vicki scrunched up her face. “I can’t spell violation!”
“I’ll help you, just like I help with your homework,” Mark said. He said it so quickly, with a sidelong glance at the principal, that Shay felt like he was trying to redeem himself. The subtext of his declaration seemed to be We read, we do math. See? I don’t suck as a father.
Shay experienced a twinge of guilt. Had she been too hard on him earlier? She shook off the thought, deciding not to second-guess herself. After all, her tough love approach had worked. She’d won a grudging concession from him to be more involved with his daughter and Vicki already looked delighted by that idea.
By the time they wrapped up their conference, Mark had promised