“Mooooo!” replied nine five-year-olds.
“And what does the lamb say?”
“Baaaaa!”
“And what do we say when someone gives us a present?”
“Thank you!”
“Very nice, boys and girls.” She smiled, then sneaked a glance at the big clock over the chalkboard. Thirty minutes to go. Thank goodness.
Normally, her days went by too fast, but today had inched along at a snail’s pace. Teddy had waited too long to visit the rest room, Vicky had eaten two crayons and Max had let the class hamster out of its cage, which led to unbridled hysteria and a chase that lasted all through nap time.
“Okay, kids. Cleanup time!”
The children got up off the big mat in the middle of the classroom and headed in nine directions. A few of them—Zeke, Molly and Eli—actually picked up toys and put them on the shelves at the back of the room. But Jody and Luke decided to fight over a stuffed panda bear, so Gillian had to break that up. After quite a few tears and sniffles, she got them to shake hands and say they were sorry. Then, just as Gillian bent to pick up the prized panda, Sandy Goodwin tripped and spilled the entire tray of watercolor paints down Gillian’s back. She screeched and stood up so fast that she knocked the tray out of Sandy’s hand. It went flying, spraying the remains of the paint all over the front of her dress.
Sandy burst into tears. Gillian wanted to do the same, but instead, she gamely smiled, grabbed a roll of paper towels and started drying herself off. “It’s okay, honey,” she said. “Accidents happen.”
“But I didn’t mean to!” Sandy said between hiccups.
“I know. It’s okay. Now you just go get your lunch box. Your brother will be here in twenty minutes to walk you home.”
Sandy wiped her nose with the back of her arm, then slouched toward the coatroom.
“Ewww. What’s that on your hair?”
Gillian turned to see Eli looking at her, horrified at her disheveled appearance. Eli had a thing about messes. He didn’t like them. Except for his room, of course. That was ground zero. “You stay here,” she said. As she continued to wipe the paint off her clothing, she tapped on the window that separated her classroom from the one next door. Janice Epps, the second-grade teacher, was writing on the blackboard. Gillian tapped again. Finally, Janice heard her and came to the small window as Gillian pushed it open.
“What happened?” she asked, looking Gillian over.
“Kindergarten.”
Janice nodded.
“Can you help?”
Janice nodded again. “Give me ten minutes to finish up here. Then I’ll make sure your kids are taken care of.”
“You’re a peach.”
“You’re a mess.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” Janice smiled, then went back to her class.
Gillian turned slowly and looked at her charges. The kids were busy, not necessarily doing what they were supposed to, but that wasn’t unusual. The attention span of a five-year-old is about the length of a Dr. Seuss story—a short one. It was a time of exploration and wonder, of testing and reaching. And tripping and falling. She took her responsibility seriously. She wasn’t just a babysitter. She was helping to mold lives, to build strong foundations in those little bodies. Only sometimes, such as when wet paint dripped down the small of her back, she wondered if she hadn’t taken the easy way out. What if she had stayed in California? What if…? Oh, what if she’d been daring, bold, instead of the scared little rabbit she’d become?
At least she was with Eli all day, but that was only for a few more months. Next term, he’d be with another teacher. The first of a hundred steps away that he’d take on his journey toward adulthood.
She heard a sharp cry and saw Teddy pulling Jody’s hair. Her reverie ended as she went to soothe their feelings.
THE LIBRARY WAS LARGE for a town as small as Miller’s Landing. It smelled like libraries all over the country, slightly musty, but clean, too, with a hint of lemon. Conner had spent so much of his life in libraries that even in this burg from hell, he felt welcome here.
He walked past the circulation desk toward the adult section on the right. New hardback books with shiny covers were displayed on two racks, then he came to the stacks. He let his hand brush the books as he wandered. After that he found a lounge area with comfortable chairs, good lighting, long tables in the middle, and in the back, desks for students. A group had gathered around one of the long tables. He stayed where he was, almost hidden, as he tried to figure out which of the women was Gillian Bates.
He recognized several people from the street or courtroom, so they were eliminated right off. His gaze fell on a woman with red hair. It was long and a little straggly. She was older than him by at least ten years, and her glasses were so thick her eyes seemed too large for her face. But, he supposed, she seemed pleasant enough.
Next to her was another woman he’d never seen before. Blond, pale, on the large side, she had her knitting on the table, and he watched her fingers move in a rhythmic whirl as she transformed the turquoise wool into something he couldn’t make out. She laughed, raising her head, and he liked the sound of it.
The rest of the strangers were men, so it was either the redhead or the blonde. He wasn’t particular. Neither of them was half as bad as he’d expected. But he didn’t make his move yet.
The book of the day appeared to be Smilla’s Sense of Snow by Hoeg. Hmm. He’d read that a few years ago when it had been on the bestseller lists. He’d liked it a lot although he didn’t remember all the details. But it was something. A common ground he could begin with. He said a silent thanks to the Book-Of-The-Month Club, then got ready to face the music.
He approached the long table in a circuitous route, passing Fiction G–J on his right and a magazine display rack on his left. Just as he was about to leave his cover, he heard the blonde say, “Did any of you get a good look?”
“I did.” The woman he recognized from that very first doorway leaned in, putting both elbows on the table. “He’s a looker, that’s for sure. Dark hair, wide shoulders. A good mouth, too. Strong teeth. And a doctor to boot.”
“But what about the rest of him?” the blonde asked.
“If you’re talking about his hind end, Shirley, that was mighty fine, too.”
Conner blushed. He knew they were talking about him, and it made him damned uncomfortable. It could have been worse, he supposed. The woman could have said he was as ugly as sin with the hind end of a donkey. Even so, he felt embarrassed. He usually didn’t mind being the center of attention, but this…this was so peculiar he didn’t know what to make of it. Well, at least he knew who Gillian Bates was.
His gaze went back to the redhead. She was fishing for something in her purse, which was remarkably large. After a moment, she pulled out a magazine. Cat Fancy. That was okay. He liked cats. No allergies.
Her hand went back into the bag and this time she brought out a little blue bottle. He’d seen one like it before. It was a marker, the kind used at bingo games. Still, no problem. Bingo was fine by him. It was probably real popular in this neck of the woods.
On the third foray, she brought out something small—a book of matches. Fascinated, he watched as she flipped it open, brought it to her mouth and started cleaning her teeth.
He winced. It wasn’t a pleasant sight although no one else at the table seemed to mind. And it really wasn’t a big deal. So she had a quirk. It wasn’t as if he had to marry her or anything. Just a couple of dates, which he’d end early, and then that was that. He’d go on his merry way and then sue the pants off Judge Larson. That made him feel better.