A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(8)
Brian's chin shot up. His eyes widened, and his lower lip quivered.
"Just for a week, but I want you to spend some time thinking about this."
Art's heart went out to the kid. Dwayne was an odious child who deserved whatever Brian had dished out, but this was the third time Brian had thrown the first punch. He needed to learn some self-discipline. If he didn't, Art might not be able to convince the board to extend his scholarship next year.
Besides, Dwayne was Donald Pratt's son and Donald had leverage. He was head of the committee tasked with hiring administrative staff including St. Barnabas' next principal. Art couldn't afford to tick him off.
At the end of the last school year, Steve Johnson, the prior principal, had been fired. There had been a sexting scandal involving the St. Barnabas football team and a cheerleader. The whole thing erupted when the cheerleader took a half bottle of her father's painkillers and wound up in the emergency room.
None of it was Steve's fault. He was a good guy, honest, hardworking. But families began pulling their children out of the school. The buck had to stop somewhere if the board was going to stem the financial tide. It stopped with Steve.
When Art had agreed to take on the interim principal position, he hadn't received a raise, only more responsibility, more hours, and the promise he'd be first in line for a job he wanted. He'd been working toward it for years. He started as a lower school English teacher, graduated to the high school, became the English Department Chair, and now the highest position in the school dangled in front of him, so close he could smell it.
Not only would the role change his financial status and relieve him of having to suck up to Donald Pratt it would enable him to do a lot of good for a lot of people. People like Brian McKibben and his single mother.
The agreement had been for six months and that time was almost up. His performance would be evaluated and he might, or might not depending on Donald’s recommendation, be offered a permanent position at the end of February, only three weeks away.
A few years ago, he and Gwen had discussed Art making a move into the public school system where salaries were higher and benefits better, but he wanted to climb the ladder where he was. Gwen had supported his decision.
Since they needed additional income, she’d gotten a job. When she’d started at Humboldt Realty, they'd both thought of it as a stopgap measure. Now the opportunity for her to scale back her career, or quit altogether, was right in front of them. Not only wasn't she excited about it, but she got belligerent whenever Art mentioned it.
Thankfully, Lorelei Tanaka, the school counselor, had stepped in and taken on many of the jobs Gwen should have shouldered. Lorelei showed up at PTA meetings, assemblies, and bake sales and waved the flag for Art. She was in his camp, a real advocate. But it would look better, strengthen his position, if his wife showed some enthusiasm.
The door closed behind the small fugitive, and Art looked at his watch. He was already late for the teacher's meeting. No time for lunch. He'd have to stop by the cafeteria and grab some peanut butter crackers from the vending machine, again.
Millie held something up for him as he hurried past her desk—a white bag perfumed with the sweet smell of Italian sausage. "You have to eat occasionally, or you won't have the strength to sign my paycheck."
"Thank you." Art smiled and patted her shoulder. Gwen might not give him the support he'd hoped for, but he always had Millie. And Lorelei.
Chapter Seven
He was a cretin. Gwen led Arnold and Etta Paul, in from Chicago, through the fifth and, thank God, final house of the day. She'd thought this would be an easy deal. They were motivated buyers—not much time and plenty of capital. But after spending two days with them, she wondered if she would ever be able to make him happy.
"What's this crack here?" Arnold bent over, held his bifocals away from his face and peered at a space between the wall and baseboard. Gwen looked to the ceiling for patience and, staying as far away from him as possible, moved over to inspect the spot. "That's where the molding attaches to the wall board."
"You could fit a small animal through that space." He straightened up to his full six feet, pushed his glasses onto his patrician nose and gazed at Gwen with disdain. "As you are a woman, I don't expect you to understand the basics of carpentry, but let me assure you this is sloppy work—extremely sloppy work."
"I can't imagine it would be very expensive to—" Gwen began.
"Maybe, maybe. But this could be the tip of the iceberg. If there's shoddy workmanship out here in the open where people can see it, just imagine what the foundation and studs look like."
In a timid voice, Etta interjected, "The neighborhood is nice, Arnie."
"How would you know?" Arnold glared at his diminutive wife.
Gwen thought Etta must have been pretty once. Her beauty was that of a brightly colored dress that had been through the wash one too many times. Everything about her was muted: her hair, her voice, her clothing, her personality. What Gwen found the saddest, however, were her eyes. They were the color of the ocean in the stretches of polluted beach near the Dana Point Harbor.
Etta twisted the fraying leather straps of her purse, "I mean it's pretty. The trees and..."
"Yes, well those trees would go up in flames right along with the house if the wiring is as poor as the finish work. No, no, this isn't for us." Arnold was sticking a credit card he'd pulled from his wallet under the wood around the doorframe. Whenever it slid in farther than a centimeter, he grunted in satisfaction.