Bayou Born(31)

She winced. Bill yelled loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

“Are you a painter or a peeping Tom? I’m in a hurry. Can’t you start painting in the front of the house?” Precious minutes ticked by. She had to hurry or she’d arrive late for class.

“Would love to, but your import is in the way. Don’t think you want the metallic blue dotted with white house paint.”

“Please, just go wait in the drive. I’ll be about fifteen minutes.”

She snapped the shutters closed and finished drying off. Her clothes, draped over the chair last night, a habit she perfected so she never had to think about what to wear before her first cup of coffee, made dressing easy. This morning she prized her organizational skills and reached for her skirt and top.

Blow-drying was quick work with short hair. She finished with a paddle brush, then stood over her antique vanity, a gift from her Covington grandparents, to apply makeup, which timing herself, she managed in under two short minutes. Finishing with a soft peachy lip-gloss, she ran to the bathroom to wash foundation her fingers. She’d never gotten the knack of using a makeup sponge. When she grabbed the cold-water tap and twisted, the faucet came off her in hand. Water sprayed a steady stream, down her turquois blouse and brown skirt. The water gushed. She froze and stared.

Her reflection in the mirror showed disaster.

Makeup ruined.

Hair wet.

Clothes needed changing.

Panicked, she bent to look under the sink. Found the shut-off valves, cranked them both until the water cut off.

Ding-Dong. The doorbell rang.

Her cell phone chimed again.

“Crap!”

She raced to the front door. “I told you that I’d be fifteen minutes. Can’t you keep your pants on?” she shouted, pulling open the front door. Her next-door neighbor, the elderly and very proper Mrs. Campbell, stared back.

“Oh, gosh. I’m sorry Mrs. Campbell. I’m running late for work. How may I help you?”

“I just wanted to be sure this man wasn’t trying to break in. I already called the police.”

“The police?”

Branna opened the door wider, stepped out onto the porch next to Mrs. Campbell, and waved Bill over.

“Mrs. Campbell, this is Bill, my painter. If the police come, please tell them it’s a case of mistaken identity. He’s legit. Now, I’ve got to change for work.” She closed the door on the pair and headed for her bedroom. Her darn cell phone started chiming again. She shoved it into her purse. Whoever called could wait.

After handling details with Bill and finally dressed for work, she took a deep breath and turned the key in the ignition. Her old Volvo started with a purr. She put the car in reverse and backed down the drive. If she hurried, she might just make it on time. If nothing else, the adrenaline running in her veins would push the car to the college. Tardiness was an embarrassment she wanted to avoid. Especially on the second day of school. She was probably more anxious than her students about the semester.

The bright morning sun shone in her eyes as she drove due east. She flipped the visor down and turned the radio to classical music, something to settle her racing pulse. Checking the speedometer, she slowed. A speeding ticket would definitely make her later. As a distraction from the 35 mph speed limit, she checked her cell phone log.

Steven. Steven. Steven.

Couldn’t he take no for an answer? She had bigger issues to deal with than his ego, like finding a plumber. She’d ask Sadie or James or maybe Vivian for a recommendation. If luck smiled on her, though after the morning she’d had she wondered if luck had left her high and dry—more like low and wet—the plumber could meet her at the house at lunchtime.

Once on campus, she turned into the closest commuter parking lot and found the first empty space. As faculty, she had a reserved spot in a designated lot, but that was on the other side of campus. Not enough time to drive there and hoof it to her class on time. She parked, then sprinted across the street, by-passed her office, and made a beeline for her classroom. The clack-clack from her heels ricocheted in the mostly empty hall, which required careful navigation to avoid falling on the newly polished floor. Pausing outside the classroom, she took a moment to catch her breath. When she had changed from a skirt to pants, they called for much higher heels. That made staying upright and movement beyond a turtle’s pace difficult.

“Good morning class.” She breezed in across the threshold. “Let’s get started.”

The students’ chatter continued. A female student from the first row jumped up and grabbed something from the back of a seat. She met Branna at her desk as she pulled the roll call list from her binder. The student hovered close. So close that Branna could smell the lilac soap and mint mouthwash on the younger woman.

“Miss Lind. I don’t want to embarrass you, but please take my hoodie.” The girl’s face reddened.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m Crystal Cabot, Miss Lind.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m perfectly fine. It’s not cold in here.” She started to move around Crystal to the front of the desk, but Crystal grabbed her arm. Behind her, the students were quieting. Someone snickered, which caused the hair on the back of Branna’s neck to rise.

“Miss Cabot, is there a problem?” she asked warily.

“It’s not me Miss Lind. It’s you.” The girl raised her hand close to her chest, wiggled her fingers and pointed discreetly to the front of Branna’s pink blouse.

Branna looked down and gasped. Dampness had seeped from her bra on to her shirt and made two prominent darkened spots. Shaken, she grabbed the hoodie from Crystal.

“Thank you.” She pushed her arms through the sleeves and zipped up the jacket. And she’d thought being late would be her worst embarrassment of the day. Luck had abandoned her without so much as a backward glance. Thank goodness the damp shirt scene happened here rather than Bayou Petite, otherwise, it was one more thing she’d never live down at home.

Crystal smiled and nodded, then took her seat. Branna hoped no one else had noticed. An older male student winked at her when she leaned against her desk. To hide the rising heat in her cheeks, she held the student list in front of her.

“Please answer when I call your name.” Professionalism dictated that she ignore her own embarrassing discomfort and teach.

The time couldn’t pass fast enough for her. In the final minute before class ended, the older male student raised his hand.

“Miss Lind?”

“Mr…?” She scanned the seating chart. “Mr. Ashford. Yes?”

“Are we going to discuss non-verbal communication?”

Was she walking into a trap? Was he somehow baiting her? “It’s covered in the syllabus, Mr. Ashford.”

“I know.” The man grinned. “I just thought maybe you were trying to get to the topic sooner. You’ve provided a good example today all through class.”

There were several snickers.

“Class dismissed.”

She left the room ahead of her students. When she reached the English department’s office, she pushed open the door and stopped. Sadie sat at her desk with her fingers flying over a keyboard as though an accomplished pianist. She sported a new short haircut that looked all too familiar. However, it made Sadie’s face look much rounder.

Flattered, Branna grinned. “Good morning, Sadie. I need advice.” She headed for her office with the key in hand.

Sadie jumped up and followed. “How can I help?”

“By the way, like you’re new haircut. I need the name and number of a plumber. I have a situation with my bathroom that needs immediate attention. You know everyone in town.”

“Well, there’s good. There’s fast. There’s good and fast. Which do you need?”

“Good to know there are three plumber options. I need the one who’s going to be at my house at twelve fifteen so I can let him in, trust him alone inside, and fix my bathroom faucet without breaking anything. Oh, and do it for a reasonable price.”

Sadie looked up at the ceiling, puffed out her cheeks, and tapped her index finger against her pursed lips. Branna squelched a giggle. Sadie looked like a middle-aged chipmunk with a bowling-ball haircut.

“Lester Sullivan.”

“Lester Sullivan it is. I’ll take whomever you recommend. I trust you. Please give me his number, and I’ll call him now.”

“Well, since it’s a bit of an emergency, I’ll call him for you. That way he’s sure to show. He’s my brother-in-law. You can trust him. I promise.”

“Thanks for handling that for me. It is above the call of duty. I’ve another class next period, but I’ll be there by twelve fifteen. Let me make it up to you, I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow.”

“No lunch. This is the least I can do after our misunderstanding. You know. About your engagement.”