Too Good to Be True(90)

“One does,” she murmured. “The search committee meets Thursday, you know.”

“I heard they already made their decision,” came a rusty voice. “Good morning, ladies.”

“Good morning, Dr. Eckhart,” I said.

“Hello, there,” whispered Ava.

“A word, please, Ms. Emerson?” he croaked.

“Ta-ta,” Ava said, then swung off down the hall, her lush bottom straining the seams of her skirt.

“Have you heard?” I asked as Dr. Eckhart came into my office.

“Yes, I’ve heard, Grace. I’m here to reassure you.” He broke off into a coughing fit, sounding, as he usually did, as if he were trying to expel a small child from his lungs. When he caught his breath, he smiled with watery eyes.

“Grace, many of our own board members have had a brush with the law, especially concerning matters of creative financing. Try not to worry.”

I gave the old man a halfhearted smile. “Thanks. Have they really reached a decision?”

“From what I’ve heard, they’re finalizing the package this afternoon, but yes, I was told they agreed on someone last week. I recommended you, my dear.”

My throat tightened. “Thank you, sir. That means more to me than I can say.”

The chimes rang for first period. Dr. E. shuffled off to Medieval History with his sophomores, and I went down the hall to my seniors. Two more Civil War classes with them, then they’d be out in the world. Many of them, I’d never see again.

I pushed open the door and went in, my arrival unnoticed by my students. Hunter IV lounged in front of Kerry Blake, who was wearing a cropped, low-cut shirt that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a prostitute, but which probably cost a week of my salary. Four students were checking their BlackBerry, despite the rules against having them in class. Molly, Mallory, Madison and Meggie were trying to out-impress each other with their summer plans—one was going to Paris to intern at Chanel, another would be mountain climbing in Nepal, one had plans to white-water raft on the Colorado, and one would be, in her words, committing slow suicide by spending the summer with her family. Emma sat staring at Tommy Michener, who was dozing with his head on the desk.

Maybe I wasn’t as good a teacher as I thought. For all my best intentions, had I really taught these kids what I wanted them to learn? Would they ever understand how important it was to know our past? And add to that the fact that I’d just killed my chances of becoming chairman, and I felt something inside me snap.

“Good morning, princes and princesses!” I barked, earning a gratifying jump from many of them. “This weekend, my lovely children, is the reenactment of the Battle of Gettysburg.” Groans. Eye rolling. “You are required to attend. Failure to do so will result in an F in class participation, which, as I’m sure you remember, is worth one third of your grade, and even though you’ve all gotten into college, I do believe you’re supposed to maintain a healthy grade point average. Am I right? I am. Meet me in front of the building Saturday morning, 9:00 a.m.”

Their mouths hung open with horror, and for a second, they were unable to find their voices. And then came the chorus. “It’s not fair! I have lacrosse/soccer/tickets! My parents will—”

I let them protest for a minute, then smiled and said simply, “Nonnegotiable.”

WHEN I GOT HOME that afternoon, Angus was looking cuter than ever, so I figured a waltz was in order. Scooping my little dog up into my arms, I swooped around the living room, one-two-three, one-two-three, humming Take It to the Limit by the Eagles, one of Angus’s favorites. “‘So put me on a highway, and show me a sign,’” I sang.

Angus began to croon along. As I said, it was one of his favorites.

I wasn’t sure why I felt so happy, given that my chances of being history chair were smaller than ever. “I guess there’s more to life than work, right, McFangus?” I asked the Wonder Pup. He wriggled in delight.

It was true. In just a little while, Natalie and Andrew would be married, putting the final nail in the coffin of Andrew and me. Summer was fast approaching, the time of reading and relaxing and battling down South.

And Callahan O’ Shea was my boyfriend. A warm tide of happiness rose from my ankles on up. Callahan O’ Shea was looking for a wife, kids and a lawn to mow. I figured I might just be able to help him out on that quest.

“Can I cut in?”

Speak of the devil, there he was on my porch, sinful grin in place. Angus stiffened and yarped in my arms.

“Come on in,” I said, setting down my faithful beastie, who leaped onto Cal’s ankle with great enthusiasm. Hrrr.

Hrrr. Cal ignored him, took my hand and put his hand on my waist.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he admitted, his eyes crinkling most appealingly as he tried to execute a box step, stepping on my foot.

“I’ll teach you,” I said. The back of his neck was warm under my hand, and the lovely smell of wood and man and sweat made my heart beat a little faster. The tide of happiness became a flood.

“I always kind of liked the eighth-grade shuffle myself,” he said, pulling me into a hug. Our feet barely moved …well, except when Cal tried to shake Angus off. My hands drifted down Cal’s back…I figured I’d cop a feel, why not…when I touched paper.