Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(10)

Bev looked up at her.

“You did,” Cathy said, lighting up.

“Oh, yeah.” The school’s waiting list had grown to triple digits, and rumor was Hilda needed an experienced teacher to direct an afternoon class in the fall, largely independent of Hilda. Bev was going to make her an even better offer and buy into the school itself, finally giving Hilda the chance to retire in a few years—and gain Bev some independence.

Cathy checked over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “I bet she’ll give it to you.”

Bev bit back a grin. She thought so too. She was the most senior teacher and got along with everyone, kids and adults. “It’s not that I mind working in a team. But I’d love to be in charge of my own program. Hilda is so . . . ”

“Anal?”

They rolled their eyes in unison. Cathy glanced over her shoulder again. “I can’t believe how hard she came down on you for that Valentine’s Day project.”

“The girls begged me. They really, really wanted hearts. I don’t think it’s fair to deny them their fun just because Hallmark gets out of hand.” Hilda was passionately opposed to the commercialization of childhood.

“Maybe if you hadn’t cut the hearts out for them.”

“They begged me! It’s hard for little fingers and round scissors to make that corner, there at the top where the heart dips in the middle. They were crying and pleading, and I mean really, what’s the big deal? It’s not like I shoved them out of the way and took over. I was following their direction.” Bev gulped her tea. “She made it sound like I was trying to be Santa and they were my elves.”

Cathy giggled. “Shhh.”

Bev sucked in a deep breath, set down her tea on a windowsill next to the bubble machine, gazed at her kids. In less than an hour they wouldn’t be hers anymore, and she was too grieved at the thought of never seeing them again to enjoy the anticipated changes she would make.

“Bef?” Kennedy, the rock-drawing girl, tugged on her jeans. Her cheeks were smeared with black marker, freckles, and dried yogurt, and Bev knew if she kneeled down to give her the usual hug she would lose it completely.

“Hey, friend.” Bev rumpled her hair. “What are you up to today?”

“Feeling sad,” Kennedy said. “Very, very sad.”

Validate her feelings. “You feel sad.”

“I lost Big Blue.” Kennedy didn’t just have pet rocks. She had friend rocks. “In the sandbox.”

“Oh, it’ll turn—” But it was Kennedy’s last day, and if it turned up, she would be gone. Off to kindergarten, where they took away your rocks and gave you worksheets to drill for standardized tests. “I’ll look for it.”

“Don’t bother. It’s gone forever.” Kennedy had an Eeyore streak they’d been working on narrowing, to no effect. She bit her little lip.

“Come on, let’s look.”

“Too late,” Kennedy said. “It’s circle time, see?”

Sure enough, Hilda was ringing the bell. Bev led the group today and couldn’t be late; Hilda had just published an article in Parenting about the importance of routine in preschool-aged children’s development.

“I’ll look for it after circle,” Bev said.

“It’s okay.” Kennedy’s eyes filled with tears. “It likes the sandbox. It didn’t want to go to kindergarten.”

“Oh, honey.” Bev dropped to her knees and opened her arms for a hug. “I know you’re sad, and that’s okay, but it will get better. Kindergarten is awesome.”

But Kennedy jumped into her arms and began to cry. Not a temper-tantrum I-want-it cry, but the deep, mournful cry of an old soul staring into the abyss. Now I’m done for, Bev thought. She would have been fine with any of the other kids, one who cried every day, one who didn’t name her rocks and give them rides on the tire swing, but not with Kennedy. Kennedy had only cried once, when Ethan had punctured her index finger with a staple right through the nail and then yanked it out with his teeth.

So Bev held on to her and let her sob, and kept most of her own tears from spilling over. Most.

“Kennedy.” Hilda stood over them, wiping paint off her hands with a checkered dish towel. “Circle time!”

Kennedy drew back and looked into Bev’s face with wide, anguished eyes. “Are you coming?”

“Ms. Cathy is doing circle today,” Hilda said. “She needs you to pick out the story. It’s your job today, Kennedy!”

“Okay.” Kennedy wiped her nose on her arm. “Mommy has a job, too.”

“That’s right.” Hilda extracted her from Bev and took her hand. “We all have jobs to do.”

Thanks for not looking at me, Hilda. Bev turned away and wiped her own face and trotted after. “I’ll do circle. I couldn’t just leave—”

Hilda nudged Kennedy through the door into the classroom and gave Bev a cold look over her shoulder. “Later.” She pulled the door shut between them, leaving Bev outside. Cathy’s voice called for attention above the chatter.

The teacher not doing circle time had potty duty. Damn it.

She stormed off to the bathroom and grabbed the cleaning supplies, trying to think happy thoughts about Kennedy’s bright future, about her becoming a peppy geologist with lots and lots of friends. Who would never have a boss who was a chronically dissatisfied egotist—