Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(11)

Bev’s gloved fingers holding the non-toxic sanitizer bottle shook over the miniature toilet bowl. She was a nice person, but she hated doing what people told her to do. Especially impossible ones.

She flushed the suds away, snapped off the rubber gloves, and bent down to wash her hands in the tiny sink. Get over it. Next year, managing her own class, would be better. Working with Hilda—not for her—would be tolerable.

Hilda appeared in the doorway. “Let’s take a minute in my office.”

Bev put a spring in her step and a smile on her face and followed her into the alcove around the corner. “Maybe I should just sit this day out next year.”

Hilda, a sixty-year-old battleax with silver hair and a big bosom, pulled her into a quick hug. “That’s for the other children. Now, cleansing breath. Cathy will look out for Kennedy until her mother gets here.”

Surprised by the embrace, Hilda stumbled back a step. “I’d never heard her cry like that before. I couldn’t leave her.”

“Reflection,” Hilda said. “You were feeding off each other.”

“It wasn’t like that. It really wasn’t.”

Hilda pursed her lips and stared at her over her glasses.

The butterflies in Bev’s stomach flapped their wings, but she managed a professional face, anticipating her coup when Hilda offered the PM job and Bev was able to offer a partnership. “It’s just the last day,” Bev said with a smile and a shrug. “Having to say goodbye.”

“We had this exact conversation last year,” Hilda said. “You promised you could keep it together this year.”

Bev’s smile tightened. “She needed me.”

“You were getting emotional.”

“Of course I was getting emotional. Kennedy’s wonderful. They’re all wonderful. And now we’re saying goodbye.”

Hilda dropped her head into her hand. “This is what I’m talking about. It’s just too much for the kids to manage their own feelings and yours.”

“I know, I know. But wouldn’t it be hurtful if I acted like I didn’t care? We spend all year loving them, to just shove them out the gate and wave and look happy about it—”

“We do not spend all year loving them,” Hilda said. “That’s your mistake. We spend all year teaching them. Or better yet, providing a safe space for them to teach themselves.”

Bev bit the inside of her lip. “You know, love is a good thing.”

“Not at school. It confuses them.”

“They’re so little.”

“And you’re not.” She turned to her desk and picked up a piece of paper. “At least, I didn’t think you were when I hired you.”

The room fell silent. “It’s not just the emotional stuff that’s bothering you, is it?”

Hilda shook her head and took a deep breath, filling her lungs for an elaborate run-down, then bit her lip and shook her head as though there was just too much to say.

Bev’s mind raced. Against the school’s child-centered philosophy, Bev liked to direct the kids in organized projects, making group banners and costumes and murals and music and plays under her direction, instead of putting out all the toys and letting them do whatever they wanted. Hilda had halted the projects more than once and dragged her into the office for a chat. If the California public schools hadn’t cut most of their elementary school arts programs, Bev might have looked into building a career there. “So you’re not offering me the PM job.”

Hilda drew back. “Oh, no.” She held up her hands, palms out, as though bracing for a collision.

“Even though I’m the best candidate.”

“You’re not suited to it. I’m sure you can see that.”

“No, I don’t.”

Bev frowned. “You can do better.”

“Better?”

“Somewhere else.”

Bev froze in her chair. “Somewhere else?”

“Head Start is more hands-on. And the city rec programs. I’m sure you can find something.”

She was firing her? “You hate those programs.”

Hilda shrugged. “Maybe you won’t.”

“They pay almost nothing. And the benefits are horrible, and the turnover—”

“I am sorry, Bev, but that’s my decision.” She swiveled sideways in her chair to the desk. “I’ve written you a recommendation. I only mention our philosophical differences, nothing about the inappropriate bonding. That might be hard to explain away.”

Shaking, Bev got to her feet. “Inappropriate bonding? Yes, if you put it that way.”

Hilda held up the paper, wiggled it around.

Cathy stuck her head in the room. “Excuse me. I need help out here.”

Bev glared at Hilda and imagined yanking out her puffy gray hair with her fists like little Ethan had done last week.

“I’ll be right there,” Hilda said.

“Actually,” Cathy said, smiling, “they’re asking for Bev.”

Hilda’s eyes flashed. “We’ll both be there.”

Cathy glanced at Bev, eyebrows raised in concern, then fled. Bev grabbed the printed recommendation out of Hilda’s hand and strode to the doorway, fuming, then spun around. “You know what I think? I think you’re jealous. Of me. Of the love.”