Authors: Rj Scott

The Teacher and the Soldier (15 page)

“The doctor says she’ll be fine.”

Ethan waited for the inevitable discomfort that emanated from Isabella whenever medical bills were discussed, and the embarrassment that came with Ethan covering those bills.

“That’s good news.” He waited patiently, experienced enough to give her time.

“Mr Myers,” she began timidly, casting a quick glance up to his eyes. Ethan nodded encouragingly, and she looked down at the floor. “I’m thinking now is the time for me to sign up for some classes here,” she said in a rush. Ethan smiled in genuine happiness at the momentous decision.

“I’m glad you want to start classes.” He sat back in his chair. “I’ll let Maria know so she can sort out a schedule and figure out some day care for Beth.”

“I can read, you know…” Isabella said. “Well, I can kinda read, and I would try really hard.”

“You’re going to do well, Isabella. I promise you,” Ethan replied.

“Thank you, Mr Myers.” Isabella shot him a quick grin then left what the staff affectionately called Ethan’s Cave.

Isabella’s news had made his day. Ethan felt more connected to the world when he was able to care for others. Taking in Isabella and Beth, giving them a home when they’d had none, gave him the opportunity to feel like he was making a difference in someone’s life. By just being themselves and letting him do things like walk the floor with Beth until her fever broke, those things filled him with hope and confidence that he was doing the right thing.

He looked around the room, at the posters on the wall, the books on the shelves, at the paperwork in its neat and ordered stacks on his cabinet. The Cave was peaceful. He mentally allotted himself ten minutes to shut his eyes, and sank into the quiet. But his thoughts immediately centred on today’s meeting. Ethan hated having to deal with overbearing and condescending officials to his very core and he was dreading it. Mac had always dealt with bureaucracy, with red tape.

Ethan had watched his partner in life, and in love, Edward MacIntyre, succumb to cancer. It had destroyed the strong, vital and vibrant young man he had been in the space of a few months. The word ‘terminal’ had thundered in his ears as he’d struggled from one day to the next. He’d been convinced that when Mac went, there would be nothing left for him but Mac had been right. He had known Ethan far better than Ethan knew himself. Every time Ethan had given in to his despair, Mac would gather his strength, and his humour, and encourage Ethan to keep going.

As Mac had faded, Ethan had grown to recognise strengths he had never dreamed he possessed. He’d resigned from his teaching post at the school where he’d taught for four years and had stayed at home, caring for Mac. He’d watched devotion and love warring with grief, as his lover’s life had ebbed. He’d been there for Mac every day, every waking moment and sleeping hour. On the inside, Ethan had grieved, but he’d never let on, never let Mac see the despair as he’d loved him and held him and stored every moment in his heart. His heart had grown stronger and warmer and braver with every day, and he’d found himself becoming more of a person than he’d thought he could ever be. For his Mac. Mac had died on a bright Thursday, quietly and without a fuss, and Ethan had experienced his defining moment.

Ethan had chosen not to die with his lover. Instead, he’d learnt from Mac’s bravery and strength and had become a better man. He’d used his expensive education and searched for ways to make his time on Earth worthwhile and fulfilling. He’d cajoled, begged and raised funds from thin air. He’d sold their empty and echoing condo and buried the whole profit into a crumbling, sprawling, turn of the century brick-fronted house in a run-down neighbourhood. He took as much extra training as he could and investigated funding for adult learning. Ethan was determined that, somehow, Mac’s memory would be honoured in a way he would have approved of. From a grief-born determination, he’d created Mac’s Education Centre.

It had been a long three years, but the centre for adult education was thriving, in an area of L.A. that was fighting its way back from decades of decline. It was one of the areas where things hadn’t been completely lost to drugs and prostitution. The residents wanted to improve living conditions. Gang warfare hadn’t strangled all hope for the future there. Yet.

Without fuss, Ethan and his staff went about helping people get jobs by providing basic literacy skills and serving as a liaison between the neighbourhood and potential employers. His maxim—not that he called it that aloud—was that people can never have too many skills or too much knowledge. He realised that, while he couldn’t deal with gangs directly, he could certainly deal with the fallout—from widows who needed skills, to children out on the streets because of domestic violence.

He dealt with budgets and people from diverse backgrounds. He was even known to attend fund-raising parties in, horror of horrors, a suit. But there was one thing guaranteed to put the fear of God into Ethan. He hated everything about the officials and the paperwork that policed his funding. The language they seemed to make up as they went along, the contradictory and inane rules that sprouted like dandelions in grass. Ten minutes of shut-eye did not fortify him against any of the officious rubbish being thrown at him, and, not for the first time, he wished he had Mac here to help.

* * * *

“Fire and safety codes need to be adhered to, Mr Myers. I thought I made that perfectly clear on my last visit.” The little grey man in a grey suit with grey hair and, comically, a grey clipboard stood glaring up at Ethan. It seemed to Ethan that he bristled—in a very grey way—with self-importance.

“Fire codes?” Ethan repeated weakly.

“And the myriad of unaddressed items on my list,” Little Grey Man continued, his eyes narrowing as he checked his file.

“The list of items?” Ethan knew he sounded like a helpless idiot.
Shit, what list of items? I need sleep, I need coffee!

“I’ve marked those that need urgent attention. They will be items four, five, six, seven, eleven, subsections b and c, fifteen, nineteen and thirty-two. In addition to that, Mr Myers, I find you sailing very close to the wind with thirteen, twenty-two and forty-one. I’m extremely concerned that you appear to have wilfully disregarded the need for a ‘No Smoking’ sign on the back entrance to the property.” He tapped his pen on the clipboard and shot Ethan a withering look. “Is there some reason you feel it’s not appropriate to do as the masses do?”

“No, I would never—”

“Mr Myers, I do not have all day to stand here while you quite clearly are not in the land of the living. I will not have a fire code hazard on my books, and unless these outstanding items are attended to, then I will have no choice but to shut you down.”

What? Shut him down?

“Why?” sputtered Ethan.

The inspector smirked arrogantly at Ethan. “Perhaps now that I’ve your attention, Mr Myers,” he said, then paused for what Ethan assumed was emphasis. “You have until January thirty-first to rectify the major violations of code—noted in the follow-up letter from my last inspection—as well as the points I’ve just enumerated for you as a result of today’s inspection. Further, I expect to see a plan to remedy the lesser violations no later than my next quarterly inspection.”

“I—” Ethan was lost for words.

Little Grey Man wrinkled his nose in distaste as he gazed disdainfully from what Ethan knew was his bed-head hair and stubble-rough face to his battered sneakers. “I will see myself out, Mr Myers. Thank you for your time,” he said in clipped tones.

Ethan wasn’t capable of rational thought, but his ingrained professionalism kicked in. “And thank you for yours.” Unfailingly polite until the end—that was Ethan ‘Idiot’ Myers. He swore at himself inwardly for his southern upbringing. He watched as the official left, the front door closing behind him. Ethan froze where he was for what seemed like an eternity, words like ‘fire code’, ‘hazard’, and ‘closing down’ all fighting for prominence in his thought processes.
Shut us down?
All the breath left Ethan’s body in one big panicked gasp, and he started to feel faint.

“Ethan? Ethan, honey? Are you okay?” A small sweet voice and a firm grip grounded Ethan. Weakly he turned to Maria Romera, his exceptionally spirited, loyal and level-headed right-hand woman.

“They want to shut us down, Maria.”

“Ethan, honey, you need to calm down and think this through logically. Sit down.” Gently, she pushed him back to his chair, and he collapsed obediently. “That
ratto
didn’t actually say that now, did he?” Ethan stared up at her. “What he actually said was that you have until the end of January to fix the problems he highlighted.”

“He did?”
Did he? He did!

“You need to listen more closely, honey, and stop reacting to words like ‘
close’
and ‘
down’.”

“Okay, okay… I’m fine. It’s fine.” He paused then smiled up at the Italian powerhouse he was glad to call his friend. “We’ll be fine. It’s a list—you like lists. You can tell me what to do, can’t you?”

Maria laughed, a small musical sound that never failed to make Ethan smile. “No worries there. I’ll make a list, you fix the stuff, and we’ll be good. Now take a few hours, have a shower, and take a nap.”

“I’ve that Jason Ryan guy arriving at two.”

“His name isn’t Ryan. It’s Riley, Jacob Riley. Seriously, Ethan, I give up on you.”

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About the Author

RJ Scott has been writing since age six, when she was made to stay in at lunchtime for an infraction involving cookies. She was told to write a story and two sides of paper about a trapped princess later, a lover of writing was born.

She can mostly be found reading—anything from thrillers to sci-fi to horror. However, her first real love will always be the world of romance. When writing her goal is to write stories with a heart of romance, a troubled road to reach happiness, and more than a hint of happily ever after.