Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) (33 page)

What if I call him and Sam says
no
?

I throw myself off the bed, grab my robe, jam my feet into slippers. Going to bed at seven o’clock is crazy thinking. Old-people thinking. And I am not old.

Plus, I haven’t had dinner.

Dinner
? Who needs dinner when there’s chocolate in the house.

I’m down the stairs faster than it takes to rip the cellophane off the box. I yank off the lid and eye the assortment. I pluck out my favorite—a square dark chocolate caramel—and pop it in my mouth. Pure bliss in a one-inch square. I settle on the couch, grab the TV remote, flip through the channels, and finally end up watching a sappy romance. I’m all alone on Valentine’s Day but I’ve still got something to comfort me, something that’s never let me down.

I pop another chocolate in my mouth, savoring the love only a best friend can provide.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Billy the Kid is headed out of town.

I feel like skipping down the hall as I head for the principal’s office. Billy’s family is moving. A few more days and he’ll be gone. Three more months and they’ll all be gone for summer vacation. Three months of pure bliss. I pop into the secretary’s office. “I’m here about Billy Connolly. Mr. Stevens just gave me the news.”

“Such a shame we’re losing him.” But Mary Darcy’s smile matches my own. Billy has blazed a trail back and forth between my classroom and Mary’s desk all year long. The chair near her desk was like a stagecoach stop before Billy’s final destination—the principal’s office.

“When do you need his final grades?”

Her fingers fly over the keyboard. “I have to email his records no later than next week.”

“I’ll have them ready by Monday afternoon,” I promise.

Billy leaving is the best news I’ve heard in weeks. March is a gloomy month and the gray skies and melting snowbanks have turned our playground into one big muddy mess. Exactly how I’ve been feeling inside the past few months: muddy and messed up. But spring is on the way. I stroll down the empty hallway to my classroom. Nick’s door is open. Has he heard the news? Billy is in Nick’s reading class and I’ll need his grades for my record book. I hesitate in the doorway. Facing Nick gets harder every day.

I peek in his classroom. He’s alone at his desk. It’s now or never. I rap my knuckles against the door. “Got a minute?”

“For you? Sure, come on in.” He slouches back in his chair, stretches his arms, breaks out in a big yawn. “I can use a break from this paperwork. You look good today.”

I cling to the doorknob, reluctant to let go. I’m not falling for the sweet words of whipped crème coming out of his mouth. No more picking up the fork. I’m learning.

Just say no.

“I’ve only got a minute.” I hang back from his desk. “Chuck Stevens and I just had a little talk. Did you hear about Billy Connolly?”

He nods. “Can’t say I’m sorry to see him go. The kid’s got an attitude.”

An attitude? Nick’s a fine one to talk. “I need his reading scores. Are they ready?”

“They’re in here somewhere.” He swipes his hand over the stack of papers. “When do you need them?”

I eye the messy pile covering his desk. Too bad the committee voting on Teacher of the Year doesn’t make field trips into classrooms. They might find themselves a little surprised by one of their leading candidates’ lack of organization. “No later than Monday morning. That gives you one week. Think you can manage?”

He studies me for a moment, as if he’s about to say something, then suddenly his eyes narrow. “Don’t worry, you’ll have them in plenty of time.” He tosses off the words with a confident smile. “I always get behind this time of year. I’ve got a lot going on with play-offs and all.”

Basketball
. I should have known he wouldn’t be prepared. Nick will never change. He’ll always have some handy excuse about why things aren’t done. He’d better have those grades by Monday morning, because I’m done cutting him slack.

I head out of his classroom without another word.

# # #

The antique chandelier ablaze in the dining room stops me cold, as does the linen tablecloth, Mama’s china and the table set for three. Dinner in the dining room? That means company, but I won’t be home for dinner. Who did Priscilla invite?

I stroll into the kitchen. It’s filled with the spicy aroma of homemade lasagna. Priscilla is at the sink washing lettuce leaves. I grab an apple and plop down on my scuffed wooden chair. “What’s going on? Looks like you’ve got the dining room set up for a party.”

“We’re having company,” she says.

“I see that. But it’s Friday night, remember? I won’t be home.”

“How could I forget?” Her voice is tinged with remorse and regret and a tiny taste of bitterness. “Friday night. Must be a home basketball game.”

I crunch into my apple, swallow a big bite of guilt over the little farce I’ve been playing for the past two months. I quit going to Nick’s games long ago, though I never admitted it to Priscilla. But I’m tired of cruising fast food restaurants, of trekking to the mall and dining solo in the food court. I’m tired of deceiving Priscilla, of pretending to be cheering on Nick. I’m tired of the whole silly game. But it’s easier than admitting the truth. Besides, basketball season is nearly over. What will one more week hurt?

I crunch a path through the apple, eating around the seeds. “So, who’s coming to dinner?”

“Sam. I invited him to have dinner with Harold and me.”

I pause midbite. Nearly three months have passed since New Year’s Eve. Three months since I saw Sam. Does he miss me? He’s never called. But then, I haven’t phoned him either. I stare at the half-eaten apple in my hand. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.

Priscilla drops the lettuce and turns to face me. “I didn’t ask you because I didn’t think you’d say yes. But I can set another place, Patty.” Her face softens. “Please stay. I would love that so much. And I think Sam would, too.”

I hesitate. There’s such a hopeful look in her eyes. Plus, dinner smells wonderful. Priscilla’s spinach lasagna, homemade salad, crusty garlic bread. But much as I hate to disappoint her, much as I miss Sam, I can’t stay. I can’t face him yet, especially with Priscilla and Dr. Brown around. I would have no time to talk privately with Sam. There’d be no time for me to apologize, to tell him how sorry I am for everything I said.

Plus, I don’t want him seeing me like this—not after I bitched at him about how bad he looked, how he didn’t take care of himself. Not when I haven’t been taking care of me. I’ve gained three pounds and I’m heavier than I was when we first met.

I shake my head. “Sorry. Tonight’s important. It’s a play-off game.”

“I figured it would be something like that.” Priscilla sighs and turns back to preparing the salad. “You don’t want to miss that.”

“I’d better go get ready.” I aim the apple at the garbage can. It bounces off the rim and hits the floor. So much for being a good shot. Nick never did give me lessons. I snatch the apple off the floor and toss it in the garbage. “Tell everyone I said hello.”

Priscilla doesn’t answer. I shuffle into the hallway and head to retrieve my coat and purse. I hate lying to her, just as much as I hate being alone. I want her back. I want me back. Somehow I have to dig my way out of this mess.

Starting right now.

I shrug into my coat. No more fast food restaurants. No more slurping through dinner at the mall’s food court. I’ll grab a healthy salad at a drive-through and head back to school. There’s plenty of paperwork stacked on my desk. It’s Friday night and the school will be empty. I’ll be able to get some work done.

And do some much-needed thinking.

# # #

The lock clicks behind me as I slip through the school door. Four hours ago this hallway was bustling with kids and staff, but now the inky blackness seems foreboding. A red exit sign glows above my head, taunting me to move forward, if I dare. The creepy feeling follows me down the hallway as I make a left turn and head into my section of the building. The corridor is dark, save for a pool of light spilling from a classroom in the center of the hall.

My classroom, I realize with an abrupt halt.

A faint hum sounds in the distance. I move a few steps closer, hear the roar of a machine. My heart rate shifts back into normal rhythm as I recognize the sound of a vacuum cleaner. Jeff the janitor must be working the night shift. I start down the hall with a light step and lighter heart. Jeff jumps in surprise as I stroll into my classroom.

“Geez, Miss P, you scared me!” He shuts down the machine and the vacuum whimpers to a halt. “What are you doing back here at school on a Friday night?”

The sight of the tall, slim man in a worn work uniform puts me immediately at ease. In the ten years I’ve known him, Jeff’s proved honest, polite and reliable. Knowing he’s around tonight eases my mind.

“I need to catch up on some paperwork.”

“Well, don’t let me bother you none. I’m finished in here.” He unplugs the vacuum and pushes it toward the door. “Washed the desktops down, and I dusted the shelves, too, just like you asked.”

“Thanks, Jeff. Nice job.” Everything is neat and tidy. The clean smell of disinfectant wafts through the air.

“I’ll be down the hall. Just give a holler if you need me.” Jeff lugs the vacuum out the door.

I snap open my salad and drizzle nonfat dressing over a naked sliver of chicken breast resting on a bed of wilted lettuce and a few anemic tomato slices. No croutons, no bacon bits, no taste. I dig in with determination.

Ten pounds and then I call Sam.

I make quick work of the salad as I eye the paperwork stacked in neat piles around my desk. I thumb through a science quiz, then quickly dismiss the idea of scoring math sheets. It’s bad enough working at school on a Friday night. Why compound the misery? Finally I settle down with a thick stack of writing assignment my kids finished this afternoon. Proofing them will gobble up time till it’s safe to go home.

I settle in and the stack slowly dwindles. The distant hum of Jeff’s vacuum proves more comfort than distraction. I’m never at school in the evening, save for parent-teacher conferences, and tonight feels particularly lonely. Especially since I know Sam is at our house. I check my watch as I finish the last sheet. Eight o’clock. I’ll bet they’ve just finished dinner and Priscilla is about to serve dessert. She goes all out whenever Sam comes for dinner.

He hasn’t been around in forever and all because of me.
I slump forward, chin in hand, stare at the messy stack of math assignments. They’ll take at least another hour to finish. Do I really want to tackle that project? Am I really that desperate? Why am I punishing myself like this, especially on a Friday night? I should be out doing something fun. I could have gone to the movies. I could have gone to the book store. I could have shopped for clothes.

Why spend money you don’t have on clothes you don’t need? What you really need is to lose ten pounds.

“Miss P?”

I jump in my chair. Jeff stands in the doorway.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt you none. Just wanted to make sure you found that paper.”

Slowly my heart rate returns to normal. “What paper?”

“I put it on your desk.” Jeff’s face wears a sheepish frown as he points to a small soiled sheet tucked between the piles of math and science papers. “Sorry it got dirty. My shoes messed it up. It was shoved under your door and I didn’t see it when I first come in.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I pluck it out with a tentative finger and scan the top of the grimy form showing Billy Connolly’s reading scores. Well, good for Nick. For once, he actually took the initiative and turned something in on time without a reminder from me.

I flip open my record book. I finished my own grades for Billy just this afternoon. As usual, the little boy was consistent in achieving
C’s
and
D’s
. Now I have Nick’s reading scores for Billy, I can finish the report. I smooth down the soiled paper and scan it with a quick eye, then slump back in my chair. The big fat
A
has me mesmerized and I choke out a bark of disbelief. Nick’s handwritten comments, smudged with dirt from Jeff’s shoes, are barely discernable, but even harder to believe.
Great kid… adds to classroom experience
. Billy adds to the classroom experience, but not in any way that could be deemed positive. Since when did Billy Connolly become a model student? Something’s definitely screwed up.

No, not something. More like someone. And it wasn’t Billy. I haul myself out of my chair. Someone screwed up big time but I won’t find the proof in my own record book.

But I know where I can find it.

I follow the distant roar of the vacuum down to Ruth’s classroom. I halt briefly at the door. Do I dare? Technically it’s not illegal, but I’d rather not think about the ethics involved. How would I feel if I found out that some other teacher had sat at my desk, snooped through my papers, checked my records? I’d be mad as hell. But then, I don’t have anything to prove.

Or hide.

I step into Ruth’s classroom and watch as Jeff methodically works his way across the carpet. He shuts down the bulky machine when he spies me.

“Sorry to bother you, but I need a favor.”

“Sure thing, Miss P.”

“I need something from Mr. Lamont’s room.” Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And if I don’t make an effort, I’ll always have doubts. “Think you could unlock his room and let me in?”

“No problem.” He strolls down the hallway, me tagging close behind. A large ring of keys dangles from his belt and he uses one to open Nick’s room. Ten seconds later and I’m inside. “Just give me a holler when you’re finished,” Jeff says, “and I’ll lock back up.”

“Thank you.” I feel guilty as hell, especially since Jeff is so eager to please. I wait as he traipses back down the long hall. Bad enough I’m reduced to sneaking around and digging through another teacher’s records. The last thing I need is a witness to my crime. I don’t make a move until Jeff completely disappears. I head for Nick’s desk.