Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) (36 page)

Or maybe I should simply say
I’m sorry
and we can go from there.

The final beep sounds and I’m on.

“Hi Sam, this is Patty.” I gulp a deep breath. “I’m calling because I wanted to tell you… what I mean is… well, damn, I wish you were there. I hate talking to machines.”

Stupid, stupid, get on with it. I stumble forward blindly, trusting my heart to lead the way.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m calling. I’ve thought about you so often. I wanted to call before this. I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m sorry about everything, Sam. Sorry for the way I treated you. Sorry for all those horrible things I said on New Year’s Eve. You were right and I was wrong, and I don’t blame you if you never forgive me. God knows it’s been hard enough trying to forgive myself. But I am sorry, Sam, so very very sorry. That’s the reason I called. To let you know I’m sorry. And how much I miss you. And how much I—”

Beep.
The machine cuts me off.

I stare at the dead phone in my hand. How much of what I said was caught on tape? Is Sam still at the office? Out on a date with someone else? Or maybe he’s at home and screening his calls. Was he sitting in his living room, listening to my voice hesitate across the line? What if he simply scoffed at what I had to say? What if he already erased the message? What if he’s vowed never to speak to me again?

I throw down the phone and give in to my sobs. In my heart, I know phoning Sam was the right thing but admitting
I’m sorry
hurts more than I realized. Did I think it would solve all my problems? Priscilla’s dreams are coming true. She’ll be able to live in the home she loves, safe in the arms of a man she adores. Priscilla gets it all. The man, the house, the kids. Maybe even a dog.

And through my tears, I start to laugh. Forget the dog. Not with Priscilla’s allergies. She and Dr. Brown are both too fussy to put up with some tiny fur ball scampering around the house or some gentle giant galloping up and down the stairs. Priscilla and Dr. Brown are a perfect pair. Homebodies, made for each other.

I was made for someone, too. Someone who no longer cares.

How can I blame him after what I said? If I was Sam, I’d never speak to me again. I stopped before the three-letter F-word made it out of my mouth, but Sam got the point loud and clear. Calling him fat was cold and cruel. Even if by some miracle he forgives me, I’ll never be able to forgive myself. Who am I to judge? Who am I to talk? I’ve gained seven pounds since the day we met. All my fat clothes are tight again. I don’t deserve his friendship, much less his love. I was so careless. I took Sam for granted and now it’s too late. Once upon a time I had his heart, and now it’s gone for good. I have to face the truth that Sam doesn’t want me. It’s too late to change things.

Never too late
. You’re never too old to learn. Never, never, never quit. The old World War II phrase I drill into my students pounds in my brain. What kind of a teacher would I be if I let myself get away thinking like this? How can I face my class again if I let myself sink into negative thinking? I might as well surrender my teaching certificate. It’s time I took my own advice. I might be a lot of things but I am NOT a quitter. What is life without hope? I can’t give up because things seem too hard. No matter what, I have to keep trying. But how? It’s too hard. Too much. How can I do this for the rest of my life?

Try taking it one lap at a time.

Somewhere deep in my heart, the soft sweet message floats to mind. Sam’s message to me. One lap at a time. One day at a time.

I can do this. For starters, I can go back to the pool. I might not win Sam back. He might never forgive me. I’ve probably lost the best friend I ever had. But somehow I am going to make it through this. I have no choice.

Sliding off the bed, I jam my feet in a pair of slippers and hurry down the stairs. Soft sounds lead me to the kitchen where I find Priscilla setting the table for two. “What time is Dr. Brown supposed to be here?”

“In about an hour, after he finishes rounds at the hospital.” Her forehead wrinkles. “Why?”

“Because I changed my mind, that’s why.” I grab some silverware from the drawer, a plate from the cupboard, and set them on the table. “And I hope you were serious about me joining you for dinner, because I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got a wedding to plan!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Muddy snowbanks litter the playground and a blustery wind howls around the corners of the building. Though the calendar says spring, winter seems determined to stick around. I tuck my scarf higher around my neck, check my watch, and sigh. Three more minutes until I can ring the bell and bring them in from recess.

“Boys, stay away from there,” I call as Tommy, Joseph, and David skirt closer to the plastic orange fencing roping off the construction trench near the door. Replacing the telephone system seems a waste of money, especially since our school district is supposedly pressed for funds. The budget’s tight and they’ve axed all the extras. I’m surprised they haven’t dropped the Teacher of the Year award ceremony. Probably because the prize money was put up by a service club.

And my final interview with the selection committee is set for today. Much to my surprise, despite my disastrous interview a few months ago, I’ve actually made it to the final round. So has Nick, though I’m doing my best not to think about his chances of winning. He can sink or swim, for all I care. I’m being interviewed during my lunch hour and I have no clue what I’ll say. Hopefully they won’t judge me on how I’m dressed. With today’s temperatures hovering in the single digits, I’m in a thick sweater and woolen slacks. I check my watch one more time, relieved to see the hands at eleven. Less than an hour to go and I’ll be out the door and on my way to the interview downtown. I clang the bell. “Line up, everyone. Single file. Inside voices.”

Fifth graders crowd past me as I brace the door, shivering through my jacket. Nick shoots through the door, plants himself beside me as the last students pass. “Got a minute?”

“No. I have a reading class to teach.” I seize the steel bar, struggling against the gusty wind to close the heavy door.
Damned if I’ll ask him for help.

“Reading. Right. Here, you shouldn’t be doing that by yourself.” He grabs the bar and yanks the door shut. “Did you see the test schedule the office posted?”

“What about it?” I scoot around him down the hall.

“You’ve done this testing before, right?” He follows behind me.

“We test the students every year.”

“The instructions they gave us weren’t very specific. Think you could spare a few minutes after school today to help me figure things out?”

He’s got to be out of his mind. Just because he helped me doesn’t mean I’m in the mood to help him. I shake my head as we reach my door. “Sorry.”

His hand grips my shoulder. “Please, Patty?”

What a difference a few months make. Back then, that plea in his eyes would have filled me with hope… desire… purpose… but not any more. Testing isn’t that hard. All he has to do is spend some time reading the instructions. But he probably can’t be bothered. Nick is only willing to spend his time on the things he cares about: basketball, golf, and getting what he wants. Nick will never change. The easy way out, that’s his motto. Never giving back unless it suits what he’s after. He used me to get what he needed. He picked my brain, wasted my time, and nearly waltzed away with my heart. But I’ve taken it back. Nick Lamont was never my responsibility and I’m done being his cheerleader and coaching him from the sidelines.

It’s time Mr. Lamont figured out the playbook and managed his own game.

I shoot him a blank look. “Sorry.”

“But—”

“Check with Ruth. She’s your mentor. Maybe she’ll have some ideas.”

The stunned look on Nick’s face as I shut the door on him is the last thing I see.

An inbound paper airplane sails over a desktop as I hurry to the front of the classroom. I hate morning recess. The kids are revved up from being outside, and with less than an hour to go until lunch, it’s hard getting them to settle down. “Take out your reading books. Who remembers where we left off?”

“Chapter twenty-two,” Karen pipes up. “Can I read?”

“The girls read yesterday. It’s the boys’ turn today.”

Joseph’s hand shoots up. “Can I read, Miss P?”

I shake my head. Joseph is my best reader, with scores hovering near high school level. He doesn’t need the practice. I glance around and spot the aspiring musician two rows over. Tommy’s fingers drumming against his desktop are playing on my nerves. “Tommy, why don’t you start us off?”

The melodic thump-thump-thump halts and the little boy drags himself to his feet. I take my seat as he flips open his book with a scowl and struggles to find his place. What is it with ten-year-old boys? Teaching them is a daily lesson in patience and tolerance. Intellectually and physically, most of them lag behind the girls. Someone should do a scientific study…

An earsplitting bell from the hallway shatters the silence.

“Hey, cool, a fire drill!” Joseph straightens in his seat.

“Do I still have to read?” Tommy’s voice lifts in hope.

I slap my book shut. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t want to go back outside again.” Tyler slouches low in his seat. “It’s cold out there.”

“Come on, no wasting time. Everyone push in your chairs and let’s go.” I flash them a stern look as I push down my own annoyance. Great timing on the office’s part, sandwiching a fire drill between morning recess and lunch. I haven’t got time for this. My final interview with the Teacher of the Year Committee begins at noon and I have to leave early to make it in time.

“Stupid fire drills, anyway,” Tyler mutters. “We just had one last week. How come we have to have another one so soon?”

His words nail my feet to the floor. Tyler’s right. The kids never know when we’re having a drill, but the office always alerts teachers in advance… and no one mentioned anything to me today. My heart rate takes off faster than a spark racing up the fuse of a bomb.

This is no drill.

“Everyone line up.” I swallow, try to find a voice in a mouth gone dry with fear. “Come on, you know what to do.” I grab my record book and press it against my chest, as if that will calm my racing heart. My feet and body don’t feel connected, but somehow I manage to make it to the door. Out we all go, without hats or coats, clothed in excited, nervous chatter. I take a long whiff as we head through the hallway but it smells like it always does just before lunch. Sweaty bodies, the smell of macaroni from the school cafeteria.
No smoke
.

I herd the kids out the door and into the sunshine. Nick’s reading class, along with the rest of my homeroom students, are grouped near the playground fence. A quick head count against my record book shows twenty-five fifth graders. Everyone accounted for. Everyone safe.

Tiffany tugs at my sweater. “Miss P, do you think there’s really a fire?”

“I’m sure things are fine.” I keep my eyes trained on Jenna, who’s been assigned the task of runner and reporting to the principal that my students are all present. Hopefully we’ll hear the all-clear whistle soon. The cold wind whips the playground, snatching my breath away. I stamp my feet in thin, flat shoes. For once, I wish I was wearing my thick, clunky boots. Plus my coat and mittens.

“Hey, look!” Tyler whoops. “Here come the fire trucks!”

I suck in my breath as the loud wail of sirens grows. Everyone clambers to see three yellow fire trucks lumbering around the corner, headed in our direction.

“Fire trucks! Cool!” Tyler cries. “I’ll bet this is for real! The school is on fire!”

“Is the school going to burn down, Miss P?” Karen’s voice rises.

“That is not going to happen.” I need to douse the panic before it gains fuel and starts to spread. I point at the building. “Does anyone see smoke? Because I don’t. Do you?”

Twenty-five pair of eyes anxiously scan the school. “No,” Karen admits, her words echoed by several others.

“I’m cold.” Joseph kicks the side of a snowbank. “I want to go back inside. How long do we have to stay out here?”

Good question. When will they let us back into the building? Chuck Stevens stands near the front door, chatting with the fire chief, and neither of them seems too concerned. None of the firemen have gone into the building. They mill about, talking among themselves. Why keep all of us outside quarantined in the cold? I glance at my watch, see the minutes ticking by. I can’t miss that interview. I rub down my arms and stamp my feet. Is this an emergency or not?

“Wow, look! The TV people are here!” Tyler points at the street.

A television news truck parks near the playground perimeter. The door opens and I spot the pretty anchorwoman who does the nightly news. She’s followed closely by a squat man balancing a bulky video camera on his shoulder. I suck in a deep breath. If the TV crew showed up, something’s definitely wrong.

“Miss P?” A tug on my sweater and the uneasy catch in Matthew Moore’s voice snags my attention. The little boy is one of the quietest students in my class and never gives me an ounce of trouble. “I don’t see my brother. Michael’s not here.”

“What do you mean?” I crouch close beside him. Matthew’s twin is in Nick’s homeroom.

“He’s not on the playground.” His face tightens.

“Are you sure?”

“I looked and looked but I don’t see him.” The fear climbs in his voice as his eyes well up with tears.

“Maybe his brother’s still inside. Hey, if there really is a fire, he could burn up!” Joseph aims another swift kick at the snowbank.

“You shut up!” Matthew explodes in hysterical hiccups.

“It’s okay, Matthew. Everything is going to be all right.” I hug him close. Staff aren’t allowed to touch students, but at the moment I could care less about some stupid rule. I have a scared little boy to keep calm. I fish a Kleenex from one of my pockets. “I’m sure your brother is out here somewhere. Look, Mr. Lamont’s class is right over there.” Pointing, I aim Matthew’s gaze at Nick’s class hovering near the metal fence. “They heard the alarm and they got out.”