Chapter 13

Charlie

A week had passed since the Summer Festival and the weird run-in with Clarissa Pope, and I still hadn’t told anyone—not a soul, not even Pammy—about my brewing situation. Or was it baking?

Bun in the oven? Ha, ha, hilarious, Charlie, way to make light of a not-so-funny situation.

I shifted at my desk in the classroom, quiet now that the kiddies had gone home, and turned the thick, velvety card over and over in my hand. I traced the calligraphy writing on the front.

Charlie Stinson.

I’d already memorized the words inside, but I flipped it open again, anyway.

Miss Stinson,

Please join me for dinner on the 30th of June 2018 at 8 p.m. Your response will be greatly anticipated.

All my regards,

Clarissa Pope.

She’d actually gone through with it. She’d invited me, and I had to figure out what I’d do about it. On one hand, I really wanted to avoid any contact with anyone at the moment, and on the other, the thought of walking through the house that’d once been Houston’s excited me.

How pathetic was that?

I’d known the guy for a week. But maybe, seeing how he’d lived would give me a better idea of who he was, who I’d accidentally fallen for.

“Ugh, stop it. You didn’t fall for him. It’s just an obsession. You’re hormonal.” I slipped the card into my handbag again and went through the arts and crafts projects the kids had done today, instead. Paintings of their families. They were more like splotches and smears, but the pencil drawings they’d done underneath were adorable.

Little circular or blocky figures to represent themselves and their moms and dads.

And what would my baby draw one day?

Just me. Just him or her.

God, I still had to go for a checkup and get my prenatal meds, but the thought of seeing a doctor in the very same office I’d met Houston… ugh, it sent me into another panic spiral.

I lifted one of the pictures and smiled at the colors, purple, yellow and a splash of black, then slipped it on top of the pile again. I had to get home. I had to tell Pammy about this.

She’d give me advice—after she’d caught her breath or tossed back a glass of wine, of course.

I’d put this off for too long already.

Goal one: tell Pammy about this. Let her know that soon, there’ll be someone else living in the house.

God, that was ridiculous. I’d likely have to move.

I shuddered. The mommies at Daisy Oaks would have a field day with this gossip.

At least I had the summer vacation to deal with this on my own. Thankfully, today had been the final day of school for me. Some of the children would continue in the holiday program, but I had a break.

A long, lovely break from the stares of moms and dads, disapproving or otherwise.

Gossip didn’t matter.

Yeah, it does.

“No. It doesn’t matter,” I muttered and rearranged the pictures on the corner of the desk. I lifted my bag and rose from the seat with a sigh. I drew my cell out of the pocket of my skater dress and unlocked the screen.

No calls and one message. I tapped on the icon to open it, then set off walking toward the exit.

Hey, darlin’, can you pick up some brown onions from the store? Want to make a bake for dinner.

A brown onion bake? That sounded like the least appealing thing ever, but I shot off a reply to Pammy regardless.

On my way home, nowwwwhghfr. I slapped into the door and my finger skidded across the screen.

“Whoa there, little lady. You’ve got to watch where you’re going,” a voice said. That same voice that sent shivers down my spine every afternoon.

Greg Harrington. Again.

It’d been almost two months since he’d last cornered me, but once was one time too much.

I backpedaled one step, rubbing my arm, my phone clenched in my fist, then stopped and stood my ground.

The horrible memory of him cornering me by my desk stalled my steps. I wouldn’t let that happen again. And he couldn’t do it if I stood in the center of my classroom, with its cutesy alphabet letters pasted on the walls and the corkboard with all the kids’ pictures on it.

Greg stroked fingers through his slicked back hair and stepped into the room. He didn’t come in real close this time but tucked his hands into the pockets of his chinos and cocked his head to one side.

“May I help you, Mr. Harrington?” I asked, and thankfully, I didn’t squeak it out. I let anger wash over me instead of fear, though that thudded along in the background, too. A constant white noise that would deafen me given the chance.

Greg didn’t say a word, just gave me that sharky smile.

“I should head home, Mr. Harrington. My aunt is waiting for me,” I continued. Gosh, why did he make me so nervous? It wasn’t as if he was super huge or overpowering. No, he wasn’t, but he was still bigger than me.

“You could get fired so easily,” he said.

“Pardon?” I blinked. That was the last thing I’d expected.

“Oh, come on, Miss Stinson,” he continued. “You know the mothers at this school smell blood in the water. They hate you. They’re threatened by you. They want you gone.”

“No one can fire me but Principal Henrietta.” And even then, it had to be for perfectly legal, valid reasons. Even if they discovered I was pregnant before I told them, there was nothing they could do. Except make me super uncomfortable.

Like Greg was, right now.

“No one can fire me but Principal Henrietta,” he said, mocking me. Apparently, I sounded like a raspy chipmunk. “Charlotte, you know what they’ll do to you. I came to warn you.”

“Warn me?” I asked, and my pulse ticked up a notch. “About what? I don’t need any warnings, Mr. Harrington, and I wouldn’t expect to receive any from you.”

Houston would’ve approved of this. Of me standing up for myself.

Greg drew closer, and his gait reminded me of the smooth motion of a shark approaching its prey. The Jaws theme tune played in my mind.

He halted right in front of me, his breath too hot, too close. “Yes. Warn you that you can get in a lot of trouble. If you don’t do the right things.” He gripped my upper arm.

“Excuse me?” I ripped away from him but stood my ground. I had to. He was a weak man, a bully, and if I didn’t stand up to him, he’d likely keep doing this type of thing over and over again.

And not just to me.

“You heard me. You need to do the right things to make sure you keep your position. I can put in a good word for you with Jenny,” he said. “I will, if you know what’s good for you. Come with me. We’ll go to the motel on the outskirts of town. No one will be there, just you and me. That’ll be fun, won’t it?”

Slime ball! And now he’d tarnished my memories of that motel and my very first time with Houston. My first time ever. “No,” I said, firmly. “You need to leave, Mr. Harrington, and if you don’t, I’ll report this directly to Principal Henrietta. This is sexual harassment.”

“Oh, please, do you really think they’ll believe you? There are already rumors circulating about you, Miss Stinson,” he said and shrugged.

“I don’t care about rumors.” This was about integrity.

“Come here,” he said and slipped his arms around me. He drew me into an awkward hug, connected us by the abdomens.

I balled my fists up, one still wrapped around my cell, and raised them. I’d sworn I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize myself at Daisy Oaks, but this was the last straw. I’d knock this dude’s lights out if I could.

“Greg!” a woman shrieked from the doorway. Jenny Harrington stormed into the room, purple locks—yeah, she’d changed them again—bouncing in their curls. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Jenny, darling, I—” Greg let go of me and took a couple steps back.

I released my fists and rubbed my arms, shuddered at what’d happened, at this man’s unwanted touch. What if Jenny hadn’t crashed in? I’d have hit the man full on in the face, probably, and then what?

Screamed?

There had to be a couple teachers still around, working or packing up or—

“How could you?” Jenny hissed.

I steeled myself for the husband-wife conflict incoming. Except, it wasn’t. Jenny hadn’t aimed that at Greg. Instead, she glared at me as if I’d grown an extra head.

“Huh?” I slipped my cell back into my pocket. My palms were super clammy, probably because I’d leaked pure disgust at Greg’s close proximity. “I haven’t done anything, Mrs. Harrington. Your husband—”

“Don’t you dare!” Jenny raised a finger tipped with a metallic blue nail and held it under my nose. “Don’t you dare besmirch my husband’s name in front of me. I saw what happened here. You hit on him. You seduced him. I told Principal Henrietta about you, and I was god damn right, I was god damn right.” She’d reached supersonic levels.

Behind her, the color had returned to Greg’s cheeks, and he bore a smile. “You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, Jenny.”

“I know, dear,” Jenny said, but the truth was there, in her eyes. The truth that she obviously denied, refused to let out because it would collapse whatever view she had of herself. “This woman is a seductress. A temptress.”

“Mrs. Harrington, this is ridiculous. I don’t want anything to do with your husband, in fact, I asked him to leave my classroom several times,” I said and squared my shoulders. Not taking this lying down. No way. What would Houston have done? “First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going to report Mr. Harrington for harassment. To the police.”

Greg smirked.

He knows it’s his word against mine. Who will they believe? Me or him? Will the other folks in this town look at me differently after I’ve spoken to the cops?

“I’m doing it,” I said, more to myself than to either of them.

But a kernel of doubt unfolded in my mind. Greg was big time. He was rich. He was popular with everyone. He could make this go away. Perhaps, the two of them together could make me go away, if they wanted to.

Jenny ground her teeth so loud they squeaked. “That’s enough out of you. I’ll be calling Principal Henrietta tonight to report your inappropriate advances on my husband. And if you think you’ll survive another week here, you’re wrong.” She dropped that finger, at last. “You won’t last a day.”

She spun on her heel, nearly whipped my nose with those purple locks, then grasped her husband’s arm and dragged him toward the exit. For once, he didn’t look at me. He didn’t make me want to strip my own skin off, wash it, and hang it out to dry.

I sagged.

This wasn’t happening. I couldn’t deal with this on top of all the other stuff. On top of wanting someone I’d never have and being pregnant with that same someone’s baby.

My nose prickled, and I scrubbed it, furiously. No crying. You’re not a kid anymore.

Outside, birds tweeted in the summer heat, and a lawnmower started up in the distance. No screaming kids. They’d all gone home, at last. Summer was in the air and the strange nostalgia that came along with it.

Every summer back in Ohio had been filled with watermelon or cycling or running down to the park to play softball with my friends. We’d taken dips in the lake, laughed and teased each other, and each day had seemed a paradise.

An island of respite from all the pressures of school.

Life had been so simple back then. What’d happened?

“Man up,” I whispered and walked out of my classroom. I shut the door behind me, turned, fished my keys out of my bag, and locked up. “Man up, girl, you’re better than this.”

But I couldn’t bring myself to square up again, to act like I’d be fine and this was all OK. It wasn’t OK on so many damn levels.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell Pammy yet, to tell anyone, in truth. Not even a doctor, because it was surreal, and deep down, I wanted something more. I wanted to feel his arms around me again, supporting my weight in more ways than one.

I was alone. Totally and utterly alone. I touched my belly and sighed.

Maybe not totally. At least I have you, little bean.