“Max, remember what we talked about?”
He puffs out an exasperated, “Don’t say hate?”
Hendricks nods. “Good job, bud. Any other word is fine.”
“Then I really, really,reallydon’t like singing.”
It’s hard to stop myself from laughing or catching Hendricks’s eye when he replies, “Sometimes we’ve got to do things we don’t like. But you know what? I’ll like watching your concert. So will Granny.”
Skepticism flashes in his eyes before he decides to be satisfied with his father’s response, then tugs him forward toward his classroom.
“See you later?” Hendricks whispers so quietly that only I hear it.
I nod, turning my attention to more parents who’ve arrived for drop-off and need me, but I’m also incredibly aware of Hendricks.
Fingertips brush mine as he passes. He’s focused straight ahead, giving nothing away. I forget that we’ve known each other for a lifetime, that us talking and laughing like the best friends we’ve always been is nothing out of the norm. But the adrenaline rush that we’re being intimate in broad daylight, in front of witnesses, is more thrilling than I thought possible.
The morning passes relatively quickly, and eventhough I’ve barely had two hours of sleep, I feel incredible. Much to Max’s chagrin, along with a few others in the rabble that he’s incited, we practice the Valentine’s concert while we craft. I figure it kills two birds with one stone.
“Pink and red cards are on the front desk, which you can help yourself to if you want them,” I point out. “On the side tables, you’ll find everything you need to decorate your card. Please remember our sharing skills.”
There’s a scramble to get to the desk, so I step out of the way and gather up the bottles of glitter glue to hand out. When I do, my eyes catch a movement across the path outside the classroom and over to the road in front of the school. It’s not unusual to see people walking up and down it, but it’s a country lane, so outside of drop-off / pickup hours, it tends to be farmers, or horse and rider, or the Burlington Estate teams mending the hedgerows.
So a woman walking back and forth feels a bit out of context, especially when I look a little closer and realize it’s the woman who knocked into me. If she hadn’t caused a mountain of extra work, I probably would have forgotten all about it. But it brings back the feeling that I know who she is.
“Miss MacIntosh, Miss MacIntosh? Are these real diamonds?”
Leaving the window, I walk over to Alice, who’s turning a plastic jewel over and over in her hand.
“They aren’t, but they look real, don’t they? Very sparkly.” I hold out a bottle of glitter. “You can use this to stick it on your card, and the glitter will add to the sparkle.”
It’s followed by more demand for glitter, and I hand them out as quickly as possible. For the next hour, I hurry between desks—helping to cut out shapes, unstick the globs of glue, and wipe up spillages—but I can’t shake my thoughts about the woman who’s still outside.
The children are too focused on making their valentines and who’s using feathers on their card, which means everyone wants to use feathers on their card, to notice me opening the classroom door. Rushing across the hall to Celeste, I knock and pop my head around the doorframe.
“Could I borrow you for a minute?”
She turns to her class, motioning to Katie, our shared classroom assistant, that she’s leaving, but like mine, everyone is too deep in their craft projects to notice.
The moment we’re out of earshot, she grunts loudly, “God, I could use a cup of tea. Henry’s already stuck four hearts to Sabine’s school skirt with Gorilla Glue.Gorilla Glue! I have no idea where it came from, but that child is a menace.” Her cheeks blow out as she exhales. “Anyway, what’s up?”
“I want to show you something, then I’ll go and make you a cup of tea.”
“Oh, you absolute angel. Two sugars? Thank you.”
She follows me through to my classroom, where the children are too busy to acknowledge her. I point out the window, where the woman is still standing there.
“Who’s that?”
She pulls down the glasses from where they’re resting on her head and squints. “No idea. Why?”
“You’ve never seen her before? She’s not a parent?”
Celeste shakes her head. “No, I’ve never seen her before.”
“Are you sure?”
She looks again, hard. “Yes, positive. I’ve done enough morning duties by now to know all the parents by sight.” She points to where the woman is standing. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
