Turning Thirty-Twelve (3 page)

All Abby did was shrug in response.

The chap in question had to be another winner. Translate “winner” as a dud. I had a quick flash to a mama’s boy still living at home at forty-five. I wasn’t about to take her up on her offer. I’d done that once—the month after the divorce was final—and I still had nasty flashbacks to that date from hell.

“Suzanne thought this guy—”

“Give it up, Abs,” I insisted.

“He’s a cop and has two daughters. His wife died a couple of years back. Breast cancer, if I remember right. I really think you two would be good together,” my redheaded friend insisted.

Julie gave me a sympathetic look, but I knew she probably agreed with Abby.

I shot back a stern glare, but it didn’t faze either of them. They were like well-meaning mothers trying to get a child to eat more when she was already full.

Knowing they would never give it up, I groaned in resignation. “Go ahead and give him my number.”

Abby started clapping like a little girl at her first circus.

Amazing
.

It wasn’t like the guy was going to call me anyway. Who wants to date a forty-something woman suffering from an advanced case of empty nest syndrome?

***

A teacher’s favorite place is always the closest and cheapest office supply store. After finishing the gossip sessions that often make up the teacher work-day, I headed to OfficeMax to round up the items on the list I’d made as I checked through my desk that afternoon. I needed all the things that kids “forgot” most days—pens, pencils, paper, highlighters.  Having that stuff handy saved me writing passes to send students to the already chaotic locker bank.

Knowing I needed more than my arms could possibly carry, I grabbed a cart and prowled the aisles like a lion stalking a gazelle. My personality made shopping predatory. I always had to find the best bargain before some other underpaid teacher cleaned out the display.

As I shopped, I came across two girls with dark curly hair who were looking at day planners. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it seemed the older girl was trying to impress upon her pony-tailed sister the need to keep better track of her assignments.

When they mentioned Harrison High School, I couldn’t resist poking my nose where it probably didn’t belong—one of the personality traits that kept me from getting a really good husband.

“All of the Harrison kids will get a school planner tomorrow,” I offered, hoping not to appear too pushy.

The older girl flipped her long, loose hair over her shoulder and smiled. “See?
Everyone
should have a planner.”

The younger girl grumbled, twisted her ponytail around her fingers, and threw the planner she held back into the wire basket of the display.

Figuring it might be nice to make conversation instead of being bossy, I asked, “Are you both going to Harrison? I teach there.”

The older girl shook her head. She was very pretty with warm brown hair and big, dark eyes set in a heart-shaped face. “I’m going to Indiana University. I moved into the dorms over the weekend. I just came back to help get my sister ready for school.”

The younger girl didn’t bother to answer. She kept rolling her brown eyes and twisting her brunette ponytail into knots, showing her obvious impatience with having any type of conversation with an adult.

I smiled at her anyway as I asked the older girl, “Which dorm?”

The girl had a wonderful smile. “McNutt.”

“My son’s in Briscoe.”

“Oh. Party dorm.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear.” I didn’t recognize her from school, but we had over three thousand students on campus. I couldn’t possibly have known every kid who went to Harrison High School. “Are you a Harrison grad?”

She shook her head. “We just moved to our new house a couple of months ago. I graduated from Evansville South.”

Having run out of polite conversation, I was just about to shuffle off when a man appearing to be in his forties came up to the three of us.

The first thing that crossed my mind was one word. 

Yummy
.

This had to be the girls’ father because I could see exactly where their dark good looks had originated. The guy had a face that looked like it was chiseled in the finest marble. Every plane, every angle, every line was perfect. Good God, those full lips were the sexiest things I’d ever seen. His hair was a warm chestnut and had an ever so subtle waviness to it, with just a peppering of gray at the temples. And he was tall. I always liked tall guys, especially those with brown eyes. Being five-nine, I appreciated someone I could look up to, and Adonis here was probably six-two or more.

I was in love.

Well, I was at least in lust.

“Daaaad!” the youngest girl squealed in that freshman girl voice that always found a teacher’s spine and worked its way up inch by agonizing inch. “Kathy was going to make me buy a stupid planner, but this lady says I don’t have to. Tell Kathy to leave me alone.”

He turned to me and smiled, flashing the most perfect set of white teeth I’d ever seen.

Oh, yes. I was definitely in lust.

“She doesn’t need a planner?” he asked.

I stood there drooling like one of Pavlov’s puppies. Even his voice was perfect. The good Lord just didn’t make them any yummier than this one.

When I finally located some of the few wits I had remaining, I smiled back. “No. If she’s starting at Harrison tomorrow, we’ll pass them out to the students. I’m Jackie Delgado. I teach science there.” I extended my hand, hoping he’d ask for it permanently.

The guy had one of those strong but not too strong grips. I instantly melted like a stick of butter in a hot pan. “Mark Brennan. Nice to meet you.” He inclined his head toward the youngest girl. “That’s Carly. “

The older girl quickly chimed in. “I’m Kathy.”

How does one politely ask a guy she just met if he wanted to go into the nearest closet, get naked, and play doctor? Especially when his daughters were standing right there... “Nice to meet you.”

“What science do you teach?” Mark asked.

The unusual thing was that he asked as if he really wanted to know. It didn’t seem like one of those questions asked politely when conversing with someone he had absolutely no interest in getting to know.

“Biology. Three Bio One classes for freshmen. Three Bio Two classes for seniors.”

“Maybe Carly will be in one of your classes. I think she’s taking biology.” His voice was rich and soothing.

He could sell water to a drowning woman.

“Maybe. They didn’t have class lists printed before I left.”

God, I hope she’s one of mine. I’ll put an hour or two aside for parent-teacher conferences. We can plan the wedding.

To keep my hands occupied so they didn’t reach out to touch his well-developed bicep, I grabbed one of the planners and threw it in my cart. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around school. Nice to meet you, Kathy, Carly, Mr. Brennan.”

“Mark. Please.”

“Mark. Please call me Jackie.” I turned to Carly. “Ms. Delgado at school.” Then I winked at her. She actually smiled at me. “Well, I better get going.”

I turned my cart and moved toward the next aisle, hoping I wasn’t drooling too awfully much. I couldn’t tell if it was just my imagination, but I think he actually watched my butt as I walked away.

CHAPTER THREE

Carly Brennan showed up at my classroom door the very first period of the next day. She seemed pleased to already know one of her new teachers, and I was thrilled to realize I had at least one normal teenager.

I went through my well-rehearsed spiel over the school rules, my classroom rules, and what I expected as far as student behavior. Judging from their looks, my hard-earned reputation of being strict had subdued my new kids.

Well, at least
some
of them. The young man sitting front and center smiling at me obviously wasn’t afraid.

He’d braided his hair into small twists that popped out all over his head like tiny branches growing from a tree trunk. He’d also taken an obviously lengthy amount of time to dye the braids several different colors—green, blue, red, yellow.

He reminded me so much of an odd man who used to show up at every sporting event in the 1970s in a rainbow wig that I smiled despite myself.

He smiled back.

I sure hope God loves teenagers
.
They need him
.

As class ended, Carly stopped to talk to me. I had to resist the urge to ask about Mr. Yummy. He was the girl’s father, after all.

I wasn’t honestly any better than the hormonal kids I taught. The man had plagued my thoughts—had even slipped into my dreams—since I met him the day before.

What the hell?

What happened to my cool self-control? Where had my casual aloofness where men were concerned gone? What happened to my independent streak that didn’t want another guy hanging around?

Must be
perimenopause
. Oprah said it made women a little loopy and sometimes horny.

I held tightly to that excuse to explain away my silly thoughts.

“My dad says, ‘Hi.’ He told me to make sure and tell you.” Carly gave me an enormous smile.

Was she serious? Mr. Yummy actually asked her to talk to me?

I had a quick thought about writing him a note and having her slip it to him.

That’s what I get for hanging around hormone-drenched adolescents all the time.

I finally decided to avoid the subject of Mark Brennan and focus on Carly. “Are you finding your way around okay?”

She nodded. “I think I’m going to like this class. I love science.”

“Nice to hear. I love it too.”

She scooted away with some students who passed my door.

Maybe Abby and Julie were right—I needed to get out more often. Here I was drooling over a student’s father. I couldn’t remember feeling as uncomfortable as I was at that moment in a very long time. It just didn’t seem right.

The day went smoothly for the first school day after a long break. Before I knew it, we were herding the little buggers out of the door and onto the busses or into their cars. The faculty always breathed a huge sigh of relief when the building finally emptied each day. And—if we were lucky—maybe a couple of the students actually learned something.

Abby came striding up the hallway, holding a small piece of paper. I assumed it was the name she had threatened to give me earlier.

I was correct.

“You’re gonna love this guy, Jackie. He’s something special.” She pressed the paper into my hand.

I unfolded it. All that was written on the slip of paper was a phone number.

“What’s his name?”

“Mike, I think,” she replied.

“You don’t even know his name? And you’re telling me he’s the best thing since sliced bread? What are you doing to me here, Abs?”

“No, I don’t know his name. Suzanne’s the one who said I should hook you two up. He goes to her church. She really liked the guy, but she said they just didn’t...click. She thinks he needs someone like you. Someone...”

I arched an eyebrow, waiting for the adjective she would choose to describe me. I’d heard them all before—loud, boisterous, obnoxious, and forceful.

Not a pretty picture.

“Vivacious,” Abby finally finished the thought.

I laughed in relief. “At least English teachers use nicer words when they insult you.”

She stared back at me, looking a bit perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“Vivacious. It’s a lot nicer than noisy.”

“But you are vivacious, Jackie. You have a
joie de vivre
.”

I laughed again, thanking God for friends who made me feel better about myself—even if they were just being polite.

My nickname as a child had been “Gabby.” I knew I had a problem keeping my thoughts to myself. At least my friends saw it as an endearing trait instead of an annoying one.

Abby went on with her hard sell. “He’s supposed to call you and arrange a date. Let me know when he does.”

“I will. I promise.” I pushed the paper into my pocket and promptly forgot all about it.

***

Jellybean wolf-whistled at me as I walked in from the garage.

“Why, thanks, Pal.” I opened the cage door to let him out to play. “It’s nice to be appreciated.”

He went to a small mirror I keep on the top of the cage and began to whistle the theme song from the old
Andy Griffith Show
and ignore me.

I dropped my purse and briefcase on the table and kicked off my shoes. Rubbing the sole of one sore foot and planning a massage for the other, I glanced around my empty home.

I still hadn’t gotten used to the quiet. I missed my boys.

The answering machine flashed two messages. I punched the button to listen to them.

Nate’s voice was first. It warmed me just to hear him. “Hi, Mom. I wanted to tell you how great my classes are. I love it here. I met a neat girl in my econ class. I think I might ask her out. Gotta go. Love you.”

“Good for you,” I said aloud to no one.

I started to wonder if I was talking to myself to banish the quiet or because I was losing my mind.

Jellybean was still butchering the Andy Griffith theme, but he’d added a few notes of “Pop Goes the Weasel.”

I sure as hell didn’t want that medley stuck in my head for the rest of the night.

The second message wasn’t as much fun. “Jackie, it’s David. I need you to sign some insurance papers. Since the boys are both over eighteen, I’m dropping you as beneficiary and adding them, Ashley, and Duncan. I’ll bring the papers over. Call me and let me know when you’re home.”

Yeah, I’ll get right on that one, loverboy.

“End of new messages,” the machine said in that annoying feminine, mechanical voice.

I wished the electronics companies would get some guy with a deep, seductive voice to record the prompts for answering machines. I figured it would make life a little more pleasant for old ladies like me. Plus, I had someone perfect to recommend.