Kindergarten Baby: A Novel (5 page)

“Oh, that’s all right. I’m a teacher, so I have lots of children’s books around. Do you go to the U?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m studying psychology.”

Before Lindsey knew it, they were deep in conversation about children’s cognitive development. Finally, the delivery guy lifted one hand.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’ve distracted you. Your food is going get cold. I should go.”

Lindsey looked at the bags of food with horror, realizing for the first time what she’d done: ordered enough for both her and Anthony. The realization was like a physical pain in her gut.

“That’s not a problem. I really needed a distraction,” she said. “When I was in college, I was often hungry from lack of a decent meal. Do you ever feel that way?”

He smiled. “Oh yes, ma’am.”

She chuckled, enjoying his enthusiasm. “Well, if you’ll agree to stop calling me ma’am, I’ll share some of this delicious food with you. Can you stay?”

The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. Inviting a total stranger to have dinner with her? Here, in her home? What was she thinking?

“Yes, ma’am.” He stopped himself. “I mean…‌what
is
your name?”

“Lindsey,” she said, slightly apprehensive. “Lindsey Sommerfield. What’s yours?”

“Jake Lee. And, no, I’m not Chinese.”

They both laughed, and he told her that she was his last delivery, so it really was okay for him to stay and eat. He wouldn’t have to go back in as long as he called in.

“I do have one problem, though,” he said, hesitating. “It’s getting really cold out, and my dog‌—‌well, he’s not exactly
my
dog, but the dog is in my Jeep, and I’m afraid he is going to get too cold and scared if I leave him there much longer. He seems so sad and—”

“Don’t say another word,” said Lindsey. “I completely understand. Your dog is very welcome. I even have some dog food that’s going to waste.”

He headed back outside, and within seconds he returned with a huge, somewhat damp dog at his side.

Lindsey stared in disbelief. “Wendell? Is that you?”

The dog’s tail waved madly, and he leaped inside. He did a powerful tailspin and made full circles, knocking objects off the table and Lindsey off her feet. Then he jumped up and gave her the sloppiest dog kisses a dog could give.

Jake tried in vain to control the dog. “Whoa, sorry! I had no idea he’d act like that. Here boy, come here.”

The next few hours passed by quickly, and Wendell never left Lindsey’s side‌—‌not even during one quick trip to the tiny downstairs bathroom. She set places at the table, complete with woven mats and cloth napkins, while this total stranger, this young, cute, male college student lit a fire in the fireplace. For a brief moment, she forgot her sorrows.

Lindsey brought Wendell a dish from the kitchen and mixed in a little white rice, then all three of them ate ravenously. Lindsey and her unexpected guest discussed movies they’d seen and books they’d read, and she was impressed by his knowledge and interest in literature.

Finally, Jake stood and grinned. “I’d better get going. It’s late, and I’ve got an eight o’clock class.” He rubbed Wendell’s back. “Let’s go big guy.”

Lindsey tried not to panic. “You’re not taking that dog anywhere. He belongs with me, can’t you see that?”

Jake smiled apologetically. “I can tell he really likes you, but I kind of…‌well, to be honest, I dognapped him from his owner’s yard. I’ve got to get him back before they notice he’s missing. I only took him tonight because I felt bad that he’d been left out in the rain and all. Sorry. Thanks again for dinner. We gotta go.”

Tears welled in her eyes as Jake led Wendell to the door. Wendell was usually picky with strangers, but he didn’t seem to mind going with this young man. She found that very interesting.

“Jake?” Lindsey called softly. “Do you think you could steal him again sometime?”

After a long pause, Jake and Wendell turned. They looked at each other then back at Lindsey, and it was as if they both were smiling. It almost looked rehearsed. Like something from a movie or the seal show at Sea World. If she hadn’t been so sad about their departure, she’d have laughed. Instead, she waited. She knew what Wendell’s answer would be, but he didn’t seem to be the one in charge.

Jake nodded. “Now that I can do,” he promised, giving her a boyish smile.

Lindsey stood by the door, dazed, and watched them go. Then the house was empty once again. The methodical ticking of the clock, the far away creaking of the ever-settling walls, and the lonesome drumming of rain echoed through her body. Numb inside, she cleaned up the clutter and went to bed.

CHAPTER SIX

Judy’s class was already singing when Lindsey arrived.

“Sorry we’re late,” voiced Lindsey, slightly out of breath. “We had a bloody nose emergency.”

Judy smiled and nodded. She knew those things happened.

Eight canteens of water,
Seven rattle snakes,
Six spadefoot toads,
Five dancing deer,
Four laughing cows,
Three western geckos,
Two javelinas,
And a quail in a Palo Verde tree.

They sang the song three more times then added two more verses. The kids came up with nine kangaroo rats and ten cactus wrens, and both teachers were relieved that they were two appropriate and usable verses. They’d let the laughing cow verse remain, but they’d had to exclude a few, like eight bottles of booze, seven roadkill rabbits, and six dirty diapers.

As the students filed back to their classrooms, Judy called out, “Good luck with your official observation this afternoon.”

Lindsey groaned. Typically she didn’t panic over these things. On the other hand, she didn’t usually forget about them, either. As the kids gathered on the rug, waiting eagerly to hear what they would be doing next, Lindsey glanced at her plan book to make sure she had something planned that was fit for a principal’s careful scrutiny. Fortunately, she did. She was glad she had a few minutes to talk with the children about the principal’s impending visit.

Lindsey started the reading lesson by guiding the students through a “picture walk” of the book. “What do you notice about the cover of this book?” she asked. “Alexa?”

“There’s a lady cooking something.”

“Good! How do you know that?”

Alexa answered, but she sounded annoyed at being asked to explain what she considered to be so obvious. “She’s got a pot and a spoon. Duh!”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Lindsey went on. “What else? Armando?”

“I see kids. They look like they want what’s in the pot.”

“Good! Let’s turn to the title page and—”

“Mrs. Wilson is here! Mrs. Wilson is here!” shouted the children.

Lindsey smiled. “Welcome to our classroom, Mrs. Wilson. We were just about to read this book. Make yourself at home.”

The principal sat just behind the children, looking very serious and gripping an official-looking green notepad in one hand. Lindsey proceeded through the lesson, confident that she knew what she was doing, and that she could do it well. They discussed all the pictures then stopped just before she showed the last page, and she asked for predictions concerning how the story might end. Then she turned back to the beginning and read the words, touching each one as she spoke, simultaneously teaching the young children about one-to-one word correspondence and directionality.

“The Kitchen Kettle
by Janine Cowlee,” read Lindsey.

A maniacal grin spread across Bobby’s plotting face.
Oh, no,
thought Lindsey.
Here it comes.

“She’s ‘cow’-lee ‘cause she looks like a cow,” teased Bobby.

“She does?” Harley asked, looking sincere. “I don’t think so.”

“I never seen a lady that looked like a cow,” added Marvin.

And away they went. Every child put in his or her two cents, and all at once. So much for raising hands or talking one at a time.

“Ladies don’t look anything like cows,” Joseph said in a rare attempt to be helpful.

Emma’s little fists were on her hips. She was not impressed. “We never even saw the lady,” she reasoned.

“You’re mean, Bobby!” said Armando.

“Well, you’re stupid!” Bobby shot back.

“You are ‘cow’-lee, too!” Connie threw in.

Bobby scowled, closing in on tears. “Am not.”

“You guys! The principal is here!” shouted Emma, clearly uncomfortable.

The bickering stopped, but Lindsey could see that some of the students didn’t know whether to be upset about Bobby’s “cow”-lee business, or if they should be more worried about the school principal witnessing the chaos.

Lindsey wasn’t upset. She actually found the whole situation rather amusing and tried not to let the children see her smile, but she wasn’t so sure that Mrs. Wilson shared her point of view. So she quickly showed her disappointment in the children’s behavior and asked them to return to their regular table seats. When they showed her they were ready to come to the rug and act like students, she said she would invite them back.

Had the principal not been there, she would have used this opportunity to stop, seat the children in a circle, and conduct a class meeting to work through the situation with guided problem solving. In retrospect, she wished she’d done that. But it was hard to think on the spot when she was being observed.

***

After Laura and Lindsey ordered their latté and mocha, they sat at a round table in the corner, enjoying a good view of the coffee house. They sipped in silence for a few minutes, winding down from the day.

Suddenly Lindsey blurted out, “I can’t believe he hasn’t called or come by to talk. Don’t most couples that split up at least fight for a while? He owes me at least that. And some kind of an explanation, too.”

Laura lifted one eyebrow. “I have to admit, it’s all pretty weird. Have you tried to call him?”

“I don’t even know where he lives,” she said, taking another sip.

Laura shook her head, disappointed. “Lame. Really lame, Lindsey. You know where he works. He’s got a cell phone. Call him. You need more information so you can get on with your life. What’s it been, three months?”

Lindsey stared off into nowhere with few thoughts coming to mind. Laura was right. She wasn’t doing very well. Not at home, anyway; not at night.

“Lindsey? Hello, Lindsey? Are you in there? Have you heard anything I’ve said?” asked Laura.

Lindsey blushed. “Oh, sorry. Bits and pieces. You’re absolutely right. I do need to get on with my life.” She nudged her friend. “Hey, it’s Friday night. Let’s go check out that new place. What’s it called?”

“Coyote Café, I think,” replied Laura, looking inquisitive.

Lindsey grinned. “But we are definitely not wearing our school clothes. We’ve got to change.”

“All righty. Sounds good. How about we meet there at eight-thirty?”

“You’re on.”

On the drive home, Lindsey did a lot of thinking. Her initial thoughts were full of anger directed at Anthony. She’d show him. She’d have a good time without him. She didn’t need him to be happy, she told herself. Then she slumped. Who was she kidding? Not even herself. She still needed him, still wanted him, and she desperately held onto the hope he’d return.

But damn it, she was going to have a good time tonight without him. She deserved it!

Convinced‌—‌at least for the moment‌—‌that she could do it, a new set of unfamiliar concerns cropped up. What would she wear? All her clothes were teacher clothes. Even the ones she didn’t wear to school made her look like a teacher. She had no choice but to make a quick detour to the mall.

She found the perfect black dress: a little too short and a little too tight. No one would suspect she was an elementary school teacher. She wore the dress out of the store after the clerk snipped off all the tags, then touched up her makeup as soon as she was in the car‌—‌only this time, she left the delicate hand at home. After all, it was Friday night. It wasn’t a crime to look a little made up. There. Ready. She could stroll into the Coyote Café with confidence.

The minute she walked in, a man two stools from the door let out a whistle and an, “Ooh, baby!”

“Hey, buddy. That’s a teacher you’re whistling at. A kindergarten teacher.”

Lindsey blinked in the dim interior of the bar, recognizing Laura’s voice. Her friend’s words were just the slightest bit slurred, she noticed. She carefully‌—‌because of the shortness and tightness of her dress‌—‌positioned herself on the high stool next to Laura, and the vocal male spoke up again.

“Ooooh baby. Kindergarten baby!”

Somewhat shocked, Lindsey turned away from him and gave Laura a tell-me-what’s-going-on glare.

Laura shrugged. “Don’t mind him. He’s had a few too many.”

“Well,” said Lindsey, lifting one eyebrow. “I don’t think he’s the only one. How did he know I was a kindergarten teacher?” She frowned at her friend’s drink. “And what’s with the scotch? You don’t drink scotch.”

Laura fanned a dismissive hand at her friend. “Relax. It’s the hunky bartender’s fault. He made me drink the scotch.”

Lindsey’s antennae sprang to attention. Only a couple of times had she heard anyone use the word “hunky” and it had been Laura, describing Dr. Anthony Sommerfield in the hospital the day he and Lindsey had met. A vision of that moment replayed as a burning flashback, and Lindsey was furious with herself that she allowed one word to trigger her thoughts full speed ahead on an “Anthony” crash course. On impulse, she ordered a scotch, too, and Laura began her bartender story.

“He even guessed what drink I would order,” she said, giving her a half smile.

Lindsey glanced skeptically at Laura’s glass. “He guessed you’d order scotch?”

“No, silly. He guessed I’d order a glass of white zin, which, of course, is what I would have ordered, but I didn’t want him to think he could take one look at me and know that. So I had to order scotch.”

“I see. And then you had to order a second one?”

“Well, no. He just brought it. Said it was on the house.” She batted her eyelashes. “I think it was really on him.”