The Still of Night (27 page)

She nodded. “Well, I’m praying for you.”

“Thanks.” Jill pushed her cart forward, and it hit her squarely that she needed to pray, too. Was something going on?
Lord, give me wisdom. Guide and sustain me
.

What did Anita mean, the whole summer? A misunderstanding. It had to be. But it would be just like Fogarty, who had resented her ever since their argument early in the year over the appropriateness of terminating defective life at birth. He not only disagreed with her contention that all life had value, he resented her believing it. She and Fogarty were fingernails on chalkboard.

Jill sighed. She paid for her groceries and went out to her car, steeling herself to go home. Morgan was still asleep when she went in, and Rascal had curled up at his feet. She hoped he wasn’t allergic to cats, since he wore no socks and Rascal had flopped against his bare ankles in happy abandon.

She stood for a moment, overwhelmed by the fact that Morgan Spencer was stretched out on her couch with her kitty at his feet. Not that Rascal was standoffish, but just the incredible unlikelihood of Morgan’s being there at all … She crept to the kitchen as he slept and put away the groceries as quietly as possible.

She had already straightened the kitchen, so she crept down the hall and cleaned the bathroom. The bedroom needed only a touch-up, though he would not set foot in it. At last she went back to the kitchen and put together a salad with chunks of imitation crab, butter lettuce, ranch-flavored sliced almonds, and wedges of tomato.

Should she wake him or eat by herself? She was hungry and needed fortification. She went over and touched his shoulder. “Would you like lunch, Morgan?”

Without opening his eyes, he muttered, “I’ll just sleep.”

She went to the counter and drizzled her portion with Greek dressing, putting aside his for later if he got hungry. She had no idea what his eating habits were. In high school they’d both been more conscientious than some, since their athletics demanded it. She recalled his eating frequently, but what teen boy didn’t?

She carried her plate to the nook and sat at the small wrought iron-and-glass table. The salad was tasty and fresh, but maybe it wouldn’t have satisfied a man’s appetite. Dan would wolf it down and scour the place for something he could sink his teeth into. She should have gotten meat or carbohydrates. But she’d shopped as she always did, whatever looked good at the moment.

And she’d been distracted by Anita’s comment. Maybe she should call in, see how the morning session had gone. No, that was paranoid. She had a right to take a personal day if she needed to. Of course, she had taken several others when she’d been so down before. But her attendance during the school year was exemplary. It was absurd to even be concerned.

And she wouldn’t be if there hadn’t also been the disciplinary action for “forcing religion” on the children, as though her kids could even understand. But she’d shared with Anita how prayer calmed Joey, and Anita had felt led to pass it on to Joey’s mother, Charline, who did not appreciate it.

That session with Fogarty had been especially unpleasant. His suggestion that she might do better in a Christian school, with parents who went for that, was rife with threat. Well, she hadn’t opened her mouth about prayer or faith or anything since. But he knew and collected every complaint from her team and those parents who were more willing to blame their child’s lack of success on her than any inborn limitations. Even some of the other teachers who didn’t appreciate her insistence that they integrate the kids as well as they could. In short, it was a hostile environment, and that accounted for the tension she felt now. That and Morgan Spencer’s presence.

While he slept she’d just run by the school and see how things were going. That should alleviate at least that factor. She gathered her purse quietly, slipped back into her sandals, and went out. The school wasn’t far, and she pulled into the lot, noting the cars parked there, Fogarty’s especially.

She went inside and started for the special ed room, but he called to her from his office. This was not good. Had her apprehension been founded? She joined him at his desk.

“I thought you were sick.”

“No. I had a personal situation I needed to handle.”

He nodded. “Have a seat.” His neck had that red turkey skin one expected on a farmer, not a school administrator. His eyes were limpid green under albinolike brows. He cut to the chase. “I’ve made my decision for next year. I’ve offered Pam the coordinator position.”

Jill stared at him. Though she was permanent to the district, the team leader and coordinator positions could be shifted by the board or administration each year—if warranted. Usually that depended on competence, but she’d done everything she could with her program, and a cold steam erupted inside. “What was the basis for your decision?”

“I feel you’re too confrontational with your team and the other teachers.”

Confrontational? “I fight for what the kids need.” And even then she was careful not to offend.

“In your opinion.”

Jill fought against the overwhelming impulse to shove his desk into the circular mound of belly that looked like a seven-month gestation. “I think I’ve handled the position with exemplary care and thought fulness toward all aspects of the situation.”

“I disagree.” He folded his white fingers. “I’ve had more complaints than I’ve addressed.”

“What more?”

He leaned forward. “Jill, I suggest you accept Pam’s leadership. She has a more global view of education.”

Jill swallowed hard. An understanding that matched Ed Fogarty’s. This could not be happening. What had she done but pour herself out for children who needed a champion? Pam did fine. Jill would give her that. But she would not make waves, not fight for their budget, not insist the kids be integrated wherever possible.

Was it sour grapes? Fogarty had made his decision, but if there were other complaints she’d know. She did not believe for one minute he hadn’t jumped on her for every one. No, he had given the position to Pam because she was an agnostic humanist with the politically correct opinion on everything.

“There’s another small matter. I’ve heard from several sources that your personal situation seems to be distracting you. We’ve hired a new teacher with a degree in severe and profound handicaps, and I’d like to integrate him before the school year begins. I think it would be a good thing for you to take some time this summer to deal with your situation, and give over your extended year caseload to Don.”

Jill stood up, stunned. Her legs had moved automatically. With her permanent status, Fogarty could not get rid of her directly, not without cause. But he could make her presence so pointless that she’d leave on her own. And that was exactly what he was doing. Yes, they needed another special ed teacher, but not one whose training rendered her irrelevant. He was counting on her quitting.

If it were one of the kids being wronged, she would fight, argue, plead. But she was too stunned just now for any of that. She turned and walked out, her mind scrambling. What was going on? This couldn’t be happening. Those kids were her life.

Stepping into the sunlight, she pressed her hands to her face. Was it possible she had let them down, not given her all? Yes, she’d been stressed, confused, depressed. But had that affected her performance? It must have if Pam had noticed. She’d said not one word to Pam about Kelsey or any of it. Jill drew a long, slow breath. This new man, Don, might be just what they needed. With an SLIC degree he must be compassionate, dedicated. But where did that leave her? In a daze, she drove home, parked in the garage, and went inside.

Morgan still slept on the couch. His head was cradled in his arm and his mouth hung slack. He was a man, asleep in her home, as out of place as a Picasso on her walls. But was it any stranger than everything else happening to her since learning of Kelsey’s illness? Her life was unraveling. Again.

Lord, please
. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to fight. Then she thought of Kelsey and the fight her daughter faced. This was nothing compared to that. It was hard to press on, but she had to. For Kelsey’s sake. A thought shot into her mind. Was this all happening for a reason? Had God just freed her for her real purpose? That thought brought grim comfort. She hadn’t meant to lose her job when she asked the Lord to show her clearly.

But was that exactly what this was? Maybe she could go with Morgan, be a part of the process. Maybe this was God’s hand, not Ed Fogarty’s. Though he liked to play God, Fogarty was nothing but a pawn in the bigger picture, whether he knew it or not. Jill’s heart thumped erratically. She should be devastated, terrified to be losing the underpinning of her existence—not to mention the impact on her finances.

Yet relief trickled in and watered her soul. She looked at Morgan. She could stand it. They could be civil; their drive today had proved that. Maybe this was the nudge from the Lord she needed. A sharp pang stung when she thought of her kids. How would they respond to a new teacher? They would ask for her. What would they be told?

But if this was God’s will, shouldn’t she trust even that to Him? She pressed her hands to her face.
Lord?

It wasn’t peace exactly, but a sense of submission. If she’d been urged to fight, she would have. But that was not her leaning. She moistened her dry lips and hoped she wasn’t making another mistake with her life. It was possible, given the simple fact that Morgan was involved.

Something moved against his legs, soft, yet prickly points on his skin. Morgan stirred, opened his eyes to the cat at his feet. It stretched with a raspy meow, and he noticed it was the claws of the cat’s back foot in his skin. He rose up on his elbow and studied the cat, puzzled.

Jill spoke from the nook. “He’s a cuddler.”

Morgan stretched and stifled a yawn, maneuvering his legs from under the cat and swinging them to the floor. He held his face and his stomach growled. “Did you say something about lunch?”

“A few hours ago. It’s closer to dinner now. But you could have the salad still.” She got up and took a salad from the refrigerator. “Greek, or blue cheese?”

“Either.” He was still foggy, but he needed food.

She set his meal on the table. He didn’t get up right away but sat still, holding his head.

“Are you all right?”

He turned. “Yeah.”

“I hope you like crab. I just grabbed what looked good at the store.”

He pressed himself up and stretched again. “Can I wash up?”

She motioned to the kitchen sink. He went to the sink, scrubbed his hands and face, and toweled dry with her dishcloth. Jill looked dazed. She couldn’t still be that disturbed by his invitation. After all, she’d started the process. He joined her at the table, studied the salad, and picked up his fork.

“If you’d rather have something else, I can—”

“This is fine.”

“I know it’s not awfully filling.”

He glanced up, then took a bite.

“Not everyone likes butter lettuce or imitation crab. I should have thought—”

He swallowed his bite. “It’s good.”

She continued, “I’m marinating a steak for dinner. Do you like cheesy corn?”

What on earth had turned her into this babbling brook? He leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “Sure.” So she was assuming he’d stay that long. He took another bite, unsure himself where to take it all.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Do you have anything I’d want?”

“Just milk or juice. Or water.”

“Water. Thanks.”

She stood up and poured him a glass from the filtered pitcher. She set it before him and sat back down, fidgeting.

Rascal came and rubbed his legs, then went to her. She lifted the cat to her lap.

Morgan took a drink. “Does he have a name?”

“Rascal.”

“Doesn’t appear to have the energy to warrant that.”

She snuggled Rascal under her chin. “Not since he got neutered. But as a kitten it certainly fit.”

Morgan watched her, more unsure of his motives than before. What was he doing there talking about dinner with a woman he wanted to throttle? Or did he? Eating crab salad, watching Jill with her pet, in her home, in the town that deep inside was his home, too, it was hard to hold on to the anger. But it was harder still to understand.

He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin. “Thanks for the salad.”

“If you’re still hungry—”

“I’m fine.” But he wasn’t.

“Morgan …”

Here it came, he could tell by her expression. Something she didn’t want to say but felt compelled to. What other bombs did she have in her arsenal?

“I was thinking about what you said, about being with you for the bone marrow harvest. Did you really mean it?”

He backpedaled to get there with her. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I told you, Consuela’s great with a meal and a mop, but—”

“I mean really, Morgan.”

He studied her stroking the cat under the neck, an expression in her eyes of both concern and hope. “Jill, I didn’t think it through that deeply. If you want to come, come.” Definitely not the answer she wanted. He leaned back in his chair. “Can you arrange it at school?”

Something flickered in her eyes. “Yes. I have as much time as I need.”

He shrugged. “Then come.”

She stood up and walked to the front window. The stiff line of her back showed her ire. What did she expect? For him to jump for joy? He was still trying to weather the tide.

But he got up and joined her. “Since this involves both of us, we ought to see it through together.”

She turned. “I’m grateful for you doing this, Morgan. I thought I could show it by supporting you. If you don’t need that …”

He slid the ends of his fingers inside the waist of his shorts and resisted the unrealistic tug of her words. “I’m long past need, Jill.”

She gathered herself. “Good. Then I’ll come as a friend and …”

He quirked his mouth sideways. “Rub my back?”

“If you need—if you want—if that’s what …”

His grin made her squirm. “Got a football?”

“What?”

“A pointed spherical pigskin?” He made the passing motion.