Peace of pie, p.13
Peace of Pie, page 13
This day passed with no new complaints from neighboring classrooms. Todd returned as the last stragglers from the final class of the day left the room.
“Pull up a chair,” Cal said. He straightened a pile of essays, each one titled “Why My Vote Counts,” clipped them together at the top, and stuck them in the back of his planner.
Todd placed a chair beside the desk and sat down, while Cal collected a pile of copied documents verifying voter registrations, also clipped them together at the top, and added them to the back of his planner, its binding strained against the added bulk. Reconsidering, he took out both sets of clipped papers and put them in his brief case, along with the planner.
In addition to the board-approved content of the class, Cal had added a bonus-points opportunity for anyone over eighteen who could prove they had registered to vote before the deadline for the next election. Those under eighteen could earn points by writing a two-page, double-spaced essay about the history of voting rights in the U.S. Today he had collected both proof of registration and essays. He would be busy this weekend.
“What can I do for you?” Cal asked. “Your hair, by the way, looks nice.” The new cut opened up Todd’s face, allowing others to see his eyes.
Todd brushed his hand above his ear. “Thanks. Miss Green said I look better with less hanging down.”
“And she’s right!” Cal flashed on having seen Bryony early that morning, her hair pulled back with a green ribbon, her respectful response when one of his students had complained about the coffee being too strong. She’d merely apologized and provided a fresh cup, as she should have, deepening his respect for her, and his interest in her.
He sat back and asked, “So, what is it you wanted to talk about?”
“I mostly wanted to check in with you,” Todd said. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good!” Cal answered. “You?”
Todd fidgeted in his chair and cleared his throat before raising his head to make eye contact. “I heard my mom talking to her friend who works in the school office—and this is between you and me—but the principal has been mad at you ever since your dog crashed the Homecoming bonfire celebration. And yesterday he started getting calls about you helping students register to vote.”
The newsflash made Cal bristle, but his irritation had nothing to do with the purveyor of the information, though there were concerns there, too. “Maybe you shouldn’t be telling me about conversations you overhear. Think about the ethics of doing that.”
Last week he had introduced the subject of ethics. This week they had covered ethics in business. Cal liked exploring both the value and challenges of living in a wealthy nation. Who profited? Who suffered? The class discussions were heated, passionate, mind-blowing at times.
“Well,” Todd said. “I wanted to check in and make sure you weren’t going to get fired or something because you’re the best teacher I ever had.”
“No worries,” Cal said. “I haven’t done anything worthy of being fired, and from now on, please honor your parents’ privacy. Anything else I can help you with?”
“Whatever happens,” Todd said, “I want you to remember, overall the people who live in this town are good, but prone to cronyism and gossip.”
“The latter of which you have aptly demonstrated.” The boy’s use of language often caught him off guard. What other talents lay dormant in his young mind?
Todd blushed. “Yeah, I guess so. I should have listened to my grandpa. He always said the way to stay alive is to keep to yourself.” He assumed a voice of authority. “‘Do good quietly, and keep the conversation superficial. We’re doers, not talkers.’”
“But talking is doing,” Cal said. “How can people transcend superficial relationships without talking? That’s why people with hearing loss learn to communicate with their hands. Language connects us.” He opened his desk drawer and dropped two pens into the front well designed to hold less than he collected there. “How have things been for you at home?”
“Better,” Todd said. “I told my mother about not wanting to be a firefighter. She told me not to tell my Dad, and when I graduate, to”—he assumed the authoritative voice again—“‘get the heck out of Dodge. Go east, or go west, young man. You’ll be happier.’” He dropped his shoulders. “The idea of going away makes me sad,” he said in his normal voice. “I don’t want to leave here.”
Cal chose to think Todd’s mother was trying to protect her son. “I’m sure she means well. Have you talked to the school counselor yet? Even if your father is disappointed in your life choices, maybe you can still stay right here, have a good life.”
“I don’t know,” Todd said. “But at least half of my parental load is informed.”
“And good for her for not giving you a hard time.” The reported response by Todd’s mother relieved some of the concern Cal had for Todd, but his father sounded fragile. “Trust yourself to know when and with whom you want to be open, honest, and vulnerable.”
“Oh, and I told Miss Green about my brother, too.”
“Wise choice. What did she say? I mean, how did she respond?” Cal winced at how quickly the questions came out, and at how much they sounded like, Does she like me?
“She was nice. Said she was sorry about what happened.” Todd stood and pushed the chair back into the crooked lines of desks filling most of the room. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else about you. Oh, wait. Telling you wouldn’t be ethical. If I hear any gossip about you, I’ll keep it to myself.”
“A plus!” Cal said.
Todd strode out of the classroom. Cal sat for five minutes mulling over the implications of the boy’s inappropriate disclosure, then picked up his briefcase, and headed for the hallway.
The door to the office suite was unlocked, though ancillary staff were absent. Cal marched straight to the open door labeled “Principal.” Generally, Mitch seemed to leave the school grounds soon after the students departed, but today he remained at his desk, hunched over a document, pen in one hand, head cradled in the other.
“Mitch?” Cal said as he knocked. “Okay if I come in?”
Mitch looked up, dark circles and bags under his eyes. “What can I do for you, Forster?”
“Um,” Cal started.
Anger had propelled him forward, but now that he had arrived at his destination, his mind worked to sort out a rational way to start what could be a difficult conversation. Was Mitch really still mad about the Bailey incident, or did he see Cal leave the bonfire area with Bryony? And what was that nonsense about voter registrations?
“Just wanted to check in about anything I should be aware of,” he said. “Um, you know, make sure I’m not missing any important deadlines, breaking any codes of conduct.” Or otherwise pissing you off and, if so, why don’t you say it to my face?
Mitch closed his eyes, placed an open palm across his forehead, and massaged from his eyebrows to his hairline three times before answering. “Right now I can’t think of anything but this damned report that’s due tomorrow.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. “Hasn’t been a great day.”
Cal waited a beat, his irritation calming further, before asking, “Anything I can do to help?”
“With this?” Mitch dropped his pen on the document. “Not unless you have a time machine and can drum up a few hundred votes for the last election.”
“School levee?” Cal asked.
“People who can’t afford children should not have them,” Mitch said.
“Children are the future of the whole community,” Cal said. “Better funding sources would make sense.”
Mitch raised his eyes, smirked, and flashed a peace sign. “Power to the people.”
Cal took a calming breath and let it out slowly. He’d come to get some straight answers from Mitch about the gossip Todd had relayed, but Mitch was not in the mood for straight talk. Was he ever? Looked like Cal would have to do an end run.
“Anyway”—Mitch looked down at the document—“I’ve got to finish this before I go home, and then I have to dig up a new trivia partner before Friday night.”
“Trivia?” Cal asked, his interest piqued.
Head snapping up, Mitch asked, “You play?”
“Sure,” he answered. “And I play to win.”
“And do you? Do you win?” Mitch asked, his eyes taking on a wildness, like one possessed.
“More than I like to admit,” Cal answered. “So much in fact, if I reel off the list of prizes won, feels like I’m bragging.”
“Seriously, Forster,” Mitch said, practically salivating. “Are you champion material?”
Who knew that trivia would be the bait to lure Mitch into what might be a softer, kinder, more fraternal kind of interaction. Cal decided to give him a little more line, let him struggle a bit before reeling him in.
“I wrote the book on how to be the big winner,” Cal said.
That was true, though it was more pamphlet than book. He’d handed out copies at a Halloween event last year at the Cleveland pub where he’d played trivia every week. Intended more than anything to serve as a party prop, a door prize, he had signed copies, which gave it a book-like launch. And the eight stapled pages did contain some rather pertinent advice, like, Stop watching television, get off your arse, and take your lazy brain to the library.
Mitch started to smile. “Will you sub for my partner?”
“Always the sub, never the regular,” Cal said, a bit coquettish.
“I am serious,” Mitch said.
“I think you said that already.” His whole reason for the office visit subverted by the topic of trivia, Cal was starting to enjoy seeing Mitch squirm.
“Will you partner with me?” Mitch asked. “Friday nights, eight o’clock, sports bar on Taft.”
“How many people on the team?”
“Just me, and you if you’ll join me,” Mitch answered, quick to add, “I could do it by myself, but I like sharing the grand prize.”
Then why was he so desperate to have a partner?
Before answering, Cal made a show of deliberating, putting his finger to his chin, checking the calendar on his phone, then shrugging his shoulders as he said, “Sure, I have nothing better to do with my time.”
“Great!” Mitch rose up from his chair to slap Cal’s upper arm. “Good to have you aboard. Now go home to that raggedy mutt of yours.”
“Friday night, then,” Cal said as he walked backward to the door.
“And leave my sister alone,” Mitch said. “She’s just getting over the last one.” Though smiling, he had balled his hands into fists, placed them on the desktop, and leaned forward on his knuckles. “You don’t want to add to her pain.”
“Funny way to start a partnership,” Cal said, too wise to engage further. He only smiled, tipped an imaginary hat, and left the office.
So, Mitch Green and he would start seeing each other every Friday night. Well, if he was going to spend that much time with the brother, maybe he could find a way to get to know the sister. Might Bryony Green like him well enough to follow through on another walk? And if she did, what payback might her brother dish out?
“Let it go!” Cal said under his breath, and a song began to play in his head.
Hell-OH! had invited him to watch Frozen eight times before he moved to Fieldstone. He had stayed with her, beginning to end, until he knew all of the songs and most of the dialogue by heart.
He missed the little munchkin and looked forward to seeing her and the rest of his family in a few weeks. Should he hire a magician for the Halloween party? Something monstrously large would be a hit. A bouncy house? No, those things were prone to flying away. He would come up with something. Maybe he could dress Bailey as Cyndi Lauper and put an iPod on his collar with a tiny speaker. Cal burst out laughing at the image in his mind, and then wondered, Does a man’s laughter make noise if there’s no one else in the parking lot to hear him?
BRYONY’S YES
For the second day in a row, Todd arrived for work looking like a cover model for GQ. Did he want Bryony to continue to gush over him every time, or react with a subdued acceptance of his new look? She settled on, “You look nice today.”
“So do you,” Todd replied.
“Thanks.” Bryony tucked her hair behind her ear. “Hey, Todd, I want to thank you for encouraging me about the pie list. I’m taking your advice. I’m going to finish the list.”
Todd looked taken aback. “I don’t remember any adult ever doing anything I thought they should do.”
“I hope I’m not the last,” she said. “Because you have good ideas.”
“Thanks.” Todd reached for his apron. He put the neck strap over his head, and as he tied the longer straps around his waist, said, “Hey, Miss Green, if you want to make a pie with a pigeon in it, and you need some taste testers, I’m game.”
“I heard what you said.” She pointed at him and smiled. “Pigeon meat? Game?” She liked Todd, liked working with him, and was grateful to Cal for bringing them together.
They finished setting up all of the tables with time to spare. Bryony headed to the ovens. Todd stationed himself at the counter to stock the tea basket.
They were quiet for a few minutes before Todd said, “Mister Forster’s the best teacher I ever had.”
Bryony popped a tray of bagels into the oven without comment.
“Ask anybody in any of his classes,” Todd said.
“What makes him the best?” Bryony asked. She reached beside Todd for a towel to wipe down the oven door, and he moved away to allow her easier access.
“He asks about our interests and incorporates them into his lectures,” he said. “And he talks to us like we’re real people.”
“I like people treating others well, too.” She finished shining the stainless steel surface and tossed the towel into the bin between the refrigerator and storage cabinet.
“Mister Forster likes you.”
“What?” Bryony stopped moving.
Todd leaned against the counter, crossing his arms at his chest and his legs at his feet.
“I can tell by how he looks whenever he comes in here. He likes you. When I told him I’d told you about my brother, he said, ‘Wise choice.’”
There were so many things wrong with this conversation. Todd should not be talking to her like this. And she should not have such a strong response to what he said. Her heart rate increased. Heady confusion came as her thoughts bathed in euphoria mixed with rising trepidation.
She ignored Todd’s comment and readied the cash drawer for the day, counting money being the best way to calm herself.
Todd was quiet for a minute or so before saying, “I wish my father was like Mister Forster.”
His words surprised her. She stopped counting and looked at him. “Why?”
“He seems to care about everybody,” Todd said. “And I’m not just talking about students. He talks to the janitors, asks about their families, remembers the details so the next time he sees them, he can ask, ‘So how’s it going with Jay’s broken leg?’ or, ‘Did your Lorissa win the contest?’”
“How do you know what he says to other people?”
“I pay attention,” Todd answered quickly. “Most of what I’ve learned about how to get along with people came from noticing how others get along well.”
“Okay.” Bryony looked sideways at the young man. “Maybe that sounds less stalkery now.”
“Anyway,” Todd said. “I think you deserve someone like him, Miss Green. You two deserve each other.”
“What?” She stumbled over her next words. “Mister Forster and I aren’t… we don’t… we hardly know each other.”
“You can change that,” Todd said. “You should get to know him.”
“You and I shouldn’t be talking about this.” How had this happened? Maybe she had not been such a good choice as a supervisor. She should have established better boundaries, been less empathetic, a more decisive authority figure. “You need friends your own age.”
“You need to give Mister Forster a chance.”
“I agree!” Lillian emerged from the back of the store.
Of course she would show up right at that moment. Lillian had a way of turning up at opportune times, usually like a guardian angel, occasionally more like a plucky, annoying sprite.
“When did you get here?” Bryony asked.
“You didn’t hear the back door? You two must have been so wrapped up in your little tete-a-tete you didn’t notice me back there.”
“I think Bryony should ask Mister Forster to go on a date,” Todd said.
“Oh, happy day!” Lillian clapped and looked upward. “Someone else agrees with me.”
“This is no business of yours,” Bryony glared at Lillian as she tied on her apron. “Or yours,” she said, glancing at Todd. She didn’t like them ganging up on her.
“I’m sorry, Miss Green,” Todd said.
“Apology accepted. Would you please unlock the front door now?”
Breaking with his routine, Cal had not shown up for his morning coffee, and Bryony decided to walk home before the after-school crowd arrived to ensure she would miss him then, too. She knew she would be hyperaware of how Lillian perceived her every interaction with the man. She would feel awkward, and it would show. Lillian might take that as a sign of her interest in Cal. He might, too, and she wasn’t ready for any more encouragement from Lillian or confusing comments from Cal.
Why did being attracted to someone have to be so confusing, agitating, threatening?
She remembered the revelation she’d had about her father the day Alma socked him in the arm. Maybe it was that simple. Maybe she’d been raised to fear strong men. And maybe Cal was one of the strongest men she’d ever met. Not in terms of athleticism, though he did seem fit. His strengths were his mind, and his obvious love for people in general, and his sense of humor.
A blue sky with wisps of cloud backdropped the traffic light as she approached the intersection. She glanced at the car stopped at the red light allowing her to cross. Cal drove a similar car. She made eye contact with the driver. The young man behind the wheel met her eyes and smiled. She replied with a brusque tip of her head and looked forward, a slowly curving Mona Lisa smile on her lips . She had wanted it to be Cal.
