Forever With You (Bayou Dreams Book 5) (2 page)

Chuckling at their plight, Leslie went back to the novel she’d been reading for the past month. She remembered a time when she could get through a book in a week. These days she was lucky to find twenty free minutes a day to indulge in her old pastime.

She’d become so engrossed in the book that it took her a while to realize that she had been steadily losing light. Leslie looked up through the branches overhead and noticed the ominous cloud directly above them.

“Girls,” she called. “I think it’s time to go inside.”

There was a low rumble, then a loud crack of thunder. Just like that, the sky opened up and a deluge of hot rain poured down. Cassidy and Kristi both squealed as they raced to the back porch. Leslie swung the hammock to the right and tried to climb out, but it flipped over before she could steady herself, planting her right on the ground.

She groaned.

That was her, graceful as a swan.

By the time she made it to the back porch she was soaked. Kristi and Cassidy both pointed and laughed like a couple of hyenas.

“Well, thanks a lot,” Leslie said. She wrung out her soaked shirt and flung the water at them. They both squealed again, jumping away from her. Buster scurried around the porch, trying to become a part of the game.

“Let’s get in the house,” Leslie said. “I’m starving.”

Kristi pointed and giggled. “And wet.”

“Oh, yeah?” Leslie wrapped her arms around her daughter, making sure to get her good and soaked with the dampness from her shirt.

After slipping the casserole she’d made before church into the oven, she, Cassidy and Kristi all took showers and changed into pajamas. It might not have been proper in some households to eat Sunday supper in pajamas, but it certainly was in this one.

As per their Sunday evening ritual, Leslie lifted the dry-erase calendar from the refrigerator and set it on the table. She wiped away the previous week’s tasks and, handing the attached whiteboard marker to Cassidy, went through the schedule for the upcoming week.

“Don’t forget Parent/Teacher Conference night,” Cassidy said. “We get an extra star in English if our parents come.”

The notion of bribing kids with stars in order to get parents involved in their children’s school life was abhorrent, but Leslie knew it was also necessary. After all, just a year ago she had been one of those parents who routinely skipped school activities due to work obligations. Until she’d learned the price her absence had cost her daughters. These days she practically had her own designated parking spot at the school.

“I’ll be there,” Leslie assured Cassidy. She pointed at the whiteboard. “Make sure you have the correct times for softball practice. You don’t want to be late again. And circle the Bayou Campers meeting so we don’t forget.”

Yeah, she had all the time in the world to be lonely.

Once dinner was done and the dishes loaded into the dishwasher, they settled in for their Sunday night movie. It was Kristi’s turn to pick, which meant either
Casper the Friendly Ghost
or
The Lion King.
Leslie snuggled on the couch with her girls and watched
Casper
for the hundredth time. Once the movie was done, she declared bedtime, ushering the girls off the couch.

“It’s Sunday night,” Kristi reminded her. “We get a Daddy story.”

Leslie ruffled Kristi’s natural curls and smiled down at her, praying she was doing a good job of hiding her discomfort.

After going nearly a year hardly uttering her deceased husband’s name, Leslie had slowly started reintroducing Braylon’s memory into her family. It had been more difficult than she’d anticipated, but every Sunday night she shared with the girls a story about their father.

Seated on the edge of Cass’s canopy bed, Leslie cradled Kristi on her lap, rubbing her hand up and down her baby’s arms.

“Have I told you girls about the time your daddy tried to bake me a cake for my birthday?” Both girls shook their heads. “Well, your father was pretty good when it came to cooking hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill, but when it came to baking, he was horrible. He knew that I loved strawberry shortcake—”

“I love strawberry shortcake, too,” Kristi interrupted.

“I know.” Leslie tweaked her nose. “You get it from me. Your dad tried to make me a strawberry shortcake for my birthday once, but he couldn’t find fresh strawberries so he used frozen ones. However, he didn’t let them thaw out before serving me my piece of cake, so when I bit into the frozen strawberry, I hurt my tooth and had to go to the dentist to get it fixed.”

Kristi plopped a hand to her forehead and moaned. “Oh, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.”

“Did the cake at least taste good?” Cassidy asked.

“I told him it did.”

“Because you didn’t want to hurt his feelings,” Kristi guessed correctly.

“Yes,” Leslie said. “But I made sure to order birthday cakes from the bakery every year after that. Aren’t you girls happy I did?”

“Can I get a strawberry shortcake when I turn six?” Kristi asked.

“That’s a year away,” Cass pointed out.

“Wait. I meant tomorrow. Can I get a strawberry shortcake tomorrow?”

“Nice try.” Leslie playfully tugged her curl.

She gave Cassidy a kiss and then carried Kristi to her bedroom. As Leslie tucked her in, Kristi put a hand on her cheek and said, “Thank you for tonight’s story, Mommy. I like hearing stories about you and Daddy.”

Emotion thickened in her throat. “I’m happy you’re enjoying them,” she said. “I know your daddy wishes he could be here to tell you stories, too.”

She kissed Kristi’s palm and then her forehead. Even though there was a night-light, Leslie left a crack in the door.

She made her way across the hall to her bedroom, tears on the brink of falling down her cheeks. But she sucked it up, straightened her spine and demanded they remain at bay.

It had taken a year before she’d stopped crying herself to sleep every night. Once she had, Leslie had made a vow to remain strong for her girls. She’d been on the verge of breaking down more times than she could count, but she was still standing.

And she would continue to do so.

Chapter 2

G
abriel Franklin stood before the science lab’s Formica-topped table surrounded by nearly two-dozen wide-eyed fourth graders, who all stared intently at the stack of pennies, nickels and lemon-juice-soaked paper squares in the center.

“So, how many of you think we’ve made a battery here?” Gabe asked as he held a length of copper wire just above the stack of coins. Half the students raised their hands.

He eyed the doubters with an upturned brow. “That’s all? The rest of you think I’m wrong?”

Anthony Radcliff’s freckled forehead scrunched in skepticism. “It’s just loose change and paper towels. How can that be a battery?”

Gabe tsked. “Oh, ye of little faith.”

The crease in Anthony’s forehead deepened. “Huh?”

“Never mind,” Gabe said. “Gather around closer, kids.” He touched one edge of the wire to the penny on the bottom of the stack and the other to the nickel on top. “Now, check this out.”

He connected the wire to an LED bulb and thanked the reliability of science when the bulb flickered and then shone with a soft glow.

The students erupted in cheers and excited howls.

“How’d you do that, Mr. Franklin?” Anika Reynolds asked in an awed whisper. “Is it magic?”

“It’s science,” Gabe answered. “It’s exactly what we’ve been talking about for the past week, taking the negative charge of one metal and the positive charge of another, and connecting them with an acid. The penny is made of what?”

“Copper,” the students replied in unison.

“And the nickel?”

“Silver!”

“And that lemon juice is filled with acid,” Gabe said.

“So, can I make my iPod work with pennies, nickels and lemon juice?” Cassidy Kirkland asked.

“That would take a lot of pennies, nickels and lemon juice, but at least you get the idea.” Gabe clapped his hands. “Okay, back to your seats. It’s time to write up what we all just witnessed in proper scientific-method form.”

He fully expected the grumbles and groans his statement elicited. He was only in his second semester of teaching at Gauthier Elementary and Middle School, but students were students no matter the school, and none of them enjoyed paperwork.

Using the electronic Smart Board that had replaced the green chalkboards he’d grown up with, Gabe went through the scientific method, going over the initial question he’d posed, the research the students had conducted, the hypothesis they all had agreed upon and the multitude of tests they’d run in order to investigate it.

He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at the sight of the twenty-two heads bowed over notebooks, their hands scribbling diligently. He required his students to take notes, even though the Smart Board allowed him to email whatever was written on it directly to their parents, which he also did at the end of every week.

The bell signaling the end of third period rang just as the students were finishing up.

“Remember your final topics for the science fair are due tomorrow,” Gabe called above the bustle of zipping backpacks and desk chairs scraping against the tiled floor. “And if you’re working with a partner, you
both
will need to turn in forms. It’s not cool to have one person do all of the work, is it?”

That garnered mumbles and a few wisecracks. Also expected.

While the students filed into the hallway, Gabe returned to the rear of the classroom where the small but functional lab was located. He cleared the remnants of today’s science experiment, washing the coins and leaving them to air-dry. Once the station was cleared, he packed up the battered leather messenger bag he’d been carrying around since his freshmen year of college, killed the lights and locked up behind him.

The teaching portion of his day was done. It was time to switch to his second role, interim assistant principal of Gauthier Elementary and Middle School—GEMS for short. The school officially had been renamed The Nicolette Fortier Gauthier Elementary and Middle School after the wife of the town’s founder, but in the eight months that he’d lived here Gabe had yet to hear anyone call it by that name.

A month into his second semester as the fourth-and fifth-grade science teacher at GEMS, the school’s assistant principal abruptly resigned. Gabe had earned his master’s in education administration last summer, which put him in the perfect position to take over as interim assistant principal.

As much as he loved the classroom—seeing the kids’ faces light up when he introduced them to yet another cool science construct was better than sinking a three-point winning shot at the buzzer—he loved this new role just as much. It wasn’t as hands-on as teaching, but the opportunity it provided to affect the lives of an even greater number of students was worth the trade-off. He was in a position to change lives in the same way his own life had been change, but on an even
larger
scale.

The weight of all those tremendous possibilities being within his control was awe-inspiring. To anyone who had known him back in his early teen years, the idea of Gabriel Franklin even making it out of high school with a diploma would have been unfathomable.

But he
was
here. This was his life. He’d worked for it, reached for it, had done every single thing right for the past decade to make this happen.

The next step? Make that
interim
title a thing of the past.

Gabe had come up with a plan on how to do just that and in the past week had begun to put that plan in motion.

Just as he entered the suite of offices that housed the principal, assistant principal, school counselor and secretary, Ardina Scofield thrust a stack of folders into his chest. The secretary, whom Gabe had to admit kept this place running like a well-tuned engine, returned to her computer without a word of greeting. Gabe had learned the hard way that when you moseyed over to Ardina’s bad side it was hell to get off of it. He’d found himself there after accepting an invitation from her to dinner and then backing out.

He should have known better than to encourage her advances, but she had approached him on the same day he’d struck out with the one woman—the
only
woman—who’d caught his eye since he’d moved to Gauthier.

Actually, to say he’d struck out wasn’t entirely accurate. When it came to Leslie Kirkland, he hadn’t managed to step up to the plate yet. Every time he even thought about broaching the subject of seeing his most dedicated parent volunteer outside of school, something told him to back off. It just never seemed like the right time to approach her.

He was tired of waiting for the right time.

And having dinner with Ardina in the meantime definitely would not have been the answer to his dating woes. Muddying the waters with a workplace affair was not on his agenda.

But Gabe knew he would have to figure out a way to get back into Ardina’s good graces, because anyone who had worked in a school environment for any length of time knew that it was the school secretary who ultimately ran the show. They were the glue that held the multitude of parts together.

Gabe stared at her rigid back and considered clearing the air, but he’d tried that several times this past week and had only received the stink-eye in return. Until he came up with a better tactic, he’d steer clear of her.

Instead, he went the opposite way, backing into the office that still had Assistant Principal James’s name etched on the cheap plastic nameplate above the door.

Not for long
, Gabe mouthed at the nameplate.

He deposited the stack of file folders on the desk and, after popping open one of the energy drinks he kept in his messenger bag, started on the mountain of paperwork that was an unfortunate part of his new job. Unfortunate but necessary. Every form he filled out was yet another opportunity to bring some much-needed changes to GEMS.

After a half hour of reading through proposals for new playground equipment, Gabe welcomed the knock on his door.

“Come in,” he called.

Tristan Collins’s face peeked through the narrow opening in the door. “You got a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up?” Gabe asked his old college roommate, who was currently the band teacher at both GEMS and Gauthier High School. Tristan also had been the one to encourage Gabe to apply when the teaching position had opened up here just before the start of the current school year.

“I’m on my way to the high school, but I need to talk to you first,” Tristan said. He looked over his shoulder before stepping into the office and closing the door behind him.

Gabe took note of the huge worry line creasing his friend’s forehead. An uncomfortable feeling weaved its way through his gut.

“What’s up?” Gabe asked again.

Tristan blew out an unsteady breath. “I overheard something in the teachers’ lounge a few minutes ago. If it’s true, you’ve got a problem on your hands. A big one.”

* * *

“Something has got to be done about Gabriel Franklin.”

Celeste Mitchell accentuated each word with a thump on the table, her balled fist rattling the collection of mismatched mugs of tea and coffee that had been consumed over the past hour. The treasurer of the GEMS Parent Teacher Organization, Celeste had called this emergency board meeting to discuss “alarming” news she’d just heard regarding the school’s new interim assistant principal.

Simone Parker, the PTO secretary, hooked her thumb toward Celeste. “Look how this one’s tune has changed. Just the other day she was talking about how cute Mr. Franklin’s butt looked in his khaki pants, and now she’s ready to run him out of town.”

“He may be cute and all, but when he starts messing with my Lock-In, he’s gone too far,” Janice Taylor, the vice president, said.

“And there’s nothing wrong with looking,” Celeste argued. “I can be happily married and still look. Hell, sometimes Charles points them out to me.”

“Can we get back to the discussion at hand?” Leslie asked.

She’d come straight from work to The Jazzy Bean, the coffee shop her sister-in-law, Shayla, had opened two years ago on Gauthier’s Main Street. It quickly had become one of the most popular hangouts in town, and the normal meeting place when the PTO’s board needed to discuss important topics outside the regular PTO meeting. Leslie wasn’t sure when Gabriel Franklin’s nice butt had made the important-topics list.

Not that she hadn’t noticed the young teacher’s nice butt. She had noticed it
way
more than she dared admit.

Leslie figured she was just one in a growing contingent of Gauthier females who had a crush on GEMS’s newest teacher. As far as she was concerned, her little cougar crush was the safest crush in the history of all crushes. Not only was she too old for Gabriel Franklin, but there was also that other fact that could not be overstated. He was her daughter’s teacher. Her. Daughter’s.
Teacher
.

Safest crush ever.

“The Lock-In is our biggest fund-raiser of the year,” Celeste said. “Do you know how tight our budget would be next year if Mr. Franklin canceled it?”

“And just what makes him think he has the
right
to cancel it?” Simone asked. “He got here all of two minutes ago and has the nerve to try to change the way we do things? I don’t think so.”

“I liked him better when he was just a teacher,” Janice said. “It’s when they put him in that assistant principal position that he lost his mind. Give a person a little bit of power and they think they run the place.”

“You’re right about that,” Celeste said.

“I see it all the time,” Simone added.

“Ladies, please.” Leslie held up her hands and spoke as calmly as possible in an attempt to stave off the bevy of complaints being hurled at lightening speed. She waited until the other three ladies seated around the table quieted before continuing. “Everyone feels passionately about this subject, but if we all continue to talk over each other, we’ll never get this figured out.”

“What’s there to figure out?” This from Celeste. “We all can see what’s going on here. Mr. Franklin has decided that
he
knows what’s best for
our
children. Barely a child himself,” she finished with an aggravated huff.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Simone pointed her mug at Celeste. “He can’t be more than twenty-five. What makes him think he knows better than the rest of us?”

“I heard that he taught for a few years in New Orleans before coming to Gauthier,” Leslie said. “He has to be older than twenty-five.”

“Fine, twenty-six, then,” Simone retorted after taking a sip of tea.

“I don’t care how old he is or how cute he is,” Janice said. “What I care about is the Lock-In. I’ve personally worked my butt off to make it a success, and I don’t appreciate someone who just moved here thinking he can come in and change the way we’ve been doing things for years. We need to figure out how to handle this problem.”

“First, we need to make sure there actually
is
a problem,” Leslie reminded them. “It’s all hearsay at this point.”

Although, if the news Celeste had shared turned out to be true, they definitely had a problem on their hands. Actually, GEMS’s interim assistant principal was the one with the problem. Threatening the PTO’s major fund-raiser was the equivalent of swinging a bat at a nest of angry hornets.

“Well, someone needs to approach Mr. Franklin so that we can get to the bottom of this.” Janice pointed to Leslie. “I think you should do it.”

“Me?” Leslie yelped. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the PTO president. It’s your job.”

Great
.

Leslie wouldn’t say she’d been railroaded into the PTO president position, but she had not been the most willing candidate. She’d caved under the mountain of guilt at having missed so many volunteer days last year. She’d accepted the position because, for the most part, being the PTO president at Gauthier Elementary and Middle School was an easy job.

Until Gabriel Franklin had decided to rile up every parent in the entire school.

Leslie splayed her fingers over her forehead and massaged her temples.

“So, when are you going to meet with him?” Simone asked.

“Yeah, Leslie, when?” Janice piped in. “It needs to be soon, before he decides to change something else.”