Rescue Me (6 page)

After church this morning, he and Jazzy had spent most of the day at Mama’s, as was their typical Sunday afternoon ritual. But Alex had left earlier than usual today, figuring he could get a jump start on getting Jasmine’s things ready for school, and then get to bed early himself.

That wasn’t happening. The clock above the stove showed it to be just past two in the morning, but the weight of what he was to embark upon tomorrow taxed his brain to the point of making sleep impossible.

Alex studied the ring on his finger. It had been an effective means of keeping women at bay. Just the thought of jumping back into the dating scene triggered a sick feeling in his gut. The ring was a constant reminder to never open himself up to the kind of pain Chantal had put him through.

But every second it remained on his finger was a mockery of the sanctity of marriage. A mockery of the love his parents had shared, the love he saw when his brothers looked at their wives to be.

Alex ran his thumbnail under the edge of the ring. If the ease at which it shifted on his finger was any indication, he’d lost weight these past few weeks since the surgery. He’d been afraid the lack of physical activity would put on the pounds, but Alex had to admit his appetite had not been up to par. He had too much on his mind to think about food, especially these past couple of days.

His eyes focused on the porcelain teapots lined along the
ledge above the upper kitchen cabinets. Chantal had found one of the ornate teapots at a flea market and had gotten it in her head that she should own every antique teapot in southeastern Louisiana. For months they had spent every Sunday afternoon taking long drives, scouring the region for flea markets and antique shops. They would find a little out of the way place for lunch, and then find an even more obscure place to park the car and make love.

They were happy back then.

Alex could pinpoint the exact day their marriage had started its downward spiral. It was the same day Chantal had gone to the doctor’s to see about the stomach flu she couldn’t seem to shake, a flu that had turned out to be Jasmine. They had never really talked about having children. Alex had always known he wanted to be a father, and had just assumed his wife had the same views on family that he did. He’d been stunned at Chantal’s outrage over her pregnancy, and devastated when she’d threatened to have an abortion.

He’d begged, promising Chantal everything under the moon if she went through with having their child. He would have been better off making a deal with the devil.

Alex shook his head, a derisive laugh escaping his lips as he thought back on his naiveté.

Where she had been just a little spoiled and demanding before, Chantal had become more callous and selfish than he could ever have anticipated. She had demanded the impossible, insisting Alex lavish her with gifts she knew he could not afford. She’d played the fragile life of their unborn child like a pawn. And when the time had passed for her to safely have an abortion, she’d changed her tactic to guilt, accusing Alex of forcing her to give up her freedom in return for having his baby.

He’d worked like a man possessed, executing sixteen hour days, working right along with his men on the construction
sites during normal working hours, then spending most of the nights in the office poring over the books.

In the midst of chaos a silver lining had emerged. His business had started to grow exponentially as a result of the constant pressure Chantal had put on him to provide. But that success had not come without a cost. Alex had spent less and less time focusing on his marriage, and soon after Jasmine’s birth, his wife had turned to other men.

She’d been blatant in her infidelity, threatening to take Jasmine away if Alex so much as uttered a word about her affairs. It was at that moment Alex had considered his marriage over. Instead, he’d chosen to devote his energy to making sure his daughter wanted for nothing. Jasmine’s well being had become his reason for living. His own happiness was a nonissue.

As his eyes fell on the ring again, a bitterness he’d suppressed for years stirred in his gut. He’d been a good husband to Chantal, but she had not been a good wife. And now—because of his injury, because of Jasmine— he refused to cling to this symbol of a marriage that had lost his respect long before his wife’s death had ended it.

Alex hooked his thumb under the ridge of the gold band and gave it a push. He inched it up a few centimeters more, a weight gradually lifting off his shoulders with each shift of the ring. It fell to the table with a soft ping, rimming around a few times before finally falling still. Alex lifted the gold band from the table and stuck it in his pocket. He brought his mug up to his lips and took a drink.

Chapter Four

 

“I want everyone to record their quiz score in their booklets before logging off the computer. You all remember how to properly log off, right?”

The laconically sung chorus of “Yes, Ms. Moore” that resounded from the group of second graders brought a grin to Renee’s lips. She strolled around the computer lab, assisting those students who needed a little extra help logging out of the computer program while the others gathered their belongings. She had only a few minutes before she had to get this group back to their regular class and retrieve a set of fourth graders. It was test day for the fourth grade children enrolled in Accelerated Reader, just one of the programs that fell under her supervision as Special Projects Coordinator.

“Ms. Moore?”

Renee felt a tap on her knee. She looked down and grinned at the huge brown eyes staring up at her. She already knew what would come next, so Renee halted the student’s request before she had a chance to voice it.

“No, Mariah, you cannot stay in the computer lab. The next session is for fourth graders. Second graders have to go back to Mrs. Pitts.”

“I promise to be good,” Mariah said, laying on the puppy dog eyes with amazing effect. It’s a good thing a few of the teachers had already schooled Renee in refusal techniques.

She was not used to students who didn’t reach her waist. Coming from the community college ranks, she had needed a few weeks to adjust to her much younger student base.
Not surprisingly, the maturity levels were not all that different from some of the freshmen she’d dealt with in her last position teaching European history at a community college in Tampa.

Renee took Mariah by the hand and guided her to the colorful chart taped to the door of the computer lab.

“Look at the schedule,” Renee said. “When will you be back in the lab?”

Mariah studied the chart with such concentration Renee had to bite back a laugh.

“There it is.” Mariah pointed. “Thursday.”

“That’s right. Your class will be back in the lab on Thursday.” Renee raised her voice for the rest of the students to hear. “Will everyone have their stories read by then?”

A cacophony of “Yeah, Yes, ma’am, and Uh huh,” flitted across the room.

“Very good.” Renee nodded. “Now let’s get you all back to Ms. Pitts’s classroom. I’m sure she misses her little angels.” Renee’s wink garnered the giggles she’d anticipated.

By the time her preparation period rolled around, Renee was more than ready for a break from her classes. The third and fourth grade students were not nearly as sweet as her first and second graders. The bad manners some of these students possessed were unreal.

Renee entered the teachers’ lounge and went straight for the coffeepot. She poured a cup and took a much needed sip of the strong, chicory laced blend that was the brew of choice in her new home of New Orleans. Renee took another sip and settled into a well worn recliner.

The teachers’ lounge at St. Katherine’s Episcopal School wasn’t in the running for a spread in
Architectural Digest
, but the school had done the best it could to make the space comfortable. Two round tables sat in the middle of the large room, providing a place for those teachers who did not have to accompany students to the cafeteria to enjoy their lunch. There were three separate seating areas with comfy chairs
and mismatched recliners, and an array of old magazines and teacher supply catalogs strewn across battered coffee tables. The entire left wall housed the copy center, with four copy machines Renee tried to steer clear of at all cost. She caused a paper jam every time she touched one of those machines.

Penelope Gaines came through the door and mimicked Renee’s exact steps as she headed for the coffeemaker.

“Caffeine is a gift from God,” Penelope said as she refilled her ceramic mug and added cream and a packet of sweetener.

“You look like you’ve had a rough morning,” Renee commented.

“You, too.” She gestured to the bandage Renee had placed on her forehead after her run in with a wayward curling iron.

“The price of beauty,” Renee answered her friend’s unspoken query.

Penelope tested her coffee, added another pack of sweetener, and came around to the recliner at a right angle to Renee’s. Penelope taught fourth grade math and science. With both of them single and about the same age, it hadn’t surprised Renee that she and Penelope had gravitated toward each other. There was a snarky sense of humor hidden behind the teacher’s fresh, freckled face and red hair that never failed to lift Renee’s spirits even on her worst day.

One of the copy machines made that annoyingly loud beep Renee usually elicited from it. She looked over and grinned in commiserating amusement as the guy bending over the machine poked at the computerized screen. The view was a pleasant surprise on a Monday morning. Thank God for both caffeine and well fitting jeans.

Renee glanced over at Penelope and caught her admiring the view.

“So.” Renee snapped her fingers, causing Penelope’s head to jerk. “What happened this morning?”

“What didn’t happen?” Penelope sighed. “I accidentally flushed one of my contacts down the toilet.”

“I noticed you were wearing your glasses,” Renee commented. “They’re cute.”

“I hate having to wear these glasses.” Penelope grimaced. “Anyway, I get in my car, and it won’t start. Thankfully, Mr. Miller was still at home and was able to give my dead battery a jump. Now if only Mrs. Miller would meet an untimely death, he could give my other battery a jump.”

Renee nearly choked on her coffee.

“What?” her friend protested. “You’ve seen him. Mr. Miller is hot.”

“Hot and married. Happily married as far as I can tell.”

“Yeah, they’re happy,” Penelope griped.

The copy machine beeped again.

“Is that all?” Renee asked, trying to keep her eyes averted from the scene at the copy machine. “A lost contact and a dead battery?”

“And a message from my contractor telling me it’s going to cost more to fix my house than what’s on the estimate. I’m nearly at my breaking point,” Penelope said.

The copy machine beeped again.

“It looks like someone needs rescuing,” Penelope said, placing her mug on the coffee table and pushing herself out of the chair.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just watch,” Renee said, rising from the recliner. “That copier hates me.” She followed Penelope to the other side of the lounge.

“Having a little trouble?” Penelope asked. The man on the other end of a losing battle with the copy machine looked up from where he was crouched over the open paper drawer.

He was built like a linebacker, solid without an ounce of flab, as far as Renee could tell. She’d already observed the fabulous image from behind, and had to admit the front view was just as breathtaking. His eyes were the color of
warm maple syrup, and even though it was set in a frown, his mouth was strong, with full, supple lips.

“Whatever happened to a simple start button?” he asked, eyeing the copier as if he were ready to tackle it.

Penelope waved him off. “That went out in the early nineties. Now you need a Ph.D. in computer technology in order to make a copy. Let me see what you have here,” she said, shooing him away from the machine. “So, any luck finding another contractor?”

It took Renee a second to realize Penelope was talking to her. “No, I think Aunt Lorna is afraid to trust anyone just yet.”

“Any word from the police about locating the other guy?” Penelope asked.

“There have been so many counts of fake contractors robbing people blind, the police department said it would take years before they could get through the backlog.” A quick shot of anger speared through Renee’s gut at just the thought of the crooked contractor who had made off with most of her aunt’s life savings.

“That sucks, Renee. Here’s the problem. The paper jammed.” Penelope gently pulled a small stack of copy paper that had lodged in the automatic feeder.

“Did I break the machine?” the guy asked.

“No, it does this a lot.” Penelope took the sheaf of paper from his hand and placed them in the feeder. “How many copies?”

“Eighteen.”

Penelope punched the number into the computer screen and started the machine to rolling. “You should probably use the one down there.” She pointed to the last copier tucked into the corner. “It’s an older model, so it’s a bit slower, but it’s easier to use. It actually has a start button.” She smiled.

“So.” Renee took a sip of her coffee. “Are you a new teacher?” she asked. He was studying the copies as they shot out of the machine.

“No, just volunteering,” he answered.

He had a really nice voice. Deep, but with a softness that was unexpected given his outward appearance. Not that there was anything wrong with how he looked on the outside. The way his shoulders and chest filled out his gray polo shirt would be considered a work of art in some sectors of the world. But there was a hint of roughness around his nicely defined edges that told Renee he was more a T-shirt and jeans man than a Brooks Brothers suit wearer.

“My daughter is in Mrs. Overland’s first grade class. I’m helping out while I recuperate.” He gestured to his shoulder, where a square gauze bandage peeked from under the collar of his shirt.

“Good for you,” Penelope commented, handing him his copies. “We don’t get nearly as many parents to volunteer as we’d like, and you’re definitely the first father I’ve seen in the three years I’ve been here.”

He shrugged, the motion causing the shirt to pull slightly across his chest. The outline of the pectoral muscles that appeared caused Renee’s eyes to automatically widen.

“I heard you mention a problem with a contractor,” he said.

Renee snapped to attention. Had she been staring at him?

“Yes,” she said, shaking her head. She noticed the grin on Penelope’s face. Oh Lord, she
had
been staring. “Uh, yes,” Renee said again. “We’ve been having contractor issues. The one my aunt hired sort of skipped town without completing the job.”

“You’ve got to be careful who you hire,” the guy said. “For every legitimate contractor, there are ten shady ones out there ripping people off.”

“And, unfortunately, the legitimate ones cost an arm and a leg,” Penelope snorted. “I swear, if my contractor raises my estimate one more time, I’m going to kill him.”

“Just be grateful he hasn’t made off with forty thousand
dollars of your hard earned money,” Renee said. “And at least you know what needs to get done. I’m not sure the guy my aunt hired even knew what he was talking about. She was just so desperate to get
someone
to start rebuilding.”

“And you haven’t found another contractor?” Volunteer Dad asked.

“Not yet.” Rene shook her head. “Why, you know someone?” she asked jokingly.

“Actually, I own a construction company,” he said. “We focus more on commercial developments, but since the storm, my guys have been volunteering to help rebuild homes on the weekends. I can take a look at your house and see if there’s anything we can do.”

“Are you serious?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Renee said. Who knew God sent down such handsome angels to answer prayers?

“It’s no problem.” The bell rang, signaling the end of third period. “I need to get these math worksheets to Mrs. Overland. I’ll be helping out in her class for at least the next month, so just let me know when’s a good time for me to come out and take a look at your house.” He turned to Penelope. “Thanks for the help with the copy machine.”

“Anytime,” she answered.

“I can take a look at your house, too. Let you know if your contractor is padding the rebuild cost.”

“That would be awesome,” Penelope answered. The coy smile lifting the edge of her lips was more invitation than anything else. Renee fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Time to get to class,” Renee said.

Volunteer Dad exited the teachers’ lounge ahead of them and headed down the corridor, dodging the munchkin high students making their way to class.

Penelope grabbed Renee by the arm and pulled her close. “Oh. My.
God
.”

“Don’t I know it?” Renee agreed.

“Hey, hands off. You already have a man.”

“Who? Rashad?” Renee asked. “I wouldn’t call him my man. We’ve only been out a few times.”

“That’s a few times more than I’ve been out over the past year. I want that one.”

Renee laughed. “Did it occur to you that maybe
that
one is married?”

“No ring,” Penelope answered. “I checked.”

“So did I, and I noticed a ring line.”

“But not a ring, which means, technically, he’s up for grabs,” Penelope reasoned.

“Come on before you’re tardy to your own class.”

Renee followed her coworker to her class, then walked two doors down to Rashad Richards’s classroom. The fourth grade teacher had been helping inventory the library when Renee had come to St. Katherine’s to interview for the special projects coordinator position this past summer. He’d asked her out then, but she’d declined since she’d had to head back to Florida that same night to finish packing up her things.

When she returned for the start of the school year, Renee had given Rashad Richards the chance he’d missed over the summer, figuring she could use a friend native to the area since most of those she’d made over the summers she’d visited her aunt had left after Hurricane Katrina. To her disappointment, Rashad was having trouble with the whole
just friends
concept.

He was four years younger than her thirty four years, but he was very mature for his age. Sometimes, he was a little
too
mature.

Renee’s personal motto was live every day as if it were your last. She loved getting outside and getting her hands dirty. Give her a mountainside to climb, or a muddy hill to conquer on her dirt bike, and she was a happy camper. Rashad’s idea of fun was attending a poetry reading, or watching a movie with subtitles.

And he hated football.

If that wasn’t a glaring sign that this so called relationship was going to go nowhere, nothing was.