Laura Abbot - You're My Baby

He shook his head. Typical. As usual, she’d found a way to stick in the knife, as she had later in their marriage when the “new” had worn off. She had expected a husband to arrive home before dinner and stay there, dancing attendance on her throughout the evening. Late practices, road trips and school events were not part of her plan. In retrospect, it was a wonder the marriage had lasted even four years.

As he walked toward the exit, he heard the clatter of cleats hitting the cement floor. He backed up against the wall to let the football team thunder by. Sweat poured off their wet heads, and several grunted with each step. Two or three mustered a tired grin and a “Hey, Coach G.” as they passed.

Jack Liddy, the head football coach, paused beside Grant. He sniffed the air. “Hey, Gilbert, you smell way too good.” Then he grinned. “I’m still lookin’ for some help with the ends. Sure you’re not interested?”

Grant laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You know darn well the last time I played football was in high school. You can’t be that desperate.”

“I’ll remember that when you’re scrounging for a seventh-grade basketball coach.”

“Seriously, I’ll be pretty tied down this year.”

“How come? They giving you extra classes?”

“Nothing like that.” Grant raked a hand through his still-damp hair. “My son’s coming to live with me.”

“Hey, that’s great!”

“Maybe.”

Jack frowned. “What’s to doubt?”

“My ex has laid a little stipulation on the deal. I have to locate a live-in housekeeper in the next several days, or she’s sending Andy to boarding school.”

Jack slapped Grant on the back. “Surely there are some honeys who’ve been tracking a bachelor like you.” Then the coach sobered. “All kidding aside, do you have any prospects?”

“I’ve called a couple of agencies and I’m putting an ad in the paper this weekend, but I’m not optimistic. I mean, it can’t be just anybody.”

“No, of course not. Hey, I’ll talk to my wife, ask around.” He glanced over his shoulder at the assistant coaches coming in from the field, clipboards tucked under their arms.

“I’d appreciate that, Jack.” Belatedly Grant thought to ask about the prospects for the football team.

“We could win a few, if we get some breaks.”

“Like Beau Jasper’s eligibility?”

“That would sure help. He’s okay for now, but I’ve gotta have him at the end of the season, after midterms.”

“I need him for basketball, too. I hate to say it, but without him, we could be in deep trouble.”

“We’ll be set if we can just get him through Pam Carver’s senior English class.”

Grant grinned. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Pam’s a good egg. Maybe she’ll cut him some slack.”

“If anybody can pull him through, she can.” Half the boys in school were in love with Pam. Grant hoped that would be sufficient motivation for his high-scoring forward to make a decent grade. He turned to leave. “Hey, Coach, you, too, can smell good. Have a great shower.”

Jack laughed, then joined his assistants headed for the locker room.

Grant ambled to the door, stepping out into the sultry August afternoon. The low whir of a riding mower cruising between the lower and middle schools, the splash of sprinklers and the smell of new-mowed grass had him pausing for a cleansing breath. His gaze fell on the upper school building, its red-tile roof highlighted by the angle of the sun. Late August—the calm before the storm of the school year. Although he enjoyed the more relaxed pace of summer, he was always eager for school to start.

Despite Shelley’s dim view of his calling, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Working with teenagers kept a guy young. Every day was different, and it was never dull.

As schools went, Keystone was special. He glanced fondly around the campus—attractive, colorful landscaping, architecturally pleasant Southwestern-style buildings, well-maintained playing fields.

Gosh, he hoped Andy would come to love it, too. But how many new schools had the poor kid attended? Could this one be any different for him?

Grant turned abruptly and walked to his car. He could skip the daydreaming. Andy’s satisfaction would be a moot point unless he could find—and afford—the cool teenager’s version of Mary Poppins.

Hell.

PAM GRIPPED her straw purse and rounded the corner of the brick wall encircling Ginny Phillips’s patio. A profusion of colorful sundresses and the babble of high-pitched laughter greeted her. She faltered, a wave of stage fright threatening her composure. Act normal, she told herself, before sweeping across the lawn to join her female colleagues at Ginny’s annual back-to-school brunch.

The first to greet her was henna-haired Jessie Flanders, self-proclaimed grande dame of the faculty. “Making a big entrance, Pamela?” Heads turned at the shrill of Jessie’s voice.

Pam spread her arms and struck a pose. “Hello, dahlings,” she cooed, batting her eyes. Then she relaxed. “What else would you expect of the drama coach at our beloved Keystone?”

A smiling Ginny hurried toward her. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid you weren’t coming.”

“What? And miss all of this?” Pam gestured to the pool, sparkling in the morning sun, and the lavishly spread buffet table. She could hardly tell Ginny she’d been delayed by a bout of morning sickness, even though Ginny, the upper school counselor, would be more understanding of her predicament than most.

Ginny ushered her toward the beverage table. “You’re way behind the rest of us. Would you prefer chardonnay or white zinfandel?”

Pam’s stomach did a half-gainer. Fortunately, just beyond her hostess, she spotted Connie Campbell. “Nothing right now, thanks.” She waved at Connie, who excused herself and walked toward them.

Pam embraced her closest faculty friend. “Long time no see. How was Canada?” Connie and her husband Jim, the Keystone headmaster, had been married only a short time, and the trans-Canada rail trip had been their first true vacation.

Ginny chuckled. “Don’t ask if you don’t really want to know. She’ll give you an hour’s worth of travel information.”

“Listen to the woman.” Connie affected sternness. “You’re just jealous, Ginny, that you were stuck here in simmering Texas all summer.”

“That makes two of us,” Pam said.

“How was your summer session at U.T., by the way?” Connie asked.

You’d be surprised. Really surprised. “Okay. I had a so-so seminar in literary criticism, but a dynamite course in post–World War II American fiction.”

Just then the caterer appeared at Ginny’s elbow. “Excuse me,” Ginny said. “I’m needed in the kitchen. Help yourself to the wine.”

Darn. Pam had hoped she’d sidestepped the issue of drinking. Her TGIF buddies Connie and Ginny would be the first to suspect something when she turned down chardonnay. She poured herself a glass of ice water.

“No wine? You must be sick.” Connie made a show of laying her palm on Pam’s forehead.

“Maybe later. I’m really thirsty from my rush to arrive more or less on time.”

“Well, now that you’re here, let me introduce you to our new faculty members.” She leaned closer. “Is it my imagination, or do they get younger every year?”

Pam raised her eyebrows in mock horror. “Surely it couldn’t be that we’re getting older?”

Grateful to be led away from the wine and the potential for discovery, Pam circulated through the crowd. Without fail, several colleagues asked her the standard question: “Are you ready for school?” Ready? It would be miraculous if she could overcome her morning sickness each day before her first-period class.

By the time the food was served, Pam had no trouble downing the curried chicken salad, fresh fruit compote and three of the lemony poppy-seed muffins. She refused to feel guilty about her gluttony—she was eating for two, after all. Thankfully no one noticed that water remained her beverage of choice.

Jack Liddy’s very pregnant wife, Darla, sat at Pam’s table, reveling in talk of babies. “The only problem is that Jack’ll be in the middle of football season when Junior makes his appearance. Let’s hope I don’t deliver on game night.”

“Not the best planning, huh?” Carolee Simmons, the French teacher said.

Darla winked mischievously. “You have to do something in the off-season, you know.”

“Will you be teaching until the baby comes?” Pam asked, as much for herself as because of her interest in Darla.

“I’m trying to make it to the end of the first quarter, then a substitute will take over until I can return at the semester.”

Carolee, single herself, leaned forward. “Won’t it be hard to leave the baby to come back to work?”

Darla shrugged. “It’ll be awful. But what choice do I have? We’ll need the money.”

Pam pursed her lips. “Occupational hazard of educators.” She, too, would have no option but to work. Otherwise, how could she afford her condo, car, insurance and day care?

“Anyway,” Darla continued, “my doctor says I should be fine by January.”

Pam’s mouth felt dry. “Who is your doctor?”

“Belinda Ellis. She’s wonderful!”

Pam stored the name in her memory. Initially she would have to find a doctor in another part of town, one with no connections to the school—if that was possible. So Dr. Ellis was out. At least for now. Despite the Texas sun, her hands had turned to ice.

When the party broke up, Connie fell in beside Pam as they walked to their cars. “Inquiring minds want to know. Did you meet any interesting men in Austin?”

Pam knew Connie and Ginny worried about her. Each had tried sporadic matchmaking attempts, with disappointing results. Finally she had met someone—a man she could happily have followed to the ends of the earth. And she couldn’t say one word. Even to her best friend. “Interesting? They were all interesting, sexy, and, naturally, hot for li’l ole me.”

“Give me a break,” Connie said, calling her bluff. “No one?”

Pam opted for a half-truth. “There was one.”

“And?”

“He’s gone home, I’ve come home, and that’s that.”

“No letters? No scheduled visits?”

Pam shrugged. “Nope. The cookie has crumbled, as they say.”

Connie laid a comforting hand on Pam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Someday your prince will come. I just know it.”

Well, he’d better hurry the hell up. Pam mustered a laugh. “Hope springs eternal. See you at the opening faculty meeting?”

“Sure thing. I’ve told Jim to make the headmaster’s address short and sweet.”

“Gee, you have that kind of influence?”

“It’s amazing what the love of a good woman can accomplish.”

Pam hugged Connie, then climbed into her hatch-back. Connie was, indeed, a good woman. Before she married Jim, she’d been single for many years, supporting her mother and daughter Erin. If Connie could do it, Pam reasoned, so could she. But Connie hadn’t had to give up a job she loved.

With a sinking heart, Pam acknowledged that she herself faced exactly that eventuality.

GRANT PAUSED in the doorway of his sterile classroom, looking at the blank, freshly painted walls, the student desks shoved into the corner, the newly carpeted floor. He crossed to the windows, raised the blinds, then stood, hands on his hips, studying the boxes and rolled posters piled along one wall. Time to tackle decorating his room, if you could dignify what he did by that term.