“When?” I ask, again taking in the surroundings.
Even Mr. P.’s desk is different. Instead of sitting like a judge in the front of the classroom, he seems to have a long work area along one wall. That’s when I notice the corner filled with books.
“Mrs. Landecker? Are children in his classroom reading?”
She tilts her head. “Reading isn’t on our list of kindergarten behavioral objectives, but that’s the thing with this model of learning: children discover at their own speed. Jason won’t be required to read by the first grade; however, if he can construct words out of foam letters at this table, then the next obvious step is wanting to put the words together in a sentence, and then put sentences together and understand stories.”
Tears fight to pool on my lids as I take in all she’s saying. “Yes. I see.”
Her smile grows. “If you can bring him to school again tomorrow morning, I believe having you and Jason sit down for a few minutes with Mr. P. will ease your concern and help to make the change easier.”
I know in my heart that Ms. DeVoe won’t be happy, but priorities are priorities. “What should I tell him?”
“Tell him that tomorrow he’s going to move to Mr. P.’s class.”
“Will he know who that is?”
“Oh, yes. All the students know Mr. P. and most of the moms, too,” she says, the last part with the biggest grin I’ve seen all day.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Amanda
My hands continue to shake uncontrollably as I drive from work to my parents’ home. Forget that, my entire body is experiencing tremors. I keep replaying the scene at the office when I arrived to work after my latest meeting with Mrs. Landecker.
As soon as I arrived, I stuck my head in Ms. DeVoe’s office. “Hi. I wanted to let you know I’m here.”
“Amanda, come in and shut the door.”
I did as she asked, taking a seat on the other side of her desk. As I looked at my manager, I thought about Mr. P.’s desk and how his wasn’t set in a position of authority like Ms. DeVoe’s or even Mrs. Williams’s.
“I hate to be the one to mention this,” Ms. DeVoe said, “but the amount of time you’re missing from work lately is becoming unacceptable.”
I sat forward. “My job isn’t going undone. You’re aware that there have been—”
“Part of your job is being here from eight until five. Things come up. You can’t simply skimp on your job to finish tasks when you’re not putting in the time that’s required...that’s expected.”
“I don’t skimp. You know that I’m often here after five.”
“You’ve also missed significant chunks of time over the last few weeks...”
“I explained that my son is having—”
“I’m not asking you to make a choice between your job and your son. I’m sure it’s not easy being a single mom.”
With my pulse thumping, I simply replied, “Good.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said good. I’m glad you’re not asking me to make a choice.”
“Amanda, when you’re present you do excellent work. You make a good salary and have health benefits for you and your son. You need this job.”
I do, she’s right, but the truth is that Jase is covered under his father’s military benefits. However, I do still need this job.
“...it needs to stop, now. No more unscheduled time off.”
“But tomorrow—”
Ms. DeVoe’s hand went in the air, stopping me before I could explain about my meeting with the principal and how tomorrow morning I would need to take Jase to school...before I could explain that for the first time since kindergarten began, I had hope.
“No, not tomorrow,” she said with a tone of ultimatum. “If you plan to continue working here, you will not miss the meetings we have scheduled for the next three days. You know that every year we hold these meetings with our health insurance provider, going over the new plans for next year and all of our employee options. The mandatory sign-up is coming November first. It’s your responsibility to know the plans inside and out, and this is the time.” She leaned forward. “Tell me you didn’t forget.”
I didn’t, but I did.
Instead of answering, I said, “His school starts at nine. I can be here by ten.”
“I’ll see you at eight sharp tomorrow morning—and check your computer. I’ve sent you a list of projects that need your immediate attention.”
“Ms. DeVoe—”
She’d already turned away toward her computer. At the sound of her name, her neck straightened, and she turned back to me. “Is there anything else, Ms. Wells?”
Even imagining her as Glenn Close with a big hideous smile couldn’t take away my hurt and anger. All the way from Jase’s school to work I’d been encouraged and even excited. And in a matter of minutes with my manager, my entire world was caving in.
As I left her office, I knew what I would do...what I would do again. I’d ask my mom to take my place. I hated that. I knew she would, but she shouldn’t have to. Of course, I thought of Jackson.
If only...
And then my mind somehow went to Malcolm. I could never ask him. He has his own job, his own career. Even if things were different...it wouldn’t be his responsibility to help Jase’s transition at school.
Throughout the day I gritted my teeth and tried to remember puppies. I tried to remember Mr. P.’s classroom...and by gosh, I did everything—every damn thing—on Cruella de Vil’s list and everything else she came up with, including adding plant-feeding sticks to her precious plants.
Apparently, Phil is still having some erection issues and she hopes the vitamin sticks will help.
Now that I am on my way to pick up Jase at my parents’, I’m once again upset. I’ve already called Mom and of course she said yes, but that doesn’t ease my anger at the unfairness.
As I pull into my parents’ driveway, I see Jase in the garage with my dad. The large door is open and they’re over by my dad’s workbench. Getting out of my car, I start walking their direction when Jase turns. With a big smile on his face, he runs toward me, and small arms encircle my waist.
“Mom, you can’t look.”
“I can’t? At what?”
“Grandpa and I are making you something special. It’s a surprise.”
I look over at my dad. He’s shaking his head with a big smile.
“Thanks, Dad. You know how I love surprises.”
“This one you will. Go see your mom.” He waves me toward the house. “Us men are busy.”
“Yep, us men,” Jase repeats.
I give each man a kiss on the cheek and head inside.
“Oh, Amanda,” my mom says as soon as she hears me enter.
Their house smells heavenly of whatever she’s cooking for dinner. Why does someone else’s cooking always smell so marvelous?
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“Come, let’s sit down.”
It’s never a good sign when my mom wants to sit. So many things can be said standing. It’s only the important or possibly upsetting things that require sitting. “Is it you or Dad? How about Alec? Is everyone all right?”