“Mark?” Her vision was blurry and she could hardly see through reddened eyes. She’d cried for some time after she’d finished her wine the night before.
“Susan’s coming here to stay with Kelsey and take her to school.”
She sat up, trying to ignore the thickness in her head. She knew better than to drink wine on a school night. “What’s going on?” She forced a normal tone into her speech, though the effort cost her.
“You don’t take the newspaper.”
And that had never been a reason for her boss to visit her at home before seven in the morning. He wouldn’t say any more, just gave her ten minutes to make herself decent.
She used up five of them filling the coffeepot to the brim, turning it on and waiting for the first cup to drip before she put the pot back under the filter to catch the rest. If it took her more than the five minutes she had left to shower, Mark Shepherd was going to have to wait.
MARK’S EXPRESSION WAS GRIM when Meredith opened the door to him in a calf-length jumper patterned with hearts and flowers. She didn’t think the two minutes she’d made him wait at her front door was cause enough for his obvious upset.
“Can I get you some coffee?” She was on her third cup already and had a scalded tongue to show for her haste. But at least her head wasn’t quite so foggy.
“Please.” Dressed in dark brown slacks and a white-and-brown striped Oxford shirt, he followed her to the kitchen, a folded copy of the Republic clutched in one hand. His sandy hair was still damp at the ends.
“How do you take it?” She reached for the least girly mug she could find. It was purple and beige with green vines, but at least there were no hearts or flowers on it.
“Black, no sugar.”
Straight up. Her kind of coffee.
She poured, and then carried his coffee and hers to the table. Sat down. And then there were no more niceties to distract her.
Ignoring the coffee, Mark opened the paper. “Read it and then we’ll talk.”
Eyes purposely averted, Meredith said, “Can’t you just tell me what it says?” Obviously the news wasn’t good, otherwise a phone call would have sufficed. Whatever this was about, it would be easier to take with a middle man there to dilute the negative energy.
“It’s a full story this time, rather than an editorial.”
Barnett strikes again. She’d known he would, of course.
“They interviewed him, and also quoted from your aired interview.”
“Let me guess. They twisted what I said.”
“The words sound odd when taken out of context.”
She sipped her coffee. Wrapped her fingers around her mug, comforted by the warmth. She concentrated on that. And on the comfort of her yellow kitchen, the familiarity of the flowered utensils hanging on the wall. The softly woven amber, yellow and orange placemats.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Mark said, his words clipped. “Apparently you got a letter?”
She froze.
“You might have mentioned it.”
“I just got it. Last night after work.” Dear Ms. Foster. She’d read it twice and now had the whole damn thing memorized. But then, it wasn’t very long. I am writing on behalf of my client, Lawrence P. Barnett, JD, to request that you resign from your position at Lincoln Elementary school immediately. My client feels that such an action on your part would help to restore faith lost in him by those in the community who are aware of your accusations regarding Mr. Barnett’s treatment of his son. If you choose not to comply with this request, we will be forced to pursue the restoration of my client’s reputation by othe
r means. Sincerely…
“So it’s true.” Mark sighed. Sat back with his arms crossed over his chest. His hands, which were so gentle, capable and strong, were tucked in on either side where she couldn’t see them.
“What does the paper say about it?”
He glanced at her, his dark eyes showing compassion for the first time that morning. “That he asked for your resignation.”
“Does it also say that he threatened further action if I don’t do as he demands?”