School office workers hadn’t changed much since I was last in the elementary grades in New Jersey.
I took my time wandering down the hall, amazed at both the familiarity and the strangeness of the elementary school where everything was designed to suit the height of four-foot tall mini-humans. The place smelled vaguely of paste and dusty books, and cork bulletin boards were crowded with large stenciled letters reminding people to have a good day. There was a quiet buzz as adult voices floated out of the classrooms, followed by a chorus of children’s’ voices. It was all so sweet, it made me forget for one moment what I’d hoped to do with Avril later that night.
When I found her class, I stood in the doorway where I could watch her in action. She buzzed around the room with an apron over her clothes, helping her little students with their masterpieces. She was so in her element, laughing and encouraging her charges, hard at work at their tiny desks and chairs.
Finally, I caught her eye.
She moved from the crouched position where she was talking to an unhappy little artist crying over, from what I could see, a disagreement about who got to use the green paint next. Smoothing out her apron, she headed over to me.
“Hi! I’m so sorry. I lost track of time. Let me gather my things.”
“Hey,” I said. I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the empty hallway.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes wide.
Fuck, she was a beauty.
I leaned close to her, so closely, I could smell what I guessed was simple shampoo and a small spritz of Chanel. Bringing my finger to her cheek, I said, “You have a little smudge of paint right here on your cheek.”
Her hand flew to her face. “Oh, I do? Where? Here?”
“I’ve got it,” I whispered, pushing her hand out of the way.
Just as I’d gotten it nearly off, I heard a sound behind us. Two little artists from the class were peeking out the door at us.
“Well, hello,” I said to the spies.
They giggled. “Are you her husband?” one of them asked.
I shook my head. “No, I am not.”
“Are you her boyfriend, then?” Something about the line of questioning struck them as funny. They ran away in a fit of giggles, screaming, “Miss Avril has a boy. He’s over there.”
I never would have guessed I’d be so completely intimidated by a bunch of six-year-olds. “Hey, let’s get out of here before they trap us and pin us down.”
She burst out laughing. “Give me one minute to wash my hands and grab my purse.”
While Avril did her thing, I stood in the doorway again. Every six-year-old in the room stared me down. They were clearly a little protective of their Miss Avril. Just like we four guys were.
We settled into our table at the cozy, dark jazz club I’d chosen and ordered a couple martinis.
Avril took a sip of hers, first. “Ahhh. Just what the doctor ordered. I so need this. And just what one should drink when at a jazz club. Cheers,” she said, raising her glass.
“You were so great with those kids. I loved watching you.”
It was hard to tell in the dim light, but I could swear she blushed just the tiniest amount. I loved a modest woman.
“They’re great. I just adore them,” she said. “I’m so lucky I get to work with them. It’s been such a great thing to look forward to.” She stared thoughtfully into her martini glass as the music started.
“Avril, speaking of this time in your life, I wanted to talk to you about your ex-husband.”
“Really? Well, he’s my soon-to-be ex. We’re meeting with lawyers tomorrow.”
“Okay, good. Then what I’m going to tell you is more important than I’d thought.”
She furrowed her brow with a what the hell are you talking about look.
“Devon’s alleged to have committed some serious crimes. Avril, I don’t know how much you know about this, but you are very, very lucky you two split up. You could have been considered an accomplice. Spouses are often in on the husbands’ misdeeds.”