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“Oh, my goodness. We’ll be right there.”
True to her word, Connie and Principal Mackey arrived in under three minutes, mirror expressions of concern on their faces.
Wearing a smart pantsuit, the principal shook her head as she took in the damage. “Well, this isn’t the way to start off a Monday morning, is it?”
“No,” Emma said, still a little stunned. And man if she wasn’t having a streak of bad luck lately. “No, it’s not.”
“All right,” the principal said. “Connie, can you get Mr. Wilkerson in here to clean up and do what he can to cover the window? And I’ll call the police. They won’t be able to do much, of course, but I’ll need them to file the report.”
Her words reminded Emma of what Caine had said about reporting her mugger, and it set off a sharp pang in her chest. Of helplessness—and of anger, too.
“I’ll get Mr. Wilkerson right now,” Connie said, threading her way back through the classroom. “I’m so sorry, Emma.”
She nodded and hugged herself against the chill in the air. “Thanks.”
Principal Mackey placed a manicured brown hand on her arm. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yes. Of course. Just surprised. And worried that it might upset the kids.” Emma supposed there was a teachable moment in this mess somewhere. Maybe she could use it as a good segue for talking to the students about the importance of caring for property that belongs to another person or the school. “I should email the parents to let them know in case the kids come home with questions.” Entirely likely, since kids this age were little question machines.
Principal Mackey nodded. “Maybe we can get the school resource officer to come over from the high school and pop in to say hi to the classes.” All the high schools in the county had an SRO, and the middle schools shared two officers, but the elementary schools didn’t have them yet.
“That might be good, too,” Emma said just as the janitor arrived, pushing a cart of tools and supplies. “Oh, good morning, Mr. Wilkerson.”
“Miss Kerry, Principal Mackey,” he said, his gaze going to the window. “I’ll get this all fixed right up.”
“Thank you,” Emma said. She blew out a long breath, needing to shake off the adrenaline running through her veins before the kids arrived. She didn’t want to do anything or behave in any way that might make them worry, and children were incredibly intuitive and empathetic.
Mr. Wilkerson made for the window, then stared up at it with his hands on his hips. “Mind if I move these books and bins so I can stand on this shelf?”
“Oh, no. Of course not. Let me clear some space,” she said, crossing the room.
The man shook his head. “No, ma’am. Everything’s covered with glass. I wouldn’t want you to get cut.”
She smiled. He always called her “ma’am” even though he couldn’t have been that much older than her twenty-seven, and that made her think of teasing Caine about calling her lady. But as Mr. Wilkerson cleared away her things and climbed up on the bookcase, Emma didn’t have time to think of the intriguing mystery that was her savior from the other night. Instead, she watched as Mr. Wilkerson cut a piece of plastic off a roll and began to duct tape a rectangle over the breach.
He was new this school year, and in addition to the attention he paid to his janitorial duties, he’d taken on a number of handyman projects around the school that everyone appreciated. Repairing a section of ductwork to the heating and cooling system that improved climate control in the whole kindergarten wing. Fixing windows around the school that didn’t close securely and which let in cold air or rain. Finishing the installation of the new Smart Board system the school received so that all the boards would be mounted before the first day of classes. He’d even volunteered to hang the cute puppets she’d found in an antique shop from her classroom ceiling for her. He always went above and beyond. This morning, she really appreciated that.
Emma collected her things off the floor. A stack of artwork she needed to add to the folders students took home every Tuesday and coloring and game sheets she’d copied for this week.
“Ow,” she said as something nicked the pad of her middle finger. She lifted the splayed-out pages to find a dagger of glass beneath.
“Are you all right?” Mr. Wilkerson was at her side in an instant. “Let me clean this up,” he said. “I’ll return everything to your desk, but let me get the glass up before you do anything more.”
“I’m fine. I thought I was being careful,” she said, sucking the stinging cut into her mouth.
“Let me take care of, uh, of all this for you.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Mr. Wilkerson. Has anyone told you that today?” She retrieved a bandage from her desk drawer.
