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“Oh, God, that’s awful.”
I jerk my head back and gulp a few times to settle my stomach. I set the glass on the counter while holding my breath and opened my eyes. Damn, that was disgusting! I sniffle and tug at my blouse, rubbing my arms free of the goosebumps that have covered my skin. I wipe my eyes and mouth with a tissue from a nearby box.
I take deep, calming breaths while gripping the edge of the counter. When my headache immediately begins to fade, my system is shocked. I grimace as I lick my lips heavily and check my watch.
“I’ll have to do my makeup in the car at school,” dismay thickens my voice as I straighten, throwing my shoulders back.
I grab my keys from my purse as I walk towards the stairs. My stomach churns, but there's nothing I can do about it right now. At the very least, the hangover cure was somewhat effective. And fast. I have to bookmark that thing.
As I climb the stairs, my cheeks burn and memories flood my jumbled mind. A concerned woman shaking my shoulder as I awoke in front of my father's grave, covered in wine that'd spilled out overnight. My skin crawls as I recall the sticky sensation I had to wash away in the shower.
I'm glad the groundskeeper arrived so early, or I'd be in big trouble. I walk out of my house and walk to the curb, my hand rubbing through my damp hair. I grimace as I climb into the driver's seat and look out the passenger window. I need my bed.
I buckle up and pull off the curb. The trees along the sidewalk sway in the breeze, their leaves still uncolored. As I drive to school, I absentmindedly caress the steering wheel and gnaw my bottom lip.
The trip is a quick scoot down the highway, and I exit feeling much better than when I started. That crap hangover cure actually works! I drive through the quiet, upscale neighborhood — my school rises above the two and three-story houses that line the streets, and I use my blinker to turn down the long drive.
I just hope I don't get called out for looking like a slob, I mutter, an embarrassed flush running down my cheeks. I'm such a moron, getting drunk and walking all the way to my father's grave to yell at him. He's gone, and he can't hear me. And even if he were still alive, he'd probably ignore me. As I pull into my assigned parking spot, I turn off my car and pull my hair into a high bun to begin applying makeup. My life no longer revolves around my dad. He's dead; he doesn't exist.
My mind is churning with ideas, and I find myself wishing I knew what that bastard was up to before he died. What did he do to enrage the Irish Mafia? As I apply a light layer of concealer under my eyes, a sigh forms in my chest. When Frankie went missing, I assumed he'd ended up in a drug den. It's no secret that my half-brother enjoys the white stuff. It's not like he and our dad got along, but perhaps Frankie knew something I didn't.
My thoughts are interrupted by a sharp ping, and I reach for my phone. There's a text, and my heart leaps into my chest.
Answer me:Meet me at this address tonight at 6pm
“Answer me?” I mutter, a sour taste spreading across my tongue. “It must be Jack.”
I don't answer, instead locking my phone and stuffing it into my purse before exiting my car. The air is crisp in the morning, but the sun is still rising early, casting light shadows all around. As I walk up to the impressive front entrance, I notice a bus pulling up and parking. Children disembark, engrossed in their conversations, their uniforms mucking together as they travel in packs.
Heading toward the school, Grace and Principal McKillingly walk out of the front office. I can feel his gaze on me right away, and I walk over to the pair with a bright smile.
“Morning!” I say, and Grace hugs her baby bump with one hand and waves with the other.
My boss smiles, his eyes crinkling before speaking, “Just the person I wanted to see. Congratulations, Heather,” he announces.
My chest tightens as excitement builds in my veins. Heat engulfs my face, and I hold my breath.
“You’ll officially take over Grace’s classroom when she goes on maternity leave. Everything’s been arranged.”
“Really?” I grin broadly, my squawk echoing down the grand, tall corridors stretching out on either side of us.
I quickly cover my mouth with my hand, and Principle McKillingly nods before reaching out to cordially touch my arm.
“She’ll fill you in on the details. I have to go meet the students. Congratulations again, Heather.” he says before walking past me.
I resist the urge to bounce around and do a little dance. Grace giggles when I rock back on my heels, and she holds up her hands to wag them.
“Yay, I’m so glad for you!” she exclaims happily.
Relief rushes down my spine; I knew I had a good chance of getting this position, but having it feels incredible! Grace and I walk down the corridor towards her classroom, and she doesn't say anything until we get there.
With an exhausted sigh, she closes the door, palms her back, and settles into her chair behind her desk. “Goodness gracious, I’m so happy for us both!”
“First graders are, like, the perfect ones,” I sigh, sitting at my tiny desk and dropping my purse in the drawer. “So, you have the date you're leaving then?”
“Yeah, two weeks from now,” she answers, rubbing her bump as she swivels her chair to face me. Grace grins, and I smile so wide that my cheeks hurt. “I'll be reviewing the lesson plans with you after school, so expect to stay for about half an hour.”
“That’s fine,” I reply, reaching to rub my cheeks with my palms. “Ugh, I’m not dreaming, right? I’m really gonna get my own classroom for the rest of the year before I take over Ruth’s third grade next year?”
