I Take This Man--again!
Author
Carole Halston
Reads
19,2K
Chapters
14
Chapter 1
“The faculty meeting will begin in five minutes in the library. Teachers, please be prompt.”
The school secretary’s announcement came over the intercom in Ginger Honeycutt’s classroom. Ginger worked faster at stapling a long strip of scalloped paper border to the bulletin board at the front of the room. When she’d finished, she took an extra few moments to step back and approve the overall effect. The bright red border framed the white butcher paper she’d stapled on as a background. After the meeting she would attach large letters cut out of construction paper, spelling out the eight parts of speech, each of which had a colorful cartoon picture depicting its function.
Designing bulletin boards wasn’t a major priority to Ginger as a teacher, nor was it her biggest talent, but she believed in stimulating her students’ minds in every possible way and using every teaching tool at her disposal. Eye-catching and informative bulletin-board displays could be effective tools of learning.
After the school year was under way, she turned over to her students the challenge of designing and putting up new displays to illustrate the subject matter being studied. She provided the materials and served as a consultant.
“This is your bulletin board and your classroom,” Ginger always emphasized to her classes. Half the battle in teaching adolescents was getting them actively involved in their own education. That meant giving them some control over their classroom environment and allowing them to express their unique personalities.
The other half of the battle was not boring them to death. And not boring herself to death at the same time. Learning didn’t have to be deadly dull. Ginger’s list of learning activities included skits, homemade videos and original song lyrics performed for the class, poems and short stories and crossword puzzles. Mixed in were plenty of conventional in-class and homework assignments, but the key word was variety.
“That looks pretty good,” she said aloud with satisfaction.
After retrieving her purse from a desk drawer, Ginger left her classroom and headed toward the library, admiring the highly polished floors of the corridors. By this time tomorrow afternoon the beige tile would be scuffed with the footsteps of students.
Coming abreast of the door to the teachers’ lounge, she paused, wondering if she had time to pop into the women’s rest room to run a comb through her hair and freshen her makeup. Better not, Ginger decided with a glance at her watch. It wouldn’t do to walk in late to the first faculty meeting of the new school year.
The library seemed jam-packed with teachers. Ginger exchanged greetings as she made her way to an empty chair next to Sharon Hawkins, the librarian and a colleague whose company Ginger enjoyed. A tall, thin bleached blonde with an extroverted personality, Sharon was anything but the stereotypical prim librarian. A divorcee, she loved flirting with men. Today her smirk and the wicked gleam in her brown eyes were dead giveaways. Ginger knew without asking that there must be at least one eligible bachelor among the male additions to the faculty.
“What does he teach?” Ginger asked, smiling as she sank down into the chair. “Math?” One of the positions that had been open was in the math department.
“No, he’s Larry Hebert’s replacement.” Larry Hebert had taught physical-education classes and coached football and basketball. “I thought I’d died and gone to hunk heaven when I laid eyes on him!” Sharon’s smirk took on a dreamy cast. “Six feet tall, super build and a sexy grin guaranteed to make any woman tingle all the way down to her toes.”
Not any woman, Ginger thought to herself. She doubted the new coach would make her tingle down to her toes. The description came too close to fitting her ex-husband, who was a high-school P.E. teacher and coach. Being married to him had given Ginger a built-in resistance to macho jock types.
Or perhaps more accurately, a built-in resistance to men. Ginger hadn’t dated at all following her divorce and flight from New Orleans to the north shore until last November when she’d met Barry Whitfield, a CPA and Mac’s opposite in every conceivable way.
The dozens of conversations creating a hubbub of voices in the library quieted as one of the assistant principals got the faculty meeting under way. He made a long series of announcements and then sat down, letting the principal, Bill Gary, take over. Short, bald and with a booming baritone, Bill gave his customary pep talk as a lead-in to presenting the several new faculty members.
“Last but not least,” he said when he came finally to the cause of Sharon’s excitement, “Coach McDaniel from New Orleans will be filling the spot in our P.E. department and bringing his considerable experience and expertise to our coaching staff. Some of you might remember his days of glory as a quarterback at SLU in Hammond.”
Ginger had been giving her polite attention up to this point and smiling in a friendly manner when each new colleague stood and suffered the inspection of the assembled teachers. The words “Coach McDaniel” wiped the smile from her face and made her heart miss several beats. It can’t be, she thought in befuddlement. There’s some mistake.
“That’s him,” Sharon murmured as a black-haired man rose and turned around, his hand raised in a casual male salute. “Now, did I exaggerate? Is he a macho dreamboat or what? Drat it! You’ve already caught his eye, Ginger! Just my luck for him to like redheads!”
“I’ve no doubt whatever he likes blondes and brunettes, too,” Ginger murmured, numb with the shock and confusion. It just couldn’t be true that Mac was her colleague! This was all a bad dream!
Bill Gary brought the meeting to a close after a reminder that coffee and cookies would be served in the cafeteria immediately afterward. He got the point across without spelling it out that skipping the informal reception wasn’t an option. Everyone was expected to attend and spend a few minutes socializing with fellow faculty members and welcoming newcomers.
“I don’t need my arm twisted,” Sharon declared cheerfully, standing up. “Just call me head of the welcoming committee.”
Ginger joined the slow exodus from the library, struggling to get her emotions under control. A spurt of indignation finally came to her rescue. How dare Mac do this to her! She should be talking and laughing and sharing the general atmosphere of anticipation for the new school year about to begin at her school. Instead she desperately wanted to escape to her classroom and postpone a face-to-face meeting with him until she felt more prepared.
The nerve of him! Ginger had moved over to the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain, giving her ex-husband the entire greater metropolitan area of New Orleans as his territory. It simply wasn’t fair for him to barge into her life like this. Getting over him had taken her five of the six years since her divorce. During that time she’d devoted herself entirely to her teaching. Finally she had a social life again and a caring relationship with a man she respected a great deal. Finally she was starting to feel happy and complete.
With no regard for her well-being, suddenly Mac showed up.
In the corridor several women separated from the crowd, heading for the teachers’ lounge. Ginger had taken a step in the same direction when she brought herself up short. She would not go freshen her makeup. It didn’t matter that her nose was probably shiny and most of her lipstick had worn off. Looking pretty for Mac hadn’t been a worry for six whole years, and it wasn’t a worry now.
Some of her indignation directed at herself, Ginger marched along to the cafeteria.
Taking her turn at one of two coffee urns, she filled a cup three-quarters full and added a packet of artificial sweetener. She was about to turn away, not even glancing at the plates of cookies, when Rosemary Wells, a good-natured African-American woman who taught business courses, spoke to her.
“Aren’t you having one of these cookies, Ginger? They look delicious.” Rosemary was busy placing several on a napkin.
“I’m resisting the temptation since I already blew my day’s calories at lunch,” Ginger replied. “I had an oyster poboy.” Normally the cookies would be a temptation, but not today with her stomach in knots. She didn’t even want the coffee. It was something to hold in her hands like a prop.
“You don’t have a weight problem, girl,” Rosemary scoffed.
“I can easily afford to shed five pounds.”
“It wouldn’t hurt me to go on a diet, but then I’d have to buy a whole new wardrobe. And on a teacher’s salary, I couldn’t afford that. So I’d better take one more cookie.” Rosemary laughed merrily. “How was your summer? Did you enjoy your travels in Europe?”
“Very much.” Ginger had spent the majority of the summer touring Eumpean countries as a chaperone for a group of high-school students on a travel-study program. It had been a marvelous opportunity for her, as well as for them.
“Tell me about Venice. One of these days I’m hoping to go there.” Rosemary led the way to a spot some distance away and out of the traffic.
Under ordinary circumstances Ginger would have enjoyed sharing with Rosemary some high points of her stay in Venice. Instead it was an effort to stand there and chat, knowing that Mac was somewhere in the room. His very presence leached all the color and adventure from Ginger’s summer experiences abroad. For him to still have this much power over her was maddening!
I am over him, Ginger told herself. Once the shock wore off, she would be fine. In the meanwhile she welcomed the resentment that boiled up when she spotted her devilishly handsome ex-husband, grinning and looking every bit as relaxed as Ginger was tense. Sharon, acting as faculty hostess, was glued to his side, and the two of them were circulating. It was only a matter of time before they reached Ginger.
Unless she slipped out...
No. Ginger sucked in a breath to conquer a flare of panic. She would not avoid him.
“Excuse me,” she said to Rosemary and two other teachers who’d wandered over and joined them. “I should go over and say hello to Coach McDaniel. We were in a class together at Southeastern when we were undergraduates.”
It was just one tiny piece of a story too painful to tell, the reason she hadn’t confided in anyone on the north shore except Barry. He’d shared his own heartbreak with her.
Tonight they had a date, and Ginger would pour out this whole unexpected development to him. She wrapped that knowledge around her like a thin suit of armor as she wove her way through clusters of people to confront Mac.
“Hi, Ginger,” Sharon greeted her brightly, eyebrows elevated in mild surprise. “Mac, this is Ginger Honeycutt, our celebrity English teacher. You may have seen her on television—”
“Coach McDaniel and I don’t need an introduction, Sharon,” Ginger cut in politely.
“No, we sure don’t. How are you, Ginger?” he said. “It’s great to see you.” His deep voice she remembered so well resonated with a fervent sincerity, and he was gazing at her face as though he’d been hungry for the sight of her. When he made a slight movement with his hands, for a breathless second Ginger thought he was going to reach for her. Then he checked himself and extended one big hand.
“I couldn’t be better.” The answer she meant to be brisk came out sounding strangled. Reluctantly she raised her right hand. He promptly engulfed it with both hands, his clasp warm and strong. Ginger bore down on a painful squeezing sensation in her chest.
“Congratulations on that national award,” he said, “I caught the newscast about you this summer.”
His words answered one of the questions she’d wanted answered. He had taken the job with full knowledge she was on the faculty.
“Are you two old friends?” Sharon asked. She was looking on with open curiosity.
Ginger tugged and managed to extract her hand, giving Mac a chance to answer. He kept his silence, looking at her questioningly. “Old acquaintances, anyway,” she said. “We met when we were freshmen at Southeastern aeons ago.”
The sense of hurt that he hadn’t spoken up and acknowledged her as his former wife was totally illogical. After all, she hadn’t spoken up, either, acknowledging him as her ex-husband. To give him the benefit of the doubt, he might have been following her lead and respecting her privacy.
“It does seem like a long time ago, all right,” Mac said soberly. “When I look back, I remember the good times, but I sure as heck wish I’d been a lot smarter.”
“I’ll bet.” The main thing he undoubtedly would do differently was take better precautions and not get her pregnant.
“It sounds as though you two need to get together and catch up,” Sharon commented.
“At some point I’m sure we’ll have a talk, but not today,” Ginger said with a grim note in her voice. “I have a few questions to ask Coach Mac, but they can wait.” Questions like Why are you here at my school?
“How about later this afternoon?” he suggested. “I’ll be tied up in a coaches’ meeting for a couple of hours, but after that—”
Ginger interrupted, shaking her head decisively. “Sorry, I still have things to do to get ready for my classes tomorrow. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I need to say a word of welcome to my other new colleagues.”
“Tomorrow let’s have lunch together, Ginger,” Sharon said to Ginger’s back. At which time, you can explain all this, the librarian conveyed with her dry tone.
Mac said nothing, nor did he try to stop her, behavior that spoke louder than words to Ginger. Obviously he wasn’t in any great hurry to be alone with her and explain his selfish actions. Undoubtedly he expected to be raked over the coals and was just as happy to let her anger die down.
True to her word, Ginger sought out each of the other newcomers and managed to socialize briefly before she made her exit from the cafeteria. A glance over her shoulder as she pushed through the plate-glass door verified that Sharon hadn’t moved from Mac’s side. The sight of the librarian’s blond head paired with his darker head triggered a sharp, unpleasant reaction that was all too familiar. Ginger identified it without any trouble as the old jealousy that had plagued her during her stormy marriage.
The knee-jerk response seemed the last straw. “I won’t stand for this! I’ll go to Bill Gary. I’ll go to the school board,” she threatened under her breath as she made her way back to her classroom. Reaching it, she jerked the door open and closed it behind her with a bang of pure frustration.
It was too late to lodge a protest against the hiring of her ex-husband. If she’d known in advance, she might have gone to Bill Gary and explained the circumstances in confidence. But she hadn’t been given any forewarning. Either Mac had suspected she might throw a monkey wrench into his plans and deliberately kept them from her or else he just hadn’t given a darn about her feelings in the matter one way or the other.
Whatever the explanation, his actions were despicable. He’d placed her in an intolerable situation that she had no choice but to tolerate, at least for a semester. Because Ginger wasn’t about to break her contract and leave her students in the lurch. Her teaching career meant too much to her.
A sense of resignation didn’t translate into calm acceptance. Finishing up her bulletin-board display, Ginger applied vigorous pressure to the stapler, which emitted loud clicks. Casting dark glances at the door, she imagined herself hurling the stapler at Mac if he had the brass to come to her classroom.
But he didn’t appear to serve as a target. Apparently he’d taken her at her word when she claimed to be too busy to spare him fifteen minutes. Quite obviously he didn’t care enough to be insistent. Out of sight, out of mind. Why seek out a hostile ex-wife when he had an admiring female in the person of Sharon, who would gladly spare him as much time as he desired with her?
I’m glad he has the good sense not to bother me, Ginger told herself. But she wasn’t glad, and the realization only made her more angry and resentful.
Despite all the inner turmoil, Ginger persevered until she’d accomplished her list of tasks. At quarter to five she prepared to leave, packing up her leather tote bag, which doubled as a briefcase. The tote bag, complete with monogram, had been a birthday present from Barry. An expensive present, it had been chosen with his usual excellent taste. Today, like always, it brought him pleasantly to mind.
With more deliberation than usual, Ginger conjured up an image of Barry, visualizing his attractive, sensitive features, his sandy hair and hazel eyes. The mental picture soothed some of her feelings of hurt and rejection. Because yes, it had hurt that Mac was content to let the day end without having a private conversation with her. His behavior more or less confirmed that his taking a job here had nothing to do with her.
Which was a state of things Ginger should have wanted. And did want. It’s just hurt pride, she told herself.
Most of the other teachers had already left by now. Ginger’s car sat alone in its section of the parking lot, its closest neighbor a cherry red Camaro that hadn’t been there when she arrived that morning. She would certainly have noticed it because it was a carbon copy of the red Camaro Mac had bought for himself against her objections a month before Ginger left him. The car had been just one more source of marital conflict between them.
By now he would have traded it in for a different racy bachelor’s automobile. It wouldn’t surprise her if he were driving a Corvette or a Porsche on his teacher’s salary. Living within his means and building a nest egg hadn’t been—and undoubtedly still weren’t—priorities for Mac. They’d had numerous bitter arguments over managing their money, too.
The door on the driver’s side of the Camaro swung open just as Ginger noticed that a man was sitting inside the parked automobile. She came to a halt, slightly uneasy. The north shore was a safe place to live, compared to New Orleans, but Ginger hadn’t lost all her city instincts.
“Hi,” Mac greeted her over the low-slung roof of the Camaro. “I was beginning to think I was staking out the wrong silver Honda.”
“You startled me!” Ginger exclaimed.
“Sorry.” He walked over to her and held out his hand, silently offering to take her tote bag.
Ginger clutched the handles tighter. “How did you know I own a silver Honda?” she demanded.
“I asked Sharon what kind of car you drove. I was hoping to catch you before you left school today. Could we go somewhere and have a cup of coffee and talk?” The invitation was humble.
“We can talk right here. It shouldn’t take more than five minutes for you to make excuses for the dirty trick you’ve pulled. If you wanted to move to the north shore, couldn’t you have gotten a job in another high school where at least we wouldn’t be running into each other on a daily basis? You did know I taught here, didn’t you?”
“Sure. I knew,” he admitted readily. “The idea of seeing you was a big factor in my taking this job instead of the one in Slidell.”
To Ginger’s shame and dismay, his words caused her heart to leap with that same foolish joy she’d felt at nineteen when he first paid her attention. “Well, I certainly wish you’d given me some say in the matter,” she said. “Because I would have insisted you take the Slidell position if I couldn’t have convinced you not to take any job on the north shore. What brought about this decision to change jobs anyway? I thought you were happy with your coaching situation.”
“I haven’t been exactly happy since we split up. In fact I’ve been pretty damned dissatisfied with my life, but I drifted along from year to year, not quite knowing what to do to get on track. Then this past May, Steve Flanigan died of a brain tumor. Remember him—he got roaring drunk at our wedding reception and almost fell into the cake?”
Ginger nodded. “I read Steve’s obituary notice in the paper and felt sad for his family.” She’d also felt sadness for Mac, knowing how upset he must be.
“Steve’s dying affected me like a wake-up call,” Mac went on. “Here I was close to turning thirty and divorced, with no wife and kids, no home. That same Saturday of Steve’s funeral, I went over to Don and Brenda Sweeney’s house for supper. Remember them?”
“Yes, of course, I remember them.”
“They have two cute kids. Don’s doing well enough selling cars that Brenda was able to quit her job and become a full-time mom and wife, which suits them both to a T. At any rate I was sitting in their living room that night, envious as hell of Don, when all of a sudden your face flashed up on the TV screen. It hit me like a lightning bolt that, divorce or no divorce, I still felt married to you.”
Ginger wet her lips and swallowed to revive her vocal cords. “Your Catholic upbringing.” They’d been married in a Catholic church with a priest performing the ceremony. According to his religious faith, the marriage bond was holy and couldn’t be dissolved by a civil divorce.
Mac raised his hands in a gesture of partial agreement. “That’s probably part of it. To fill in more of the story, Buzz Pichon had contacted me about a couple of openings at high schools on the north shore. You—”
“I remember Buzz,” Ginger broke in before he could finish his question. “Mac, where is this ‘story’ of yours headed? Why did you quit a coaching job with a top parochial school and move away from the city you swore would always be your home? Surely not on some whim that the two of us might get back together after six whole years apart.”
“It’s not unheard-of for a divorced couple to reconcile after that length of time,” he protested. “The fact that you hadn’t remarried either gave me some grounds for hope.”
Ginger took a step backward when he made a slight movement toward her. He checked himself and jammed his hands into his pockets. “False hope,” she stated with emphasis. “It took me five of those years to get over you, but I am over you, Mac. You can rule out any thoughts about reconciliation. Our marriage was a big mistake to begin with. It was an even bigger mistake for me to try to hang on to you as long as I did. I should have set you free and let you sow your wild oats a lot sooner.”
“I disagree. We both should have stuck with our marriage. I was wrong for throwing in the towel and going along with a divorce.”
“Maybe so, but the fact remains that you signed those divorce papers. You were sick of the fighting, too. Sick of our in-law problems, our differences over money. Sick of my jealousy just like I was sick to death of being jealous and insecure.” Ginger shuddered. “Divorce was the best solution.”
“It wasn’t all bad,” he said. “Was it?”
“No, it wasn’t all bad,” she conceded. “But neither of us was happy.”
“I’ve matured and so have you. We could deal with the same issues a lot better now.”
Ginger easily conjured a picture of him and Sharon side by side at the faculty reception just a few hours earlier. She recalled the stab of jealousy. “I would just as soon not deal with them ever again. Now I really have to go. I have a supper date.”
“With the CPA fellow you’re dating?” He shrugged when she blinked at him in surprise. “I asked Sharon if you were involved with anyone. How serious is the relationship? You’re not in love with him, are you?”
“I care about him. And respect him. And enjoy his company immensely.”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“That’s none of your business!” Ginger edged past him to the driver’s side of her car and inserted the key in the lock.
“I’d rather not know anyway,” he said. His grim tone softened into pleading. “Break your date, Ginger. Please. Let me take you out to dinner somewhere so we can talk. For old times’ sake, if nothing else.”
“We’ve already talked. And even if I didn’t have plans, Mac, I wouldn’t be interested in going to dinner with you. Not tonight Not any other night.”
He allowed her to open the car door and slip under the wheel, making no effort to detain her physically, like the old Mac would have done. “You’ve got to give me a chance,” he said.
“No, I don’t have to do any such thing.”
“Can’t we at least be friends?”
“No, we can’t. I don’t want you for a friend.”
He sighed. “Don’t think I’m giving up this easily.”
“I’m not playing hard to get, Mac. You were never the right kind of man for me.”
From his expression she might have slapped him hard. “And this CPA you’re dating is?”
“Yes, I think he might be.”
“Drive carefully,” he said in a disheartened voice. “I’ll see you later.” He closed the door and walked toward the Camaro, the set of his broad shoulders spelling out rejection.
Evidently he’d gotten her message loud and clear.
Ginger was glad he had. She just didn’t feel at all glad.
Mac drove to his rented condo by a roundabout route, taking consolation in what Ginger hadn’t said. She was too honest by nature to hurl lies like spears to wound him, like some women would do out of spite and revenge.
She hadn’t said, I’m dating a guy I love a lot more than I ever loved you, and I have every intention of marrying him. When he’d reacted like a jealous estranged husband and demanded to know about her current relationship, Ginger hadn’t informed him hotly, It’s none of your business, but, yes, I’m sleeping with him! And he’s a lot better lover than you ever were!
Her words had cut deeply enough, but they hadn’t killed all his hope. Whether he succeeded or not in winning her back, he was convinced after seeing her today that he’d done the right thing moving to the north shore and making his best effort. God, he just prayed he hadn’t waited too long and lost her forever.
Mac knew that he had to be patient and not crowd her. He had to make friends with her all over again and this time win her trust. Somehow he had to continue to exercise the same restraint that had held him back today when he managed not to take her into his arms, hug her tight and kiss away all the hurt and hostility. That had been Mac’s old fix-it technique during their marriage, but it obviously hadn’t proved effective. Curbing his natural instincts wasn’t going to be easy. Mac was a demonstrative kind of guy who wore his emotions on his sleeve.
A romantic clinch scene might work in the movies, but not in real life. With or without an audience.
