Page 5 of Endless Southern Love

“Yep,” Jean says. “And now her daughter will go to school here.”

“Can you?—”

Jean shakes her head. “Not this time. If you need to know, ask him.”

“Well, you know that isn’t going to happen.” I slam the folder closed, although it doesn’t have the effect I was hoping for. It’s cardstock at best and flutters shut. I have half the mind to chuck the folder and its contents into the trash and act like I never saw it.

“Anyway,” I say as I put the folder on top of the pile. “When it comes to landscaping issues, you’ll be the point of contact. Please make sure Mr. Jenkins knows. We’ll do the same for Marigold. I’ll speak to her teacher and express our policy regarding the Jenkinses.”

“Your policy,” Jean says. “Not mine, and it’s a stupid policy. Just talk to him.”

My head rises sharply and while I love and appreciate Jean, this policy is in place so I can do my job effectively and efficiently. When I took it, I did so knowing I would never have to deal with the likes of Wade Jenkins, and yet the universe seems hell-bent on throwing him in my face.

“The policy is in place. If the school board wants to keep him on as the landscaper, all communication goes through you. I don’t care if the lawn grows to six feet high or the sprinkler system craps out in the middle of spring. I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jean says as she gets up from the seat. I turn away from her and stare out the window. Across the way, the high school football team practices. This is the first time in a very long time Magnolia High has had a new football coach. Mattie Lincoln took over when Coach Turner retired. I was sorry to miss his retirement party. I think I was somewhere in Paris, once again contemplating my life over a baguette and brie.

I give Jean a moment to get back to her desk before I turn back to the folders. I go through each one, make extra notes for Jean and then carry the pile out to her. Before leaving my office, I shut my computer off and grab my purse. I don’t care if I didn’t put in eight hours. I need some relaxation, meditation, or libations if I plan to get through this school year. Wade Jenkins broke my heart, and I have never forgiven him.

“I put notes in each file,” I tell Jean as I set them on her desk. “Please make sure the parents know about Meet Your Teacher Night and send the enrollment packet to them.”

“I’m on it,” she says sweetly. Jean doesn’t have a mean bone in her body until you cross her or someone she loves. “Are you checking out early?”

“I need . . . a moment to decompress,” I tell her. “This is all too much.” It’s one thing to see Wade around town or watching him as he rides by my window on his mower. It’s a whole other avenue when I have to see him inside my workplace. The school is my sanctuary. It’s the one place he isn’t and never needs to be . . . until now.

Now, when I’m at the podium for an awards assembly and parents are there, he’s going to be there. Open house, back to school night, school carnival. I won’t be able to escape him. And seeing his daughter every day will be like a slap in the face. A stark reminder of how he destroyed our relationship and my faith in men.

Instead of staying in town, where I will undoubtedly run into someone I know, I head toward Birmingham like my ass is on fire. Thirty minutes outside of town, I ask Siri to call Leslie. She’s my best friend and college roommate. We met on the day we both moved into our dorm room at the University of North Carolina.

“Sup,” she says when she answers.

“He’s enrolled his daughter in my school.”

The other end is silent for a moment.

“No shit?”

“All the shit,” I say. “I’m on my way to your place.”

“How long?”

“An hour and a half,” I tell her.

“I’ll have the pitcher of margaritas ready.”

“You’re the best.”

We hang up, and I do my damnedest to keep Wade out of my thoughts, but every few minutes, his stupidly handsome face pops into my mind. As well as the fact that if things hadn’t ended the way they had, we’d be married by now.

three

wade

I’m grateful for people like my father, Hoyt, who are willing to step in when times are tough. Most people think “times are tough” means something financial when this isn’t the case at all. After taking a week off to help Goldie settle in, which let’s be honest, I didn’t need to do because as Ms. Linda puts it, Goldie is among her people, I find myself inundated with school registration forms, most of which repeat each other.

How come I have to write my daughter’s name and nickname repeatedly?

Shouldn’t there be one main form?

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