Page 2 of Doubly Claimed

Chapter 1

“Ms. Freeman!” wailed little Johnny DeMarco from the back of the rug.

He always had trouble sitting still during circle time, but Ginger was used to his antics. Instead of rushing over to coddle the child, she closed the storybook she was reading and made sure he had her full attention from where she sat, crisscross-applesauce, in front of the class.

“Yes, Johnny?”

“I want to sit on your lap!”

“Johnny, I know you like to sit on my lap, but it’s our last story time before summer break, not cuddle time, okay?”

Johnny’s lower lip wobbled, but Ginger calmed that bothersome maternal instinct that flared up whenever one of her littles, which was what she called her preschool students, was feeling down. She waited another beat before giving him an exaggerated wink, then returned her attention to the story and the other three-to-four-year-olds she was responsible for.

Today was the last day of the term. She’d miss them, but it had been a long and grueling year. The bell rang loudly, and all her littles yelped like the silly, loveable children they were. Ginger giggled and finished helping the kids gather their things. She walked them outside, waving and wishing them an awesome vacation.

The end of the school year was always bittersweet. She’d miss her littles, but she was so proud of them for finishing what was, for many of them, their first experience in a classroom. Being away from their parents was a huge adjustment. Not to mention the recent changes to the classroom because of the global covid-19 epidemic. The addition of mandatory face masks, plastic gloves, temperature check stations, and hand and desk sanitizing every fifteen minutes did not exactly make things easier for the tiny preschoolers.

But she’d done her best to help normalize the add-ons. She’d even had her sister, Sage, sew a bunch of fun, child-themed masks that she donated to the students. Sage sewed in her spare time, not that she had much of it, but Ginger had paid for all the supplies. Many of her students could not afford the extra expense of the necessary safety equipment, and she was happy to help.

But it was over now, and Ginger sent a silent prayer of thanks that they’d made it without incident. As she walked back to her now quiet and empty classroom, she smiled behind her mask, which depicted a bunny nose and teeth, removing the ears she’d added for the last day’s festivities.

Her preschool class had decided on a “cute animal” theme. Sigh. It really was a long, long school year. Ginger was exhausted and tired of smelling like sanitizer and cheese sandwiches. She was more than ready for her yearly getaway with her siblings.

The Freeman sisters agreed after the youngest finished college to have a girls’ only weekend every year, no matter what. It was their thing, and she loved it. Looked forward to it with glee. They never knew their mother, but their father had done a pretty amazing job raising them, if she said so herself.

A locally famous chef, Mark Freeman, named all three girls after his favorite spices. That Ginger was a redhead was luck of the draw since she’d been born with no hair at all. Not even peach fuzz. But as the middle sister, she was used to accepting things as they came.

Sage was the oldest, with a gorgeous head of ebony hair that Ginger used to envy with all her adolescent heart. She was also the wisest with her uncanny brainiac math skills. Anise was the youngest, a natural blonde, and a corporate executive working for some mega company that was recently involved in a toxic waste scandal. All three women were curvy, a little on the short side, and had sassy comebacks for about any occasion. Call it a sister’s intuition, but she felt it down to her bones, her sisters needed this vacation just as much as she did.

Ginger was the only one of the three who’d remained in their hometown. Northern was a quiet place, but it was close enough to the city that her sisters made it back every year for the holidays. She would have still lived with her father, but she’d insisted on moving out after college. There was no way she wanted her daddy in the other room when she was entertaining. Not that she should’ve worried.

At thirty-years-old, Ginger’s apartment had seen very little action over the past seven and a half years since she’d started renting the place. Just ten minutes away from her childhood home, but at least it was her own. Daddy was always busy with work, but she still ate dinner with him twice a week and he always sent her home with plenty of leftovers.

Mark Freeman was never too busy for his girls. He made sure they knew how treasured they were, and Ginger, who was the curviest, and maybe even the shyest of the three, appreciated it the most.

Speaking of her curves, Ginger cringed when she heard the telltale sound of Mr. Gardner’s shoes clicking down the hallway.

Click clack click.

The man sounded like he was wearing heels.

Then again, he wore heels. Snort. Shame immediately filled her at her surprising mean streak, but it was still true. She did her best to avoid him after that brief encounter, but he still insisted on doling out unwanted advice and invitations her way. If only she would’ve finished packing up her room earlier!

Click clack click.

She froze with her hands full of folders. Dang it.

He was getting closer. Her mind raced back to the time she’d caught him through the window to his office. Mr. Gardner was bent over, adjusting the “inserts” in question. She could not believe he had three-inch heels inside his highly polished black leather shoes! He tried to tell her they were orthopedic, but Ginger’s keen eyesight said otherwise. Fact was, he wore lifts or elevator shoes as her father called them when she’d asked his opinion.

Ginger was never one to complain or poke fun at anyone’s style of dress or comfort. She didn’t care what he wore. Or the fact that Mr. Gardner was forty-eight, balding, and reed thin. None of that was any of her business. To Ginger, Mr. Gardner was and would only ever be her boss. Not her friend. Not her boyfriend. Simply her boss.

But and that was a big, bold, underlined but, the man had overstepped that invisible boundary line between supervisor and teacher one too many times. He somehow thought it appropriate to constantly comment on her weight and choice of dress. The sound of her classroom door opening had Ginger dropping the files into her crate faster than lightning.

“Ms. Freeman, I see you are still clearing out your desk,” Mr. Gardner spoke, breaking the calm silence that had pleasantly surrounded her and filling it with unease.

Ginger closed her eyes and counted to three. Her back was still facing him. Thank goodness for masks or he would see the frown she could not hide whenever she was in his presence.

His voice sounded even more nasally behind his plain black face mask. The man did not even attempt to lighten the mood, despite being the principal of a grammar school. She took another calming breath before turning around to answer him. He was still her boss.

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