Page 53 of Babies at Coconuts

Chapter 37

Hope studied the stiff back of Hilltop’s star golf student as he exited her office. She knew he wasn’t happy about her decision, but hopefully, she had gotten through to him.

Jeremy had complained to Hope about his crappy, worn golf clubs and asked if the school could buy more expensive ones. Slumping in his chair, he said, “It affects my game. I could be so much better if—”

“You do realize you’re our star golfer, don’t you?” Splaying her hands across her desk, the counselor leaned forward and explained about tight budgetary constraints. She bit her tongue to keep from mentioning how far down the line golf clubs would be.

Jeremy shrugged. “I know the school has other needs besides my golf game, but still.” He picked at his jeans, obviously hoping for a better outcome.

“I’m sure you’ve talked to your coach about this. I wish I could help.” She brightened. “Have you practiced at the public country club?”

The student golfer’s face fell. “Their clubs are worn out too.” In an obvious attempt to change her mind, Jeremy said, “I really want to improve my game to try and get a college golf scholarship.”

“Let me see what I can do. I have some contacts who may be able to get you in at one of the private clubs in Crystal City.”

“That would be awesome.” Jeremy stood. “Thank you, Miss Truman.”

“Remember, I said I’ll try. No promises. I don’t belong to a country club—never could on my salary—but I know some people who do. In the meantime, keep working on your stellar game.” She grinned. “Now get to class.”

After Jeremy left, Hope shuffled papers on her messy desk and glanced at the clock. Stomach growling, she reached for her purse to get in the cafeteria line. Hearing the familiar jangle of Willow’s excessive bracelets, she grinned as Willow entered her office. “How’s the best art teacher at Hilltop?”

Waving her arms dramatically, Willow said, “I’ve made a major decision.”

“Really? What?” Hope asked.

“I’ve decided on my art students’ senior project. I think they’ll love it.”

“It’ll be fabulous, I’m sure.” Hope motioned to one of the drab, gray chairs across from her desk. “Have a seat.”

Bracelets clanging, which distracted Hope to no end but obviously didn’t faze Willow, the art teacher sat down. Her prematurely gray hair hung in a thick side braid. As usual, she wore layers of clothes, making it difficult to determine her actual body shape.

Hope crossed her arms. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“It’s good. Really good.” As usual, Willow spoke with dramatic flair. “Actually, the art project was Mac’s idea. He’s very creative, you know.”

Keeping up with both of his names—Mac or Larry—continually confounded Hope, plus she had never considered her former hippie dad as the least bit inspired nor creative. In fact, all her life, he had been mostly stoned and a deadbeat. Obviously, the right side of his brain had kicked in after his horrific train accident. Keeping his identity to herself was a daily strain. Hope persevered. “Are you going to tell me or keep me in suspense all day?”

Willow leaned forward. “The students are going to paint Buttercup.”

“Buttercup?”

“You know, my VW Microbus. I love her beautiful, buttery yellow color, but I’ve decided she needs some pizazz. It’ll be a fun project for my students. Mac suggested I let the students paint whatever symbols or words they want—with any color they want. What do you think?”

Nodding, Hope said, “That’ll be unique and fun. How and where do you plan to accomplish this?”

“Easy. We’ll meet in the Hilltop parking lot on a weekend to be determined. I’ll supply the paint, brushes, and Buttercup. The kids will do the rest. Afterward, Mac said he’d order pizzas.”

Hope was almost jealous. Her dad, Larry, now known as Mac to everyone else, had never done anything like that for her when she was a kid. Not even close. In fact, he expected her to take care of him. This was an unbelievable new side to the man who had raised her. At least she was 99 percent sure he was the same man, sans his memory issues and an anchor tattoo on his arm.

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