Page 9 of The Art Of Starting Over

Instead, Hayden drove Conor to school, along Main Street, with cars parked along the side of the road, in his oversize truck. He cursed as he turned the corner and barely escaped taking off the side mirrors of a couple of parked cars.

“Maybe you need a smaller truck,” Conor said as Hayden drove at a snail’s pace along the road, slowing even more to allow others to pass by.

A new vehicle wasn’t in the budget, nor was it something he planned on doing, but his son had a point. Hayden would have to see if his father was up for a trip to the “city” for a possible trade-in. A truck was still a necessity, especially with the camper and the need for supplies to build a house.

Hayden pulled into the school’s parking lot, shut the truck off, and stared at Oyster Bay School, or OB, as the locals called it, where he’d spent his entire youth. The K–12 building had grown over the years as the population increased but was still small.

“Maybe you want to try homeschooling me?” Conor asked.

“You’ll like it here,” Hayden said as he looked at his son. “People will like you, and you’ll make some great friends. Don’t forget, baseball sign-ups are coming up.”

“Yeah.”

“When I played, we were good.”

“Back in the olden days?”

Hayden smiled and chuckled. “Come on, sport.”

Conor walked two steps ahead of his dad and kept his eyes trained on the ground. Hayden felt for his son. He’d been through so much in the past six months; adding a new school to the mix was yet another stressor for the boy. Still, Hayden stood by his decision to move back to Rhode Island. He needed his mother’s help—not only with Conor but with himself. Being among family was what they needed.

“Hayden McKenna, is that you?”

The stout woman in front of him caught him off guard. It took him a moment to recall her name. “Mrs. Pierson?”

“Of course. Who else would I be?” she said with a laugh.

Hayden couldn’t believe the school receptionist he had back in the “olden days,” according to Conor, was still the receptionist now. He figured she would’ve retired ages ago.

“Now this must be Conor. I’m Mrs. Pierson. I’ve known your dad since he was in diapers.” That was a slight exaggeration, or at least Hayden thought it was.

Conor looked at his dad and grinned brightly. A lot of times over the next few weeks, someone in town would say something like this to Conor about Hayden. But this one would stick with Conor for a long time, and he’d never let his father live it down.

“Hi, Mrs. Pierson,” Conor said after Hayden gave him the eye.

“Follow me into the office.”

Hayden held the door open. She passed through, followed by Conor. As soon as the door slammed shut, Hayden’s heart lurched at the sound, reminding him of the one too many times he’d spent in there, sitting on the hard wooden chairs, waiting for the principal to call him back to the office for something he likely did but would deny until the cows came home.

Mrs. Pierson walked around the tall counter, which she was barely tall enough to rest her elbows on. “Let’s see, I have your schedule right here,” she said as she handed it to Conor. “You’ll spend most of your day with Mr. Raze, but sometimes you’ll go to other classrooms. That’ll all depend on your testing.”

Conor groaned. “Testing?”

“You’ll be fine, bud. The school needs to see where you are intellectually with your peers,” Hayden said, and then he looked at the receptionist. “Testing won’t be all day, right? I really want Conor to have a chance to get to know his teachers and his classmates.”

“Nope, one hour a day for the week. We have another new student, so he won’t be alone.”

“Perfect.” Hayden set his hand on Conor’s shoulder. “Want me to walk you to Mr. Raze’s class?”

“Do you know him?”

Hayden hesitated and then shook his head. “No, but I believe I had his dad as my math teacher.”

Conor rolled his eyes. “I really hope you were a good student.”

Hayden laughed, as did Mrs. Pierson. All his antics would need to remain under wraps. He didn’t need his son learning about the things he did in elementary school. Or junior high. Or high school, for that matter.

Mrs. Pierson handed Conor a map of the school, then gave a stack to Hayden. “You have homework, Hayden,” she said with a hint of laughter. “And you: Mr. Raze is waiting.” She gave him directions and then shooed them out of the office.

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