Page 18 of Convenient Mafia Vows

“I think I can help with that.” IhopeI can help with that, if only one of the wealthiest men in the city doesn’t go back on his promise.

Mrs. Lawrence’s mouth quirks to one side like she seriously doubts I have that kind of money to hand over.

I’m so sick of being the person who works hard and never gets anywhere that my fingers automatically flex, and adrenaline pumps through my veins.

“I want to talk about Abigail being told that she was doing something stupid.” I clear my throat; this is no time to sound feeble and puny. “What she did wasn’t stupid. She has this knack of fixing things around the home, like toys and plugs and…” Stop rambling and get to the point, I admonish myself. “And even if it was a stupid thing to do, it isn’t acceptable for a teacher to use that word in front of a child.”

Mrs. Lawrence’s expression doesn’t falter. “Are you quite finished, Miss Callahan?”

I nod, having already run out of steam.

“In cases like Abigail’s, in my experience at least, regular elementary schools have neither the funding nor the resources to challenge the child and help them to grow. The child subsequently gets bored, and then, in time, gets labelled a troublemaker.”

Wait, it almost sounds like she’s on our side.

“Despite what you might believe, I have Abigail’s best interests at heart,” she continues.

“You do?”

“I’ve taken the liberty of gathering some information for the Lutheran Preparatory Academy.” She slides some leaflets across the desk towards me, and I pick them up moving on autopilot. “The school will be more suited to Abigail’s advanced needs.” Pause. “Unfortunately, it is not government funded.”

My stomach twists as I study the images of young children with smiling faces on the leaflets in my hand. What Mrs. Lawrence is saying is that this is going to cost me more money that I don’t have.

Yet.

By the time Abigail and I are standing on the sidewalk outside the school, I’ve already made up my mind.

We wander into Central Park, find a bench and sit down. While Abigail feeds the birds with a bag of crumbs that I brought with us, I slide the business card from my pocket and message Caleb Murray.

Okay, I’ll do it.

His reply comes straight back to me.

How soon can you get here?

Shit!

I try calling Mason, but his calls are still going straight through to voicemail. I text him:Call me back. It’s urgent!Nothing.

I try Sienna next. As bad as I feel for always falling back on my best friend, Sienna is like a second mom to Abigail, and I trust Sienna with her more than I trust Mason. But she isn’t picking up either. Then I remember that she has a meeting with an art gallery that might want to showcase one of her paintings. I quickly type out another message and hit send:

Good luck!

I scroll through my list of contacts which mostly consists of ex-employers and people I’ve worked with and fallen out of touch with. It doesn’t usually bother me that I’m not like other women who have a vast friendship group, people they meet up with once a week and chat with on the phone every day. But right now, with Abigail suspended from kindergarten, it means that I’m stuck for someone to look after her.

Unless… I wonder if Denise will watch Abigail for half an hour if I take her with me to the Wraith. She can sit at a quiet table with a bowl of ice cream and a reading book, and she’ll be fine.

I type out a message to Denise—Sorry, I need another favor—and then delete it. I’ve already pushed my luck too far, and I didn’t even get a chance to explain to Denise why I got fired, so I figure it will be best to rock up with Abigail and talk to her face to face.

“How do you fancy going to a posh hotel for ice cream?” Okay, so I’m assuming that ice cream will be on the menu, but I’m not lying about the posh hotel bit.

“What flavor ice cream?” Abigail studies me intently.

She’ll recall this conversation word-for-word when we arrive, and if it doesn’t pan out just like I said, it will throw her all out of synch, which will make it harder for me to settle her down at bedtime. But what choice do I have?

“What flavor do you want?”

Her mouth scrunches up to one side while she ponders her favorite ice cream. “Pistachio.”

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