Page 42 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

“George isn’t here,” I reminded him. “And he would want me to be happy.” Especially with a man who wasn’t him.

Steven couldn’t argue with that. “George was a good guy. Of course he would want you to be happy.” Before I could congratulate myself on scoring a point, he added, “But there’s a difference between being happy and rubbing your happiness in everyone’s face. George means something to this town. To all of us. What you did was disrespectful.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. My pulse pounded hard in my temples, spurred on by rage and helplessness. “Disrespectful to who? George is dead, Steven.”

My remark hit home. I could hear it in his quickly indrawn breath.

“Go to hell, Kate,” he spat out.

Then I heard the beep of my phone, ending the conversation.

Steven had hung up on me.

Chapter 14

Kate

I made it to the Monday evening PTA meeting by the skin of my teeth. I had left Sweet Things in Betty’s capable hands at three p.m. on the dot in order to rush home and change into athletic clothes before racing out the door to archery practice. Even though I kept the girls to a strict schedule, I had barely had enough time to drive Jessica home after practice, get her settled with reheated leftover pizza for dinner, and drive back to Piedmont for the six p.m. PTA meeting.

The PTA met in the library, which I loved. It was cozy and inviting, without the grand formality that pervaded most of the building. Five round tables, each with four chairs, were clustered near the staircase that led to the second floor of books. Christine, the PTA president, had set up a music stand by the staircase where she could run through the agenda.

I took a seat near the staircase, where it would be easy to stand for my treasurer’s report, and glanced around. Nearly all the chairs were filled, which made me happy. Piedmont’s PTA membership had ebbed and flowed over the years, but right now, it was at a high point. That was a good thing. The more involved parents, the better. It was so hard to tack on another meeting at the end of a busy workday, but thankfully, it was only once a month.

“Kate! You made it.”

I looked up at the cheerful, but somehow still dripping in empathy, tone. My gaze fell on the clock just over Christine’s head. “It’s only six right now. I’m right on time.”

“Most PTA board members try to get here fifteen minutes early,” Christine said. “I was worried when we didn’t see you.”

I smiled thinly. “Well, here I am.”

“Wonderful.” Christine beamed. “I know how hard it is for you to make everything come together as a single mom. We sure do appreciate how much you bring to this community.” She squeezed my arm. “You’re such a sweetheart.”

For a split second, I imagined flipping the table over, sending Christine’s carefully collated agendas and reports flying. God, that would feel good. But I wasn’t going to do that. Because even though it rubbed me all kinds of wrong that everyone still treated me as an object of pity, Christine meant well.

At any rate, I would take Christine’s cloying sympathy over Steven telling me to go to hell any day of the week. That had kept me awake last night until well past midnight, reliving his anger over and over, when all I wanted to relive was the feeling of Max’s mouth between my legs.

I was thinking all those things—about Christine, about Steven, about Max—when Max himself shuffled into the room.

Actually shuffled. Head down, shoulders drooped, his legs propelling him forward as though the library were full of quicksand.

I raised my hand in a half wave to get his attention, but he didn’t even glance in my direction. Frowning, I lowered my hand to my lap.

Max hadn’t texted or called all day, a fact that only just now dawned on me. Which, fair enough, because neither had I. I had thought about him plenty, in between helping customers and arranging displays of candy and tending to the never-ending pile of paperwork, but I hadn’t had time to actually reach out.

As a principal, Max was probably just as busy as I was. Still, something seemed off. He knew I would be here tonight, as the PTA treasurer, but he made no effort to find me, even though I was literally right in front of his face.

Something was definitely wrong.

“Max,” I said, getting to my feet, ignoring Christine’s raised eyebrows. I hadn’t thought to call him Principal Darlington.

His chin jerked up, enough to give me a glimpse of his face for the first time since he had entered the library. Pale and clammy, with a bright flush across his cheeks. I’d had enough experience with the illnesses Jessica brought home from school every year to know that he was almost certainly running a fever too. I reached for him, the impulse to verify with a hand on his forehead too deeply ingrained to ignore, but he took a step back with a shake of his head.

“Let’s get started, everyone!” Christine called from her music stand podium, giving me an odd, sidelong look. “We have a full agenda to get through. Take your seats, please.”

Feeling called out, seeing as I was the only one standing who was supposed to be sitting, I took my seat again. Max, who looked like he should really be lying down under a thick blanket, leaned on the banister of the stairs. I frowned at him while Christine went over outstanding business from September, the Halloween dance, and the kickoff for the annual giving fund.

What was he doing here, looking like that? He should be home resting. I would never have let Jessica out of the house, and if I had known Max was sick, I would have—

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