Page 4 of She's the Star

I can’t take it anymore. My skin is crawling with discomfort. The anger that was cresting moments ago has died. In its place, there’s only emptiness. “Let’s get this over with.”

Patty nods briskly. “Everyone in favor of removing Nolan Byrne as headmaster, say ‘aye.’”

There is zero eye contact, and a chorus of “ayes.”

No one says nay.

Patty pushes another set of papers and a fountain pen across the table. “In return for your discretion, we have provided you with a generous severance package. You’ll need to initial the first two pages and sign the last.” She pauses. “You may have your own counsel review the document before you sign, but you need to return it to me by eight on Monday morning if you want to receive the severance. We’d like to get this wrapped up before the school day starts.”

The paperwork is straightforward and easy to understand—I don’t require a lawyer to explain it to me. If I sign, I give up the right to appeal. And I won’t be able to discuss why I’m no longer employed. In return, I’ll get a payout of slightly more than my yearly salary.

Two of my older brothers and one of my older sisters are lawyers. They would probably love to read the document over and advise me, but I have no interest in dragging this out, so I pick the pen up and initial the top of each page, then scrawl my name at the bottom of the last one. When I’m done, I unclip my badge from my belt loop and toss it on the table.

That’s that.

I’m officially unemployed.

I stand up and walk out of the conference room without another word. As quickly as I can, I slip out the back entrance because even though my car is parked out front, I can’t spend another second trapped in that building.

As soon as I feel the heat of the sun, I stop and pop the top two buttons of my shirt. The relief is immediate. I’ve never felt like my shirt was choking me before, but then again, I’ve never been the subject of such a sordid meeting, either.

I give myself a minute to breathe before I turn and walk along the sidewalk that leads toward the sports complex the preschool shares with the primary school. When the walkway forks, I take the path toward the parking lot. The stately brick buildings, the perfectly manicured hedges, the blooming flowers, and the lush green grass surround me for the last time.

I blink back tears and tell myself everything happens for a reason.

THREE

AMBER

My bag thuds when I drop it onto the sidewalk.

I choke back the urge to cry as I shift a howling Maddy on my hip.

We’re back in the parking lot, and I still haven’t found my keys. They weren’t in the locker room. Nor on the floor. Or in the trash can by the door. Or on the bench where we waited for class to start. They aren’t anywhere. They’re just gone.

I pat the pocket on my loose shirt for the third time, but they haven’t magically appeared.

With no other pockets or bags, there isn’t anywhere else to check. I swallow thickly and will myself to think of a solution, but it’s nearly impossible to focus because Maddy is screaming like I’m causing her bodily harm instead of carefully balancing her in my arms.

I try rubbing her back and crooning in her ear. It doesn’t work. If anything, she cries harder.

It’s almost painful to look down at her splotchy face and her sweaty hair. She’s miserable, which makes everything worse. I wish I were better at this.

I’m not an idiot. I knew being a single mother was going to be hard, but nothing could have prepared me for the hopelessness of not knowing how to make her stop crying.

Why won’t she stop?

I wonder if I should call the doctor. She doesn’t have any signs of sickness, but she’s been crying so much the last few days and nights. It can’t be normal. Can it?

I start berating myself for insisting on driving us to swim class alone. I haven’t gone anywhere without security in years. I haven’t driven a vehicle in nearly as long. Is it possible I’ve forgotten how to be a normally functioning human?

I fear the answer is a resounding yes.

The truth is, I thought I could handle an hour alone with my baby.

Wrong.

Maybe I am an idiot.

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