Page 47 of Class Act

His face tightened, and I could imagine he was running those streets in his mind the same way I’d done. One hand rested on his hip while the other jutted through his hair. “My gosh, you’re lucky you weren’t hurt or killed or . . . ” He trailed off, and my own heart swooped with fear over what could have been.

My good hand tugged at the hem of my oversize sweatshirt, and I cleared my throat. “The good news is that they’re home, and they’re okay. A little shaken up, but okay,” I offered with a cheer I did not feel.

“Did you know they were coming to see you?” His gray eyes pierced mine, and I shook my tender head, wincing at the movement.

“No. I’d have never allowed it. Especially alone on bikes.”

“All that way.” He turned his back to us and looked up at the house.

I could tell he was trying to calm himself, and I appreciated how terrified he must have been. I was only the teacher--former teacher--and I’d had heart palpations over it. As their father, wow, he was probably cycling through a huge range of emotions.

“Daddy,” Hillary’s voice was as small as her frame, “Miss Thomas says if you’re mad it’s only ‘cause you love us so much.”

Ford turned to face her and nodded. “She’s right. But it doesn’t mean there won’t be some sort of consequence for this.” He looked to Henry. “At ten, you know better.”

“I know.” Henry’s cheeks turned red. “I’m sorry.”

“You should probably take my bike for a month and never let me eat cookies until Christmas time.” Hillary nodded sagely.

Some of Ford’s turbulent feelings calmed, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed. “We’ll talk about it soon. Right now you need to put your bikes away and go to your rooms. I need to speak with Miss Thomas alone.”

They both nodded as my own limbs tensed. I had not come here to talk to Ford alone. I’d come to make sure his sweet babies got home safely. As far as I was concerned, my time here was done. But I stayed in place as they walked past me with a sad wave and headed toward the garage.

“Thanks again for bringing them home,” he said after a beat of silence.

Something about the way he stood there, watching his children walk away, his shoulders drooping and his hair sticking out, made me want to wrap him up and hold him tight. How many times had Ford faced these scary parental moments alone? How hard it must have been to be solely responsible for their love and care along with their worldly needs.

“Of course. It was a total shock when I opened the door and they were standing there. Even more when I realized what they’d done.” I breathed out a sigh, hoping to convey that we were on the same side here.

My fingers itched to wrap around his, and I formed my hands into fists to keep from giving in to the feeling.

“You don’t seem to be a phase,” he said as he looked to me and tucked his hands down in his pockets. “In fact, she still talks about you all the time.”

I so badly wanted to reach up and smooth down my hair and then have a magic mascara appear, because the way he was looking at me told me he was cataloging the differences from how I usually looked. Or maybe he was aware of the strain in my face and the way I felt a little woozy standing there.

“I feel terrible about it,” I said. “I thought she’d moved on.”

“She hasn’t.”

A throb shot up my arm from my hurt wrist, and I unconsciously hugged it to my chest with my good arm. “Maybe Hillary had forgotten about me. I was out of sight, out of mind, you know. But then the ice skating thing happened, and suddenly I’m the shiny new object again.”

“So, you’re saying this is simply phase two of Hillary’s laser focus, and in time it will wear off. Again.” It was not a question but a sarcastic statement.

I didn’t rise to the bait because I understood it came from a place of fear. “That’s what I’m saying.” It was time to get going. “Anyhow, I need to head back home.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Kind of crummy,” I said honestly. “I’m supposed to be resting through the weekend.”

“What are we going to do about Hillary?” he asked.

White spots started to dance around the edges of my vision, and I couldn’t filter my thoughts. “We? She’s your daughter and I . . . ” A piercing pain cut me off, and I put my hand on my forehead. “I’m not . . . I can’t . . . ”

“Come with me,” Ford said.

I shook my head. “I’m going home. How much do I owe you for the tow?”

“Nothing.”

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