Page 3 of After the Rain

Mr. Mitchell glanced at me with a friendly smile. "Cooper's been telling me about your weekend projects. Sounds like you two have been having fun together."

"Yeah, we have." I cleared my throat, trying to look less disheveled than I felt. "Actually, I have his permission slip for the field trip. Sorry it's last minute."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I sent home about twenty reminders, and I still have parents bringing them in late." He accepted the slip with an understanding smile. "Single parenting is tough. You're doing great."

How did he know I was single parenting? Had Cooper mentioned the divorce? Or was it just obvious from my generally frazzled appearance?

"Thanks," I said, feeling heat creep up my neck. "I'm still figuring it out."

"We all are, in one way or another."

There was something in his tone that made me think he might understand more about life transitions than his age suggested. Before I could analyze that thought too deeply, the warning bell rang and Cooper gave me a quick hug.

"Bye, Daddy! See you after school!"

"Have a good day, buddy. Learn some stuff."

Cooper giggled and ran toward the classroom door. I started to turn away, but Mr. Mitchell called after me.

"Oh, and don't worry about the digital copy of the permission slip I mentioned. I can email it to you if that's easier for next time?"

Relief flooded through me. "That would be great. You have my email on file?"

"I do."

I nodded, surprised he'd remembered. Most people forgot business details immediately after hearing them.

"Perfect. I'll send that over today."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it."

As I walked back to my truck, I caught myself feeling grateful for Mr. Mitchell's understanding. It was nice to interact with someone who didn't make me feel like a complete disaster as a parent. Cooper clearly adored his teacher, and that was what mattered.

I drove to work thinking about how smoothly the morning had gone, despite the burned toast and missing backpack. Cooper was in good hands at school, and that was one less thing for me to worry about.

My office was on the second floor of a converted Victorian house downtown, which I shared with my business partner Marcus Webb and our part-time administrative assistant, Janet. We'd started the firm five years ago when the company I'd been working for in the city decided to open a branch office in Cedar Falls. It had seemed like perfect timing - Sarah and I could move back to my hometown, closer to family, with lower overhead and a chance to build something from the ground up.

The Harrison Architecture nameplate on my door represented years of careful reputation building in a small town where word-of-mouth could make or break a business. I'd designed half the new construction in Cedar Falls, renovated historic buildings that were now on the chamber of commerce tours, earned the kind of professional respect that came frombeing both talented and reliable. All of it built while married to the right woman, living in the right neighborhood, presenting the right image of successful family man.

Now, sitting at my desk with coffee-stained blueprints, I wondered if any of the decisions I'd made in the past five years had been the right ones.

"You look like hell," Marcus observed, poking his head into my office. "Rough morning?"

"Burned toast, missing backpack, forgot the permission slip. You know, typical Wednesday."

Marcus leaned against my doorframe, studying me with the expression he usually reserved for structural problems. We'd been friends since college, and he had an annoying ability to read my moods.

"Single-dad life keeping you busy?"

"Something like that." I forced myself to focus on the load-bearing calculations that weren't going to solve themselves. "Just trying to figure out the new routine."

"It'll get easier," Marcus said. "Cooper's a resilient kid. He'll adapt."

After he left, I tried to concentrate on work. Cooper's drawings from yesterday were still stuck to my refrigerator - stick figures of our family that now consisted of just the two of us. But this morning he'd mentioned Mr. Mitchell with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested the teacher was becoming an important figure in his small world.

That should make me happy, right? Cooper needed positive male role models, especially now that his parents were divorced. Mr. Mitchell seemed like exactly the kind of influence any parent would want for their kid - patient, encouraging, genuinely interested in his students' development.

My phone buzzed with a text from Sarah:

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