Page 24 of Interpreter

In the past fifteen minutes, I’ve discovered that pissing Milah Iglesias off is better than that time when Anniston locked Theo out of the house naked. Cade and I could barely breathe from laughing at him climbing through the bathroom window with his ass shining brighter than the sun. After he allegedly groveled at the front door for almost an hour, he finally took matters into his own hands and broke in, but not before Cade and I could witness the awkward maneuver through the small window. Nothing had brought me as much joy as that day. Until today.

Today, I’ve discovered that when you offend Milah, her sweet put-on disposition turns into the true her—the saucy Latina temptress. She’s not the fifth grade language teacher, but a barely contained explosive—her fuse is short and highly flammable. Call me crazy, but I can’t wait to see how fast it explodes.

I pull open the supply cabinet she wants organized and find it to be in pristine condition. Markers are color coded just like the posters on the wall and the containers on her desk. This goes to show that she is retaliating for my bringing up that I saw her coming out of that strip club this morning. It’s nothing she should be ashamed of. I wasn’t judging. I was simply saying that I understood why yesterday was a bad day for her.

My mom used to work two jobs to support her music career before she made it big. I don’t think she was a stripper, but who really knows? She could have been. I doubt she would have ever told me. She’d already won her first Grammy by the time I was born. It wasn’t until…. The memory digs at the grieving I promised Dr. Parker I’d left behind.Get your head together, Tim. It’s just a job. You have moved on.

With a deep breath, I stare at the annoyingly perfect supply cabinet. Why does seeing these labeled containers make me smile? And why are the top shelves not utilized? All the supplies are from the bottom shelf to the middle shelf. The top three rows in the cabinet are empty.

I look back at Milah and see her mouth moving rapidly, her hands flailing animatedly in front of her. Does she realize she’s signing while she’s teaching? A grin tugs at my mouth as I notice her stilettos paired with a simple skirt and a cardigan that should be against the dress code. The soft fabric clings to her breast with a goal of accentuating every curve of her tits. It’s incredibly distracting. I take another gaze, raking across her heaving chest as she teaches passionately to the class. Yeah, that cardigan needs to go… like on the floor. As small and delicate as Milah is, the fire that burns through her is hypnotic and anything but delicate. She’s kind and smart and literally takes no bullshit from anyone. Her class respects her and listens to her with rapt fascination. Except… I realize that Milah isn’t teaching but fussing at a student toward the front. The kid is slumped in his seat, his feet propped up on the desk in front of him, pushing a little girl forward with his shoe invasion.

Stepping back so I can see her lips, I only catch bits and pieces. Her lips are moving too fast for me to catch everything. I bet her Spanish accent is thick right now. I bet it comes through when she’s mad. I bet it sounds sexy as—“Samuel! Please step outside into the hallway. I’ve asked you to stop—”

I miss the last thing she says because my eyes are on the kid in the desk who has decided to shake his head no, blatantly defying his teacher. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve made my way to the front of the classroom, down the aisle, and towering over the little boy who needs to learn some respect.

“The hallway,” I grit, pointing to the door. “Now!”

The blond terror sits up straight, assessing me like he’s deciding if it’s worth it to push me. My glare and twitching jaw tell him it’s not.

Slowly, he eases out of his desk, careful not to touch me as he passes by and makes his way to the door. I straighten, watching Milah tell him to leave the door open and put his back to the wall and not to say a word. If Samuel lived with my commander, he would end up running miles until he puked. Defiance and disrespect is not tolerated in our family. Especially to women.

As Samuel’s back disappears through the door, my eyes meet Milah’s. She smiles—a silent thank you.

I tilt my chin, heading back to the supply cabinet where I continue to work at “organizing” all the supplies until the class dismisses and a hand touches my shoulder.

I close the cabinet and turn around to see her sign,“All finished?”

I nod, holding back my grin. I’m finished all right.

“Well,” she says, smoothing down her skirt, a nervous habit I’ve noticed. “It’s my free period.”

I swallow. That means Oliver is here.

I tip my chin in acknowledgement. “What would you like for me to do now?”Please don’t ask me to join you and the kid.

“I was hoping you would like to join Oliver and me. He’s eager to learn sign language, and well, you’re much better at it than I am.” She pauses a minute, assessing my reaction and then decides to throw caution to the wind and adds, “He seemed to like you yesterday.”

That’s bullshit. I left Oliver and her alone before he could like me. For all he thinks, I’m some disrespectful dick.

“His teacher is allowing him to stay during his lunch period too. I thought we all could eat in here today,” she adds.

Not that I ate in here with her yesterday. I made sure I didn’t come back until Oliver was gone. He’s a handsome little boy, and I have nothing against him. But seeing him go through what I’ve been through—beginning a hard future—is not something I’m interested in doing. And I’m sure Dr. Parker would encourage me not to backslide by drudging up old memories and feelings. So I’m going with “I already—”

Milah turns, her eyes wide. Oliver has skipped into the classroom with a huge grin on his face. His hand goes in front of his ear almost like a lopsided salute before he extends it outward, signing “hi.”

“Hi, Oliver,” Milah returns, squatting down to wrap him in a hug. “That was the most perfect ‘hi’ I’ve ever seen,” she praises, signing each of her words in tandem.

I’m watching them both bask in the joy of learning a language that, on most days, I wish I didn’t know. Granted, it’s a must for me at this point, but the bitterness of my recent life change has almost made me hate everything in my life—even necessities.

“Tim is going to join us today,” Milah says, interrupting my self-loathing, her hands signing much too excitedly for my liking. Did I not just tell her—no, I didn’t. She interrupted me before I could turn her down politely.

Oliver, his big brown eyes wide with interest, waves at me before saying what I think is “Hi, Mr. Tim. Are you feeling better today?”

Am I feeling better? Does he mean when I left them yesterday? I look to Milah for help, but her face is shocked in an openmouthed O.

And like he knew I was completely clueless, Oliver fills me in on the real story. “Ms. Iglesias said you were scared.”

I cough, choking on an invisible golf ball stuck in my throat.

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