Page 4 of Second Start: Family
“I thought I’d give him a few more minutes.”
Hall Quick, her last appointment for the day, was the father of twin girls, who represented a significant percentage of her students.
“It’s going on eight. The chicken I cooked can’t get much drier, but at least it’s warm,” Vicky said. “Besides, you’ll be so far ahead on paperwork, you’ll throw the district into a tizzy.”
That might have been true if she’d done paperwork in the nearly two hours since her previous conference — one mostly spent calming the nerves of a first-grader’s parents.
She hadn’t taught students this young since training. Something new had been the reason for coming here to Mason, Wyoming. So she’d gladly refreshed what she’d learned then and read up on the latest methods.
She hadn’t considered how the parents might differ.
She’d done her best not to think of the parents at all.
“You’re right. Let’s close up and have dinner.”
“Not much to close up, not much of a dinner,” muttered Vicky.
Kenzie bolted the back door and they locked the front door, both actions a nod to insurance requirements rather than security.
First, there wasn’t much worth stealing. Beyond a tiny vestibule, side-by-side doors led to the two classrooms which, along with a furnace room and bathroom, filled the squat building.
Second, the teachers’ quarters — two trailers forming a V — were about a quarter of a city block away, with nothing in between to obscure the view.
Third, crime remained a rarity in Mason, Wyoming.
Unless, Kenzie thought with a faint smile, you counted wildlife forays into the garbage in an effort to broaden their menu.
In Vicky’s trailer, Kenzie accepted a blue-rimmed plate and helped herself to broiled chicken, tomato and lettuce salad, green peas, and white rice. She and Vicky had fallen into a pattern in the weeks since she’d arrived in Wyoming of splitting cooking several times a week.
If Vicky had been surprised the new teacher showed up weeks ahead of schedule, she never said so. Not much seemed to surprise or bother her.
Not only had she been teaching here for years, but she’d grown up in the area. Kenzie found her explanations of local geography, history, and customs invaluable.
Kenzie pushed a pea into the rice, a solitary round, green object amidst a population of white dashes that stuck together. She knew how it felt.
“Quit fretting,” Vicky said. “Hall will know where to find you when he shows up.”
Kenzie hadn’t been thinking about the absent Hall Quick, but let Vicky’s comment guide the conversation. “What about the children’s mother?”
“I thought you knew. Annie died, a year ago last spring. Brain aneurysm. One minute she was fine and the next minute she was gone. Had the younger kids in the truck with her.”
“I had no idea.” Kenzie carefully laid her fork on the table. “I can imagine how hard it’s been for those kids.”
“Hall, too.”
Kenzie’s father died long before her mother did. She had no experience with a husband’s grief. “Yes, I’m sure it is hard for Mr. Quick. But as the only parent, it’s even more important for him not to miss conferences with the teacher of two of his children. Their education—”
“Three.”
“What?”
“He missed conferences for three of his children.” Vicky tucked a strand of straight, dark hair more firmly behind her ear, revealing a small congregation of gray at her temple. “He missed the conference with me, too. And I particularly wanted to talk about Dan.”
“Dan?”
“You say that like you didn’t know the kid existed. With all of us cozied up together, you’d have to work hard not to notice. Eighth grader with sun-streaked hair a beach bunny would die for.”
“One of your eighth graders.”
