2. Lemon

two

lemon

His name flashes like a beacon on the stark white sheet of paper. I gloss over it, pretending I don't see it, and flip the page on the minutes from the last board meeting. I worked my ass off over the summer, trying to get the school board to approve any other landscaper to maintain the grounds at our schools.

Each request, denied.

"You'll just have to remind Jean he's her responsibility," I say to my empty office. I lean back and groan, giving up on the board minutes, and spin my chair to look out my window. As much as I hate admitting Jenkins Landscaping does a good job . . . no, not good, but impeccable. I just can't stand seeing the owner once a week.

"Twice a week," I remind myself out loud. Thanks to the hearty dose of sun Magnolia Grove gets through the spring, summer, and early fall, the damn lawn grows like Taylor Swift's fan base.

I sigh in defeat and turn back to my rich, dark reddish-brown mahogany desk. My grandfather had made it for my grandmother when she opened her own accounting firm, and when I became principal of Magnolia Grove Elementary School, she gifted it to me. It took six men and a dolly to bring her in here. I remember my dad telling me to pick the perfect spot because once they set her down, she wasn't moving.

My fingertips run along the well-used, and in some places grooved, surface. Years of dedicated use by my grandmother from faint scratches to a few ink stains still show in the wood. To me, they're a perfect reminder of hard work and dedication to her craft. The drawers still smell like cedar and the velvet lining is still in place. Despite the signs of wear, the craftsmanship my grandfather put into this piece remains evident. He carved our family crest in the front center. It's what everyone sees when they walk into my office.

The pile of papers and stack of folders give me heart palpitations. I took the month of July off to sightsee around England, France, and Rome, giving myself a much-needed vacation. At times, while sitting in a vineyard in Tuscany, I wondered what it is I'm doing with my life. I'm thirty, with zero romantic prospects, and contemplating whether I should use a sperm bank or not while I'm unsure if I even want children after being a principal. Kids are tough. Parents are tougher.

The stack of folders on my desk are for new students who are transferring here. At first glance, I count twenty. This is a good thing aside from the daunting task of reading through each file. I like to know who is coming and ascertain how this school can help them become better students and prepare my staff for any potential issues.

After my ninth or tenth file, I open the next and read the name, and then read it again because I'm certain my eyes are deceiving me: Marigold "Goldie" Jenkins.

I close the flap and sit back in my fabric chair, which doesn't go with my ornate desk at all. But there's something about leather, heat, and constant humidity I don't like. Having my legs stick to my seat is uncomfortable and slightly embarrassing when you stand to greet or see someone out of your office.

My eyes close and I inhale. There are a few things in this world that send me into a tailspin and each one of them revolves around the name Jenkins. I lean forward and open the folder again. Sure enough, the name Marigold Jenkins shines as brightly as her father's name in the school board minutes.

I press the button to summon my assistant. "Jean, can you come in here for a moment?"

Jean Belville has been the school secretary since I was in the first grade, which was a hell of a long time ago or so it seems when I start adding up the numbers. She's efficient and good at her job, but behind in the times of computer technology, and well past retirement. I don't have the heart to push her out, and neither does the school board. Mostly because we'd be up shit creek without a paddle. The woman can remember just about anything from her years at this school. I swear, when she does retire, we're going to have to keep her on staff so we can pick her brain on a daily basis.

"You rang, dear," Jean says when she steps into my office. During the summer, she dresses in tailored shorts with matching polo shirts in colors like salmon or sunshine. Nothing is pink or yellow with her. Jean adds flourishes to everything. I love that about her. Her fingernails and toenails match her outfits, which I know she gets done at Nail Spa. Every time I go in there, it's gossip city and I have no choice but to put on my headphones. I don't need to hear about who's doing what to whom. Most of the people in there are parents of a child or two in my school, and the less I know about their extracurriculars, the better.

Today, Jean's outfit is white and blue, which is probably closer to teal. For all I know, the color combo is something like cloud and seafoam. Maybe I'm color blind.

I hold up the Jenkins file, and without even knowing whose file it is, Jean grimaces.

"How long have you known?"

"About a week," she says sheepishly.

"And you didn't say anything?"

"You were recovering from jet lag, and . . ."

She's not wrong, but still, this is something I should've been made aware of. Although, there isn't anything I can do about Marigold enrolling in the school I oversee, unless she's a threat to school safety or I quit. The latter is the only option. Everything I've heard about Marigold is how she's the perfect child.

I drop the folder on my desk, followed by my head. "Jean," I say her name in a whiny tone. "How am I going to survive the year?"

"From what Linda tells me, she's a good child. I doubt you'll have to deal with her."

I lift my head slightly and then put it back down. "He got the landscaping job. Again!"

The tell-tale sign of flip flops flopping echoes in my room. Jean sits across from my desk and audibly sighs. Again, I lift my head and try to act like an adult. I'm sure my face says otherwise.

"Going to the board with a new proposal wasn't going to fly. You know this. People love Wade. You . . ." She stops herself from saying "You love Wade."

She would've been right.

I do . . . did . But that was a long, long time ago, in a whole different part of my life. He ruined that.

"I what?" I ask, challenging her.

"You know better than to ask people who are afraid of change to make a change. We are simple people here in Magnolia Grove. We like what works for us and we don't like change. Wade is a local boy, born and bred. You knew it was a long shot proposing they go with some crew out of Mobile."

"They'd save taxpayers money."

Jean cocks her head to the side, ever so slightly. "But where would they be when we have a hurricane? Or the sprinkler system is broken? Or we have a ceremony outside, and the lawn needs an extra trim?"

She has a point, but I still don't like it.

"Why did he enroll his daughter?"

Jean lifts her right shoulder. "He's not saying anything to anyone or if he has, they're not saying."

"Her mother . . ." I pause, sigh, and open the folder again. Seeing Marigold's name is like a punch to the gut. "Lives in Jacksonville with her husband."

"Yep," Jean says. "And now her daughter will go to school here."

"Can you?—"

Jean shakes her head. "Not this time. If you need to know, ask him."

"Well, you know that isn't going to happen." I slam the folder closed, although it doesn't have the effect I was hoping for. It's cardstock at best and flutters shut. I have half the mind to chuck the folder and its contents into the trash and act like I never saw it.

"Anyway," I say as I put the folder on top of the pile. "When it comes to landscaping issues, you'll be the point of contact. Please make sure Mr. Jenkins knows. We'll do the same for Marigold. I'll speak to her teacher and express our policy regarding the Jenkinses."

" Your policy," Jean says. "Not mine, and it's a stupid policy. Just talk to him."

My head rises sharply and while I love and appreciate Jean, this policy is in place so I can do my job effectively and efficiently. When I took it, I did so knowing I would never have to deal with the likes of Wade Jenkins, and yet the universe seems hell-bent on throwing him in my face.

"The policy is in place. If the school board wants to keep him on as the landscaper, all communication goes through you. I don't care if the lawn grows to six feet high or the sprinkler system craps out in the middle of spring. I don't want to talk to him."

"Yes, ma'am," Jean says as she gets up from the seat. I turn away from her and stare out the window. Across the way, the high school football team practices. This is the first time in a very long time Magnolia High has had a new football coach. Mattie Lincoln took over when Coach Turner retired. I was sorry to miss his retirement party. I think I was somewhere in Paris, once again contemplating my life over a baguette and brie.

I give Jean a moment to get back to her desk before I turn back to the folders. I go through each one, make extra notes for Jean and then carry the pile out to her. Before leaving my office, I shut my computer off and grab my purse. I don't care if I didn't put in eight hours. I need some relaxation, meditation, or libations if I plan to get through this school year. Wade Jenkins broke my heart, and I have never forgiven him.

"I put notes in each file," I tell Jean as I set them on her desk. "Please make sure the parents know about Meet Your Teacher Night and send the enrollment packet to them."

"I'm on it," she says sweetly. Jean doesn't have a mean bone in her body until you cross her or someone she loves. "Are you checking out early?"

"I need . . . a moment to decompress," I tell her. "This is all too much." It's one thing to see Wade around town or watching him as he rides by my window on his mower. It's a whole other avenue when I have to see him inside my workplace. The school is my sanctuary. It's the one place he isn't and never needs to be . . . until now.

Now, when I'm at the podium for an awards assembly and parents are there, he's going to be there. Open house, back to school night, school carnival. I won't be able to escape him. And seeing his daughter every day will be like a slap in the face. A stark reminder of how he destroyed our relationship and my faith in men.

Instead of staying in town, where I will undoubtedly run into someone I know, I head toward Birmingham like my ass is on fire. Thirty minutes outside of town, I ask Siri to call Leslie. She's my best friend and college roommate. We met on the day we both moved into our dorm room at the University of North Carolina.

"Sup," she says when she answers.

"He's enrolled his daughter in my school."

The other end is silent for a moment.

"No shit?"

"All the shit," I say. "I'm on my way to your place."

"How long?"

"An hour and a half," I tell her.

"I'll have the pitcher of margaritas ready."

"You're the best."

We hang up, and I do my damnedest to keep Wade out of my thoughts, but every few minutes, his stupidly handsome face pops into my mind. As well as the fact that if things hadn't ended the way they had, we'd be married by now.