36. Kent

THIRTY-SIX

"Kent, please reconsider."

Every wrinkle and line on the pale skin of Florence Cutler's face, a badge of honor from her almost forty years in education, emits empathy. This woman has a job I don't envy. The buck stops with her, and every complaint and major decision lies on her shoulders. Calling the snow days alone would turn the few remaining dark hairs I have gray. No, thank you. She's not buying what I'm selling, but I don't relent.

"I recognize this doesn't look good," she says. "But maybe if I explain it was an honest mistake caused by an ancient system we're trying to replace. Ms. Shaan could walk me through it. Provide screenshots. This was a simple mistake. Anyone who knows you realizes you'd never do this on purpose." Francine pinches her lips together. "I can buy time with the board. We have a month until the next board meeting. It will cost the district … more, but they always have money tucked away. We're starting over. We'll have the accurate data in a few weeks. There's more time to train teachers. I can spin this."

Sitting across from Florence Cutler, my job—no, my career—on the line, I should cling to her words. She's attempting to throw me a lifeline as I flail in open seas. I sigh at the weight of this failure on my shoulders. My breath catches in my chest, and when I open my mouth to speak, only a puff of air escapes.

"Let me do the talking at the board meeting," Florence says. "I'm used to taking heat from them."

My head shakes softly. If Vincent and I had never met before this mess, would the outcome be different? Perhaps. But I love him. I want him more than anything right now. I want this to be over.

"I think this is it," I say. "For me. Here. I mean, after this school year."

"Kent, no," she says, putting her hand up.

"I'm going to offer my resignation to the board. I'll have my letter to you by Thursday morning."

"I'm not accepting it." Francine's jaw muscles firm into a rigid line.

I chuckle. Her stubbornness is part of why I've enjoyed working for her. The last few months with Vincent have shown me what a horrible job I've done with balancing work and life. Complete shit. Why do they call it work-life balance and not life-work balance? Why does "work" always come first? My first date in literally seven years. Since Corrine. I owe her an apology for being such a career-focused schmuck. When did life become so complicated?

"Well, you'll have it. Thursday."

I muster up my best smile for her and head back to my car. Back to Lear. I want Hopscotch to be a success. If the team needs me, I'll be there for them. For Vincent. My heart thuds in my chest as I pull onto the road and return to school.

"What will you do now?" Gillian tucks her feet under her body, and Sweetums lies on her lap like a giant orange furry blanket.

"For work? To fill my time? To support myself?"

"Yes. All of it."

"I'm not sure. I have some savings. Maybe bag groceries somewhere. Or stock shelves. I need health insurance until I'm fifty-five and can access the state program."

"You can always come live with us." Gillian rubs Sweetums' chin.

"I'm not living with you. Yet. But thank you." I lean over and kiss her forehead—my sweet angel.

"Don't you think you should be there?"

"At the school board meeting?" I check my watch. "No. It's already started. They'll be doing their opening business. It's over. Dr. Cutler will explain what happened."

"I'll go with you," Gillian says. "Louis is on bedtime duty."

"I'd rather not." I swallow rapidly at the thought of standing before the school board and admitting what happened. No way. Vacation starts tomorrow—a week off. The board will have plenty of time to find my replacement before next year, and I can deal with the fallout and begin the transition process afterward.

"And what about him?" Gillian asks.

"Vincent?"

She nods, Sweetums' purring providing a soothing soundtrack to our conversation.

"I'll see him tomorrow night. He's supposed to have a few more days at Lear to tie up loose ends before moving on to the next school. I'm not sure if they'll stay longer now. That's probably up to the board. But we're good."

"Well, that's a relief," she says. "At least you didn't lose your job and your guy."

I chuckle at her calling him "my guy," but she's right.

"I didn't lose my job." I squeeze her shoulder. "I resigned."

"Noted." Sweetums has gone belly up, and Gillian massages his stomach while he paws at her sleeve. "You know I took an allergy pill for you," she says as Sweetums stares up at her.

The ringing of my cell phone, which sits on the coffee table, startles us, mostly Sweetums, who darts off toward the comfort of his food bowl.

"Are you ready for Lia to start kindergarten next year?"

"Dad, your phone. Aren't you going to answer it?"

Shaking my head, I give a slight shrug to show my indifference. It's oddly satisfying, ignoring my phone. Gillian picks it up, gives it a quick glance, and then presents the screen to me.

"It's Vincent. Calling you. Answer it, or else I will."

Recalling how he left my office, my heart aches to hear his voice. I slide the blinking arrow at the bottom of the display and put the phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

Gillian cocks her head and squints.

"Kent. You have to hear this," Vincent whispers. "Listen."

The echoing sound of Dr. Cutler's voice in the cafégymatorium. Her amplified voice bounces off folding chairs and the gym floor. Vincent's at the school board meeting. Alone. I close my eyes and focus on Florence's words.

"… after Mr. Lester explained his error with the Hopscotch data, we discussed the idea of failure. I'd like to tell the board about this ‘failure' and why Kent Lester, Lear's principal, is to blame."

I attempt to swallow, but the saliva gets stuck in my throat, and I cough instead.

"What, what's he saying?" Gillian asks.

I put my hand up and yank the phone away from my face, quickly jamming my thumb on the little icon to switch it over to speaker.

"I once gave a commencement speech for my alma mater … go Bears … where I urged the students to go out and fail. Fail big. Fail often. The successes we achieve. The big ones. The wins with trophies, prizes, and awards are all the fruit of our failures. Installing software like Hopscotch is a massive swing. And sometimes, when you swing, you knock it out of the park. This was not one of those times. This was more of a … what do you call it?"

"A whiff," a voice from the crowd yells.

"Yes, a whiff. But it's from those … whiffs that we learn. And those whiffs, those trials and errors, and yes, complete failures, that's how we learn who we truly are. What we're made of. What we're good at."

Sweetums returns from his temporary panic, Gillian picks him up, and scoots over. Snuggled up next to me like she did when she was smaller, I wrap my arm around her. Sweetums now drapes over both our laps, fully content to anchor us here with the phone in my hand.

"And Mr. Lester, with this failure, revealed more of who he is. What he's made of. What he's good at. Friends, would you please come up?"

I hear rustling, some commotion, and then a new voice fills the room.

"My name is Ruth Parrish. I'm the PE teacher at Lear, and I'm here to tell you what Hopscotch can't." My stomach drops. Ruth has the capacity and desire to read the entire board to filth. "I'm here to tell you how much the teachers and students adore Kent Lester." Clapping begins slowly before erupting into applause. A tear falls from Gillian's right eye, and I use my thumb to catch it. My chest swells, hearing my friend's voice.

"Mr. Lester is here before the crack of dawn and always one of the last to leave," Ruth continues once the noise subsides. "He puts his whole heart into making Lear a special place for everyone. It doesn't matter if you're the school custodian, the secretary, or one of the hundreds of children who come to school daily; Mr. Lester takes the time to be present. To listen. To care."

Moisture prickles the corners of my eyes. Giving praise has always been a strength of mine, but taking it? Not so much.

"And there's one more person who'd like to say something," Ruth says.

There's noise: metal and feedback.

"My name is Brodie, and I love Mr. Lester."

And now the tears fall, and it's Gillian's turn to wipe my face.

"He lets me go with Theo the custodian when I earn points with Mr. Soleskin. They're boyfriends." Small laughter erupts from the audience. "And he lets me eat lunch in his office when the lunchroom is too loud, which is almost every day. Kids are noisy. And he gives the best hugs. That's all. I'm done."

More chuckles from the crowd, and again, someone adjusts the stand. Florence, back at the mic, says, "Thank you, Ms. Parrish. Brodie. You just heard how Mr. Lester makes the people at Lear feel. That doesn't change where we are with the implementation. We've lost time and money. But there's a famous quote by Maya Angelou which I'd like to paraphrase for you. ‘The people we meet on our journey through life may forget what we say, and they may forget what we do. But they will always remember how we make them feel.' Kent Lester makes people hopeful. Proud. Courageous. Loved."

Gillian's arm wraps around my shoulders, and she leans her head on me.

"Therefore, we'll move forward with the Hopscotch implementation. We'll look at the new data. Figure out ways we might tweak instruction. And Kent will lead the charge because he knows, as do I, that what matters most is how the children at Lear feel. About school. About each other. About themselves. With Mr. Lester at the helm, they're excited to learn. They feel safe to do so because he's created a rich, loving environment. Mr. Lester will be at next month's board meeting to report on Hopscotch. Thank you."

The room applauds, and Gillian wraps her other arm around my neck, hugging me.

"I love you, Dad."

We embrace as the sound of clapping fills the cafégymatorium. Applause for Brodie. Ruth. Dr. Cutler. And me.

"Kent? Are you still there? Did you hear all that?" Vincent asks, his voice louder than before. "You're not going anywhere. You're needed here."

"Thank you," I say, taking him off speakerphone. "For going to the meeting. For calling."

"You've given me so much. Taught me how to love. Be loved. I had to do something. Coming here felt daunting, but I chose growth over security."

"Stay right there." Urgency rushes over me. I'm already up, my keys jangling in my fingers. "I'm on my way."

There's no parking when I arrive at the school, so I pull into the drop-off loop. A definite no-no, but I'm not planning on staying long. Park, run in, grab my sweet guy, and head out. Just as I remove the keys from the ignition, there's a gentle tapping. I lower the passenger window to Vincent's handsome face, wearing a giant grin.

"Can I get a lift?"

It's warm for March. I roll down all the windows, press play on the stereo, turn the volume up as loud as possible, and hop out and rush over to him.

The magical twinkling synths of "Everywhere" join the stars rising to dot the sky, and when Christine McVie's voice, layered with harmonies, joins the music, I gather Vincent up in my arms and kiss his neck. As my beard contacts his skin, he instinctively leans in for a kiss. Our mouths meet, and standing in front of Lear Elementary, with Fleetwood Mac blaring, kissing the man I love, my heart fills with so much joy my body almost levitates.

"Can I have this dance?"

"Kent …" Vincent juts his chin out. "I don't dance."

"Even with me?" My lips kiss his chin, and his beautiful smile appears, cracking my soul wide open. The soft flutter of his eyelashes accompanies a gentle nod, and holding him this way, under the stars, I long to stay this close to Vincent Manda forever.

My hands migrate to his waist, and we sway gently to the music. As my head bops to the beat, I examine him. His face. His eyes. Those eyelashes. "How did I get so lucky?"

"You deserve a little luck, Mr. Lester." I tip my forehead on his, close my eyes, and take him in. His smell. His warmth. His energy. All of him.

"You know, this isn't from Rumours," Vincent says, his eyelashes brushing my cheek.

"I know. But I figured you might allow it. This once."

"For you. This one time."

He kisses me again—deeper this time. I'm grateful for the mint I popped on my way over, and the glittery ethereal sounds return. When the voices begin emulating a synthesizer, or maybe the synthesizer copies the voices, Vincent grabs my waist, pulls me close, and pauses the kiss. "You're the perfect distraction, Mr. Lester."

"Happy to help." My body vibrates with love for this glorious man as we sway and share a tender kiss under the moonlit sky.

THE END