I Pick You Page 2

  “She’s doing great on the potty. If you’re lucky, I can have her out of diapers before you get her. There is one thing, Brantley.”

  “Here it comes. What?”

  “I want her back. You have to sign something promising to give her back. You can see her and get her on weekends, but you can’t keep her. I’m getting her back.”

  That wouldn’t be a problem. “Sure, whatever. I’ll call you in a few days.”

  “Thank you so much, Brantley.”

  “Yeah, yeah. See ya.”

  I closed my laptop, seeing my guitar case propped in the corner. My sad guitar. The one that I would retire for an eighteen-month-old. What the hell was I doing?

  Chapter Two

  New, stricter screening regulations were being enforced since the last time I had flown. I stood in line waiting for yet another security check, and a random search of my brown leather duffle bag, and then my guitar case. All adding up to one nerve-fraying experience all before takeoff.

  I should have done more research. I wasn’t ready for this. Not in the least. For one thing, I didn’t even like Florida. I hated the heat and unlike most Floridians, winter was one of my favorite seasons. Christmas in Nashville was magical, and extremely profitable for a good-looking cowboy with a guitar. A new red shirt went a long way with a pair of jeans and silver-toed, cowboy boots.

  “Pfft, Florida.”

  A short lady in front of me turned and looked up. I could have sworn the same print plastered all over her smock-dress was the same one I’d just seen on the walls of the men’s bathroom. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, nothing. Talking to myself,” I said, catching a glimpse of my reflection right in front of the plane that was about to fly me to a new destination. Maybe. I hoped. God, this was such an awful idea. I took a deep breath, trying to tell myself again why this made any sense at all. It didn’t. None whatsoever.

  My fingers ran through my short hair, stirring the panic and sending nervous energy through my veins, something I should have been used to by then. It happened every time I thought about any of it and how ridiculously crazy it was. All of it. What the hell was I doing? I wasn’t sure if I was freaked out about my luscious hair being gone, or the fact that I was about to jump on a plane for an interview that I didn’t even know if I could fake or not. Me being a second-grade teacher was a mistake. Me being a second-grade, Catholic teacher was just ludicrous. I mean, I respected the diversity of others, and I got along well with people of all faiths, but I was sure I couldn’t identify myself as agnostic, not if I wanted the job, anyway. A father, a teacher, and a Catholic school. Horrible idea.

  Once I finally made it to my gate, I sat on a hard plastic chair off to the side, away from people, but that didn’t last long. It seemed a lot of people were flying into Tampa on a Wednesday night at eight o’clock. I was surrounded by a crowd of noisy people within minutes.

  A little girl, maybe three or so, kept my attention from my intended plan. Instead of researching questions I might be asked for my new job, I watched and listened. She held tight to a pink backpack, kicking her feet back and forth as she watched people. I wondered if the name on her bag belonged to her or the blue haired girl right below the name Joy, in the same shade of blue. My eyebrows turned toward my nose as I watched her unzip the backpack, wondering what a tiny little girl carried in a bag. That was something I should probably know.

  “Ladies and gentleman, at this time we’d like to start boarding flight 807 to Tampa, Florida. If you are in zone one, you’re welcome to board.”

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t in that zone, but I did have a pretty good seat, and it didn’t take long until I was seated over the left wing. The dark night, the light rain, and lights shimmering off the runway mimicked my somber mood, a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, as I settled in. I watched the same little girl on the opposite side buckle herself up in the aisle seat, mesmerized by her every move. She was good, quiet, and well behaved. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I worried it would be.

  As soon as we were in the air I crossed my arms and closed my eyes. I thought about who I was and blinked, seeing dark clouds, wondering where I had been, how I had gotten there, and what life had in store for me next. My eyes closed again as I felt the lingering effects of a night with too much alcohol. When the hell did that happen? There was a time not so long ago that I could drink twice that much. This growing up shit was the worst idea ever, and I wanted no part of it.

  I have no clue what I thought was happening, hell, I’m not even sure where I thought I was. My little power nap turned into a deep REM sleep as I flew nonstop from Nashville to Florida. The jolt from the tires meeting the runway startled me awake and I jumped, cracking my head on the storage bin above my seat.

  “Please stay seated until the plane comes to a complete stop,” the stewardess announced, as I sat rubbing the prompt sore spot while feeling the instant goose egg. Did she really think I didn’t know that? It still took a moment to regain my composure, and figure out where I was and what I was doing on a plane. The same surge of adrenaline swam quickly through my veins when I realized where I was and why. Florida…Bay...

  I fished my ringing phone from my pocket and silenced it when I saw that it was my mom. Nope, didn’t need to hear her shit. I did try to listen to the voice mail she left while I walked quickly with the crowd of people though, all in a hurry to get somewhere. She only wanted to invite me to a surprise fiftieth for my Aunt Kay and Uncle John. I barely knew them. They were the relatives that you know about, where they lived and who their kids were, but that was about it. Olivia, Lane, and Marline were their offspring’s and my first cousins.

  I still talked to Olivia on occasion, but not Marline or Lane. Marline was much older and Lane was always smarter than me. His nose was always in some education movie or a book. We didn’t really have anything in common. I did, however, remember Lane moving to Florida and made a mental note of that. I was almost sure he was in the same city. I knew Hudson, Florida sounded familiar for some reason. That had to be it, because my cousin Lane lived there.

  The hot air hit my lungs, reminding me once again why I hated Florida as I stepped out to a humid night, but I did feel a little better about it. Lane being here meant a resource I hadn’t planned on. Surely he knew of some rental properties. If I got the job, that is. That was a long shot…I decided to put Lane on the back burner and wait it out. No sense in making things awkward if I didn’t have to.

  The city actually wasn’t that bad, not what I thought it would be at all. I got a hotel in a nice part of town that reminded me a lot of Nashville. Take away about three quarters of the people from the sidewalks, the loud voices, and all the buskers and it was pretty darned close. Who would have thought? The bars and many shops weren’t as confined, and it felt, hmmm, welcoming. The feel was similar, but without all the chaos. Maybe Florida wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

  I walked the sidewalk a few blocks from my hotel, landing on a place called, The Oasis, certain their ribs beat any I had ever tasted in Nashville. Cold beer, a hot meal, and some good ole country music. Life was good there, too, until I remembered my eleven o’clock interview with Miss Day and Father Don. The attempt to dissuade myself from my original plans with more alcohol worked. Instead of going back to my room where I should have been studying what to say to a Catholic priest, I got drunk. Again.

  The night was sort of clear, but not really. I kind of remembered walking back to my room, picking my guitar a little, and waking sometime early morning from the top of the covers, still wearing boots with a beer in my hand. The dry cotton in my mouth and the pain in the back of my neck was the first thing I noticed, and then the time.

  “Fuck!”

  I had ten minutes to get to a place that I didn’t even know how to get to. Forget the two hours I had planned to spend on research before I got there, or the idea to iron the only decent shirt I had brought. By the time I was ready, looking as good as I was capable of looking, I was la
te, sure that it was another omen of why I couldn’t do this. I was Brantley Jandt and I didn’t work around time. This would never work.

  Lucky for me the cab driver knew exactly where to take me, and we weren’t that far from my room. I shook my head at my irresponsible self, promising the next interview would be well prepared. There was no way I would get this job. I blew it, and I knew it. The sad part about it was, I wasn’t normally careless at all. If I said I would be at a certain place at a certain time, I usually was. As long as it was after noon, maybe one. That’s why I chose the career I had, I didn’t do well with this time thing and I hated being on a clock.

  The cabby let me out in front of an iron gate with one of those electronic card locks. I paid him with exact change, looking around the school that was built on a busy road. I stood there wondering why on earth they put it there, right in the center of a hectic intersection. That was a question I was sure I would never know. The trip was definitely a waste of my time and money to get there.

  I held the bars, shaking them to a rattle and yelled. “Hello,” thinking maybe they were late, too. There was no parking lot on the side I had been let out on, but I didn’t see any cars around. It was actually kind of perfect. I wasn’t late at all, I couldn’t get in. Perfect excuse.

  A female in jean shorts and flip-flops opened the gate for me. I guess the shorts sort of surprised me. Not the Catholic attire I was expecting. “You’re late. You must not be too serious about this job.”

  “Oh, I am, ma’am. I’m in a new city. I got a little lost.”

  She stopped and turned to me. I stopped, too, trying like hell not to check her out. “First of all, don’t call me ma’am, and second of all, she’s late, too. You’re safe.”

  “I am? You’re not Olivia Day?”

  “No, I’m Rydell Brinkley, the other second-grade teacher.”

  “Oh, hey, Miss Day told me about you.”

  Her sudden serious tone made me laugh a little when she spun on her heels, narrowed eyes right on mine. “What’d she say?”

  I shrugged and kept walking. “Not much, that I would work with you as a team, help each other with lesson plans, something about carpool, that sort of stuff.”

  “I’m supposed to show you around until she gets here.”

  I followed Miss Brinkley, unable to keep my eyes from her tight little ass.

  “This is the courtyard,” she said, as a hand waved around the open grassy space, the unexcited tone matching the bored hand gesture toward a few picnic tables. Her excitement was nonexistent and she seemed to be just fine with that. The school wasn’t like the schools I was used to back home. Each classroom opened to this outside space, a sidewalk in a big square acting as the halls. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  “Why?”

  Miss Brinkley turned to me with narrowed eyes while unlocking a red door with her keycard. “Why what?”

  “I mean, like this school is sort of like an outdoors school. Where’s the halls, the lockers, squeaky sneakers, ya know?”

  Her finger pointed straight up, showing me the metal roof first, and then swayed back and forth, directing my eyes toward the concrete walkway. “This is your hallway. This is how everyone gets to their class. Kindergarten, first, second, and third are all on the first floor. Fourth through seventh is up there, as is the library,” she added as her shoulder shoved on a stuck door, “This will be your classroom. Mine’s right next door. Each grade has two classes with one shared door,” she explained as we stepped into the class, pointing to the adjacent door between the two classes.

  “If I get the job.”

  “I’m pretty sure you already got it.”

  My wandering eyes left the dreary room and jerked to her. “Why do you think that?”

  “School starts in less than a month.”

  “Yeah, but surely I’m not the only applicant.”

  “Surely you are.”

  “Seriously? Why?”

  Miss Brinkley shrugged one shoulder, but didn’t lie.

  “St. Augustine is one of the lowest paying private schools in the entire state, Miss Day takes some getting used to, and our location sucks, amongst a few other things.”

  “Wow, Rydell, you suck at this,” a voice said from the door.

  My heart picked up a few extra beats when I realized I was about to be in the middle of a cat fight, and another second grade position would open up. I turned to the girl at the door, arms crossed and leaning on the doorjamb.

  “This is Wendi Ferguson. She teaches first grade right next to you. If you need weed, go to her,” Miss Brinkley said like it was perfectly normal, like she didn’t just tell me where to buy weed in a Catholic school.

  It was a trap. That’s what it was. “I—I don’t do any drugs,” I countered, while stepping around the trick.

  They both busted a gut laughing, but I had no clue why.

  The next lady squeezed around Miss Ferguson with an outreached hand. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Jandt. I got held up at a dentist appointment. I’m Miss Day. How was your trip?”

  “It was fine, thank you. Nice to meet you,” I stammered, unquestionably feeling like a naked guy in church.

  “Don’t mind these two. They’re worse than the kids after summer break. Takes me half the year to get them back in line. Come along, I’ll finish the tour with you.”

  I went quietly, unsure of what to say, but definitely catching the chain of glances from the other two teachers. They didn’t like Miss Day and it was more than easy to read on their condescending faces. Miss Day herself probably read it, that’s how loud and clear it was.

  The next forty-five minutes were spent touring the square building with the center cutout like a prison camp. That’s what it felt like, and it made me feel bad for the kids kept inside. That wasn’t school. Not the way I did school back home anyway. I met several other teachers and the janitor along the way while I followed Miss Day, eyes darting around trying to take in all the culture shock. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t see myself there. It just wasn’t me. We walked through the cafeteria, housing an entire room dedicated for lunch, and to the kitchen for coffee. Normally I would have declined, but the lingering dry mouth from my stupid night before caused me to accept. It didn’t help at all, possibly made it even worse. The bitter flavor left a rancorous aftertaste and did absolutely nothing for my cotton mouth.

  Miss Day asked me numerous questions, and I honestly thought I did okay. That was one of my strong points. I was able to adapt to most everyone and any situation. I never had a problem talking my way into or out of something. My Grandma Sarah used to tell me it was a gift from God and I was meant to do something with it, politics or a minister of one of those big fancy television churches. Going to Vanderbilt for my teaching degree made her the proudest grandmother in Payette County. Too bad she didn’t live to see it actually happen. Then again, I guess I never thought I would live to see it either. I was supposed to use my voice for concerts while hot chicks ripped off my clothes, not chanting the alphabet to a bunch of little kids.

  I did feel better when we left the building through a set of red double doors off from the lunch room to a lovely outside playground, one of the coolest ones I had ever seen. That made me happy. A little bit anyway.

  “So your resume states that you graduated from Vanderbilt in the top of your class. Impressive.”

  “Thank you,” I said from behind, as I followed her around the fenced in play yard to another set of doors.

  “You graduated over a year ago, yet you have no job references. That worries me a little.”

  We walked back into the building through yet another door, a stairwell where she led me to the second floor. “Yes, I decided to take a year off before planting any roots.”

  “Why here?”

  I stepped into the library, choosing my words very carefully. It wasn’t like I could tell her I chose her school because she was the only one who called me so far, or that I never even wanted to be a teacher. I
only wanted to get to Nashville. With chameleon like precision, I adapted to my surroundings and fed the middle aged principal right out of my hands.

  “I’ve always wanted to live in Florida. I also have family here, so it already sort of feels like home.”

  Her bright smile and nod of approval assured me that I had knocked it out of the park. My only issue was whether or not I really wanted the homerun. None of it really felt like me. Not at all and even though my cousin Lane lived somewhere close, I didn’t really consider him family.

  Lucky for me, Father Don was late, as well, only he was stuck waiting out a storm in Atlanta, Georgia. I learned this when I sat down with Miss Day for lunch, which made me extremely happy. I dodged any religious questions she threw at me with a joke and my charm. I’m not sure why she chose the empty classroom, but that’s where we ate salads and talked more. I had a feeling she needed me as much as I needed her and it was bait. Her constant jabs about me making it mine and doing what I wanted with it was a dead giveaway.

  By the time we finished eating grilled chicken salads, I was offered the position.

  Miss Day slid her chair back and crossed one leg over the other while she laced her fingers over her knee. “I think you will be a great asset to our school, Mr. Jandt. I hope you will consider joining our team here at St. Augustine.”

  My confidence turned into that of a high school boy once I understood what she had just said. I really didn’t mean for it to sound as juvenile as it did, but that’s how it came out. The sophisticated words buzzed around my mind while I thought about how to tell her I would think about it, and still sound smart and well put together. However, that is not how I said it. “I got the job?”

  She giggled a little, both shoulders shaking up and down. “Father Don gave me the okay to hire you if I felt like you would fit. I think you’ll fit in here more than you could imagine.”