After confirming with Jim that he did, indeed, want me to take a six-hour training shift on Saturday, I ventured back to the alarm side of the building ninja style and found the uniform tucked into my box. Taking it into the bathroom, I tried it on so I could let him know if it wouldn’t work. I couldn’t decide if it was convenient or disturbing that it fit perfectly.
My day had drastically improved after lunch. I’d finished everything on my calendar, completed and aced a quiz during my lunch break, and since Evaline was out of the office for the afternoon, not a single soul bothered me. Solitude was the key to my heart some days.
Right at three o’clock, I was pulling out of my work parking lot, singing out of tune with the radio, and trying to hype myself up about my waitressing shift that night.
My schedule was insane but consistent. Monday through Friday, I worked for Evaline from eight in the morning until three in the afternoon. Friday night through Sunday night, I worked at a restaurant in town known for its chicken wings and beer. My shifts there started around four in the evening and ended whenever we closed, usually around midnight or one in the morning.
The hour in-between shifts gave me just enough time to grab Jamie from school, drop him off at my parents’ house, and change clothes before heading right back out.
On Sunday mornings, I worked another six-hour shift at a shipping company for a man named Ken, inputting driver timesheets and processing the week’s payroll. All of it added up to over sixty hours. That wasn’t taking into account any guard shifts I might occasionally pick up as well.
I was still a few minutes away from the school when my phone rang with an incoming call. I glanced down at the screen to see the caller ID showing Jamie’s school. Shit.
I pulled into the lot, edging my Jeep into a tight parking space. The call had been the secretary, asking me to come into the office to get Jamie rather than the car rider line. Thinking he’d been hurt, my stomach had dropped, sending a nauseating sensation up my chest and into my throat.
She’d assured me he was fine, and that Mrs. Brueger just needed to speak with me. Considering Mrs. Brueger was the principal, I couldn’t say it made me feel a whole lot better. I yanked the tie out of my hair, re-working it into a tighter, more presentable bun, and peeked at myself in the mirror. Go figure it’d be the day I didn’t wear any makeup.
I glanced at the clock, frustrated. If I didn’t hurry, I would be late for work for the second time in the same day. Slipping my heels back on, I made my way into the school, the click of my shoes on the linoleum echoing out like the inevitable countdown of a bomb.
My meetings with the principal never ended how they started. We’d begin by swapping tight smiles and each sit, clenching a metaphorical item in our hands—me, a matchstick, and her, a lighter. Then she’d lean forward, slowly, politely, and set it aflame, smiling at me all the while. I’d begin to sweat, watching the minuscule flame eat closer and closer to my skin. And just when I’d think I’d lucked out and it began to die off, she’d throw fucking gasoline on it.
Mrs. Brueger may have allowed Jamie to attend the school, but only because she had no actual reason to deny him. My money was as good as anybody else’s, and she despised both it and me. She hadn’t always. She’d frowned on Jamie’s first day when I’d explained I was his mother, but that was it.
Then one day, I made the mistake of forgetting to deposit my month’s worth of tips into my bank account, and I’d had to pay Jamie’s tuition in mostly ones and fives. If I’d brought in a dead body, she wouldn’t have shown as much horror and disgust as she did when she saw that cash.
She’d assumed the worst and hated me ever since.
The secretary ushered me into Mrs. Brueger’s office, telling me she was going to retrieve Jamie from his classroom and have him wait for me.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Hartland.” I looked at the dark-haired woman sitting at the desk, not missing the way she stressed the Ms.