LITMIR.BIZ

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wasn’t sure if his class in military history was full because of the political climate and social awareness, or for some other reason. It didn’t matter. He’d take it. “All right, everyone.” He set his briefcase on the desk. “Let’s get started.”

      “That was a close call, Prof,” Mitch, one of his most challenging students, said from the third row.

      “Yeah, but it’s not because of my procrastination,” he pointed out to the young man who usually fell into that camp. “Teach my thirteen-year-old how to go grocery shopping, and maybe we’ll discuss your grade.”

      The class laughed, and Marcus launched into today’s lecture. It was on one of his favorite subjects, and he had to be careful not to get lost in his rambling. Vietnam was a black mark on this country’s history, and still a tough topic to sell in some circles. He’d been hired specifically to share his knowledge on the collision of the government’s promises and society’s demands.

      A collision intimately familiar to Marcus, as his father had been caught up in it. A nightmare Colonel Skylar still wore on his highly decorated chest.

      Finally, the hands on the utilitarian clock hit the end of the hour, and Marcus wrapped up the lecture. He was putting his notes in the briefcase when a young woman came up to the desk. “Professor Skylar?”

      “Yes, uh, Natalie, right?”

      “Yeah.” She grinned. “I have a question about our paper.”

      “The final project?” He emphasized the difference. There were many things besides papers that they could choose to do. Papers were the easiest for most students. They were used to doing them. He let his hopes rise that she was asking for permission to do something else.

      “Yeah. I was wondering.” She looked down at the desktop. “Uh, I don’t think I’m very good at this history stuff.”

      “Why not?” He didn’t want to come off sounding condescending, but he didn’t see why she couldn’t do it.

      “It’s hard.” She finally looked up. “I was thinking about my topic last night. I was, um, hoping I could do something on fashion.”

      He stared at her. “Fashion?” He slowly closed his briefcase. “Fashion of what? The era or of—” he tried to choose his words carefully “—Vietnam during the war?” Was there such a thing? “The 1960s themselves?” There were a lot of options.

      She didn’t look at him. Her topic intrigued him, mainly because he hadn’t heard this one before. “Okay, explain what you’re thinking.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

      “Both.” She finally looked up, excitement sparking in her eyes.

      What the heck? Wasn’t that his goal—to inspire these kids to at least pay attention?

      “Fashion is a social statement. In the 1960s, it was a huge statement. And Vietnam had its own society. I want to compare that with what we had.”

      Marcus looked at her, attempting to ascertain if she was trying to pull something over on him. He wasn’t new to this teaching gig, just new to this college. “I’ll give you some leeway. Since the topic’s a bit different, I want to meet with you halfway through to make sure you’re on track.”

      “Oh, thank you, Professor.” She rushed forward and tried to give him a hug. Marcus knew better and hastily put up his hand.

      “Whoa! Just do a good job. That’s thanks enough.”

      “Okay. You won’t regret this, I promise,” she repeated, then hurried out of the classroom. Marcus paused, taking a deep breath before slowly walking toward the door himself.

      Everything was so different here, and while Natalie was part of the strangeness of this new world, she was a small part of it. He told himself he would adjust, he would figure it out.

      Nothing was even remotely similar to the world in which he’d expected to live out his life. Carolyn’s death—He froze, the memories slamming into him. No, he wouldn’t let the hurt cripple him again. He’d fought too hard to escape the grief. He forced his feet to keep moving.

      The job he’d loved, had thought he’d gain tenure with, had vanished too quickly when he’d fallen apart. He’d nearly lost Ryan, the thirteen-year-old waiting at home for jelly to make his peanut butter taste less like crap.

      This move, this new position, had to work, had to save him and what was left of his world. It had to. What the hell? He’d read and grade anything—even a paper on the fashion of 1960s Vietnam—and give the student a fair grade, if it meant keeping his son, and giving Ryan the life he needed and deserved.

       CHAPTER TWO

      MONDAY MORNING CAME way too soon. Why, again, had she taken this job? Addie sat at the principal’s desk that, six months ago, she’d thought was the epitome of the best career move she’d ever made.

      Teaching had always fulfilled her. After Mom’s funeral last year, though, she’d needed something to fill up the emptiness inside her. She knew some of it had to do with losing her mom, but not all of it. Not really.

      So, she’d thrown herself into pursuing her long-held plan to become a school principal.

      Now, after spending hours staring at budgets and accounting columns—that still didn’t balance—she was rethinking everything.

      Frustrated, she returned her focus to the papers in front of her. Somewhere, the calculations were off, and she had to figure out where. Maybe she should take it down to the eighth-grade math class...see if they could solve it?

      Or she could go to the teachers’ lounge and get a nice cup of tea. Caffeine sounded lovely right about now. She stood. Maybe a break would help.

      Lindy Dawson sat at the break room table working on lesson plans. Addie smiled. She and Lindy had started teaching here the same year. Their friendship was one of the best parts of this job.

      “Hey, Ad.” The petite brunette leaned back and put down her pen. She rolled her shoulders. “What’s on your exciting schedule today?”

      “The usual.” Addie sighed. “I can’t get this month’s budget numbers to balance.”

      Lindy had been the one person who hadn’t supported Addie’s job change. In all honesty, she missed the day-to-day contact with the kids, and Lindy had known that would happen.

      “You having second thoughts? About the job, I mean.”

      “No. Just—” Addie sighed. “I don’t know. Something seems off.”

      “Here?” Lindy tilted her head toward the hall. “Or at home?” She grinned at Addie, a shit-eating grin if Addie ever saw one. “You did go out to the ranch this weekend—to the land where everyone falls in loooove, right?” Her voice went a bit singsongy.

      “Cut it out.” The slightly annoying detail that all of Addie’s siblings—younger siblings, all five of them—were married or seriously involved with someone wasn’t lost on her. She chose to ignore the fact that she hadn’t gone on a date in months.

      “What?” Lindy laughed. “Got anything you’d like to share?” She waggled her eyebrows, teasing. “Any juicy details of some wild weekend?”

      “Funny.” If Addie didn’t know Lindy so well, if they hadn’t shared nearly every deep, dark secret over ice cream and wine, she might be upset with Lindy’s nosiness. She knew it was well-intentioned. Lindy was as close to her as Addie had ever been with either of her sisters. “No, nothing to share.” Even Addie heard the disappointment in her voice.

      “Maybe that’s the problem.” Lindy closed her notebook, and gathered up her things. “Give yourself a break. It’s budgets. Nobody dies.”

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