Instead of answering what was essentially a rhetorical question, Eli defused the situation by checking his watch. “We have to go or we’ll be late,” he said. “But I understand your concerns, and I’ll take them to my mother.”
She didn’t like being put off. “I’m not being petty,” she insisted. “You know how impressionable our students are.”
Dallas wanted to tell Mrs. Seamus to stay out of it; Emery had enough problems right now. And it was nearly Christmas. Why couldn’t she get a small reprieve so she could heal and try to enjoy the holidays? But as soon as he opened his mouth, Eli sent him a sharp look that caused him to reconsider. He didn’t work for the school; he needed to let his brother do his job.
He heard Eli tell Mrs. Seamus he’d get back to her and allowed himself to be steered away. “Last I checked, Mom had the right to decide what was best for this school,” he grumbled when the teacher was out of earshot.
“That woman drives me nuts,” Eli confided.
“She comes off pretty militant,” Dallas said.
“She is.”
“So why did Mom hire her?”
“Because, for all her inflexibility and focus on the letter of the law, Mrs. Seamus cares about her students. She works hard, is completely devoted to them.”
“But she’s crossing a line here. Mom should be able to open her home to whomever she wants.”
He expected Eli to agree, so he was surprised when Eli said nothing.
“You don’t think so?” Dallas challenged.
Although they’d reached the girls’ gymnasium, and basketball practice was supposed to start any minute, Eli paused before opening the door. “If Mom didn’t live on a school campus, especially a school campus like this one, I’d say yes—for sure. But Mrs. Seamus has a point. Taking care of our students is our number one goal.”
“Having Emery here isn’t hurting anyone!”
“Dallas, I like Emery, too. And I’m eager to help her. But I don’t know that I can completely buy into the statement that having her here won’t hurt anyone. What’s going on with her really isn’t something we want our students to be aware of or focus on. They’re too young for that video.”
“Like you told Mrs. Seamus, it’s already out there, in the media.”
“But like she said, seeing her around campus draws their attention to a scandal they probably wouldn’t have paid any attention to if not for that.”
Dallas scowled. “They’re more streetwise than the students who go to almost any other school.”
“Which is part of the problem, right? They would be more drawn to stuff that’s too old for them than other students of the same age.”
“So what are you saying?” Dallas asked.
Eli appeared to be torn. “Probably nothing. Mom’s already invited her. It’s not as if she’d ever ask her to leave. But it could get uncomfortable for a bit. Mrs. Seamus won’t be the only one to criticize this move, and I don’t want anyone saying anything about Mom that might upset her before the wedding.”
“They’d better not,” Dallas said.
“And yet they will, and they will feel as though they have the right. All it will take is for Mrs. Seamus to start complaining to the other teachers, and those who agree with her will rally behind her and make their opinions known.”
“After all the good Mom has done?”
“Everyone has their detractors, Dallas,” he said, and swung the door wide.
The house smelled of garlic, onion and cilantro when Dallas walked in after helping with the climbing wall, as promised, once he finished basketball practice. Someone had been cooking. He hoped whoever it was had made enough for everyone. The spaghetti he’d eaten at lunch was now a distant memory.
“Hello?” he said as he ducked his head into the kitchen.
Emery was at the stove. “Hi.”
Judging by her smile, she was in a stronger, more confident mood. She was bouncing back, he thought, and cringed inside as he remembered his conversation with Eli. What her fellow anchor had done wasn’t going to fade away fast. “Where is everyone?”
“No one else is home yet,” she said. “But I hope they get here soon. I made some chicken enchiladas. They’ll be out of the oven in ten minutes.”
“Smells amazing.”
“There’s homemade salsa.” She indicated a bowl on the table. “Come taste it.”
He helped himself to the chips she’d put out, too. The salsa contained just the right amount of cilantro and hot pepper, and she’d made a bowl of guacamole that was topped with crumbly, salty cotija cheese—a particular favorite of his. “Delicious. But where did you get the groceries? I can’t imagine we had ingredients like cotija and cilantro in the fridge.”
“No.” She lifted her chin proudly. “I braved going to the store.”
She obviously considered it an accomplishment, and it was. She was afraid to show her face in public, which was why he’d gone to the trouble of walking her home after they ate in the cafeteria earlier. “And? How’d it go?”
“There were a few people who stared at me, but I ignored them, grabbed what I needed and got out of there.”
“Good job. Don’t let anyone or anything hold you back.” He swallowed the food in his mouth. “It was nice of you to make dinner, by the way. I’m starving.”
“I wanted to make myself useful. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Don’t worry about that. We have no expectations. Everyone hits a rough patch now and then.” He scooped up another bite of salsa. “Did you message Ethan?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“I said what you told me to.”
“How’d he respond?”
She checked her phone, which was sitting on the counter while she cooked. “He hasn’t, yet.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s been five hours.” She was stirring something in a saucepan on the front burner but turned to face him. “Why do you think he hasn’t messaged me back?”
“I have no clue. But don’t give in to the temptation to text him again. Not yet. Let’s wait and see what he does.”
“What if he just lets it go?”
“Then we’ll come up with a different strategy to draw
