When we got to the kitchen, Angie came over and gave me a hug. At five-ten, Angie’s only four inches shorter than me, and she still has the slender figure of her high school years.
“Hi, JB,” she said. “Wanna help?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Stir the sauce while I get the spaghetti ready. Simon, how about going upstairs and telling the kids they’ve got five minutes to get down here for dinner?”
As Simon headed upstairs, I began stirring the sauce.
“So,” said Angie, “how’d the shopping trip go on Friday?”
“Great,” I said. “I found a lovely little shift that was just to die for, although Laura seemed to think it would look better on her than it would on me. No accounting for taste, I guess.”
Shaking her head and smiling, Angie said, “You are a trip, JB, I’ll give you that.”
“Speaking of trips,” I said, “I’ve been thinking of trading in the 4Runner on a new car, maybe a Camry. The 4Runner’s pretty old, and I don’t really use the four-wheel drive thing that often anyway. Whaddya think?”
“I think you’d look absolutely smashing driving up to the Tennis Club Apartments in a new Camry to pick Laura up for an elegant night on the town, is what I think,” she said.
“Hey,” I said, “this has nothing to do with Laura Fleming. I just thought it was time for me to get new wheels, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
The conversation was interrupted at that point by the arrival of Matt, who is 12, and Abby, his 9-year-old sister, who raced across the kitchen and jumped into my arms.
Swinging her around, I said, “One of these times, kid, I might not catch you.”
“You’ll always catch me, Jeremy,” she said.
And, of course, she was right.
We ate at their kitchen table. Every couple of months, I have Sunday dinner with Angie and Simon and the kids, occasionally a barbecue at my place, more often a spaghetti meal at their house. As we ate, the conversation, as usual, focused on Matt and Abby and the various activities in which they were involved. I didn’t mind. I’d held each of them in my arms less than an hour after they were born, and at this point in my life, they were as close as I’d gotten to having kids of my own.
After dinner, Simon took the kids upstairs to check their homework, and I helped Angie clean up.
“How’s Tommy doing?” I asked her.
“He’s okay, JB,” she said. “Going to his meetings, working hard, staying out of trouble.”
I nodded. Tommy was Angie’s younger brother. Last spring he’d finally entered rehab for his alcoholism. It’s hard to tell in these situations, but I had a hunch that Tommy would make it.
After we finished the dishes, Angie and I sat down at the island and had coffee. A few minutes later, Simon joined us.
“You working on anything, JB?” he asked.
“Not really,” I said. “Gonna go over to Franklin tomorrow. Augie DeNunzio said a woman who used to be a student of mine asked if I’d talk to her son. Apparently, he’s gotten involved with a gang. I’m not sure what good it will do for me to talk to the kid, but I’m willing to give it a shot. Larretta was always cooperative when I had her in class, and she was on the basketball team for a while.”
“Back to Franklin, huh?” said Angie. “How long’s it been?”
“I was there several years ago,” I said, “for a retirement luncheon for Larry Nichols. Larry helped me out a lot my first year or two.”
Angie smiled and said, “Maybe once you’re there tomorrow, walking the halls, seeing the kids, you’ll get the old urge again, JB. System’s always on the lookout for subs. You could teach English by day, solve crimes by night.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Tell ya what, Ang. We’ll send that suggestion to committee for the moment.”
We sat there for another thirty or forty minutes, just enjoying each other’s company. Other than family, there aren’t all that many people I really enjoy spending time with. Angie and Simon and the kids. Dennis. Augie. Irv. Well, and now Laura. May have to open up a new category there.
* * *
The next morning, I got up and did my five miles, lifted a little, shaved and showered, then sat in my kitchen in my robe and read the paper while I munched on a day-old scone. Still pretty good. Cinnamon.
At eleven o’clock I went upstairs and put on a pair of navy casual slacks, burgundy loafers, dark blue knitted socks, and a white cotton shirt with button-down collar. I completed the ensemble with a very colorful Save the Children tie with rows of school buses and kids. Show the folks that Jeremy Barnes could still walk the walk, sartorially speaking.
Chapter 8
On my very first day as an English teacher, the school’s new principal, a little guy who pretty much defined the Napoleonic complex, called the staff together, turned his microphone up too high, and spent over an hour telling us about his educational philosophy and what a great teacher he’d been and how much he missed the classroom and how his students had all loved him and so on and so on. I later learned that this idiot had spent exactly two years as a teacher before escaping from the classroom and becoming an administrator, where he stayed for the remainder of his thirty-four-year career. Anyway, after he finished enthralling us with part one of the Wonderfulness of Me, he introduced the school’s vice principals, one of whom was Augie DeNunzio. I remember Augie approaching the podium with a wry smile on his face. He pushed the microphone aside, looked out at all of us in front of him in the cafeteria, and said, “Can everyone hear me?” When we indicated that we could, he nodded and said, “Good. My name’s Augie DeNunzio. Your job is to teach those students who come to your
