CHAPTER EIGHT IS SERVED. LOL!

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Now, Son,” his father began, setting down a sheet of drywall, along with a pencil. “You can record your measurement lightly on the wood, but sometimes we’re in a hurry, so I want you to get in the habit of memorizing them as you go…Remember the

“Yes, Sir.” John grinned and set his Juicy Juice box on the deck table. Squatting down, he received the measuring tape from his father’s callused, but tanned and strong, large hands- the hands of a hardworking father who’d never failed to make time for personal projects with his only son. Their current project: a backyard clubhouse.

“Repeat them,” His father coaxed, squinting his hazel eyes.

“Sir?”

“Recite all of the ABC’s.”

Assume Nothing, Be sober and diligent, Calculate precisely, Dodge the nail gun if it's pointed at you… Memorize your measurements…

Memorize? How can I memorize anything today?

“Dang it!” John tossed his tape measure into the grass, ripping his toolbelt off and muttering curses that weren’t really curses under his breath. He’d trained himself not to use the more offensive words, trained himself over the course of five years, and no matter how frustrated he felt over anything or anyone, including Rebekah Rose, he wasn’t about to lose his cool and start spouting off a bunch inappropriate garbage. So, words like ‘mother friggin rib roast’, and other Yosemite Sam-like euphemisms rolled out of his mouth. Thankfully, his father and Sammie were blasting the usual country music and couldn’t hear him. However, hearing a man sing the blues over losing his job and family hit a little too close to home today; because if he didn’t keep his distance from Rebekah Rose, he’d wind up losing his teaching license.

That girl…

More euphemisms charged out of his mouth as the wind ruffled his hair and he sought to straighten it with the small, black comb from his back pocket. Comb, comb, blow, blow. Comb until his hair fell out, for all he cared, because he’d be darned if he’d step foot in his class ever again with disheveled hair. After Rebekah’s comment about his hair being out of place, he’d found it insanely difficult not to comb, and only held off because he didn’t feel like being teased for combing his hair again. Why should he care? She was just a girl. A student.

A cute one.

And a disrespectful, bold-faced brat! Don’t forget that part.

He stopped combing and reached for his water jug, lifting it and allowing a fountain to pour into his open mouth. Gulping the cool treat, he lowered the jug and shook his head. “Bold-faced brat?” He took another swig of water and wiped his mouth off with his forearm. “I can’t believe I laughed at that burp!” he groaned just above a whisper, peeking up at the second story deck that shielded him from onlookers. “She probably thinks I’m-”

Who cares what she thinks? She’s trying to trip you up, obviously, or she’d quit wearing those stupid shirts with the v necks that show off her…

She might look twenty, but she’s only seventeen, so keep your eyes on her…

…big, gorgeous, brown eyes?

“You OK there, John-Boy?”

John cringed at one of his nic-names, and spun around to squint at the blaring sun peeking over the tops of pine trees in the opposite yard. Below the wavering, gleaming, green branches, Sammie leaned against a wooden fence with his thumbs looped in his jeans pockets, brows knit and head pulled back so that his chin almost seemed to blend right into his neck. John recognized the look- the pre-ribbing look the older man normally employed when he felt like giving John a hard time. Normally, John didn’t mind his lightheartedness, but at times he crossed the line to mildly insulting- just calling him ‘John-Boy’ seemed a bit condescending. But he’d never tell him that, because of Sammie’s status among David Carpenter’s crew. Though John was raised in the business and the son of the owner, he was still working his way up to partner, while Sammie had harnessed a supervisory position two years ago.

Rebekah could learn a thing or two from me about respecting elders, if she’d listen.

She won’t listen; she’s ‘pissed’, and using her anger as an excuse to mouth off.

But what set her off to begin with? Why is she so cotton-picking angry?

“Earth to John,” his father waved a hand in front of his face and sipped from a paper coffee cup which read, “Carla’s Cakery” in fancy script on the side. A visit to Carla’s seemed like a good idea at the moment… he could use the serenity of the store and a good cup of iced cappuccino, not that the caffeine would help his stinking nerves any.

“I’m fine, guys,” he said before taking another gulp of water. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“How did school go today?” David’s smirk was quickly covered by his cup, and John rolled his eyes. “We’ll talk about that later, Dad… let’s just get this lower deck finished, OK?”

His father nodded, but cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes in a familiar look of interest mixed with caution. “Be careful how you act on the job, John. I saw you talking to yourself, and I really don’t want my clients spreading word that my son is a bit cuckoo,” he swirled his finger near his head.

John smirked, despite his embarrassment. “Sorry, Dad, it was a rough day, and I can’t stop turning stuff over in my head.”

“It’s OK, just be careful next time, OK?” Running his hand through salt and pepper hair, he pat his son on the shoulder and stalked back to the homemade saw horses in the middle of the yard. Facing him again, he called, “You’ve got ‘girl trouble’ written all over you, Kid.”

“Don’t start, Dad.”

He heard Sammie hoot, and his father’s hearty laughter erupted over the buzzing of the saw and the twanging of the guitar from Sammie’s radio. Marching over to retrieve his toolbelt, John yanked the comb from his back pocket and stared at the gleaming plastic for a few seconds before chucking the dumb thing aside. He wasn’t at school, so why in tarnation was he so worried about his hair?

Rubbing his still sore jaw, he bent to pick up his tape measure, and straightened jerkily when he remembered Rebekah’s angry eyes, her teeth slightly barred as she whacked him with that killer bag full of Barbie Dolls.

“They’re not Barbie Dolls. They’re Disney Princesses.”

He snickered.

“I don’t need anyone analyzing me, because I already know why I’m so pissed off!”

His smile fading, he started to turn back to the decks when he caught his father wiping sweat off of his forehead. His father was strong and burly, though about four inches shorter than John, but he was also in his fifties, and at the moment far more pale than John felt comfortable with.

“Dad,” he called, and David looked up from his sawing. After the buzzing ceased, John asked, “Why don’t you take a break? Go home. Sammie and I can handle this, right, Sam?”

The other man set down a pile of two by fours and gave his baseball cap a nudge. “Damn straight we can, but your father knows better than I do what’s going on here. Let him decide, OK, Boy?”

John cocked his jaw, anger rising as Sammie returned to his work. Gnawing his inner cheek kept him from retorting, “Well, sure, Daddy-O, I’ll just go get me an ice cream cone and take a little break since you big, grown up men have everything under control.”

Sometimes… sometimes it was so hard not to mouth off at that man.

His father glanced back at Sammie and then nodded at John. “Why don’t you take a break, Son? You look like you need it.”

OOOO

The sink was full of dishes, the house was dim, and the aroma of roast beef hung in the air. Bekah sat at the dining room table, down the hall from the front of the house, which was being rattled by the rap music that could be heard along this crazy street night after night after damn, damned night. To add to her headache, Emily was watching The Wizard of Oz for the thousandth time in her short, little life, and skipping back and forth singing at the top of her lungs, “We’re off to the Wizard…” But she didn’t really match the part she was trying to play, with her long, blonde curls and baby blue eyes. She looked more like a Precious Moments doll than she did Dorothy, and she acted more like a chimp than she did a little girl, but what could Bekah expect from a little sister?

“Pipe down, Emily,” their father called from the back of the house, and Bekah’s pencil tip broke against her notebook paper. Moaning, she placed her hand on her forehead and glanced into the kitchen at the phone hanging on the pumpkin-plastered wall. The soft orange tones in the wallpaper always gave her a strangely homey feeling, even though she hated the color orange, and right now she wished she could get lost in that sweet feeling of complete calm. Because any minute, Mr. Carpenter would be calling either this house or her mother’s cell phone, and then all hell would break loose.

She could just hear her parents now: “What the hell are you doing, skipping classes? Hand over the car keys, Young Lady!”

Then again, they might understand, given her bully situation. None of those skunks chose to bother her today, but it was only a matter of time before they did, and she had the feeling that Alice might actually be their first target… because she was openly flirty. Then again, what bully could resist picking on Cheap Rose?

Leaving her seat, she moseyed into the kitchen to take the roast out of the oven. Setting their dinner on the stove, she glanced at that stupid, silent phone again. What if Mr. Carpenter didn’t keep his word about not calling Diane? He’d been pretty shaken up at the end of their little meeting, she smiled, and he might not have actually known what the heck he was agreeing to. Men are like that. Once they get their minds turned on, trying to get any points through their thick skulls is completely futile.

Peeking at the clock, she considered calling Alice, mainly because her friend had been quiet during their treks to other classes, and Bekah had the feeling… It was only a matter of time before her friend voiced the problem. Eventually, the irritation of Bekah ‘flirting’ with the man she adored would get to be too much, and Alice would blurt a bunch of ignorant accusations. Ignorant, because Bekah hadn’t been flirting…at least not purposely… and at least not till the very end, after Alice had left the room. At that point, yes, she had acted a bit flirty; but there was no sense in either one of them getting upset over it, because Mr. Carpenter was a teacher. Off limits. No chance of ever having any kind of romantic relationship with a teacher, and it was stupid as hell to think they could.

She sighed. Her stomach felt like lead, and her head was throbbing from all the noise, so concentrating on her English Lit assignment right now seemed near impossible. She turned and snatched her purse off of the L counter that divided the kitchen from the living and dining rooms, and headed toward the hallway, where she paused. “Dad, I’m going out for a little bit!”

“Where to?” Her father stepped out of the bathroom, the hall light shining off of his bald spot. Between that and his shaving cream beard, Bekah almost giggled.

“Just to the bowling alley,” she shrugged.

“Can I come?” Emily pranced up to her, wide eyed and hopeful, but then kicking her out-of-place soccer ball when Bekah replied, “No, Shrimp Toast, I want to be alone.”

“You never take me anywhere anymore, Bekah!” She protested, making fists at her sides and pouting upward.

“Yes I do! I took you to Dairy World last weekend!”

“That doesn’t count, cause you ignored me the whole time!”

“You OK, Sweetheart?” Her father interrupted, and she lied while wearing a stiff smile, “Yeah… sure.”

Emily whined and plopped on the couch as Bekah stepped back into the kitchen to call Alice. No one answered the phone, so she wound up driving over to see if her not so happy friend felt like going out for a cruise; but no one answered the doorbell, either. So… either Alice had a date she hadn’t mentioned out of spite, or she was asleep… or she was flat out ignoring her, like the time Bekah had dared to go out with Charlie Smith, back in tenth grade. That was her first and last date, mainly because that night she’d decided that high school guys are nothing but walking bags of hormones. But Alice didn’t care. Oh no. Alice craved male attention… and this time she was craving it from someone totally off limits.

Fifteen minutes later found her cruising along Madison Street, in the northeastern area of town- home of the wonderful, the ever-entertaining Welshire Bowling Palace, where the food is always fresh and the drunks are free to roam. Well… maybe not tonight. Kiddy leagues hit that center on Tuesday nights. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to plaster any drunk children with her purse.

Stopping at a red light, she spied a white van in a parking lot with the words “Carpenter Carpentry” written in blazing red.

“No way,” she slurred. “Couldn’t be…” or maybe it was? The light turned green, so she stepped on the gas, slowing in front of the joint labeled “Carla’s Cakery”, and decided, “What the hell?” She needed to talk to him, anyway, so she pulled into the lot and parked between the van and a cop car.

Snatching her purse off of the passenger seat, she gave her bangs a tousle and headed inside for a peek. The chances that her nerdy, hunk of a teacher actually owned a carpentry business seemed slim- but wasn’t that the nerdy thing to do? If your last name is Carpenter, you own a carpentry business and call it Carpenter Carpentry. Definitely nerdy.

Of course, after that very manly reaction to her closeness today, his rating on the nerdiness scale had dropped another point.

Her cheeks flushed, she could still feel his hands curled around her arms, feel the rush that had overtaken her under his admiring gaze. God, that was messed up. He was her teacher, for crap’s sake!

She pushed the door open, and it jingled. Above her, little Precious Moments cutouts that reminded her of Emily spun from the ceiling, and predictably, the counter was occupied by two police men and a dark haired man, who, judging from his black suit, appeared to be a priest from behind.

The front display case housed all sorts of treats from cookies and donuts to autumn cakes that reached out and grabbed her by the collar, forcing her to come and survey their gorgeous details. Setting her hands on the glass, she at first imagined smashing Brian Cruise with the three-tiered chocolate cake decked with pumpkins, hay bails, and scarecrows…but then Brian’s ugly snout vanished in the brown ‘basket’ full of red, orange, and yellow roses laced with bits of baby’s breath.

“How do they do that?” She whispered. Bending over, she gaped at the minute, realistic lines inside of the confectionary leaves, and the perfectly sculpted rose layers. Some of the roses had yet to bloom, and reminded her of venus flytraps as they poked through their peers in and effort to reach the sun.

Talk about time and detail- someone here had passed Cake Decorating 101 with flying colors, and maybe, perchance, just might be willing to impart that knowledge on a poor, innocent little smart ass like herself. This might be a fun place to work.

Judging from the lack of servers behind the counter, they needed the help, anyway, so… as soon as someone decided to pay attention to their customers again, she’d ask for an application.

Turning, she took in the black and white checkered floor that didn’t quite match the enchantment of the bakery. The booths that lined the window-walls were mostly vacant, but to her right, she could see someone shrouded behind the cops, who were sipping coffee as they ogled her. Passing behind the seats, the priest turned slightly to offer her a smile, and she was intrigued by the curl that fell over his forehead, just above his deep blue eyes. Talk about a Superman look-alike. She nodded and rounded the counter, coming to a halt with her purse strap clutched in both hands.

Well, well, well, lookie what we have here. I was right.

At first, he was too wrapped up in his brownie and iced something or other to notice her, but when he looked up, his sky blues bolted open like he’d seen a ghost, and bits of brownie crumbled onto the table as he coughed and sputtered and reached for his drink. A drink which spilled all across the faux wood and rolled onto the seat opposite him, flowing like a murky waterfall that pooled beneath the table.

Bekah grinned, but Mr. Carpenter was too busy yanking napkins out of the holder and getting down on all fours to pick up the mess, his white t shirt sliding up his back to reveal a spot of fuzz just above his tail bone. His butt was definitely nice, she decided with a giggle.

OK. Have mercy and help the poor guy. She glanced back at the cops, who peeked at the mess, and then turned back around to resume the conversation that her entrance had interrupted- what, did she look like a hardened criminal or something? Did Mr. Carpenter report her assault with the purse the other night?

Laughing under her breath, she knelt next to him, catching the scent of cedar that overpowered that sweet cologne she’d enjoyed earlier in the day. A huge stack of napkins puffed in his large hand, he sopped up the iced coffee and paused to frown at her. “What are you doing here?” He hissed, his hair once again coming undone, so that she was tempted to brush it back for him. Instead, she reached up on the table and grabbed some napkins to clean the booth, and tossed him a wink. He paused, gaping incredulously before resuming his work.

“Well,” she snickered and continued in whisper, “After what happened today, I just had to see you again!”

“What? What hap-?” He tossed the napkins onto the booth, and surprised her by taking her arm and helping her to her feet. She didn’t struggle so as not to upset the cops, but had they been alone in here, she would have whapped him with her purse again for treating her so roughly.

Or maybe not… the feel of his hand wrapped around her arm was kind of… sexy in a weird way. She guessed he seemed tougher like this… like a Coool Rider.

Not that again!

He hurried her out the front door and plopped his hands on his hips, glaring down at her in a very teacherly fashion… however, dressed in the jeans and a t shirt, his face and arms lightly tanned and his glasses missing, he looked more like a pissed off construction worker.

“Rebekah, what are you doing? How did you find me here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She batted her lashes. “I’ve been following you.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“No, I haven’t. But this isn’t really that hard to figure out, is it?”

He folded his arms and raised a brow as he snorted, “Just explain yourself, please.”

Just explain yourself, please. “Look… I was on my way to visit my mom at the bowling alley, since I was too nervous about your impending telephone call to keep my butt at home… And remember, now, the bowling alley is about five minutes down the road from here. Remember that?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I stopped at a red light, and low and behold if I didn’t spot a van sitting in this here parking lot with the big, bold words, ‘Carpenter Carpentry’ engraved on the side. So, I thought, ‘Wow, what if my nerdy teacher actually-”

“Nerdy?” He gawked. “Who are you calling-”

“My curiosity got the better of me,” she laughed. “And I need to talk to you, anyway, so I pulled in to see if, by some stroke of luck, this Carpenter Carpentry might be related to you… and voila.” She smiled smugly and imitated him by folding her own arms. “Here you are. So, this is what you do on the side, huh?”

“That’s my business.” He ran his hand through his hair, shoving back the stray strand and eliciting another giggle from her, which he seemed to ignore as he huffed, “Couldn’t you wait until class tomorrow to talk to me?”

“You mean you wanted me to wait all night before seeing you again?”

He rolled his eyes again. “Yes. That was the plan.”

“Don’t you like me, Mr. Carpenter?” she teased, despite the feeling in the pit of her stomach that she was now taking her silliness too far. But hell- if he couldn’t take her joking around, then he just needed to lighten up. Plain and simple. Get a life.

“I-“ he shot her a double take, the veins around his biceps popping out as he pointed inside. “I’m going back in there to clean up the mess, then I’m leaving. You and I will talk tomorrow…” Dropping his arm, he added in a very irritated tone, “Got it?”

“Why? Are you afraid someone will see us here together and get the wrong impression?” She batted her lashes.

“Can you blame me?” he squinted. “And would you stop acting like a flirt? It’s inappropriate and embarrassing.”

“I’m just teasing, Mr. Carpenter, lighten up!” With that, she spun around and swaggered back inside, and was about to seat herself at the counter, when a tall, red-haired lady wearing a loose-fitting, pink sweater and black dress pants finally stepped out of the shadows of the kitchen area. They nodded at one another, and then she felt a hand on her shoulder. Shivers ran up her spine, and she turned to find her teacher standing there, shaking his head yet again and smoldering her with icy eyes.

“What are you doing?” He asked testily.

“I want to apply for a job.” She faked a smile. Faked, because she sensed he was getting far more aggravated with her than she’d intended. A little teasing, a little annoyance- fun, fun, fun… by why did he look so pissed?

"Why do you want to work so far from home?"

"Well, that's really none of your business, but just so you don't think I'm stalking you or anything, I'll tell you... I like the atmosphere... and maybe I actually feel like learning something."

After a few seconds of searching her face, he released her with a nod, tucked his thumb into his jeans pocket and fastened his gaze on her again. He pursed his lips, seeming to think as his eyes darted to the redhead and then back toward his seat before settling on her again- this time a bit warmer and a bit more concerned. He sighed. “I really don’t know what to do with you, do you know that?”

She shrugged, batting her lashes in a less exaggerated manner this time, and he actually smiled! Faintly, as usual, but he smiled just the same.

“Hurry up,” he said heavily as the cops and the redhead began bantering over the cash register. Tossing a peek at them over his shoulder, and then seeming to glance at the priest, he bent slightly, and she decided she liked the smell of cedar mixed with his cologne. Averting his eyes, he whispered, “Get your application and come join me… I guess it’s not going to hurt to talk for a few minutes.”