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With that she exited the car, leaving Amelia stunned. Could Chloe be right?
Amelia made it through the rest of the afternoon, mind more muddled than before. Thankfully most of the afternoon parents wanted to actually discuss their students. Still, it seemed that there had been a shift in the air. A quiet disapproval in their eyes. Almost every couple she met was stilted and unnervingly quiet. They asked very few questions, making the fifteen minute sessions shorter, the breaks in between longer.
Amelia coasted through the remainder of the day on auto-pilot. When the last parent finally left she chose to stay another few minutes and write out instructions on the board for Monday. When she was done, she gathered her things and straightened up her desk.
A knock sounded on the open door.
Amelia jumped slightly and turned to see Mr. McClary standing tall, his hands in the pockets of his pants. His frown matched the downward pull of his eyes.
“Miss Howard, I need to see you in my office when you’re finished,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Daddy! She’s here, she’s here, she’s here!”
Amelia laughed, in spite of a piercing headache, at the banshee wail that rang out from the depths of the house. A male voice answered and pounding steps grew louder. The door handle twisted and snapped back in place a few times, followed by inaudible whispers. Amelia bit back a smile at the sound of Creed’s voice near the door. The lock squeaked loudly and at last Izzie opened the door. Creed stood with his hands in the back pockets of his worn jeans behind her.
The little girl giggled, her face red. “I forgot to unlock the door,” she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and slapped her hand against her forehead.
Amelia flashed Creed a grin and looked back at Izzie. “That was silly, Miss Izzie.”
She sobered at that. “Hey, you called me Miss, just like you’re Miss. Miss Izzie and Miss H.,” she babbled excitedly.
“Hey, Miss Izzie and Miss H., what do you say we move this indoors?” Creed suggested, pulling Izzie out of the way so that Amelia could enter. She stepped into their home and handed Creed a small brown sack, but held onto a large leather photo album that she had tucked under her arm.
“This is for you; thank you so much for inviting me to dinner.”
Amelia hoped her voice didn’t give her frazzled nerves away. She had almost called to beg off the invitation but changed her mind when she imagined a crestfallen Izzie. And truly, after her day, Amelia found herself craving Creed’s steady presence. She had taken three aspirin tablets, but they didn’t seem to have an effect on the ice pick pounding her between the eyes.
Or the tight fist of fear that was squeezing her insides.
She allowed her eyes a quick look around their home, admiring the warm and cozy feel of it. The front door opened into a small living room, with stairs running parallel to it along the far wall. If she walked straight, she would find herself in a corner kitchen. The living room was simply but smartly furnished with a burgundy leather couch and matching recliner. Two short bookshelves flanked a small desk with a closed laptop set in the middle. Creed had mounted framed pictures, mostly of Izzie, along the wall beneath the stairs.
“Your home is lovely,” Amelia said, making sure her eyes crinkled in the corners. Take that, headache.
Izzie, suddenly a formal little lady, offered to take her coat and purse. She hung them on a set of hooks anchored to the wall next to the door. A few Izzie sized coats and a pink backpack dangled from the hooks haphazardly. Amelia resisted the urge to straighten them.
“What is this?” Creed asked, hooking a finger on the rim of the sack to peek inside. He stood close enough for her to see a small freckle on the edge of his full lower lip. Funny how she had never noticed that before.
“Nothing big. Vanilla ice cream and something for Izzie,” she answered, feeling a blush threatening to bloom. She placed a palm against her abdomen, desperate to squash her nerves. Creed pulled out the small container of gourmet vanilla bean.
“For me? What did she bring for me, Daddy?” the poised little hostess disappeared and Izzie was back, dancing from foot to foot excitedly.
“Hmmm,” Creed set the ice cream down on his desk. He closed one eye tight and peeked in the bag again, holding the top with both hands before he looked back at Izzie, one eye still shut. He looked in the bag again and hid it behind his back.
“That depends. What are you going to give me for it?” Creed asked Izzie.
She responded by planting both of her fists on her narrow hips.
“Daddy.” Izzie’s chin dipped and she looked up at him through long lashes, her mouth flat.
“It’s okay Izzie,” Amelia interjected, holding out the photo album, “I brought something that’s even better than the playdough in that bag.”
Izzie laughed as Creed dramatically let his jaw hang open.
“I can’t believe you ruined my game,” he protested indignantly, handing Izzie the sack. “Here,” he sniffed, his nose turned toward the ceiling, “you can have it.”
Izzie giggled again and pulled out the container of purple glitter playdough, three plastic cookie cutters tied together with ribbon and a small rolling pin. Remembering what Amelia had said, she looked up and eyed the album skeptically.
“Why’s that better?”
Amelia crouched down to Izzie’s level. She opened the book to the first page so that only they could see it. Izzie’s eyebrows rose and her mouth opened in delight. She looked to Creed.
“That looks like you, Daddy,” she whispered. “Only you look little.”
Creed leaned over to see the picture; he and Amelia stood back to back in their prom attire, arms crossed, trying to look tough.
“Wow, there’s a blast from the past,” he winked at the girls. “Izzie, why don’t you take Miss H. to the couch and you can look at what she has there. I’ll finish dinner.”
Amelia rose. “Can I help you with anything?”
Creed shook his head no and picked up the ice cream container. “You just enjoy embarrassing me in front of my daughter with pictures of my awkward years. I’ll try really hard not to burn the rolls in retaliation.” Creed tugged lightly on Izzie’s hair and walked down the hall toward the kitchen.
Amelia allowed Izzie to lead her to the couch where they sat together for the next ten minutes, looking through pictures of Amelia and Creed’s teen years. Izzie asked a dozen questions about every photo and her teacher answered each with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
“I am not comfortable with my child being in the class of someone who is so obviously immoral.”
The accusing tone of her first appointment that day rang out over the pleasant evening, threatening to bring Amelia to tears. McClary’s regretful tone fought for a place in her thoughts as well.
Creed stepped into the room and paused, his eyes on her face. A shadow passed over his expression. He tilted his head slightly, questioning. The compassionate fix of his gaze was almost Amelia’s undoing. She closed the book.
“Izzie, looks like it’s time to eat,” she said softly.
“Why don’t you set the table, Kiddo,” Creed said to his daughter, eyes never leaving Amelia’s face.
Izzie hopped down from the couch and ran past Creed into the kitchen. Amelia rose slowly to her feet, the lump in her throat and stinging in her eyes threatened to take over.
“Amelia?” Her name on his lips was a soft embrace.
She stopped next to him, her eyes fixed on his t-shirt collar.
“Rough day?” Creed ventured.
A nod. It was all she could manage.
Plates clattered; Izzie setting the table.
“Because of the pictures.” It wasn’t a question.
She couldn’t respond. He had no idea. Did he even know about the rest?
Water kicked on; Izzie filling glasses.
Amelia sucked in a sharp breath as his arms came around her back. She closed her eyes at the feel of his cheek against hers. He moved his face slightly and her toes tingled at the scratch of his stubble against her skin. He held her tight for a moment, lips near her ear when he spoke at last, his breath warm against her hair.
“I am so sorry.”
Amelia couldn’t form a rational thought. All she could think about was the feel of Creed’s arms around her back. Her hands slipped up his arms, over his shoulders, lacing behind his neck. The hug lingered, their bodies melding together. Amelia blushed. She should pull back; surely he hadn’t meant for the embrace to stretch out this long. She was making a spectacle of herself. Before she could convince herself to release her grip, Creed tucked his nose into the hollow near her collarbone and she stopped thinking altogether. She could feel the steady staccato of his pulse through the pads of her fingers, noting that it’s sudden increase matched hers.
“What are you doing?” Izzie’s voice jolted them apart; the electric current that hummed beneath the surface lashing out with white hot force. Amelia’s knees shook. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
“Miss Amelia looked sad, so I thought I would give her a hug,” Creed answered, the thick bass of his voice husky.
Izzie snorted. “Daddy. You called her Miss Amelia. And your face is all…droopy.”
Amelia’s cheeks tingled.
Creed blinked stupidly. “Is it?”
Izzie looked between them, arms akimbo.
Creed finally cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. “Well, did we promise Miss Howard dinner or what?” he asked. He walked to the kitchen without waiting for an answer.
Izzie’s animated chatter at dinner eased the tension.
They laughed at her antics over grilled pork chops, garlic mashed potatoes, rolls, and a green salad. Creed had placed a small round table, just big enough for four people to fit comfortably around it, near the back door of his townhome. Amelia imagined Creed and Izzie enjoying many meals in that kitchen.
“This pork chop is incredible,” she commented, taking a bite. The tender meat practically melted in her mouth.
“It’s our specialty, isn’t it Izzie?” he winked at his daughter while cutting a chop into smaller bites for her.
“Mmmm, ‘Poor Man’s Steak’ is my favorite,” she added, loudly smacking her lips together.
Amelia laughed at that. Creed raised a brow at Izzie.
“This is definitely better than any steak I’ve ever had,” Amelia said. She stabbed another bite with her fork. “Forgive me, but I was expecting boxed macaroni and cheese topped with canned chili,” she admitted.
“That’s Daddy’s favorite!” Izzie gasped.
“What’s so funny?” she asked her teacher who sat with a napkin over her mouth, her shoulders shaking.
Amelia swallowed her giggles and shook her head. She returned wordlessly to her meal, relishing the creamy potatoes and airy rolls.
“Honestly, Creed, where did you learn to cook like this? I took a cooking class years ago and I can barely pull off edible meals.”
“Well, when Izzie and I first moved here, we were either at my mom’s or eating out. I realized quickly that starting a new business was not going to allow our budget to eat out that much. My mom watched Izzie a lot more back then and I got the impression that she would rather we eat more meals at home.”
Creed buttered a roll and put it on Amelia’s empty plate. A smile played at the corner of her lips when he continued, completely unaware of what he had done.
“So I asked my mom to teach me some things. Turns out I have a knack for cooking which was a good thing for us, wasn’t it, Izzie?”
She turned somber eyes to him. “Not really, Daddy.”
His jaw dropped. “Why not?”
“Because when I ask if we can go out you tell me you can just make the same stuff at home. You took all the fun out of life,” she rested her cheek in her hand, elbow on the table, and pushed the salad around her plate.
Creed rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
Amelia really laughed at that. They finished the meal in companionable silence. Once father and daughter leaned back contentedly in their chairs, Amelia stood to stack their plates.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Creed jumped to his feet and took the plates from her.
“You cooked, it’s only right that I clean,” Amelia protested, taking the plates back.
“Does anyone ever take care of you, Amelia?” his voice was soft, his brown eyes piercing.
* * *
Creed watched her shoulders slump slightly.
“Daddy, can I play with the playdough Miss Howard brought?” Izzie asked, holding the tube in her hands, trying to open the lid with her teeth. Creed took the container from her and popped the lid off.
“You can play with it at the coffee table since the kitchen table isn’t clean. We’ll do the dishes and join you in just a bit, okay?” He handed back the playdough.
The patter of her feet running excitedly to the living room faded.
Amelia stacked the dishes next to the sink before she turned on the hot water and squirted dish soap into the stream. Each plate was rinsed off before being placed in the soapy water. Creed opened a drawer next to the sink and pulled out a towel. He stepped next to Amelia and held out a hand for a plate. She handed one to him wordlessly and he rinsed and dried it. They washed the rest of the dishes in silence.
“Remember in high school when you were dating Sophie Senada?” Amelia rinsed the soap from the sides of the sink as the water drained out. She turned off the water and dried her hands on the towel. She leaned back against the counter, her palms resting on the counter top, delicate fingers curled over the side. Creed finished putting the stack of plates away and turned to face her, mirroring her stance on the other side of the narrow kitchen.
He narrowed his eyes. “Vaguely.”
“I remember because that was right in the middle of our obsession with horror films. There was a special midnight showing of Chucky at that old theater downtown, remember?”
Creed remembered the showing and how much fun he had with Amelia that night, but he couldn’t understand what it had to do with some girl he barely remembered…or why they were talking about it now.
“I remember because apparently Sophia or one of her friends saw us downtown that night. The next Monday at school I was cornered in the ladies’ room and Sophie told me to stay away from you. Apparently her friends had greatly embellished what they saw and she was convinced that I was some tramp trying to take her man. I didn’t want to cause drama for you so I did my best to avoid you—which was the hardest thing I had ever had to do up to that point in my life, by the way.”
“Amelia, I didn’t—“
She interrupted him, “When you two broke up a week or so later, she approached me in Biology.”
Amelia gave a small laugh, her eyes on the cupboard above his head. “She pushed my backpack off of my desk—“
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“—and told me I could have you. Today was a little bit like that. Only much, much worse.”
“Why?”
Amelia poked her tongue into her cheek thoughtfully. Her voice dropped an octave, “Uh, I got fired today, Creed.”
“You what?!” Creed pushed up on his hands, straightening immediately. “What are you talking about?”
Amelia glanced toward the living room, her look reminding him to keep his voice down. Amelia came to stand beside him where they could both watch the doorway. Her arm brushed against his as she crossed it over her stomach.
“My principal talked to me early in the day about not bringing drama to work. I guess quite a few parents called about that article,” Amelia spoke quietly, her eyes averted. “I definitely got the cold shoulder from the parents I saw today, but tried to just ignore it. But after the second article was published—“
“Second article? What are you—“
Amelia held up a finger and walked into the other room. She said something to Izzie, her cheerful voice—almost believable—sharpened something in his chest.
Amelia came back into the kitchen, phone in her hand. She swiped a thumb across the screen, then tapped a few times before handing it over to him.
“The second article showed that I am not living up to the high moral standards they expect from teachers at New Hope Christian School. Parents of students from all grades called and complained. The board members had an emergency meeting; they fired me, Creed.” Amelia’s chest rose and fell.
The picture on the screen was blurry, as if taken from a distance and blown up; the headline was short and to the point. Beneath Amelia’s porch light that morning when Creed leaned forward to brush an innocent kiss against her cheek, someone had been there, waiting to catch an innocuous moment and knit it into a stimulating story. Creed skimmed the article, lip curling at the insinuation that because of the early hour and Amelia’s pajamas that something more sordid had been going on.
He felt a flush creep up his neck. Of all the…
He handed the phone back to Amelia. “And your principal believed this? And the other parents? Seriously?”
Amelia raised one shoulder, dropped it again. “I guess so.” She finally let her gaze meet his, a wall of water rising on her lower lids. He brought his hand up to cup her face, the pad of his thumb catching the first tear that fell.
“I’ll talk to him—to all of them. I’ll set this right, Amelia. I swear it.” After all, if it weren’t for him she wouldn’t be in this mess, would she? No, if not for the stupid media. Or was it Kate he should be angry at?
He let out a breath long and loud through his nose. When did everything get so complicated?
Amelia sniffed and turned to lean against the counter, his arm brushing against hers as it fell from her face.
“You know the crazy thing? I’ve been so careful and planned everything for so many years. I’ve been the epitome of chaste. And now that I finally stepped out of my comfort zone and bought a house, I lost my job because my so-called sordid lifestyle is giving the school a bad name. How’s that for irony?”
