why she’d let him kiss her until things started getting too heated. Was there such a thing as post-traumatic kissing?
No, she’d keep it to herself, unless he came around again. If that happened, she would have to report him and hopefully the police would listen this time.
Finishing off her dinner, she headed for the shower, emerging refreshed and more energized. Until she looked in the mirror. Several small scratches covered her skin on her face and neck, and she had a dark bruise on her left shoulder and a smaller one on her chin. Her eye was lightly purple at the edge. How was she going to explain that?
After she was dressed, she stood at the table by the window to pick up her bag. She paused as something moved in the corner of her vision.
Looking down through a crack in the curtain, she saw him—or at least, she saw something. Someone. Was someone down there, watching her?
Shivers ran over her skin, and she yanked the curtains shut, suddenly afraid to leave the room. What if it was Luke Berringer, following her? How could he have? What if it was the person who tried to blow her up?
Or what, her sanity challenged, if it was simply an employee or guest of the hotel out for a smoke?
Forcing herself to breathe more normally, she gathered up her things and left. The clerk had the rental keys and told her where her car was parked. No one was in the lot except for a valet who had no customers, so he was sweeping the front entrance. Nothing to fear.
She relaxed slightly, determined to leave the events of the day behind her temporarily. She would have to tell the school, of course, and let them know what was going on, her new address and so forth. But for a few hours, she could return to her normal life. She craved that more than anything.
As soon as she arrived at the school, Vanessa realized it was not going to happen. The second she entered the lot, a news reporter approached the car and a camera flashed in her eyes.
“What—what are you doing?”
“Ms. Grant, can you tell us why there was an attempt on your life? Do you think you should be here? Aren’t you endangering the children here at the school?”
Vanessa gaped in the face of the questions, shocked and wordless. Two of her teacher friends, Donna and Juanita, hurried her into the school, leaving the reporters behind.
“Oh, honey, we’ve been so worried!” Donna said, pulling her into a hug and no sooner did she let go than Juanita did the same.
“Where have you been? We’ve been calling and calling,” Juanita asked.
“I—I guess you know then...what happened.”
The two women looked at her as if she were crazy.
“Vanessa, what happened today is the biggest story in the local news. Everyone knows. It might even have gone national. It’s not every day a person’s house gets blown up and they barely escape it,” Donna said, putting a calming hand on her arm. “Someone taped it on their phone, and it showed a guy pushing you out of the way—who was he? He was hot.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“Of course it would be news. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“You’re confused. You should be at the hospital or protected by the police. Who would do this? Is it that creep you dated last fall, do you think?” Juanita asked.
Vanessa’s head swam. “I don’t know, but no, I don’t think it was Kevin.”
Kevin was a high school–basketball coach who turned out to be married, much to Vanessa’s surprise. But he was a phys-ed guy, not an explosives expert.
“So who was that man who saved you?”
Vanessa took a deep breath, settling her frazzled nerves as much as possible. “I don’t know. I mean, I know now, but he was a stranger.”
She wasn’t about to get into her interactions with Luke Berringer.
“If he’d saved my life, I’d make sure he wasn’t a stranger for long,” Donna said with a humorous snort.
“Listen, you guys, I don’t mean to be standoffish, but it’s been a difficult day. We can talk about this later. Right now, I want to work. To do something normal. See my kids, talk about teaching, you know?”
“Oh, sure. We’re sorry. It’s all so incredible,” Juanita said understandingly.
“That’s not the word I’d use for my house being blown to smithereens,” she said, more sharply than she meant to. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You’re right. We’re being insensitive. Where are you staying? You should stay with me and the kids tonight, and for as long as you want,” Juanita said, hugging her again.
“I have a room at a local hotel, and my insurance covers it. Right now I need some space and to get my bearings. But thank you. You guys are wonderful,” Vanessa said, and she meant it.
Her friends had been so supportive over the years. They worked together, went out to dinner, to exercise classes, and they saw each other through thick and thin. But right now, she needed to keep calm and avoid more questions.
“Let’s go. I think they’re about to start the orientation program in a few minutes.”
Relieved, Vanessa smiled for the first time since the afternoon as she walked into the small auditorium. The young people in the seats were laughing and talking as the adults organized their presentations and got ready to start.
This was her world. The one she had built for herself, full of activity, love and hope. She breathed it in, greeting some of the students who smiled back at her and who didn’t ask questions other than if they could be in her class. Taking in her cuts and scrapes, another little girl, Kayla, wanted to know if she had fallen down. Vanessa assured her she was fine.
The query made her choke up slightly as she made her way down to the front, near the stage. Vanessa knew she had a good reputation with students and parents, but right now, knowing these children wanted to be in her life, that they were concerned about her and that her friends would open their homes to her, made everything all right. She could rebuild her house, buy new clothes. What she really cared about was her family, and that included these kids and her friends. Everything else could be replaced.
The tightness in her chest finally eased, and she started to take her seat as her mind went over her presentation. Luckily, she was third in the lineup, so she would have time to prepare.
“Ms. Grant,” she heard and looked up to see their new principal, Mr. Edwards. His eyes took in her bumps and bruises, too, and she tried to smile.
“Mr. Edwards.”
“Could we have a word before we get started?”
Vanessa read the tension in his face as nothing good, and felt her stress rise. Edwards was a competent principal as far as they knew—he’d only been with the school for one year. He wasn’t as friendly and approachable as their previous principal—he didn’t socialize or get to know teachers personally like Mrs. Madeira had—but he cared about the kids and he was fair.
They
