teacher, yes,” Deanna said. “I guess I didn’t think you’d be a principal already. I mean, I thought a person would have to be a lot older to be a principal. I turned thirty this year, so that’s got to make you, what, thirty-three, thirty-four?”
“Thirty-four in a few weeks. Good memory.”
“But isn’t that young to be a principal?” Deanna asked.
“Let’s just say I dedicated myself to the pursuit of my career,” Eric explained. “I was promoted to principal a year ago.”
“Ah,” Deanna said, nodding. That was something she could understand. Putting yourself completely into pursuing your passion—she had done the same.
She found herself glancing at his ring finger and noting that it was bare. Had he, like herself, lost out on relationship opportunities because he was so determined to succeed in his chosen field?
Why was she even wondering if he was married?
It was just that she wanted to know more about him. He had been her friend, and when she’d left town, she had dropped him like a hot potato. In part because her breakup with Marvin was such a hard experience for her at the time, and she hadn’t wanted to relive those memories by staying in touch with Eric.
“I told you he knew you,” Kwame said.
Deanna glanced down at her nephew. “Yes, you did.”
“I think an old friend deserves a hug,” Eric said.
When Deanna returned her gaze to him, she saw that he had opened his arms and was closing the distance between them. She walked into his embrace, noting as he enveloped her in a warm hug that he felt and smelled incredible.
Easing back, Eric said, “Why don’t we go to my office?”
“Sure.”
Both she and Eric turned at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Behind the counter in the office sat a biracial woman with long, tightly curled hair held back with a red headband.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Eric said. “Deanna, this is Michelle, the school secretary. Michelle, this is Deanna Hart.”
“I know.” Michelle beamed. “I’m a fan.”
“Is that right?” Smiling, Deanna approached her and extended her hand. Michelle pumped it heartily. “Nice to meet you,” Deanna added.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Michelle told her.
Deanna glanced around the large office space. “This looks almost the same as it did twenty years ago,” she commented. “Obviously it’s had a paint job or two, and some of the furnishings are different, but other than that it hasn’t really changed.”
“The building’s been updated in terms of repairs and fresh paint, but the idea was to keep it looking as much the way it did when it opened in 1955.”
“And it does,” Deanna said. “This is like a blast from the past.”
Eric gestured to the open door about ten feet away. “My office is this way.”
“A trip to the principal’s office,” Deanna said. “Should I be as concerned as the day I got in trouble for fighting Jenny Lawrence on the playground?”
Eric chuckled. “Not at all.”
“You went to the principal’s office when you were a kid?” Kwame asked, his tone saying he was surprised.
“A time or two,” Deanna admitted sheepishly.
Kwame glanced at the wall clock. “Oh, I’ve got to head to my basketball practice.”
“Sure thing,” Deanna said. “I’ll see you in a bit, then.”
Kwame bounded out of the office—did the kid ever walk?—and Deanna followed Eric into the office, smiling softly as she saw his name on the gold plate on the door.
PRINCIPAL E. BELL.
“Congrats on becoming principal,” she told him, gazing around at the plaques on the wall. They highlighted his various educational accomplishments. “I’m very impressed.”
“Thanks,” Eric said. He closed the door. “Have a seat.”
Deanna took a seat in front of his desk. Eric rounded the desk and sank into his plush leather chair. Folding his hands in front of him, he merely stared at her for a few seconds. “It really is great to see you. I always wondered how you were doing.”
“It’s great to see you, too, Eric.”
“I read about your aunt’s death. I’m very sorry.”
A wave of sadness washed over Deanna. “Thanks. It’s been hard, but my aunt dying brought me and my sisters back to Cleveland. Which got us to work out our differences.”
Eric nodded. “The proverbial silver lining. I know your aunt is looking down on you all with approval.”
“Yes,” Deanna agreed, a smile touching her lips. “I believe that, too.”
“I sent you an email once,” Eric said, changing the subject. “But you didn’t respond.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. To your website. I guess you get too many messages from fans to notice that one was from me. Either that or you didn’t want to respond,” he added, his tone lighthearted.
Deanna grimaced. “I’m sorry. Of course I would have responded had I seen your email. I didn’t even check my messages—I had a couple of assistants do that for me. They shared some of the fan mail with me, but not all. They even sent out my responses. Sometimes they would flag certain messages and not respond if they thought they sounded suspicious. For example, if they thought someone was trying to use a feigned past association as a way to get to me, they especially wouldn’t let me see the message.”
Eric nodded. “Guess that’s what happens when you become rich and famous.”
“It all sounds so superficial, doesn’t it?” Deanna commented. She had never been totally comfortable with letting others read and respond to her fan mail, but she’d been advised that it was the best way. “It was just easier to have someone else deal with the fan mail while I concentrated on the music.”
“Of course. I wasn’t passing judgment. Just letting you know that I tried to reach out to you.”
“I’m the same girl you knew years ago,” Deanna said. It was important that he know that. Yes, she had left and gone to Hollywood, but she had been running as much as she had been chasing a dream. Now that the dream had crashed and burned, she didn’t even know if she wanted it anymore.
“I don’t doubt that,” Eric said. “It’s why you’re here right now. The fact that you’re willing to talk to the students about what you do shows you’re the type of person who wants to give back.”
“It’s no
