Chapter 1
Beatrice hated these types of meetings. While they were necessary, she didn’t ever have the heart to sit a parent down and tell them that their child was behaving in the worst way possible, that maybe testing would be in order but only if it was consented to by both parents. She had meticulously set out pamphlets about behavioral sciences, and different programs that could aid in development.
She nervously cleaned the small area slathered in primary colors. The rug had been straightened and all of the blocks scattered against the floor had been neatly put away in the bins stacked on the side of the classroom. It was quiet aside from the dull hum of the fish tank in the corner. Blue- their class pet- swum around cluelessly. How Beatrice wished she could be that blissful.
Teaching had fallen into her lap after she graduated college with a childhood development degree. She had full intention to go into social work and worked in a large office building for a few months before realizing that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to be more hands-on.
Strange, then, that she found a listing for a kindergarten teacher in a newspaper at a coffee shop. Beatrice didn’t’ believe in fate. Fate was too easy, but she did sip her black coffee and contemplate applying. Surely there was someone more qualified for the position who would be chosen over her.
Beatrice was the only one who applied and after a crash course in the curriculum, she made the bold choice to quit her job at the social firm and start teaching in the spring with the help of an aide that went from classroom to classroom to coach those less experienced in the barter system of children.
It took a few weeks, but Beatrice got a good read on all of the children in her class, a small group of twelve that she could handle with one hand tied behind her back if she really wanted to. They learned about numbers, the alphabet, synonyms, and a baseline for the water cycle.
She found herself loving the idea of lesson planning and the process of keeping everything organized. Despite her parent's reservations about her not swaying into politics and laying low in a small town, Beatrice felt like she finally found something to work towards.
The gratification was instant.
However, that did not change the deep pit forming in her stomach at the current moment. She had successfully overfed Blue the fish, who was living his dream at the small flakes building on top of the water. Beatrice mumbled under her breath, slight apologies.
For today, she would have a parent-teacher conference with the parents of Shiloh Silva, the bane of her existence. No. No. Beatrice would not let a seven-year-old be her arch nemesis, or any child, for that matter. It wasn’t their fault. The fault, she had learned, lay in the home environment. The lack of attention, or the acute focus on upbringing.
Goodness, it was so easy to screw up a child if the signs weren't caught early. Shiloh was a walking construction zone of signs that presented in biting, throwing, and causing distractions in class that poor Camila could barely handle with Beatrice, much less alone.
Beatrice had done what the books told her at first. Ignore it. Shiloh was most likely seeking some type of reaction to gain attention. It was something that Beatrice remembers doing as a kid too, most of them had phases that were either corrected or developed. Shiloh was the latter.
This triggered a string of reactions: Shiloh took a magic marker to all the Doctor Suess books, chewed an entire pack of Juicy Fruit gum, and wadded it under her desk, occasionally getting small pieces into sections of caramel-brown hair.
Camila: WHERE IS IT COMING FROM?
Beatrice: IT’S EVERYWHERE!
The final straw had been the small beta fish that Beatrice had found in the front pocket of Shiloh’s overalls. She had whipped out the limp aquatic animal halfway through story time and scared the living daylights out of the boy sitting next to her. There was an innocent smile about her that made Beatrice realize that it was time for a chat.
She’d replaced Blue (and maybe overfed him) before returning to the classroom on a Wednesday night to get everything straightened out before proceeding to pace the room, looking at her watch. Shiloh’s mother was late. That wasn’t a great sign.
Beatrice startled when she finally did hear the small knock at the door. She brought her hand to her chest, drawing in a gasp as she turned away from the fish tank still bubbling away behind her. The woman who stood at the door smiled a dazzlingly sheepish smile.
This was Shiloh’s mother? She didn’t look old enough to have a seven-year-old and was a vast change from the granola parents with their blonde hair and hovering nature. They wore blazers and floral patterned shirts that probably cost more than Beatrice’s monthly salary.
This woman nearly took all the breath from Beatrice’s lungs: she was shorter than her, but not by much. Her eyes were a dark and deep brown that border-lined a starless sky. Her skin was tan and sprinkled with a smattering of birthmarks, and a small pink burn that was etched on the inside of her palm. She wore a dark purple cardigan that cut low and was stained with different shades of paint and a simple pair of jeans.
An artist, then, Beatrice figured. She could see how easy it would be to get lost in one’s work just as she stood dumbstruck now. This woman was a muse that made Beatrice’s heart beat harder in her chest, blood rushing past her ears.
“Um, hi?” Her voice was raspy but smooth. “I have a parent-teacher conference with Miss Holland.”
All of Beatrice’s thoughts turned to jelly. She was sure she was staring, even as she nodded and took a few wobbly steps with her Bambi-gate. The woman’s mouth molded her last name like a fine piece of clay.
“Yes, right. Yes.” She stuck a hand out, willing for it to remain steady “I’m Miss Holland. You can call me Beatrice.”
She narrowed her eyes, not unkindly before she tested the word “Beatrice. That’s a pretty name. I’m Ava. Ava Silva.”
Focus. Focus. Focus. Beatrice felt the warmth of her touch, the softness of her skin. It was enough to send a red blush up against her collar, behind the top button which was, of course, fastened. She thanked the Lord above for her meticulousness. Ava was a dazzling name, but she didn’t say so. She drew in a soft breath and attempted to gather her thoughts.
“Please, right this way.”
Beatrice led them to a small table that had a few documents and pamphlets spread across it. The chairs were child-sized (funding, she blamed) and she apologized for the fact that as they both sat down, their knees touched their chest. They both looked so small. Ava nearly topped out of the blue plastic with a small yelp before righting herself.
“Miss Silva,”
“Ava.”
“Ava… I’m sorry to call you, I’m sure you’re very busy. But we’ve witnessed some concerning behavior with Shiloh recently that we’d like to bring to your attention.”
Ava nodded and hugged her knees closer as if she had a choice. She had a tenderness to her eyes that made Beatrice want to stop this meeting altogether. She’d only done a few of these and nothing about the woman in front of her made her want to continue. This was hard enough as it was- having a silly love-at-first-sight moment was not helping her case.
“Have you noticed any changes in her behavior at home lately? Any frustrations?”
She let out a sound that was something akin to a laugh, but it was flooded with emotion. Some cruel noise at fate. The sun had begun to set and an orange light caught the moisture in her stare, and goodness was it tender. Her fingers curled further into her jeans, enough to where Beatrice figured there was some hurt, some pain behind the action.
“Truthfully? If there has been a shift in behavior, I’m afraid I wouldn’t know it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Shiloh isn’t mine. I mean, she is now and don’t get me wrong, Beatrice, I wouldn’t change it for the world. My brother… he died in a car accident a few months back and so did his wife. I was the only option for care and it seemed like an automatic yes. Of course, I can take Shiloh and be the loving, doting aunt she needs, but fuck, raising a child is not easy.”
Ava took a breath, and blinked a few times to center herself.
“I know the basics. She likes chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs. Be real, who doesn’t? and she has her favorite books that she needs to go to sleep. Sometimes read more than three times before she actually drifts off. But she’s, like, a little human. They all have their habits and I don’t… I didn’t know them when my brother was still here and I don’t know them now.”
Beatrice blinked at her. They stared at one another with a raw charged emotion in between them for a few seconds that drifted into a full minute where Ava had begun to fidget. It wasn’t Beatrice’s intention to make her nervous. She was processing. She was angry at the school for not giving this woman more resources, angry at herself for not asking if she could do more.
“Oh,” Ava’s eyes widened “I totally just trauma dumped on you. There might be some behavior shifts. How do I look for those?”
There were a few more seconds of quiet before Beatrice frowned. “I didn’t know any of this. It explains a lot.”
“You look like her.”
“What?” Beatrice was caught off guard. Her legs were beginning to ache in the small plastic chair but she didn’t dare shift.
“My guess, which isn’t educated in the slightest bit, is that Shiloh is acting out because you look like my sister-in-law. Not entirely, but I can see it around the eyes.”
“That must be extremely jarring for her.” She took a slight pause and resisted to urge to reach across the table and take Ava’s hand in her own. “For you.”
Ava gave a dejected shrug and jutted her bottom lip out in something akin to a pout, but not quite there. She shifted her stare over the pamphlets in front of them and picked one up about ADHD, running her finger against the seam. “All of these for Shiloh?”
“Not necessarily. Taking into account the major…losses that Shiloh has been through lately and the change in environment, it seems as if all of the outbursts in class are extremely explainable.” Beatrice picked up a pamphlet at the bottom of the stack. Child grief. “I believe that there are some simple workarounds that will make things clearer.”
Ava swallowed hard, and she nodded. Her eyes were thankful, her shoulders slumped but an heir of relief was about her as well. There was an easy smile on her face that made Beatrice’s head fuzzy, mind wobbly.
“Grief is not linear, Ava. Neither is healing.” She picked up a pen and started to scribble her number on the edge of the pamphlet. “This is my personal number. I don’t want you to hesitate to call if you need anything.”
“Oh,” her cheeks warmed to a delicious red “I couldn’t do that.”
“I insist.” Beatrice smiled softly at her “anytime.”
~~~
Ava was not going to let Shiloh win. Sure, she had read in a few different parenting magazines that you should let your kid win to boost their confidence. But this was simply not one of those times, and Ava was not one of those parents.
She narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her knees, bending down to look at the small girl. Shiloh had her brothers’ eyes and Ava didn’t want to admit that each time she stared into them like this, got on her level (another thing that the books suggested) that it hurt her. What hurt more was getting bested by her seven-year-old niece.
The small girl was dwarfed by the bed that Ava had found at a yard sale. Her guest room used to be half a studio and she never had to worry about many visitors. Before Shiloh, people would end up sharing her bed before slipping out the front door without stirring Ava.
Ava had removed the sculpting table had taken down the gouache self-portraits, and replaced them with tamer art. Lilith had begrudgingly helped her install shelves, move in cabinets for toys and stuffed animals, and another shelf for all the stories that Shiloh preferred.
“Kid,” Ava warned, “I refuse to read the Hungry Caterpillar again. The dude’s never going to be full.”
Shiloh leveled her with a dark look, crossing her tiny arms over her chest. “Caterpillar.”
This had been a standstill argument for the past ten minutes. And yeah, Ava could give in and just read her niece the story, it was no sweat off her back. Not really. But she was still a bit prickled from the conversation she had with Beatrice. Miss Holland. Miss stone cold jawline and broody eyes that were way too calculating to be those of a kindergarten teacher.
She was hot and her words were smooth, so confident. A part of Ava envied her calm, the other wanted to break it. Such a horrible habit that she was unsure of entirely. There was a tough exterior to Shiloh’s teacher that would be tough to crack and she never backed down from a challenge. Maybe she would back down from this one though, give in to the little kid's urge to learn all about how much a bug munched through.
“I want to know what happens.”
“You know what happens, Shi”
“Tell it again!”
“Okay, okay.
Ava picked up the book and took it slowly like she always did. She lowered her voice, gasped at the parts that required excitement (It all did, the bug was frantic for food), and relished in the sounds of Shiloh’s giggles.
She had been absent in Shiloh’s life, too consumed with work, even more, concerned with the galleries and the travel. Of course, she stopped by for the major holidays and would facetime the girl despite the time differences. Ava sent gifts too, much more expensive than need be but a facet of her guilt.
After she finished her dramatic retelling of the Very Hungry Caterpillar, Shiloh seemed to grow heavy-eyed and compliant. She accepted the flick of the nightlight and the soft kiss that Ava placed on the worry lines of her forehead (she was seven, so there was no need for those, Ava wished they would smooth out). Before leaving the door open just a crack.
More often than not, Shiloh would wake in a cold sweat. By the grace of a higher power, she had not been in the car during the accident, still, disturbed memories plagued her. She would find Ava in her studio, paint-worn, and blinking exhaustion from her eyes. Ava made a habit of scooping her up on these nights and pulling her into her own bed. Shiloh always fell asleep quickly in her arms, even if Ava couldn’t bring herself to do the same.
Ava watched her from the doorway for a few longing moments before returning to the living room. Lilith scrolled idly on her phone, having queued up the latest reality show that they could mindlessly devour. She held a too-full glass of white wine in one hand, only glancing up when Ava threw herself down on the other end of the sofa.
“I heard your performance. Very convincing. Though, I’m wondering, do you accept criticism?”
“I do not.”
Not well, anyway. The meeting she had earlier had been a giant neon sign reminding her of such. Not only had she felt sick, but she also spewed all over the gorgeous teacher. The last thing she needed was her best friend’s pick apart of her eloquent reading.
“It’s not Shakespeare, I did my best with the material provided.”
Ava reached forward and snatched the glass of wine from Lilith’s hand before downing it in three large gulps. It was sour and made the back of her mouth flush with spit. She set it down on the coaster and watched the way Lilith’s jaw flexed in annoyance.
“Rough day, then?”
Ava grabbed the decorative pillow in between them. She smushed her face against it and nearly growled. “Yes. Shiloh got in trouble at school again. Something with a fish. And I finally got to meet her ridiculously gorgeous, very British, teacher.”
“If I’m understanding correctly, you’ve got a crush.”
She pushed the pillow into her lap and sent a searing glare at Lilith. Her friend had that shit-eating grin on her face, having clicked off her phone and drew her knees to her chest as if they were having a slumber party like they used to. If only things were that simple.
“No, absolutely not. That would be inappropriate. I was there to talk about Shiloh and her behavioral problems.” Ava frowned at her lap “Beatrice suggested that we take her to a grief counselor.”
“Ignoring the fact that you’re on a first-name basis with this woman, I think that’s a brilliant idea. The kiddo has had her whole life uprooted in a matter of months. It’s everyone’s hope that she’ll adjust, and I’m sure she will. But kids process things differently.”
“Yeah,” She hung her head over the back of the couch, the warmth of the wine hitting her stomach. “It couldn’t hurt.”
~~~
Beatrice savored her Sunday mornings. It was early enough for her not to worry about the work week ahead. Her mind was still in relaxation mode and that relaxation mode included stopping at her favorite coffee shop, gingerly sipping on the chia with a shot of espresso as she read a chapter in her latest book choice.
Afterward, Beatrice would continue with her solitude as she crossed the street to the local farmer’s market. She’d get produce for the upcoming week of meals, brose the handmade art, relish in the sunshine and chat with a few of the student’s parents that she ran into. It was a small town, after all.
Today, she had finished a novel that she’d been chipping slowly away at and threw her canvas bag over her shoulder before making the slow wrap-around of the farmers market. She picked up some multicolored peppers and a small hand-bound notebook that had caught her eye.
Beatrice contemplated one of the many jars of multicolored honey at a booth, the sun caught them just right and the man in a pristine white apron with small bumblebees embroidered onto the breast went about explaining the difference in hues.
He held up one with an almost reddish tint “This has your most concentration. It’s sweeter, I’ll tell you that much. You only need half a teaspoon to give tea an extra kick of flavor.”
Tempting, really, it was. She figured he was appealing to the accent with his sly comment about tea and she gave him points for that. Before she could answer, she felt a weight slam into her legs. If she didn’t strength train in her free time, she would have toppled over. But, she had become quite accustomed to little humans latching onto her calves.
The man behind the booth raised his eyebrows and had to lean over the front counter to get a good look at the culprit. However, Beatrice could see her right away. Shiloh beamed up at her with her missing-tooth grin.
“Miss Holland!”
“Shiloh,” she patted her hand against a small back.
Beatrice smiled despite herself. This was one cute kid who was dragging an exhausted-looking Ava behind her. There was a pinkness to her cheeks that Beatrice easily attributed to the cloudless and warm day. Seeing Ava in the weak light of the classroom was nothing compared to this.
The sun seemed to seek her out and dance across her skin. There were freckles there, Beatrice noticed now, that were scattered across her nose and cheeks. She was wearing a tank top, and was she… buff? She adjusted the bag on her shoulder with an apologetic smile. Yeah. Definitely buff.
“I am so sorry, Miss Holland. She saw you across the park and got a little too excited.”
“Beatrice, please. And it’s no trouble. What do you have there?”
She lowered herself to one knee once Shiloh loosened her grip. She got eye level with her and saw the smile that oddly looked a little bit like Ava’s around the corners. Shiloh held onto a small plastic bag filled with something that looked like severed doll heads, but upon closer inspection, rang truer to garlic.
“We’re going to make chicken Alphonso. Aunt Ava said that if we don’t use all of it we can go vampire hunting later tonight.”
“She did, now?” Beatrice glanced up at Ava, who suddenly looked sheepish as she pushed a strand of caramel-brown hair behind her ear. Beatrice stood. “Vampire hunting is a dangerous endeavor.”
“Good thing I’ve got a tough partner, then.”
Ava ruffled Shiloh’s hair with a bubbly laugh that could cure the world, and all the same, made Beatrice’s heart ache. It was more of a clawing, craving feeling that she wanted to satiate. She wanted to hear that sound until the end of time.
Shiloh begged valiantly to rush off with a classmate that she spotted, and it seemed as if Ava knew the father pretty well because, after a deep talk about not letting either of the kids wander, the man rushed them both off to a vantage point in the park that they could still gage.
This left Beatrice alone with Ava again, her palms suddenly moist. Not knowing what else to say, she lifted her chin towards the booth “Honey?”
Ava gave her a dark smile. “Yes, Darling?”
Beatrice’s cheeks flamed and the world felt like it was spinning around her. She wanted to form words, truly and honestly, she did, but nothing came out except for something akin to a snort that was entirely too embarrassing.
The man behind the counter seemed to sense her floundering and attempted to rescue her. He held up the dark jaw again with a grin. “It’s 100% raw!”
A valiant effort, but Beatrice’s blush only deepened.
“And, we’re walking! Thank you!”
Ava wrapped a delicate hand around Beatrice’s arm and tugged her gently down the rest of the row away from the booths before her brain caught up with her. Ava was touching her, and it was searing. She let herself be led. Even though this was only her second encounter, she decided then and there that she would follow Ava anywhere.
“That was…”
“Weird? I know.” Ava withdrew her hand and shoved them into the pockets of her jeans. They fell into an easy walk on the stone path that encircled the park. Ava’s eyes subconsciously traced Shiloh’s every move. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you.”
“You are?”
“Of course. I followed your instructions and got Shiloh scheduled for some grief counseling. She starts later this week.” Ava frowned “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.”
“I’m sure you have a lot on your mind.” Beatrice stopped by the edge of an oak tree, a shadow stretching across the grass. She relished in the cold, in the break from the sun. Ava stopped in tandem with her, lilting her head to the side. “I apologize if I am overstepping, but you lost someone too. It’s never something that you can heal from entirely, but you are doing a heck of a job.”
There were tears brimming in Ava’s eyes. Oh. Oh, no. Beatrice had entirely overstepped. The last thing she wanted to do was upset her. This girl had so much tenderness in her actions, in her absolute care and concern for Shiloh.
And Beatrice had made her cry.
Ava sniffed “Sorry, I’m sorry. I… did you censor yourself?”
Beatrice shrugged “I work with kids.”
Because she didn’t know what else to do, she rooted around in her bag until she found a tissue, which Ava took gratefully and wiped the moisture from under her eyes. Beatrice gave her an easy, encouraging smile.
“A real gentleman, handkerchief and all.”
“It’s a Kleenex”
“It’s the thought that counts. This is twice now that you’ve seen me in tears. I promise I’m not always a mess. Let me make it up to you.”
“There’s nothing to make up for, Ava. Feelings are meant to be felt.”
Ava regarded her. No, Beatrice had not meant to gentle parent her, it wasn’t inherently in her nature. In fact, before she started working with children, people considered her a bit detached, cold. In truth, her head was loud. But for Ava, her heart was loud too.
“Come over for Chicken… Alphonso? That’s what she said, I think.” She nervously rocked on her sneakered feet. “You don’t have to stay for Vampire Hunting unless you want to.”
Oh, how Beatrice wanted to. At this moment, she didn’t figure that it would be unprofessional, or unorthodox to go to her students' house. At this moment, the only thing that Beatrice did was say yes.