All That Charm: (A Morning Glory Novel Book 3) Page 5

  Pearl blinked three times. “Well, that is a problem. Let me call Sister Regina Marie. Go sit over there.” She pointed to a bench against the foyer wall.

  Eden nodded and shuffled backward, wondering what in the hell had come over her. Maybe all the bad luck had snowballed and smacked her silly. Her mother would have been appalled at her telling private business to a receptionist. Betty Voorhees Smitty might have danced at Club Legz in Jackson and smoked more crack than that Detroit mayor, but she would never tell a stranger her business . . . or how much she had in her checking account (or didn’t, as was the case more times than not). And Eden had come very close to telling Pearl Guillot that she had exactly $953.17 in her checking account.

  Pearl slid the partition closed. Eden picked at her fingernails and thought about bolting toward the door. She could likely find a job at a fast-food joint. Maybe dunking fries in grease would be better than pushing a broom. Or perhaps one of the dance schools might call her back. Or maybe the university would have some work-study programs. Years ago she’d signed up for that. She’d not even thought about—

  “Hello?” a voice said beside her.

  Eden jumped at least half a foot and turned toward the impossibly tall woman with a plain, broad face, painfully short spiked hair, and the kindest smile Eden had ever seen. “Oh. Sorry. I was woolgathering.”

  “Do quite a bit of that, do you?” the woman asked, an Irish lilt in her soft voice.

  “Only when I’m not working,” Eden said.

  “Good answer,” the nun said, her mouth twitching.

  Eden stood. “Hello. I’m Eden Voorhees.”

  “Sister Regina Marie O’Malley. Welcome to All Souls Academy.” She held out a weathered hand.

  Eden took it. For a brief few seconds, Eden felt totally at home. Gone were the panicked thoughts of running for the door. In their place was . . . peace. Which was strange, because by all accounts she should be painfully uncomfortable. After all, she was there to beg—no, inquire—about a job. And just because the woman releasing her hand was a nun didn’t mean she magically transferred well-being in a simple touch.

  “Won’t you follow me to my office? We’ll have more privacy there,” Sister Regina Marie said, turning with purpose down a hall in bad need of a coat of wax. She paused in front of a handsome wood door, waiting like a friendly gargoyle for Eden to enter the office, which was painted a virulent pink.

  Eden winced at the color.

  “I know. It’s shocking, but Madison—whom we lost last year—won the contest to choose the new paint color. She was very fond of pink.”

  “I see,” Eden said, turning around, noting the framed prints of childish scribbles and the very gruesome crucifix above the tall door. “It’s, uh, cheerful?”

  “It’s hideous, but since I despise spending the school’s money more than I care about the paint color, I live with it. Now, tell me how you found us.” Sister Regina Marie sank down into a leather armchair, indicating Eden should sit in the one beside her.

  Pressing trembling hands against her legs, Eden lowered herself onto the cold leather. “I appreciate you seeing me. Mia over at the Earthy Bean suggested I check with you about a job.” Eden folded her hands into her lap and chewed at her lower lip.

  “Mrs. Guillot said something about the school of dance closing.”

  Eden flushed. Her stupid babbling had made her look whiney. She hated being whiney. “Uh, yeah. I was supposed to start today.”

  “You have taught dance before?”

  “Yes, ma’am. For eleven years.”

  “I see,” the nun said, folding her hands before spreading them. “I’m afraid we’re not looking for an instructor, and we’ve already hired someone for janitorial. What other skills might you possess?”

  Eden’s stomach sank, and she tried not to let her disappointment show. Getting a job here was a long shot anyway. Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to clean toilets for less than ten dollars an hour. “That’s okay. I appreciate your seeing me though.”

  The nun tilted her head. “Pardon my manners. Would you care for a cup of tea, dear?”

  “I had three cups of coffee while searching unsuccessfully for a job. I better not.”

  The nun nodded. “So you’re going to school?”

  Time was a wasting, but Aunt Ruby Jean had taught her manners, so she answered the question. “Yes, ma’am. I’m majoring in theatre at UNO.”

  “I can see you’re not fresh out of high school, if you don’t mind my saying. What else did you do in . . . Mississippi, was it?”

  Eden didn’t know why it mattered, but something about the older woman comforted her. She didn’t want to trudge back into the dying day and feel so alone in the big city. The office was warm and cozy even if a violent pink. “Yes, Mississippi. Morning Glory, Mississippi. I worked at a discount store and took care of my mother. Uh, she’s confined to a wheelchair.”

  Gee, she’d almost made a habit of telling strangers her entire bio. And nothing sounded more pathetic than implying she was a martyr taking care of an invalid. Feel bad for me, please.

  “Oh?” Sister Regina Marie shifted forward, her forehead crinkling as her blackbird eyes shone with . . . excitement? “Your mother’s disabled?”

  “Partially paralyzed by a stroke.” No need to bring up the cocaine addiction or alcoholism or pole dancing. “My sister’s taking care of her now. Because I’m in school. Here.”

  “I see,” the nun said, settling back in her chair, her gaze lifting to the gruesome crucifix above the door. The older woman grew still as a puddle after a storm.

  “Well, I should go. Thank you anyway.” Eden started to rise.

  Sister Regina Marie tented her hands but didn’t reply. Eden froze, and after a few seconds she lowered herself back into the chair, not knowing if she should leave or wait for the nun to dismiss her. She didn’t want to be rude when the woman had been nice enough to see her, but she needed to go to the store before it got dark outside.

  Finally the nun smiled. Then she looked at Eden. “I prayed for you. Just fifteen minutes ago, I went to the chapel to pray about a specific situation. And you showed up. I believe in divine intervention. I do believe that you, my dear, are the answer to a prayer.”

  Eden didn’t know what to say. After all, she’d never been the answer to anyone’s prayers. “I’m not sure—”

  “But I am. In fact, I’m certain,” Sister Regina Marie said, slapping a hand on her desk. “Let me show you around the school, and then I have someone I want you to meet.”

  “But I—”

  Sister Regina Marie held up a hand as she rose. “The Lord meets our needs, Miss Voorhees. Do you believe that?”

  Did she? Eden had never been one to wax philosophical about God. Sure, she went to a nondenominational church with her aunt upon occasion, liking that she could wear her blue jeans rather than the stiff skirts and toe-pinching Mary Janes she’d worn when her Gramma Ruth took her to the Pentecostal church. Most Sundays she worked, giving the other manager Delores time to attend church with her family. In her experience, God didn’t bother giving the people who lived on her street what they needed. The state of Mississippi did. And everyone on the sunny side of town with their fresh-painted picket fences complained about the food stamps and social security checks the people on her side of town received. As if people in Grover’s Park enjoyed whipping out the SNAP card or going to the free clinic for Pap smears. So what should she say? Lie to make the nun feel better?

  “I’ve never found that to be the case. I usually provide for myself. No offense, Sister Regina Marie,” Eden said fearing the censure she was certain she’d see in the older woman’s eyes.

  “Oh, so that’s the way of it,” Sister Regina said, a small smile flickering at her mouth. No judgment. “Still, walk with me and talk with me.”

  “And tell me I am your own?” Eden joked. She had, after all, sung many a hymn.

  “Ah, we’ll avoid the garden. Nothing of interest th
ere this time of year, though with your name, perhaps you feel at home there?” the nun said with a chuckle. “I like you, Eden. You are definitely unexpected.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  Eden followed the nun from her office and toured the school, marveling at the lovely gilding of the chapel altar, impressed by the modified gym, the water therapy offered in the indoor pool, and blown away by the classrooms with their specialized desks, whiteboards, and warm décor. All Souls seemed to be a very special school.

  “Well?” Sister Regina Marie said after the tour.

  “It’s a wonderful place.”

  “Indeed it is.” Sister Regina Marie turned and ran a gaze over the stained glass above the bank of hallway windows. “You’re perfect.”

  “I thought you said the job had been filled. I don’t understand.”

  Sister Regina Marie smiled. “That job has been filled, but there is another. If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’ll see if I can make this work . . . because I feel deep in my bones you are here for a reason.”

  The nun moved away, sliding a cell phone from the depths of her skirt. Eden stood, half of her longing to slip out before the nun came back with some crazy religious mission and half of her warmed by the thought that perhaps the universe had brought her where she was meant to be. Since Eden had arrived in New Orleans, she’d felt bereft. Misfortune had rolled in like the thick fog over the Mississippi River, but something about the nun’s assurance that Eden belonged somewhere cleared out a little of the thick grayness. Belonging was what she’d always had in Morning Glory. Belonging was what she longed for even now. Preferably somewhere that wrote her a paycheck every two weeks.

  So she stayed put, pacing back and forth in front of the huge stained glass window, waiting on opportunity, hoping Sister Regina Marie was right.

  Sophie’s teacher Dayna Young seemed to have two reasons for asking Nick to meet with her. One was a very legitimate concern about his daughter’s inability to handle Rhoda’s upcoming departure. The other reason was evident in her coquettish smile, the flirty flipping of her brown hair over her shoulders, and the hungry way she looked at him. He could appreciate the efficiency of killing two birds with one stone and the fact Miss Young had put her best foot forward by wearing a wraparound dress, high-heeled boots, and good bra that displayed her very nice assets.

  When Nick entered All Souls Academy for the parent-teacher conference with Dayna, he pasted his “let’s do business” smile on his face. What he really wanted to do was snarl and stamp his foot. Or perhaps revert to childhood by throwing himself onto the floor and pitching a royal fit. Because life was spinning out of control, and he felt like a toddler who could not get his shoes on his feet.

  But, of course, he was not a child. He was a grown man with too many burdens resting on his shoulders. But that was life. Soldier on as they say. Of course, “they” didn’t have a pissy special-needs daughter, a selfish ex-wife, and an award-winning egomaniacal chef threatening to take his talents to the competition. And a parent-teacher conference at five o’clock in the afternoon. Yippee.

  “Well, looky here. Mr. Nick Zeringue himself,” Pearl Guillot said, setting the purse she’d been poised to tug onto her plump shoulder on her desk. “It’s good to see you, darlin.’”

  “Always good to see you, Miss Pearl.”

  “You know, my son and I went to your place down on Poydras. The crawfish au gratin was almost as good as my mama’s.”

  And that was the highest compliment ever paid by any New Orleanian. “Glad to hear it, and don’t forget I want to buy your mama’s cookie recipe. Best shortbread I’ve ever had.”

  Pearl tittered. Nothing like flirting with a seventy-three-year-old school secretary to ensure his tin of Christmas cookies each year. She also slipped him some of the pastries she made for Saint Joseph’s Altar each year. No one was more authentic New Orleans than native-born, Italian-descended Pearl Caruso Guillot. She could cook anyone under the table, including some of the chefs at his five-star restaurants. Okay, not exactly, but there was something about cooking old school the way Miss Pearl did that satisfied the belly and the soul.

  “You know my mama would tan my hide if I gave out her secret family recipe. Well, if she were still alive, God rest her soul,” Pearl said, ringing him through to the inner office.

  “I would never comprise a mother-daughter relationship even beyond the grave,” he said with a smile. “I’m here to see Ms. Young.”

  “Go on down. Dayna should be in her room. She always stays too long. I worry about her. It gets dark around five thirty, and that’s no time for a woman to be running around this city alone. I gave her pepper spray for Christmas, and she looked at me like I’d sprouted horns. Young people,” she said with disgust.

  Nick decided not to touch that one and started down the empty hall toward his daughter’s classroom. All Souls was housed in a 1920s building owned by the Archdiocese of New Orleans that had been damaged in Hurricane Katrina. Thanks to several grants and the hard work of the Dominican Order, All Souls had opened six years ago as a school for children with special needs, including developmental, emotional, and physical disabilities. With a forward-thinking, progressive model for educating those students who have special challenges, All Souls had been the perfect place for Sophie. With only six to eight students per class, there was ample space for maneuvering wheelchairs and walkers, and the modified student desks were clustered to promote communication. He’d never experienced a more caring, encompassing place. In fact, every time he entered the historic old building with its cheerful courtyard and mullioned windows casting whimsy onto the hallways, he got a lump in his throat. It was . . . a special place.

  And now he sat on a straight-backed chair in the middle of the welcoming classroom, Dayna Young’s perfume tickling his nose. Her dark hair was perfectly parted and pulled into a low ponytail, and her makeup was flawless. She didn’t look like a teacher for special-needs children, but rather a young executive. Or a real estate agent.

  Dayna opened her laptop. “I know you’ve been dealing with some issues. Sister Regina Marie told me as soon as she learned about Rhoda.”

  “Yeah, Rhoda’s in love.” He put air quotes around “love,” which drew a smile from Dayna.

  “Terrible, isn’t it? A fatal disease.” Her brown eyes crinkled around the edges. Leaning forward, she clasped the hand he’d rested on the edge of the desk. It was a bold move. One he could appreciate because her dress was low-cut. And since he’d been celibate for the past few months, he noticed. Really noticed. “Sophie’s not doing well with this change as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  Dayna knew how to play the attraction game well because she gave his hand a companionable squeeze before releasing it and settling back in her chair. She’d recently glossed her lips, and everything about her was open. If he suggested coffee, she’d pack up her purse. If he suggested dinner, she’d slip into some heels, and if he suggested going straight to bed, she’d unzip her dress. Whatever he wanted. That’s how she made him feel.

  “Nick?”

  He mentally shook himself. “I know, Dayna. I know. I’m working on it.”

  “How can I help you, Nick?” Dayna asked, turning over the manicured hands that had cupped the chair arms. “I want to help Sophie, but I’m here for you too. Being a single parent of a special-needs child is hard. You need help and I’m willing to give that to you, but I need to better know the situation. Have you had any luck in finding a replacement? She needs a caregiver who—”

  “I’m her caregiver, Dayna,” he interrupted.

  Dayna made an apologetic face. “You know what I mean, Nick. Rhoda’s leaving in a week.”

  So she wanted to tell him something he didn’t know? The panicky feeling in his gut intensified. “Well, you can help by giving me some candidates. Do you know someone who might need part-time work? Because I need someone who will deliver the perfect balance of love and discipline. Someone strong enough to lift my daughte
r from the bathtub but soft enough to plait her Barbie’s hair. Someone who loves her, who doesn’t mind mopping up her messes, and can deal with constant Justin Bieber and Taylor Swift music. And most importantly, someone Sophie likes enough to stop acting like a farthead. Because that would solve everything.”

  Dayna gave a small laugh. “Farthead? Not the most technical of terms, but an apt description of Sophie’s behavior these past few weeks.”

  Nick smiled. “Sorry. I’m at my breaking point.”

  Dayna stood and walked around the desk. “I know, Nick. You’re a good parent, and we’ll figure this out.” She set a hand on his shoulder, and her hip brushed his bicep. How easy would it be to pull her to him and find comfort in the arms of what seemed to be a very willing woman? Would it be so wrong to find a reprieve from the hard reality of his current situation? He needed to lose himself in something good, and hot sex with an attractive woman on her sturdy-looking desk qualified as something very good.

  But this very attractive and seemingly willing woman was his daughter’s teacher, and he couldn’t go there. Much too complicated.

  Nick knocked the lights out of the temptation that flared inside him. Then he stood. Dayna’s hand fell away. “I appreciate it, Dayna. Can you give me an idea of what she’s doing here so I can address it at home? Otherwise, I need to get going. I have to deal with something at a restaurant.”

  When he met her gaze, he saw the disappointment. Her touch was an invitation, and he’d tossed it aside unread.

  “Of course. Let me grab her folder and we’ll go over her Individualized Education Program and see what modifications might need to be made for a situation such as this.”

  Nick resettled himself in the chair, and for the next ten minutes tried to think about how he could help his daughter instead of how he could run from his life. He needed a vacation. A getaway. A wife. A cure for cerebral palsy.

  Or just a good nanny for Sophie.

  He’d settle for that.

  Just as he was about to leave, Sister Regina Marie knocked on the door. “Hope you don’t mind my interrupting.”