But he could teach a master class in even-toned neutrality.
Jan lowered her voice and stage-whispered, “A song that contains the words, ‘I’ll do you and your brother.’Andit includes...” She paused at such length that even he began to feel a little caught up in the suspense. “...the word ‘breast.’”
Oh, for crying out loud.
Days like these made being a navy SEAL seem definitely easier than being an elementary school principal.
He didn’t so much as twitch an eyelash. Commenting on the appropriate context for use of the wordbreastwas land mine territory.
He benignly regarded Jan while silently consigning her to hell.
Eden cleared her throat. “With all due respect, Jan, Principal Caldera, that isn’t precisely the lyric. The singer of the song—the character Aldonza—says she’ll ‘go with’ you and your brother. Not...doyou and your brother. She never says what she intends to dowiththem. It’s all rather euphemistic and dependent upon context. And the wordbreastis used figuratively—as in she feels hatred in her breast for the men she goes with. She never says that men arefeelingher breasts. Or anything of the sort.”
Gabe’s scalp tightened. He reached for his signed Joe DiMaggio baseball that he kept on a little stand on his desk and hefted its comforting weight once, twice. He tried hard not to think about the last time he’d felt a breast that wasn’t his own.
Eden, he was pretty sure, was masterfully fucking with Jan.
And maybe even with him.
For the sheer entertainment of it.
His yearning, spikylikingfor her dialed up another notch.
“As if afigurativebreast is better!” Jan always stuck to her guns.
This was the kind of tenacity that made her a brilliant asset on the PTA. And a stone-cold pain in the ass in every other way.
“When Annelise asked my mother where the singer intended to ‘go’ with the man and his brother, my mother told her it was to go ride the bumper cars,” Eden offered mildly. “Annelise seemed satisfied with this answer. She loves the bumper cars.”
Gabe bit down hard on his back molars so he wouldn’t laugh.
Eden’s expression seemed innocent. But that glint in her eyes had gotten a little dangerous.
Jan did not look amused.
“Gabe...” Jan leaned forward and slid a hand across the polished wood surface of his desk toward him, almost beseechingly. The sun struck a glint from the big rock in her wedding band. “...you can understand why it makes me wonder whatelseAnnelise Harwood is exposed to and might therefore exposemydaughter to.”
His expression, he knew, didn’t reveal a thing.
But just for an instant a rogue surge of fury stopped his breath.
This was infinitely petty and utterly groundless. While it was true that it was said that no one knew who Annelise’s father was, except, presumably, Eden, Jan’s implication was that even Eden might not know. That Eden Harwood might have “gotten around,” so to speak, and heaven forfend a woman should get around, because that kind of thing could lead to ten-year-olds singing show tunes and other kinds of crimes against morality. Gabe didn’t give a crap about any of that. He sincerely hoped Eden Harwood had thoroughly enjoyed every minute of her life.
Eden was frozen, too.
And then her finger twitched on her handbag.
It occurred to him that she might have kept a tight grip in order to clock Jan Pennington with it should an opportunity arise.
It was time to end this.
He put his baseball back on its stand.
And then he slowly leaned way back in his chair and stretched his arms up casually, leisurely, and crossed his arms behind his head, which made the wall of his chest expand beneath his practical yet manly polo shirt. He smiled warmly, inclusively, with great, chummy affection. “Aw,c’mon, Jan.”
Just like that, Jan visibly melted around the edges like ice cream left in the sun.
“I know you love and worry about your daughter, Jan. As do you, Ms. Harwood. And worry can be this... ever-present free-floating thing—sometimes it just needs something to land on.” He gestured with one hand, as if worry was indeed in the very air around it. Both women tracked it with their eyes. “But in the end, it’s just a song, isn’t it?” he said almost tenderly. “Far, far more controversial songs exist, and Caitlynn’s bound to encounter them one of these days on a car radio or a loudspeaker at the roller rink or who knows where, because no mom, as much as she wants to, can be everywhere. Right? You all work so hard, and you’re so busy as it is and no one can possibly expect you to be omniscient and omnipotent.”