what she would explain.
The principal examined the sleeping boy through narrowed eyes. “An elementary student? Isn’t this the middle school health office?”
“Leila got called at lunch. He wasn’t feeling well.” Diane paused. “She was distraught about missing this class, so I told her I’d watch him until she was done.”
Evelyn Hanson nodded, her expression blank.
“She doesn’t know anyone—” Diane started.
The principal held up a hand. “I’m not concerned about that.” She folded her arms and regarded Diane.
Diane ran one hand through her straight chin-length hair. School nurses might not wear uniforms and starched caps anymore, but she still looked professional enough. She’d pressed her oxford shirt and paired it with a pair of fitted black slacks. She had on mascara and blush. Then she remembered, inspired by the season’s warming temperatures, she’d let her daughter polish her toenails. The “Call Me Candy” pink looked so, well, sexy, she slipped on strappy sandals that morning instead of her regular clogs. Was that what had caught Evelyn’s attention?
With a casual move, she shifted the folds of the fleece to cover her toes.
“How is your mother doing with the new hip?” Evelyn interrogated.
“Hard to say.” Diane shook her head. “The medication manages the pain. But the surgery was two weeks ago, and she still isn’t up much, even with her cane.” She shifted, bracing her back with a hand. “And she’s not driving.”
“Loss of mobility is very difficult.”
Diane pressed her lips together, studying a scratch on the floor. “I’m more worried about her loss of interest in everything. Friends. Knitting. Her TV shows.”
“You’ve been at her apartment nonstop.”
“She’s my mother. I’m a nurse.” Diane gave the principal a crooked smile and shrugged. “That’s what we do.”
“Right.” Evelyn stared at Diane.
Diane steeled herself against a gaze the students knew too well.
“Make some changes in your own life to adjust to this milestone.”
“Milestone?” Diane furrowed her brow.
“Your pillar of stability has become a depressed dependent.”
Why had Diane respected Evelyn’s frankness?
Evelyn raised an index finger. ”You could start by not helping everyone who asks. Leila could have taken him home. We’d have managed.”
The principal walked over to Diane’s planter to groom the brown leaves and dead flowers from the dying begonias.
Diane grimaced and stood, draping the throw over Leila’s son.
Evelyn dropped the dead plant material into a nearby wastebasket. It hit the bottom with a dull thud. “If you need anything, Diane, I’m here.”
Sudden moisture in her eyes, Diane blinked. “Thank you. I’m fine.”
Evelyn gave Diane a long look, and left the office.
Plucking a tissue from the box, Diane mopped the spittle draining down the side of her young patient’s chin.
“Hey, Diane.”
She stilled for a moment, the husky male voice obliterating every other awareness. Wet tissue in hand, she turned.
Her dark-haired daydream stood leaning against the door jamb of her office. A frisson of response at seeing him live in the flesh leaped through her. “Hey, Marc,” she said in a stage whisper. Raising a hand, she stepped toward her desk. “Come on in.”
Walking toward her, Marc beamed a smile that spread over her like the new floodlights on the football field. Her pulse kicked up.
His gaze centered on the sleeping boy, and he stopped.
“It’s okay.” She gestured him in again and, incapable of concealing her pleasure, shot him a wide smile.
He stepped closer.
She caught his irresistible scent—fresh, outdoorsy, a hint of lime. She took another breath, keeping her chest still so he couldn’t tell. If only she had a student file or something to occupy her hands. Was something developing between them? Or was this organic awareness of Marc’s every move simply a reaction to his jaunty new outlook on life? She wished
The principal examined the sleeping boy through narrowed eyes. “An elementary student? Isn’t this the middle school health office?”
“Leila got called at lunch. He wasn’t feeling well.” Diane paused. “She was distraught about missing this class, so I told her I’d watch him until she was done.”
Evelyn Hanson nodded, her expression blank.
“She doesn’t know anyone—” Diane started.
The principal held up a hand. “I’m not concerned about that.” She folded her arms and regarded Diane.
Diane ran one hand through her straight chin-length hair. School nurses might not wear uniforms and starched caps anymore, but she still looked professional enough. She’d pressed her oxford shirt and paired it with a pair of fitted black slacks. She had on mascara and blush. Then she remembered, inspired by the season’s warming temperatures, she’d let her daughter polish her toenails. The “Call Me Candy” pink looked so, well, sexy, she slipped on strappy sandals that morning instead of her regular clogs. Was that what had caught Evelyn’s attention?
With a casual move, she shifted the folds of the fleece to cover her toes.
“How is your mother doing with the new hip?” Evelyn interrogated.
“Hard to say.” Diane shook her head. “The medication manages the pain. But the surgery was two weeks ago, and she still isn’t up much, even with her cane.” She shifted, bracing her back with a hand. “And she’s not driving.”
“Loss of mobility is very difficult.”
Diane pressed her lips together, studying a scratch on the floor. “I’m more worried about her loss of interest in everything. Friends. Knitting. Her TV shows.”
“You’ve been at her apartment nonstop.”
“She’s my mother. I’m a nurse.” Diane gave the principal a crooked smile and shrugged. “That’s what we do.”
“Right.” Evelyn stared at Diane.
Diane steeled herself against a gaze the students knew too well.
“Make some changes in your own life to adjust to this milestone.”
“Milestone?” Diane furrowed her brow.
“Your pillar of stability has become a depressed dependent.”
Why had Diane respected Evelyn’s frankness?
Evelyn raised an index finger. ”You could start by not helping everyone who asks. Leila could have taken him home. We’d have managed.”
The principal walked over to Diane’s planter to groom the brown leaves and dead flowers from the dying begonias.
Diane grimaced and stood, draping the throw over Leila’s son.
Evelyn dropped the dead plant material into a nearby wastebasket. It hit the bottom with a dull thud. “If you need anything, Diane, I’m here.”
Sudden moisture in her eyes, Diane blinked. “Thank you. I’m fine.”
Evelyn gave Diane a long look, and left the office.
Plucking a tissue from the box, Diane mopped the spittle draining down the side of her young patient’s chin.
“Hey, Diane.”
She stilled for a moment, the husky male voice obliterating every other awareness. Wet tissue in hand, she turned.
Her dark-haired daydream stood leaning against the door jamb of her office. A frisson of response at seeing him live in the flesh leaped through her. “Hey, Marc,” she said in a stage whisper. Raising a hand, she stepped toward her desk. “Come on in.”
Walking toward her, Marc beamed a smile that spread over her like the new floodlights on the football field. Her pulse kicked up.
His gaze centered on the sleeping boy, and he stopped.
“It’s okay.” She gestured him in again and, incapable of concealing her pleasure, shot him a wide smile.
He stepped closer.
She caught his irresistible scent—fresh, outdoorsy, a hint of lime. She took another breath, keeping her chest still so he couldn’t tell. If only she had a student file or something to occupy her hands. Was something developing between them? Or was this organic awareness of Marc’s every move simply a reaction to his jaunty new outlook on life? She wished
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