Storm Surge by J.D. Rhoades Page B

“Well. Yeah.”
    Sharon didn’t
have time to process the strangeness of it all. Glory stomped out of her room,
looking sulky. She was dressed in a white blouse that was buttoned
ostentatiously up to the neck.
    “Better?” she
said, nearly sneering.
    “Much,” Sharon
said. “Now come on. We’re going to be late.”
    On the drive
to St. Anthony’s Day School, Sharon mulled over what she’d seen in Max’s face.
Just when she thought she was getting to know him, another person would surface
briefly. She made up her mind that, once she got her car back, she’d keep a
distance between them. It was hard to totally avoid someone in a place as small
as Pass Island, so she’d be civil to him. But that was all.
    St. Anthony’s
was regarded as one of the better church-run private schools in the state, and
the immaculate condition of the grounds and the ivy-covered stone buildings
scattered across them was impressive. The place looked more like a small
private college than a high school. Max parked the truck in the lot next to the
only building on campus that seemed to be open, a large brightly lit structure
that looked like a small cathedral.
    “I guess I
ought to wait here,” Max said. “I’m not exactly dressed for this.”
    Once again,
Sharon was torn. He was right. In his jeans, work shirt, and ball cap, Max
would stick out like a sore thumb among the well-dressed people she saw filing
into the building. For that matter, she felt underdressed herself, even though
she was wearing one of her best conservative dresses. But
again, something in her rebelled at treating a co-worker like a servant, even
if she couldn’t quite figure him out.
    “No way,” she
said. She didn’t have to look; she could almost feel Glory looking daggers at
her. “Come on.”
    The initial
orientation was a long series of boring speeches in the school’s chapel, most
of which Glory fidgeted and sighed her way through. Max sat calmly, hat on his
lap, looking straight ahead. Sharon tried to pay attention, but found that her
thoughts kept drifting away.
    After the
speeches, there was a reception in the hall behind the chapel. The place was
crowded and noisy, and Sharon lost track of Max as she met and chatted with the
teachers who Glory would have in the upcoming year. Glory slouched beside her
and answered their bright, cheerful questions in monosyllables. The teachers
seemed to take it in stride, for which Sharon was grateful. She was brought up
short, however, when the art teacher, a bubbly redhead, gushed how interesting
it must be for Sharon to be in the restaurant business.
    “What?” Sharon
asked.
    “Your
friend. Mr. Chase.
He said you were in the restaurant business. Which
restaurant?”
    “ Ahhh …the Pass Island Resort,” Sharon said. She caught a
glimpse of Max as the art teacher babbled on. He was in the middle of a group
of perfectly coiffed and made-up women, smiling and chatting easily. Well, he certainly got over being shy ,
she thought with a stab of irritation.
    Finally, the
reception ended. She took Glory in tow and caught up with Max at the door. She
didn’t speak to him, but walked right past him out the door. She heard him fall
in behind her, his long legs catching him up easily.
    “Why did you
tell people that?” she asked when they were out of earshot.
    “Tell them
what?”
    “That I owned
a restaurant?”
    Max chuckled.
“I didn’t tell them you owned a restaurant. I told them you were in the
restaurant business. They assumed the rest.”
    “You think
it’s funny?” she demanded. He didn’t answer.
    “I’m not
ashamed of what I do, Max,” she said. “I’m not ashamed of who I am.”
    His smile
vanished. “Neither am I,” he said.
    They passed
the ride home in silence, with Sharon fuming, Glory sulking, and Max driving.
The first time they spoke was when they got to the trailer.
    “Still need a
ride tomorrow?” Max said.
    “Yeah.”
    “Ferry leaves
at 9:00. I’ll pick you up at