For the Sake of the Children. Cynthia Reese
“Your airway. I need to be sure it’s not swelling.”
“I’m not—oh, okay.” He complied, feeling silly. The click off of the penlight told him she was satisfied with her exam.
“A dose of Benadryl and you’re good.” Dana presented him with several petal-pink tablets. “Sorry. Only have the chewables. They’re berry-flavored, but they’ll do the job.”
He chomped on the sugary-tart tablets. “You’re terrific at this.”
Dana laughed and began cleaning up. “I’d hope so. Why? You have doubts about my ability?”
“No, but you said it yourself. That first day we met.”
Her face colored. “Great way to inspire confidence in your boss, huh?”
“It’s okay. From what I saw out in the school yard there, I have no doubts we hired the right nurse. Nell wouldn’t have climbed up there after a kid, and if we’d waited on Harrison, Miss Jakayla would have been stung about a dozen times by now.”
“All part of a day’s work.” Dana rose and crossed to the sink, where she began scrubbing the tweezers.
“Well, it shouldn’t have been. Harrison has to keep a closer eye on the playground equipment. If that child had fallen and broken an arm or her leg or—God forbid—her neck, her parents could have sent our liability rates through the roof.”
Dana’s back stiffened. “Ah. More lawsuit paranoia. And I thought you actually cared about Jakayla. But it’s like the mold, isn’t it? Some parent might sue.”
Patrick rose to his feet, his hand hurting like crazy. “You make it sound as though we’re heartless. But we’ve done all we can, I assure you. Once we found the mold—and God knows how long it had been there undetected—we moved rapidly to get it abated. We called in crews to do the work—hell, I got in there myself. I wanted the job done this summer, before school opened.”
“But you’re still worried. Or else you wouldn’t be insisting on this neurotic testing slate.” She shook water droplets off the tweezers and faced him. “Your whole testing regime is positively phobic, especially when these tests, without a good baseline from the children’s doctors, are practically useless.”
“Of course I’m still worried. Only an idiot wouldn’t be. I had three choices, Dana. I could hire a professional mold abatement company. Now, that’s a racket—the cheapest one wanted a half-million dollars! Or I could put in mobile units—figure two hundred grand there. Or we could do the best job we could ourselves for about sixty thousand dollars.” He blew out a long breath. “We’re a small, rural school in one of the poorest counties in Georgia. So I didn’t have much choice at all.”
“Why not go with the mobile units?” she asked. “Surely that would have been the better solution.”
“No. Because for one thing, we’d have to pay big bucks for a lunchroom-size unit, or use several smaller ones, instead. Plus, from a health standpoint, a lot of area schools have had health complaints from students when they do put in mobile units for classrooms, and we get severe weather here in the spring. We’re at risk for tornadoes off any hurricane that might hit. What’s more, I can put that spare hundred forty thousand in the bank toward a brand-spanking new school, which would solve all our problems.”
Had anything he’d said sunk in? He couldn’t tell. Dana twirled the tweezers in her fingers absently.
“Funds for school facilities are limited,” he continued
“Why not build the school now? This building is old. Sure, it’s been renovated, but—”
Patrick scoffed and pushed the chair back into its place. “Because I had no other choice. We just don’t have the money, not without going to the taxpayers with a hefty tax increase.”
“Do it. Ask them. I’ll back you up. I’ll explain how the mold endangers—”
“No! I do not want to start a panic. You have no idea what you’re suggesting. Talking about this would be like crying ‘Fire!’ in a crowded theater.”
He could deduce from her stubborn expression that she just didn’t get this at all. “Look,” he said, modulating his tone. “If a parent asks, give them the truth. I’m not saying cover anything up. But I’m suggesting that we simply don’t volunteer the information.”
“Uh-huh.” Her voice was flat, the tweezers in her fingers still.
“Let’s hear it from your point of view. What good would it do to sound the alert? Since we have no funds to do anything else beyond what we’ve done.” He splayed his hands. “I’m open to suggestion.”
Now the tweezers beat out a rhythm against the palm of Dana’s hand. “An informed parent is always the one less likely to sue,” she noted. “And suing is what you’re actually worried about.”
“No, it’s not. At least, not the only thing. And I’m insulted that you think that about me. I have two daughters myself.” Patrick found the clinic too small to get a decent pacing going, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. “You met them. You believe I don’t understand the concerns of the average parent?”
“Then think like one!” She pushed from the counter and stood toe to toe in front of him, blocking his pacing. “Remember, these parents don’t have all the information they need to decide whether their kids should attend this school.”
She was so close to him that he caught her scent. Some sort of fruit? Peaches. It was peaches. He shut his eyes and swallowed, trying hard to focus on her words. If he could just focus on the mold issue and not on what scent she wore, he could defend his reasoning.
“That might make a difference in Savannah, where there’s more than one elementary school, but not here,” Patrick stated. “We’re the only game in town, and most of our parents can’t afford transportation and tuition costs to another school.”
“Shouldn’t this school system be offering to help with that?”
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and his hand throbbed even more. How could she look so sweet and say things that scared the crap out of him?
“We’re fully prepared to offer…” Damn. That peaches smell again. He blinked and stepped back. Better. Much better. He could think now. “If you feel we should offer the asthmatic children that option—”
Demon woman that she was, she stepped closer to him again, intent on driving home her point—or driving him insane. “Relax. I was just wondering if that responsibility had completely escaped you.” She appeared yet more disappointed in him than earlier, if that was possible, and that it bothered him confused him even more. “In the long run, it would be cheaper to buy mobile units. At least you’d get them paid for. Transportation and tuition costs are never ending.”
He made an effort to move back to escape her nearness, but the edge of the exam table jabbed into his left kidney.
“You know, you’re talking to the wrong person. I’m only one vote, and most of the time I’m just a tiebreaker. If you’re so passionate about this—” Suddenly the word passionate and the smell of peaches together in Patrick’s overheated brain induced a three-second fantasy about whether she’d taste as good as she smelled.
She didn’t back down. “I am passionate about this. If you’re just the tiebreaker, I need to be talking to the board. When’s the next meeting? I want to be there.”
Man, had he ever muffed this. Either way, whether he said yes or no, he was a big-time loser in this proposition.
“It’s tomorrow night. We meet once a month. I’ll add you to the agenda.” With that, he fled the hypnotic effect of the smell of peaches.
T UESDAY NIGHT FOUND Dana a bundle of nerves. She was never good at public speaking, not since