Molly - Sarah Monzon Page 0,3

had been in my head. That I was barely holding it together as the sweet reminders of what I’d lost stared at me from their places on the cinderblock walls.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your meeting. I hope you know that.” There seemed to be an edge of remorse to his baritone voice.

The thin, optimistic thread that he hadn’t witnessed me getting fired severed. I hadn’t put much weight on it—and good thing too, or I would be flat on my face after the swift kick in the pants Mrs. Bardowski delivered.

“But did you really explain to a preschooler what a tampon is?”

My gaze snapped up to his eyes. Not a trace of laughter on my account. No hint of censure for a perceived lack of common sense. I wasn’t sure, but he seemed to be waiting. Almost on bated breath. Willing me to confirm that what he’d overheard was correct.

But, why?

“In scientific terms?” he pressed.

“Yes?” I’m not sure why my answer came out as a question except that I hadn’t pieced together what any of this had to do with him.

“And you were fired? You are, in fact, now seeking employment?”

Well, he didn’t have to sound all happy about it and rub it in my face. I pulled the strap of my bag up over my shoulder and crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Don’t you have a meeting with Mrs. Bardowski? She hates to be kept waiting, you know.”

His lips tipped in a grin, flashing a set of dimples that had been hiding behind his scruff. “Yes, I know. But a moment more of your time and I think she’ll be quite pleased. With me, at least.”

Was that a jab? Was he teasing me and making light of the fact Mrs. Bardowski was not “quite pleased” with me? I narrowed my eyes, and my lips puckered like I had just tasted a sour lemon.

“Oh.” His small smile vanished. “Don’t look at me like that.” The glimmer of hope that I had detected fled, replaced with a tired, haggard expression. Almost like one beaten. Certainly, like one desperate.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t have met under different circumstances, Dr. Reed.” I turned on my heel, eyes down lest more of my students’ proudly displayed projects pricked at my aching heart.

“Wait!” The good-looking doctor’s voice sounded frantic behind me. “I need you, Miss Osbourne.”

2

Ben

I’d beg if I had to. Down on both knees, hands clasped together. Bring on the humble pie. I’d feast on it, though it choke me, and then ask for more. Anything to not see the golden opportunity before me walk through those glass doors.

Miss Osbourne—Molly, I’d overheard Mrs. Bardowski call her, though that name didn’t sound as familiar to me as Miss Osbourne. For crying out loud, I’d been hearing “Miss Osbourne this” and “Miss Osbourne that” from Chloe for the last few months—so much so that if the assistant teacher’s name and number hadn’t been on the school’s contact information I might have grown suspicious that the woman was more a figment of my daughter’s imagination than a real person. No one could be that perfect. Not even Chloe’s past make-believe mothers had been.

And if the events of the last dozen minutes or so proved anything, no one was. A perfect person didn’t get let go from their job. Not for something so wholly within their power to do or not do. Although, truth be told, I wasn’t sure I agreed with Mrs. Bardowski’s assessment. Sounded like Miss Osbourne conveyed scientific facts about the human body. As a medical resident and a parent, I didn’t find anything objectionable in her actions.

But that was neither here nor there. Faultless or not, didn’t matter. All that mattered was the undeniable truth that she was exactly who I needed. For Chloe.

If she said no…

Whatever adrenaline I’d been running on for the last eighteen hours to make it through my shift at the hospital drained from my body faster than Carlos Martinez could throw a ball over home plate at Stampeders stadium.

If my situation were a baseball game, I’d be bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, scoreboard all tied up, and in need of a pitch hit from Miss Osbourne. Everything rode on her willingness to come to bat. Otherwise I’d be forced to throw in the towel. Mrs. Bardowski was ready to evict me from the game all together. Too many fouls in her playbook, according to her. But I wasn’t playing for a trophy at the