Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1), Babette Jongh [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

for class. Their harried parents rushed in and out, hoofing it from point A to point B and back again. “Kids are hard work.”

Ben sighed. “I had no idea.”

I patted his shoulder. “I’m sure Melody would be gratified to hear you say that.”

“I didn’t give her enough credit. Even though she didn’t work—”

“Hey, Buster, she worked, she just didn’t get a paycheck.”

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I know Melody worked hard. That’s exactly what I’m saying, isn’t it?” Ben put an arm around me and leaned his head against mine, heedless of the roomful of kids and the few parents who still hadn’t left. “How did this conversation get away from my complaints about being overworked and under-appreciated?”

“I’m sorry. I know you’ve got it rough, just like every other parent in the world.”

“If I could just have one day a week off. One afternoon. A few hours. Anything.”

The guilt-monster struck again. I could help Ben. It would mean giving up my Friday afternoons, but how could I refuse? I owed it to Mel, and maybe I owed it to Ben, too. “You mean,” I asked, “if I pick up your kids from school every Friday, and keep them till dinnertime, I won’t have to listen to you whine?”

“I’d be your slave forever.” He looked so sincere, I worried that he might drop to his knees in front of me, but thankfully, he didn’t.

“Okay, done deal. Tell Amy’s school I’ll pick her up at noon on Fridays. We’ll spend a little time together and then pick up the big kids, and you can catch up on work, or sleep, or whatever you need to catch up on.”

“Thanks, Angel. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. Now get out of here. I have a class to teach.” I turned back to my class, shaking off the bittersweet realization that life had gone on, even with Melody’s family.

Only a few girls were here, their pointe shoe paraphernalia littering the floor. “Where is everybody?”

Keely, a carrot-topped munchkin of a girl, looked up from ribbon-tying, her snub nose wrinkling. “Parent-teacher meetings. They’ll be a few minutes late.”

“Okay. I’ll find some fun music for us to warm up to while we wait.” While I scrolled through my iPod for inspiration, I glanced around and noticed Maryann’s ballet bag sitting by the door. She’d sent Ben for the backpack because she needed it to do her homework, but she hadn’t mentioned the dance bag, and probably wouldn’t think about it till next week. I grabbed it up and headed out the door. If I hurried, I could catch Ben before he left. “Y’all get your shoes on. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I started down the long, narrow staircase. Loud, masculine voices carried up the stairwell on a draft of cold air.

“What the hell is your problem?”

I recognized Ian’s pissed-off Scottish accent.

“You’re my problem!”

I couldn’t mistake Ben’s voice, either, not at that decibel. I doubled my pace down the stairs.

“How the hell am I your problem?” Ian’s Scottish burr was getting thicker by the second.

“You’ve got a hell of a nerve,” Ben yelled, “taking advantage of Casey when you know how much she’s been through.”

“You’re the one using Casey,” Ian roared. “She’s not free labor. She’s not your kids’ mother, and she’s not their nursemaid, either. Have you thought of hiring somebody instead of calling her every time you need bailing out?”

“What Casey is to me or my kids is none of your damn business.”

Lord God. Any minute they’d be punching each other. Right outside my studio. With more students due to arrive any second. I galloped down to street level.

Even the clattering echo of my wooden-soled winter clogs on the metal stairs didn’t drown out Ben’s voice. “Hurt her again, and you’ll answer to me.”

I made it onto the sidewalk in time to see Ian grab Ben by the collar. “Keep treating her like your personal servant, and I’ll shove your teeth out your arshole.” He released Ben with just a little force. Ben stumbled back, then leaped forward.

“Stop it!” I got between them and grabbed Ian’s arm. He shook me off, a barely-noticed mosquito. I put my butt into Ian’s crotch and shoved backward. I hurled Maryann’s ballet bag at Ben. He had no choice but to catch it before it hit his face. “You’re both acting like children.”

A car pulled up to the curb, and a girl hopped out, swinging her ballet bag over her shoulder. “Hi, Mr. Hansen,” she greeted Ben on her way up the stairs. “I’m late!” The girl’s mother leaned across the seat to wave, then drove away, apparently too distracted to notice the imminent fight.

“Ben, go home to your kids.”

Ben stalked toward his car, stiff-legged as a cur dog. Of course, just like a man, he had to toss the last word over his shoulder at Ian. “You stay away from Casey.”

“The hell I will.” Ian walked to his own car without even looking at me. “The hell I will.”

*

On Friday, Lizzie and I took Amy to McDonald’s then back to my house, where the three of us snuggled on the couch and watched cartoons until Amy fell asleep. She napped until it was time to pick up Jake and Maryann at school. Leaving Lizzie at home, the kids and I went straight from the school to the local movie theatre for the Friday Matinee. Free to kids twelve and under—the cinema made their money on concessions—this week’s movie was a rerun of Disney’s Happy Feet. In spite of my desire to support the community, I doubted the cleanliness of the soda fountain and popcorn machine, so I smuggled our own snacks in my biggest handbag.

Waiting in line to give money for my ticket and to show Jake and Maryann’s school IDs to the gum-popping ticket taker, we shivered in our sweaters and light jackets.

“I’m cold,” Amy whined. “Hold me. I’m tired of standing here.”

“Okay, sweetie.” I hitched Amy onto my hip, glad of her warmth and the