Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK by Betsy St. Amant Page A

as their hands lingered in each other’s polite grip.
    Dad looked down then quickly shoved his hands in his pockets. “Kathy. It’s—it’s been a long time.”
    I nearly choked on my brownie. Did Dad just stutter?
    “A very long time.” Ms. Hawthorne looked as if she wanted to say more, but she glanced at me and stopped. “How are those brownies, Addison? I debated for an hour on whether or not to put nuts on them.”
    “They’re good. I’m not a big fan of nuts,” I mumbled around my bite, still confused. What had just happened? I swallowed, my mouth mushy, and I wished I had a glass of milk instead of sour lemonade in my paper cup. “You two know each other?”
    “In high school. Decades ago.” Dad’s composure had somewhat returned now, his previous discomfort replaced with what I’d recognized over the years as his “pastoral smile.” The role of shepherd leading a flock, not one of flesh-and-blood man with any proof of a life lived previous to his ordination. I resented that mask, though I understood it.
    It just stank that he wore it so often with me.
    The remaining brownie turned to sawdust in my mouth, and I washed it down with a swig of lemonade. “Small world.”
    Ms. Hawthorne still looked caught off guard. Guess high school English teachers didn’t have readily accessible masksto don. “It’s good to see you again, David. What are you doing these days?”
    I turned my back to them, feigning interest in the brownie pan. I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but it wasn’t like I had anywhere to go. Besides, I wasn’t stupid. Obviously Ms. Hawthorne and Dad had dated in high school, hence the awkward factor radiating between them like UV rays from a tanning bed.
    “I’m the pastor at Crooked Hollow Church of Grace.” Dad still had his hands in his pockets, and now he was jingling his change. He was nervous, just trying to hide it. Weird. Rarely did people affect my father like that. During the course of my lifetime, he’d counseled suicidal teens, gone with police to help settle domestic disturbances, and put up with more drama from the stuck-in-the-mud blue-haired women of the church than anyone should be subjected to. Why did a blast from his high school past shake him so badly?
    “That’s right, I’ve seen your name on the sign. Lovely church.” Ms. Hawthorne smiled, relaxing back into the confident teacher I knew. She rested her weight against her desk, kicking one booted foot out from under the folds of her ankle-length skirt. Brown leather today, with ruched tops. I couldn’t help admiring them, even while crunching on a second brownie.
    “Thank you. And I suppose it’s obvious what you’re up to lately.” Dad gestured to the classroom, and Ms. Hawthorne giggled.
    Oh, this wasn’t good. I sidled back up to Dad’s side, hoping my imminent presence would curb any potential flirting before it happened. “Great brownies.” I smiled, hoping I hadn’t left chocolate in my teeth—but really, if I had, it served them right to look at it.
    Other families started to filter in, including Luke and whathad to be his parents. I returned his wave and tugged at Dad’s arm. “We better get a seat.” And get this nightmare of an evening over with. At least it appeared Claire hadn’t bothered to show up with her mom. That would be the only way the night could get worse. Oh yikes, I hadn’t even thought about the possibility of Austin showing up. Better take that back. I cast a nervous glance at the door. Surely he wouldn’t act a fool in front of my dad. But with Austin, one never knew. “Come on, Dad.”
    “Yes, please have a seat.” Ms. Hawthorne motioned us toward the front row of desks. “But I have to say first, David, I’m so proud of Addison and am truly looking forward to having her in my class this year. She’s a breath of fresh air for a new teacher trying to learn the ropes.” Ms. Hawthorne gave me a little wink.
    I fought back a snort. Like she needed any fresh air. The