Search Ebook here:


A Spanish Sunrise by Boo Walker



A Spanish Sunrise by Boo Walker PDF

Author: Boo Walker

Publisher: Lake Union Publishing

Genres:

Publish Date: August 16, 2022

ISBN-10: 1542037921

Pages: 367

File Type: Epub, PDF

Language: English

read download

Book Preface

Baxter Shaw’s fear that he had failed as a father gnawed at him as he pushed open the door to his daughter’s classroom. Finding it empty, he called out over the drumming of the rain on the roof, “Hello? Anyone here?” Only twenty minutes earlier, Mia’s teacher Ms. Mecca had called and asked to see him, so he knew he was expected. Mia had apparently hit another student.

Assuming Ms. Mecca would be there momentarily, he walked to the windows overlooking the playground and watched the rain fall, his mind running rampant with thoughts of where he’d gone wrong. Was there anything more painful than knowing that your eight-year-old was struggling and that you were not only responsible but also unequipped to help? His little Mia, the sweetest girl in the world, a budding chess maven, a homemade jewelry and origami enthusiast, the inventor of the forever puppy, still with a closetful of princess gowns . . . hurting another student. How had it come to this?

He didn’t want to think it possible that his daughter would do such a thing, but he knew better. Her behavior had been on a downslide for the last six weeks or so, since late August, and he couldn’t figure it out. That was when the nightmares had started, too, these visions she was having of her mother. Of course it was all related.

Sure, Mia had every reason to be struggling, but with the power of passing time, the work she had done with her therapist, and Baxter’s efforts to entomb the memories of the past, he had thought they’d broken through the worst of it.

But the horror of what had occurred three years ago had sent them into a tailspin from which he’d begun to worry they would never recover. He’d given up everything to dedicate his life to her, leaving his band and tossing away the only aspiration he’d ever had, but it hadn’t been enough. What else was there then? What else could he give?

What he knew and what kept him up at night was that he should have given up his dreams the moment he’d met Mia’s mother, Sofia—not the moment he’d lost her.

“Hi, Mr. Shaw,” Ms. Mecca said, entering the room. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Baxter spun around to greet her. “Hey there.”

She had a wonderful and warm smile that always allayed some of Baxter’s worry. What was it, the fourth time in six weeks they’d met like this? Every time he saw her, he thought the same thing: thank God Mia had someone like Ms. Mecca, because she and Mia’s psychologist were the only positive female figures in her life.

From the moment Baxter had mentioned Mia’s nightmares, Ms. Mecca had jumped into helping—and that was shortly before the behavioral issues had started. In a way, the nightmares had been the omen of things to come. She had even gone out of her way to connect with Mia’s psychologist, and they’d been speaking on a weekly basis since the issues had begun. Their combined efforts were enough to make Baxter tear up.

As they made small talk about the weather, Ms. Mecca dragged two of the students’ small chairs into the middle of the room and encouraged him to take a seat. Baxter’s lengthy torso threatened to snap the little plastic chair at any moment, so he sat as gently as possible and then crossed his arms, bracing himself for what she might have to say.

Mr. Shaw, she could start, pulling off her glasses and glaring at him. No one said it would be easy, but wow. Just wow. This whole father thing just isn’t working out, is it? You’re a chip off the old block, aren’t you? Of course, she didn’t know Baxter’s father.

“I can’t believe she hit another student,” Baxter said. Actually, he kind of could. Mia’s nightmares had led to a lack of sleep, which led to a groggy and often grumpy child who had little interest in getting up in the morning, let alone going to school. Not only had her grades slipped and she’d lost interest in hanging out with her friends, but she was also exhibiting behavioral issues for the first time in her life. It had begun at home with her demeanor: almost instant mood changes, often turning uncharacteristically vicious—at least, little-girl vicious. He’d ask her to clean her room and she’d erupt, saying that she already had. Or he’d ask her to take three more bites of her green beans or bring her plate to the sink, and she’d have a complete meltdown.

Then she’d begun exhibiting issues in class like circle-time disruptions, ignoring Ms. Mecca’s requests, and refusing to do her classwork. Lately, Mia didn’t even want to go to school, but Baxter wouldn’t allow that. What? Was she going to ride around with him in his truck all day?

“I’m so sorry,” Baxter continued. “I signed her up for some self-defense classes over the summer, and they may have gone to her head. I suppose they should have taught her some accompanying restraint. Was it bad?”

“Mia punched the student in the throat. But . . .” Ms. Mecca bit her lip and stared down toward his left arm, as if she were attempting to interpret one of the tattoos that crawled out his sleeve. She finally looked up. “It’s bigger than that, though. Look, Mr. Shaw, I may have made a mistake.” She crossed her arms, as if guarding herself. “In late August, around the time Mia started having her nightmares, we did a family tree exercise. Something I’ve done with my third graders as long as I can remember.”

“Oh boy.” He instantly got an idea of where this was going and felt Mia’s pain so strongly that he wanted to run to find her in the principal’s office and sweep her up into his arms.

“It was just a quick exercise. I didn’t even think about Mia losing her mother. It didn’t come to mind when you mentioned Mia’s nightmares. We draw a tree and populate it with our family, and I do a little genealogy lesson. It wouldn’t have been an issue had another student not said something to Mia that . . . that I think is the root of what she’s going through.”

Baxter dug his fingers into his Levi’s.

She continued, “It only came to my attention today after an altercation with that same student. I had a chat with Mia in my office. I guess she’s been keeping a lot to herself. Apparently, they were still talking about the exercise at recess that day, because this other student said something about how . . .” She paused.

“About?” Baxter said.

“How her mother died.”

At Ms. Mecca’s words, his throat tightened, and he felt as though he were being strangled. He’d told Mia that her mother had died in a car accident.

“She knows now, Mr. Shaw. The other student said something about it again today, and that’s what caused her to lose her temper.”

Baxter felt the strain all over his body. He should have told her. Just as her psychologist had suggested toward the end of her first year of work with Mia, he should have told her. But he’d kept putting it off. What he’d been waiting for he didn’t know. Just a few more days and weeks when she could enjoy a life where such violence didn’t exist.

He blew out a gust of air. “Yikes.” Rubbing his hands together, he wondered why Mia hadn’t said anything. He searched the laces of his caramel boots for an answer, a sign of what to do next. She’d been doing so well, he thought. In fact, they barely talked about Sofia anymore—not since moving to Greenville, away from all the reminders of her mom in Charleston.

“I know it’s a lot,” Ms. Mecca said, “and I’m really s—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Baxter interrupted with a gentle wave of his hand, knowing any blame was his alone. “I don’t know why she didn’t tell me.”

Ms. Mecca looked relieved to be off the hook. “She said you’ve been really stressed lately and had enough on your plate.”

“Oh, Mia. You’d think she’s raising me and not the other way around. I wish she’d let me do the adulting.”

Ms. Mecca shook her head. “I know. It’s a very sweet and mature gesture . . . I think it’s more than that anyway, though. These are big emotions for a girl her age. She might be trying to forget it.”

That was exactly what he’d been trying to do too. “So . . . who was the kid who said it?” He immediately felt guilty for putting Ms. Mecca into an uncomfortable position. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t meant to cause such damage,” she said carefully.

Baxter started to stand. “I guess it’s time to have the talk I’ve been putting off for way too long.”

Ms. Mecca rose with him. “Don’t beat yourself up, Mr. Shaw. And please let me know what I can do to help.”

“You know I will, and seriously, don’t think twice about the lesson. We’re lucky to have you in our lives.” He meant it.

“Thanks,” she said. “We’re here if you need us.”

Baxter offered a last wave. “Don’t worry, I got this.”

Those last three words fell out of his mouth and thumped onto the floor like clumps of wet clay.

image

The principal, who was probably a decade older than Ms. Mecca, peered over a laptop computer at her desk and said in a childish voice intended for Mia, “There he is.”

Baxter smiled at her and then found Mia on a purple couch on the opposite wall, her head buried in a notebook that she’d been drawing in, probably another unicorn. She loved unicorns right now. “Hey, sweetie.” He heard more pain than he’d intended coating the fringes of his voice.

She looked up, her face showing relief and even happiness that he was there. He saw for a moment the dimples that she’d inherited from him. But her expression quickly melted into hesitance, the darkness under her eyes from a lack of sleep becoming more evident, as if she only then remembered what she had done.

“Hi, Daddy.”

Her long hair was frizzy, as it was when it rained. As usual, she wore an array of colors that had turned her into a walking rainbow. Ever since she’d started dressing herself at four years old, she’d always tried to see how many colors she could squeeze into one outfit, a habit that even losing her mother hadn’t broken. Today, along with her purple rain jacket and yellow sneakers, she wore a pink shirt buttoned all the way up, with an orange belt and white jeans.

He approached her and put a loving hand on her head. “You ready to go home?” He saw that she was indeed drawing a unicorn.

“Am I in trouble?” Mia asked.

Baxter glanced at the principal, then back at Mia. He lowered to one knee and found his daughter’s brown eyes, the ones that looked like they’d been plucked from her mother. “No, you’re not in trouble, honey. But I’m gonna take the day off so we can spend some time together.”

“You’re going to take the day off?” Disbelief coated every syllable.

This topic was the low-hanging fruit of their relationship, and the guilt trips she delivered never failed to hit hard. If only she could understand. Adults work, that was what they had to do. And when you didn’t have a partner, you had to work twice as hard.

“Let me rephrase,” he said. “I am going to work as little as possible today. Okay?”

She nodded, snapped shut her notebook, and hopped off the couch.

After Baxter thanked the principal for watching Mia, the two of them walked hand in hand through the office to the front desk, where Baxter returned his visitor tag. At the exit, he helped Mia button her purple rain jacket and then retrieved an umbrella from where he’d left it by the double doors. Popping it open, they dashed out into the Carolina rain toward his truck. He lifted her up into the back of his shiny black four-door Chevy Silverado, helped her click her seat belt, then raced around to his side.

Once he’d shut the door, he twisted to her. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

She glared at him, which meant she wasn’t interested in talking about what had happened.

He nodded sympathetically. “Let’s wait until we get home.”

“Or not,” she said with another shot of her mother’s attitude.

Letting it go, Baxter said, “I have a serious question.”

“Here we go again,” she said dramatically.

He pretended not to know what she was referring to. “What?”

“I already know what you’re gonna do,” she said with mild disgust.

He formed a straight line with his lips. “What is the purpose of a porpoise?”

She nearly gagged. “Dad joke four hundred and fifty-nine. Someone save me.”

“It’s a good one, no?”

“No. There’s no punch line.”

“The punch line is the question.” He tapped his head, assuring her of his brilliance.

“It doesn’t work that way,” she said. “Um, do I smell french fries? I want some.”

“Nope. Kale chips.”

“Right.” She eyed him like she wasn’t going to play his games.

“Nothing gets by you, does it?” He’d just gotten busted for cheating on his diet today. Typically, he avoided bread and potatoes, but it was an eff-it kind of day, and a chicken sandwich had seemed to be the remedy.

He reached into the Chick-fil-A bag, pulled out the rest of his waffle fries, and handed them to her. “All yours.”

She set them in her lap and drew one out. “Ketchup, please.”

“Coming right up.” He peeled back the top on a dipping pack and gave it to her. “Let’s do our best not to get any all over my truck or your white jeans, okay?” She nodded as she dragged her fry through the puddle of red.

He reached for his phone in the cup holder. “Give me just a minute before I pull out.”

“I thought you were taking the day off,” Mia said, and without turning, he could imagine what kind of know-it-all look she was giving him.

“I am,” he muttered, stabbing out a quick email to Dr. Carr, suggesting they set up a session ASAP. After a little more than a year of visits, Baxter had stopped taking Mia to see her. Mia had seemed to be doing okay, considering their loss, and she seemed to have adjusted to their life in Greenville without too much trouble. The two of them could go a full week without saying a word about Sofia. Of course, the day after the nightmares started, Baxter had reconnected and Mia had been seeing her ever since.

Dr. Carr’s initial impression was that Mia was suffering from a delayed form of grief, a sort of PTSD, as she was only now getting old enough to truly process what had happened. That may have been true, but as Baxter had learned today, there was more to it than that.

Trying to get everything out of the way, Baxter spit out a round of text messages. See if you can get them by early next week. Another: Let’s stick with the sheets of drywall for now. I’ll let you know if I think of anything else. To the guy who’d installed the wrong gutters on a house, he texted: Let’s just get them replaced and move on.

A few weeks after they’d lost Sofia, Baxter had left his very successful alt-country band and bought out the contracting business of a guy he’d worked for growing up. That was what had taken him and Mia from Charleston to Greenville, and it was a decision he questioned daily, because the stress he’d taken on with managing construction projects was slowly killing him.

That was when his phone rang—Alan. Baxter held up his finger to Mia. “One sec and we’ll be out of here.” He accepted the call, and his right-hand man’s southern drawl came oozing out of the phone like Grandma’s Molasses. “Baxter, we got a problem.”

“Only one?” Baxter said, speaking loudly enough to cut through the noise of the rain. To be a contractor was to run a hundred miles an hour all day long, constantly taking calls just like this one.

“We just got to Carter,” Alan said. Baxter had convinced several investors to go in with him to build three spec homes in a new development south of town, and one of them was on Carter Street.

Though the chance to become a premier builder for the development had been a heck of an opportunity—a potentially life-changing one—Baxter had put every bit of cash he had into it, and the feeling of being strapped was starting to get to him. What if he couldn’t get that cash back? It sure didn’t help that lumber prices had skyrocketed shortly after he’d broken ground or that the Fed was talking about hiking up interest rates yet again, which would kill this already-stumbling real estate market. As if Baxter should have been surprised that the boom was slowing just as he slid all his chips into the center of the table.

“Winslow didn’t get in there last night to pressurize the gas line, and I can’t get in touch with him,” Alan went on. “If he doesn’t show up in the next hour, we’ll have to cancel the inspection. God knows how long it’ll take to reschedule. Which means we’ll have to push the slab pour back—”

“And the drywall guys,” Baxter added. “I get it.” He thought quickly, knowing the first thing he had to do was calm Alan down. “Let’s take a step back for a minute. See if you can get ahold of his wife. Maybe he forgot. In the meantime, let me call Mitchell and see if he can get out there. He owes me a favor. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

“A’ight, I’ll report back.”

Baxter ended the call and pushed the keys into the ignition. “I’m going to try very hard not to answer any more calls, honey.”

“It’s fine. Can we listen to Katy Perry?”

So sweet and understanding was her tone, but it brought up a sickening guilt. He knew he worked too much—his own therapist had said so, up until Baxter had run out of time for their weekly appointments.

Baxter didn’t want her to know what was on his mind, so he addressed her musical request instead. “Katy Perry? Again? What about Bob Dylan or Paul Simon or Neil Young? You love Neil. Have I ever played you On the Beach?” Shaking off the yucky feeling still clinging to him, he sang a few lines of “For the Turnstiles.” She was the only one he sang for anymore.

Mia shook her little head. “I really do like it, Daddy, but . . .”

Need she say more? The truth was he didn’t listen to much music anymore anyway. He just liked giving her a hard time.

“All righty then,” he said. “Katy Perry it is.”


Download Ebook Read Now File Type Upload Date
Download here Read Now Epub, PDF August 19, 2022

How to Read and Open File Type for PC ?