Her First Mistake Carey Baldwin (ereader with dictionary TXT) 📖

closed the cover on the The Little Engine That Could and smiled at her pupils—minus Tennyson, who’d been moved to Jane’s class per his mother’s request. Mia tried not to think about him struggling to fit in with the new kids. Jane was a great teacher, and Tennyson would adjust over time.

Instead, she focused on how lucky she was to get paid for helping mold all these eager little minds, shape their first experiences with the outside world, nurture their self-esteem.

Like they always did at the end of the day, when they exited her classroom, each pupil stopped to give her a hug. She missed Tennyson, but it was a relief not to have to face Paul and Ruth. She didn’t want a scene at school, and the next time she saw that man, there was no way she’d grin and pretend nothing had happened.

I’m warning you, he’d said.

What a creep.

“Mia! Hurry up. Why are you still here? Everyone’s waiting for you in the teachers’ lounge.” Jane poked her head inside Mia’s classroom, her voice ringing with excitement.

“Waiting for what?” For the life of her, she had no idea.

Jane hooked her elbow through Mia’s and marched her out the door and down the hall. “You’re joking. Have you forgotten your own book club? The inaugural meeting?” Then she laughed. “I’m teasing a little. Honestly, I’m not surprised you forgot with all that’s been going on. But the important thing is—the rest of us haven’t.”

Jane flung open the lounge door, and Mia covered her mouth. Sun poured in through a row of high windows, brightening the grass-green walls. The four-seater tables had been pushed together to form one long serving area, set with a checkered cloth, paper plates and cups and plastic utensils. Several bags of chips, as well as a platter of oversized cookies flanked Sue Ellen Keck’s crystal punch bowl, and best of all, the same women who’d left her out of their monthly outings for over a year perched on chairs, arranged in a semi-circle, enthusiastically waving copies of Jane Eyre at her like flags for a soldier returning from war.

“Oh my goodness!” she said, unable to believe her eyes. “When did you do all of this? Jane, are you responsible?”

Jane shook her head. “It was my suggestion to go ahead with the meeting, but everyone pitched in.”

Glancing around the group, comprised of Sue Ellen, Poppy, Easton, Taraji and Jane, Mia splayed her fingers over her heart. Maybe a few women showing up for a book club wouldn’t seem like a big deal to others, but to her… “You guys, I’m overwhelmed. I didn’t think anyone cared… about book club, I mean.”

Though that wasn’t all she’d meant.

She couldn’t believe they’d done something so thoughtful for her.

“Of course we care,” Sue Ellen said. “And I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re really sorry we didn’t tell you sooner about our monthly get-togethers. We didn’t think you’d want to come along, but it was thoughtless, and frankly, shitty of us, not to invite you.”

“We’re sorry,” Taraji said.

“Very sorry,” Sue Ellen and Poppy added in unison.

“Celeste’s mother told us what happened at the church with that reporter, and we all think you’re a badass,” Jane said.

A couple of the women applauded.

“I-I… it was nothing.”

“No, it was something. Really something. I’m not sure I would’ve had the nerve to tackle that reporter, but you did. And with Celeste gone—” Jane suddenly stopped speaking and hid her eyes with the back of her arm.

“With Celeste gone,” Taraji took over, “we’ve realized we all need to be there for each other. Plus, this book was something else. How did I not know about these Brontë chicks before now?”

“You actually read the book?”

“Some people didn’t finish, but I did.”

“It was short notice—we decided spur of the moment to make this happen,” Poppy offered.

“Everyone gets an A triple plus for effort.” Mia grabbed a couple of cookies and some punch and took her place among the gang. “Who read it? Who wants to talk?”

Sue Ellen held up her copy. “It was so, so sad. Poor Mr. Rochester. Why did he have to be blinded? That was cruel of the author. I wanted a happy ending.”

“Not me.” Taraji piped up. “He deserved worse. But the man I’m really wondering about is Isaiah.”

“Are we talking about the book?” Sue Ellen asked. “I don’t remember… oh. You mean—”

“This.” Taraji flashed her phone, and then turned it back around and read. “‘Mia and me at Parry Grove Trail overlook, Torrey Pines State Reserve’.”

“What?” Jane asked sharply. “That’s Celeste special spot. What is that?”

“Isaiah Cooper’s Instagram. He posted a selfie of Mia and him.” Poppy leaned forward. “Is he really as messed up as they say, Mia? I heard he’s a falling down drunk, and that you’ve been chasing after him.”

“I heard it’s Paul Hudson she’s after.” Easton raised both eyebrows and gave a low, mean laugh.

It felt like someone had cut the cable on an elevator, that’s how fast Mia’s stomach plummeted. If only she could close her eyes and count to three and when she opened them, none of these women would be here, staring at her, laughing at her. Mia had foolishly believed their apologies when all they really wanted to do was to gossip—to humiliate her. This whole thing had been a set-up. Mia slowly set her plate on the floor, her hand shaking so hard one of the cookies fell off.

“Why would you think I was after Paul Hudson? Nothing could be farther from the truth.” She could feel the tears welling behind her eyes, hear the quaver in her voice.

“Because Ruth said so.” Easton smirked. “She told me you came on to Paul, heavy, at Pocket Park when everyone was out searching for Celeste. She said she invited you to lunch to ask you nicely to back off, and later, you trapped Paul by his car, outside the Coopers’ house and tried to kiss him.”

“Is that true, Mia, because if it is…”