Free Clallam Bay (A Fresh Start #2) by L. C. Morgan

because I did? I had probably been intruding on his solitude. But the steady rock of his chair had beckoned me like a beacon and the moonlight led my way until the security light clicked on. And I’d sat down on the top step of his porch, facing the bay.
    “What do you think about kids?” I asked out of nowhere, like he was my best friend and it was girl time. Maybe it was because I needed to talk and Amber was asleep.
    “About having them or in general?”
    “Both, I guess.”
    “I don’t.”
    “Neither? Ever?”
    “Neither. Never. Why? You sayin’ you wanna have kids with me?”
    His question caught me off guard and gave me a strange feeling in my stomach, but I ignored it. I knew he was kidding. He was always kidding. I could tell he was smiling by the tingle on the back of my head.
    “No. I just think I made a mistake is all.”
    “Mistake with what?”
    “My life.”
    We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the lapping waves of the bay before I spoke again.
    “You ever feel like you made a mistake with your life?”
    “Every damn day.”
    “Do you ever think of doing anything about it?”
    “What’s there to do?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know. Go back to school or something.”
    He huffed a laugh. “No. Didn’t even go the first time.”
    “Well, I’m thinking about going back.”
    The creaking of his rocker stopped. “Back where?” he asked.
    “To school,” I said, and the rocking started back up again.
    “And why’s that? You don’t like being a teacher?”
    I squinted up at the moon. “I don’t know. I thought I did, but it doesn’t really seem like there’s any point anymore. I don’t think I’m making any difference anyhow.” I shrugged.
    The rocking of his chair stopped again. I hugged my legs, resting my chin on my knees.
    “I bet you’re making a difference,” he said, no doubt in an attempt to make me feel better. Either that or shut me up.
    Turning my cheek to rest on my knee, I looked up at him. “And how do you know that exactly?”
    He stared out in front of him and shrugged. “You’re nice. The only teacher I remember is Mrs. Baker. And that’s because she was nice.”
    “The art teacher? That Mrs. Baker?”
    “Yeah. She still around?”
    “Yeah. And she’s still nice, too.”
    “Well, see. There you go. She was nice and I’m still talking about her. I bet when the kids think back on your class they’ll all say, ‘Remember Miss Wells? She was nice.’” He looked at me then. “Don’t you want to be remembered as nice?”
    I held his stare as long as I could stand before looking back out over the bay.
    “I’ve seen the drawings the kids made for you. They like you, so you should stick with it. Keep being nice. Maybe make them a batch of those cookies you promised me but still haven’t made good on.”
    I smiled at the ground.
    “I bet those would make a difference.”
    “Miss Wells? Miss Wells. Hello?” There was a tap on my desk. “Are you listening?” My smile faded as Mr. Miller’s face came into view. “What do you mean my children are constantly disrupting the class? Are you actually paying attention to them or dazing off like you’ve been doing with me?”
    It took everything I had not to flare my nostrils and flick my pen at him. “Yes, Mr. Miller. I most definitely am paying attention, as are the other students. I’ve had multiple complaints from other parents as well. Their kids are coming home asking them questions about specific body parts.”
    “Well, hell.” He slouched back in his chair. “What is it exactly that they’re doing?”
    Mr. Miller’s cheeks blanched when I told him about Marty and Molly’s risqué behavior and how I’d been unable to stop it. He left with a promise to put an end to the mayhem before they returned to school the next day. I, for one, would have liked to see him try. Still, it was the most progress I’d made all day. After learning that Kaylee’s foster parents were having troubles and