Page 15

HARRISON

The house is bustling when I slip into the den with my mug of black coffee and a full belly.

The clock says seven-fifty-six, meaning I’m four minutes ahead of schedule.

Good. The big rectangular table is already set with reading primers on one side, math worksheets on the other, and pencils lined up like soldiers.

Routine is the only thing that keeps this place from descending into absolute madness.

The others run on instinct, but me? I run on structure, order, and measurable outcomes.

The den was a sitting room before I converted it. It still smells faintly of old books and leather polish, a compromise between what it was and what I need it to be. A space to teach. A space to keep order.

I sip the coffee slowly, scanning my notebook: agriculture rotations, profit margins on hay this quarter, the breeding schedule for the cattle. This is what I went to college for. It isn’t glamorous, but essential. I’m the only one of us who bothered to stay in school because someone had to.

Homeschooling the kids? That was never in my plan. But after we lost our parents, and then Nana and Pop, too, and the kids all ended up motherless, somebody had to step up.

The clock ticks over to eight, and, like clockwork, little footsteps start pattering down the stairs.

First to arrive is Junie, who’s dressed but still dragging a blanket.

Then Matty pokes his head around the door in a Spider-Man shirt.

Eli appears, scowling as usual. Rory arrives with Corbin, half-asleep, with wild curls, and his favorite plushy gripped tight in his pudgy hand.

Corbin passes him to me and then leaves without a backward glance.

He loves these kids, but he needs some time to himself and appreciates the routine.

The twins thunder in last, arguing loudly about who gets to sit by the window.

The chaos bleeds into this room for a minute, and I suppress a sigh, clapping my hands once. “Seats. Now.”

They scramble, and my nerves drop down a notch until there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Mind if I help?”

I turn and find Grace in the doorway, complete with a messy bun, a too-big flannel shirt knotted at her waist, and her ridiculously expressive hazel eyes bright despite the early hour.

There’s no hesitation in her stance. No awareness that she’s walking into my sanctuary and about to disrupt the order I’ve fought so hard to forge.

I force my expression to be neutral. “You want to help?”

She shrugs. “Figured it would give me a chance to get to know you, and I can wrangle a room of kids with one hand tied behind my back. Thought I’d offer.”

I hesitate. Hard. My whole body resists it. I don’t need a variable, and I don’t need her.

But Conway said to give her access and let her observe and interact, so I exhale through my nose and step aside.

“Fine. You can sit.”

She flashes me a bright smile and plops down on the carpet, cross-legged, right at the kids’ level. I watch her warily.

Grace doesn’t fit my model. She doesn’t follow the rules.

There’s an energy about her I don’t trust. It fizzes at the edges, unpredictable and a little too bright this early in the morning.

The breakfast she made was delicious, but who does that?

She’s a guest journalist in this house, and she felt comfortable enough to raid our fridge and cupboards to cook a meal.

That isn’t normal. We’ve had women come and join our household with a view to staying who’ve been less comfortable with wading into the fray.

Junie immediately scoots over to lean against Grace. Matty grins and flops down next to her with all the subtlety of a small freight train. Even Eli, who barely tolerates me on good days, watches her with cautious interest.

I clear my throat. “We follow a set structure in this room. Reading, then numbers, then independent work.”

“Got it, Professor.”

My brow twitches. “I’m not a professor.”

Grace tilts her head, eyes glinting. “You sure? You’ve got the energy for it. All we need is a chalkboard and some of those dramatic elbow patches. Maybe some sandals over your socks.”

The kids giggle. I do not.

I turn back to the table, pushing my glasses up my nose. “Reading primers first. Let’s begin.”

I hand out books. Grace accepts hers with a playful mock salute, which somehow makes the twins snort and Junie beam like she’s just been handed a tiara.

I steel myself. This is already spiraling.

Yet, as we begin, something odd happens.

Grace doesn’t interrupt. She follows along, gently nudging the kids when they falter, offering soft encouragement that doesn’t derail the rhythm.

They stay focused longer than usual. Matty, who normally tries every trick in the book to avoid sight words, actually reads through a full page with her soft “you’ve got this,” murmured in his ear.

I narrow my eyes. She’s throwing off the balance, but not in the way I feared.

The lesson continues as I call out new words and assign worksheets.

Junie colors in a big letter J. The twins trace letters to learn penmanship.

Matty and Eli work on copying words and sentences while I let Rory play with wooden alphabet blocks.

They obey with fewer complaints than usual—even Eli’s pencil scratches dutifully across the page.

I glance toward Grace, who’s humming faintly under her breath as she helps Junie pick out the best pink for her letter.

My jaw tightens. I don’t want to admit it, but this isn’t the disaster I expected.

We’re forty minutes in when Grace, as anticipated, disrupts the flow.

“We should build a story together,” she says brightly after Junie holds up her finished page for the tenth time.

I blink. “That isn’t on the schedule.”

Matty looks up, eyes wide. “A story?”

The twins instantly perk up. Eli stops scribbling and glances sideways, curious. Grace leans back on her palms. “Come on. I’ve done this with my mom’s kids. Everyone adds a sentence to build a crazy adventure. If you get stuck and need some help, someone else can throw in a word for inspiration.”

I open my mouth to shut it down, then I hesitate. The kids are restless. I know their tells, and if I push straight into math now, I’ll spend the next hour wrestling their attention back into line.

So I sigh. “Five minutes.”

“Ten,” Grace counters, grinning. “You know creative work can’t be rushed.”

I sigh, but I don’t say no.

Grace claps her hands once, and the kids gather close around her like moths to a flame. Grace starts. “Once upon a time, there was a chicken.” Matty rises onto his knees, excitement overtaking him. “Who wanted to be a cowboy,” he yells.

The room erupts into giggles.

I cross my arms, watching as the story spirals into ridiculousness, featuring a talking chicken with a hat like Daddy, a runaway unicorn, an alien tractor beam, and a magical lasso. Grace keeps them moving, eyes sparkling, gently steering wilder ideas without ever shutting anyone down.

She glances up at me once and catches me watching. “Don’t tell me Professor Mc Serious Face is enjoying this,” she teases.

I clear my throat. “I’m evaluating its educational merit.”

She laughs, low and warm. “Right. Of course you are.”

The kids are practically vibrating with joy, scribbling pictures of the chicken hero and his adventures. Even Eli seems engaged, sketching quietly at the edge of the table. Grace notices and gives her a soft, encouraging smile that she almost returns.

“You have a way with them,” I say grudgingly, unable to keep the observation to myself.

Grace shrugs. “I grew up in a house full of kids who needed attention and structure, but also a little fun. You can have both, you know.”

I glance at the scattered crayons, the crooked drawings, the beaming faces. My jaw tightens. I don’t want to admit she’s right, or how easy it is for her to get under all our skin.

“We’ll see,” I say instead.

I should’ve ended it there. The kids would’ve gone back to their worksheets, and I would’ve had my orderly morning back. But no.

Grace pushes to her feet, brushing her hands on her jeans. “All right, ranch hands. Who knows Old MacDonald ?”

Five small hands shoot up, and Rory, not wanting to be left out, raises his chubby fist.

Before I can intervene, Matty is already shouting, “E-I-E-I-O!” and the twins start clapping out a beat on the table.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Grace… ”

She waves me off with a sunny smile. “Movement breaks improve focus, Professor. You should read the research.”

I scowl, but the damage is done. The room erupts into gleeful chaos.

Grace leads them in a stomping, marching, full-volume rendition of Old MacDonald .

Junie twirls like a ballerina. Rory claps frantically, squealing at full volume.

Matty neighs dramatically for the horse verse.

Reserved, guarded, Eli taps one foot along with the beat, lips silently mouthing the words.

I stand stiffly, arms crossed, watching the madness unfold like an unwilling bystander at a parade I never signed up to watch.

They launch into If You’re Happy and You Know It , clapping, stomping, and shouting with wild abandon.

Grace catches me glaring and grins wickedly. “Oh, come on, Professor. Not even a little clap?”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”

Junie grabs my hand. “Please, Ha-wi-son?” Her tiny fingers wrap around mine and tug insistently.

Matty joins in. The twins circle me like hyenas scenting weakness. I give in, reluctantly lifting my hand for the world’s most half-hearted single clap. They cheer like I’ve cured world hunger. Against my better judgment, I feel something unexpected stir in my chest. Amusement, damn it.