Finding Our Forever

Cora was disappointed when he put the lid on the canteen, slung it over his body, where he’d been carrying it before, and charged up the next hill, making it impossible for her to get any more pictures of him.

As the boys whooped and hollered in their efforts to keep up with him, she hiked back to her car. They were having a blast. She could easily imagine any problem they had disappearing while they were out enjoying the beautiful scenery and the equally beautiful weather.

Witnessing the impact Elijah was having on the students at the ranch—by taking enough interest to guide them on a ride even during their “off” period—inspired her. He was embracing the spirit of his job. Like Aiyana, he was doing it for the right reasons. And so could she. She had a lot of love to give. Who needed it more than abused, neglected and angry teens?

How are you doing today?

Her father’s text came in just before Cora started her car. Better, she wrote.

Because...

Because coming here was no longer only about her. I feel like I could make a real difference with this job.

That’s the spirit!

Cora responded by sending a smiley face, put her phone down and headed into town, where she took quite a few pictures. It was a great way to investigate her new surroundings. Those were the ones she posted on Instagram and sent to family and friends who were eager to see where she’d moved. But it was the photographs of Elijah and the three boys that she downloaded onto her computer when she returned that night. She spent over an hour experimenting with different filters and other bells and whistles on Photoshop. In her favorite photograph, one where Elijah was smiling at the boy to his left, the lighting was perfect as it came through the branches of the trees.

She could win a contest with that shot...

“Hail to the conquering hero,” she muttered before she set her computer aside and turned off the light so that she could get some sleep.

Chapter Five (#u4a109276-5926-5904-9501-3b08d95e8f05)

Over the next few days, Cora put her classroom in order by making sure the large, commercial-sized kiln and sixteen throwing wheels in the pottery room were clean and in good repair. She also took stock of the clay and other supplies. The teacher before her had done a respectable job caring for the equipment and maintaining the necessary inventory, so it wasn’t too overwhelming of a job. She obtained permission to order some glazes she’d been hoping to get, as well as a new set of colored pencils and paintbrushes for each student, so she’d at least have the supplies needed to start the year off right.

By the end of the week, Cora was feeling pretty encouraged about beginning school on Monday. She’d been running into more and more students as the boys returned to the ranch and was looking forward to meeting the rest. Other than texting and calling her old friends and her brother, who promised to come out and see her soon, she’d had virtually no social life since she arrived, so she figured more distraction, work and activity would help fill that gap. The neighbor opposite to Sean Travers, Doug Maggleby, a math teacher at the school, chatted with her whenever he caught her out and about. But she’d started to avoid him, where possible. The more he talked, the more uncomfortable he made her. He liked to rave about politics, and she rarely agreed with his opinion. He’d also mentioned taking her to the movies even though he was clearly too old for her. She wasn’t looking forward to having to say no, but knew that was coming. So instead of visiting with him in the evenings like she had the first few nights, she’d sneak out of her bungalow and walk down to the pond to watch the sunset or stop by the horses’ pen to say good-night. If Mr. Maggleby happened to be in his yard working in his fall garden, however, she’d settle for having a glass of wine in her cottage and reading a book or going over her lesson plans.

She’d seen very little of Elijah since taking those photographs of him horseback riding with the boys. Although she wasn’t pleased by the fact, she’d developed a habit of looking for him whenever she was out. Occasionally, she’d spot him at a distance and couldn’t help admiring what she saw. But he seemed extra busy getting the ranch ready for the fall semester, so she was fairly certain she was the last thing on his mind.

Aiyana had been especially busy, too. Since Betty May had handled the purchase requisition for the art supplies, Cora had had no interaction with her birth mother—not until Friday afternoon. She was in the cafeteria between lunch and dinner, nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie while she finished reading the orientation materials she’d been given, when Aiyana came in, poured herself a cup of coffee and walked over to join Cora.

“Hello.” Instantly self-conscious, Cora closed the manual as her “boss” sat down.

“How are you holding up, dear?” Aiyana asked.

“Good.” She cleared her throat. “Great.”

“I’m relieved to hear it—and glad to find you here. This time of year is so crazy for me. I apologize that I haven’t had the chance to check on you. Did you get the supplies you requested?”

“Not yet. But last I heard they’ve been ordered, so they should arrive soon. Thanks for giving the okay on that.”

She took a drink of her coffee. “I told you how I feel about art. That isn’t where I choose to skimp.”

“I have to admit your attitude is refreshing. I’m not used to art being much of a priority.”

“The practicalities of running a school can often get in the way of even the best intentions,” she said. “Fortunately, right now, we’ve got some wealthy benefactors who are giving us the support we need.” She winked. “Makes a difference when we have a fair number of students with rich—and sometimes famous—parents.”

“Are we talking movie stars?” Cora hadn’t considered that possibility, but she supposed, since they weren’t far from LA, it was logical.

“A few. Others are the children of producers and movie execs, attorneys, doctors, that sort of thing.”

“Are the wealthy kids ones who are typically loved, or...”

Her lips curved into a rueful smile. “Oh, they’re loved, just a little more generously than would probably be best. From what I’ve seen, being given too much can be as difficult as being given too little.”

“Doesn’t that create quite a disparity? I mean...you mentioned taking in orphans who have no one to support them.”

“We have some of the richest and some of the poorest students in the state. But we make it clear from the beginning that everyone is on an equal footing here at the ranch. There is no favoritism, no bending of the rules because of who their parents are.”

“I can’t imagine that goes over very well—not for people who are used to receiving preferential treatment.”

“I’ve lost several students over that policy,” she admitted. “All parents agree to it when they enroll their child—but can change their minds once they want or need special treatment.” She pushed a strand of loose hair out of her face. “Regardless, I won’t bend. To me it’s a matter of integrity. And, if a parent will stand behind me, their son usually settles down and begins to learn the lessons they were hoping we’d teach him.”

Cora swallowed another bite of her cookie. “How does that play out in a social setting—for the kids, I mean?”

Aiyana took another sip of coffee. “Depends. We take a hard line on bullying, too—watch carefully for it. Most get the message early on that the rules are firmer here, but fair to all, and life falls into a sustainable rhythm. I don’t think we’re too terribly different from other high schools—all schools have some behavioral problems.”

“But you’ve taken on the behavioral problems other schools can no longer cope with. Doesn’t that ever make you feel...intimidated?”

“I wouldn’t want to go back and start over—I can tell you that,” she said with a mirthless chuckle. “But now that we’re up and running, and I’ve got the momentum that comes from doing this for so long, it’s easier than it was. Still, I couldn’t continue without the community support I’ve received, not to mention the devoted teachers we have here—and Elijah, who has such a knack for communicating with these boys. Even if I can’t get one to behave, he usually can.”

Cora pictured Aiyana’s son on top of that horse. “Elijah’s your secret weapon.”

“Absolutely.”

She studied Aiyana’s face. Her mother was so pretty despite the lines that were beginning to appear around her eyes and mouth and the ribbons of gray in her hair. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but...”

“Ask me anything,” she said.

“I was wondering what nationality you are.”

She seemed surprised by the question—that Cora would have any interest in that—but not put off. “My mother is a Nicaraguan immigrant. My father was a white farmhand in the Central Valley.”

“Are they still alive?”

“They are. But my mother is no longer with my father. He was an abusive man, so I don’t have any contact with him, either. For many years now she’s been with the farmer who employed them both and has been so much happier. What about you? What nationality are you?”

Cora thought it might be too coincidental if she were to say she was part Nicaraguan, but that was good to know—filled in one of the many blanks in her life. Aiyana had said her father was white; from her skin tone, Cora assumed hers was, too. “I’m a mix, I think.”

“And your parents? Where are they?”

“In LA. My father’s a financial planner. My mother’s sort of a...socialite.”

She smiled at that. “Do you have siblings?”

“An older brother who’s larger than life and terribly handsome. Like a lot of people in LA, he’s a movie producer. What about you?”

“I have one older brother and two younger brothers, but I don’t see my younger brothers very often.”