Shadows of Memories (Baxter Academy)

  Shadows of You

  A Baxter Academy Novel ~ The Academy #2

  Jane Charles

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  More

  Excerpt ~ CASTING DOUBT

  About Jane Charles

  Jane Charles’s New Adult Romance

  Jane Charles’s Historical Romance

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2015 by Jane Charles

  Cover Design 2016 Covers By Lily

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  It’s not easy to watch someone slip away due to dementia or Alzheimer’s. For me, it was my mother. I was lucky that Mom recognized me to the end. She didn’t know my name but knew I belonged to her.

  One of the memories I will treasure most came toward the end. It was a warm day and we were outside in the garden at the nursing home. After she looked at the plants we sat on a glider. She put her arm around me and held my head to her shoulder and started stroking my hair. “This is nice,” she said. I can’t remember the last time she made such a clear statement. I was with her longer that day than usual. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to spend time with her, but she rarely sat for long. Often, she was wandering away, going from room to room, touching and examining things. Most of my visits were spent following her around.

  That day she stayed with me. We strolled side by side, hand in hand, and glided outside. Her speech was more coherent than it had been in a really long time and I understood some of what she was trying to say. It’s so not what we were used to. Most of the time her words sounded more like gibberish and I just conversed based on what I thought she might be saying and hoped that I answered correctly. That day gave me a few glimpses of my mother before we had to put her in a nursing home. I should have known something was up when she said “Virgil,” and smiled. He was the love of her life, my father, and she’d been waiting to be with him since he died.

  She’d had an “episode” earlier but that evening the strokes began. She rallied a few times, but we lost her two weeks later.

  The progression of dementia and Alzheimer’s is usually slow. For my mother, once we had to move her to a nursing home with a memory care unit, she lived for just a year and a half. I’ve intentionally speeded up Nana’s illness for the purpose of the story and know of no one who declined as quickly, though I’m sure it’s possible.

  Even though Jenna, who you will read about in this story, was alone in taking care of her grandmother, Nana, I was not. I have a brother and sister who were on this sad journey with me. I can’t imagine what it would have been like without them or having to see to Mom’s care alone.

  This book is dedicated to my mother, Donna, who passed away when I was just starting to work on this story.

  My sister, Trudy, and my brother, Mike, who I am so blessed and thankful to have in my life.

  For my brother-in-law, Dan, who is a saint! He was strong when it was impossible for the rest of us to be and gave so much for Mom.

  For all those who have watched a loved one become lost due to Dementia or Alzheimer’s. My heart breaks for you and I pray a cure is found sooner than later.

  This is a fictional story, but experience has helped me bring some truth of Jenna’s story. Nana is a combination of my mother, parents of friends and those I met in the memory care units in the nursing homes. The disease process is different for everyone and I’ve melded these people to create Nana. Jenna is anyone and everyone who’s loved a person with this horrible disease.

  * * *

  Jane

  One

  The sudden, loud blast of an alarm jerks me from my concentration. Bright, white lights are flashing out in the hall right outside of my office. “Fire alarm?” There wasn’t one scheduled. Not that the administration at Baxter always tells us when there’s going to be one, but this is really inconvenient. I have work to do.

  Then again, there really could be a fire. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the students tried to set one. Luckily, those incidents are few and far between and have only happened once since I began my employment eight months ago.

  I close and grab my laptop, along with the messenger bag I use as a purse, and go into the hall, wishing I had earplugs to block out that obnoxious alarm blasting over and over. The rest of the staff are also headed toward the marble stairs of the administrative building and look about as happy about the interruption as I am. This building was the old Baxter plantation house and given its age, I probably shouldn’t rule out a real fire. Shit, is there anything else I need in case the place is going to go up in flames?

  I throw my bag over my shoulder and grab the banister as I start down the stairs. The entire school is set up on the Baxter Plantation, which dates back to sometime in the early 1800s and is modeled after Washington’s Mount Vernon. At least that’s what I’ve been told, and that it’s bigger. Since I’ve never visited Mount Vernon, I have no idea how accurate the model is, though it looks more like Tara from Gone With the Wind with a staircase to rival the one at the Wilkes Plantation.

  Our offices are in what were once bedrooms, and the lower floors are filled with receiving and reception rooms, along with a couple of offices for the school’s administrators.

  Damn, I forgot my cell phone. It’s charging at the side of my desk.

  I turn around as I reach the landing and begin to go back upstairs.

  “No going back in.” A firefighter in full gear is standing at the door.

  “My phone.”

  “Isn’t worth your life.” He points to the front door.

  Maybe there really is a fire.

  The others are gathering outside and Officer Kian O’Brian, the school’s liaison with the Sheriff’s Department, is standing in the center of the circular drive, directing each of the employees to drop their stuff into a cart latched to the riding lawn tractor but I’m not about to set my laptop down on a wet, dirty surface so I shoved it into my bag first.

  After leaving it with him, I follow the rest of the staff toward the back of the campus. We’ve each been assigned a building to help in times of evacuations. Mine is the theatre. By the sounds all around me, the alarms have been triggered in each of the buildings. Students and adults are streaming out from everywhere. Not all of the buildings can have a fire in them. Did the Fire Department even think this test through? All it takes is the smallest thing out of the ordinary to
set these kids off. We can deal with a handful of kids having meltdowns or going through an anxiety attack. A whole campus is an entirely different matter. Why couldn’t they just do one building at a time?

  Jada Daniels is clutching a sketch-pad to her chest and a firefighter is pointing to a pile of what I assume are student belongings. She isn’t about to give it up.

  “Let her be.”

  “Students aren’t allowed to bring anything.”

  We’ve all heard the lectures before. When a fire alarm goes off, you’re to leave and not take time to grab personal items because it could mean life and death. I don’t know what Jada has in her sketchbook but it might as well be an appendage because it’s always with her. “Jada, were you holding the sketchbook when the alarm when off?”

  “Yes.”

  I turn back to the firefighter. “It was already in her hands, so I don’t see any harm.”

  He frowns but finally turns away.

  I help gather the kids together, away from the building, as the instructors do a head count. The same thing is happening throughout the campus while the firefighters do an inside check of all the buildings.

  When they’re finished we’re all instructed to take seats in the theatre. “Great,” I mumble under my breath. I know I should be more of a team player, but I’m on deadlines.

  We usher the kids inside as Kian drives the tractor toward the building. Thank goodness. I didn’t like the idea of leaving my purse and my laptop just sitting out where anyone could grab it. Most of the stuff on my computer is private because I have each kid’s test scores, their college and career choices, scholarship information and all kinds of stuff nobody else needs to know about.

  I walk over to him and reach for my bag.

  “Not yet.” He grins and motions toward the theatre.

  The only firefighters not at the school today are those on call at the station. They are also the ones most familiar with the setup of Baxter. The students take their seats and only a few are carrying items. They did a lot better than the teachers and staff, who grabbed all kinds of shit on the way out the door. They’re the ones who should know better.

  Kian is talking to a dark haired woman who looks vaguely familiar. It could be that I’ve seen her around the campus but I know that isn’t it. Where have I seen her? I know I should know her name too but it isn’t coming to me.

  Crap, this is going to bug me until I figure it out. She’s gorgeous so why the hell don’t I remember her name? She’s not someone I’d forget.

  A student hands her a book and I instantly know who she is. Jenna Ferguson! I haven’t seen her since high school. Not that I ever really talked to her that much, but I certainly noticed her. Always had her nose in a book. She was pretty back then. She’s fucking hot now.

  Dylan St. John comes to stand beside me, along with a few other firefighters. The buildings have been cleared and as soon as everyone’s seated it’ll be lecture time.

  “When did Jenna Ferguson come to work at Baxter?” I whisper to Dylan. We attended middle and high school together. He and Jenna were good friends. At least they were back then.

  “In June. She got her masters and is a vocational counselor.”

  “Damn, she’s hot.”

  Dylan narrows his eyes at me.

  “What?”

  “She’s still a good friend.” He leans closer. “And, I know your reputation.”

  I ignore his warning. “She seeing anyone?”

  “Would it matter?”

  “Hey, you’re supposed to be my friend too,” I remind him.

  Dylan blows out a breath and crosses his arms across his chest. “She’s not seeing anyone that I’m aware of.”

  This day just got better.

  The chief steps to the microphone and begins his speech. This exercise was to introduce the newest firefighters to the layout of Baxter and to remind those already on the department how many buildings need to be searched. It’s a refresher for the teachers and administrative staff of the importance of fire drills, and its good practice for the students.

  “The students and teachers did great.” There’s cheering from the audience. “The staff in the administration building failed.”

  Really, they failed?

  Everyone else is dismissed except those who have offices in the old plantation house. Kian, along with a few firefighters, starts piling bags and purses on tables as the chief begins a new lecture. “Each of those items represents a precious moment. And, each moment risks a life.”

  I’d like to think that if they would’ve smelled smoke or saw a flame, purses and shit would have been forgotten, but I’ve been on calls where those very things were clutched in someone’s hands when they succumb to smoke inhalation.

  “You may now retrieve your items.” He gestures to me and Dylan. We have the honor of giving back the items that were so precious they were willing to risk their lives.

  Two

  I can’t believe I’m face to face with Cole Harper and he’s even better looking than he was in high school. He’s not as boyish looking, and his features are sharper and less rounded. But, his dark eyes hold the same humor they always did.

  And, he’s dangling my bag from his fingertips.

  Why couldn’t Dylan have my bag? Why did it have to be Cole of all people?

  I practically grab it away from him.

  “Life and death, Jenna.”

  He knows my name? I didn’t think he even knew I existed. “Yeah, yeah,” I mutter.

  He grows serious. “It is a matter of life and death.”

  I blow out a breath. “Yes, I know. But, so is that laptop.”

  He arches an eyebrow, his nearly black eyes bore into mine.

  “Look, my job is to get these kids into a college so they stand a chance, and to find the money so they can go. All the work I’ve done for these kids, some of them graduating in just a few months, is on that laptop. If it’s lost, I’d never get it rebuilt in time.”

  “How long did it take you to get it before you left?”

  “I was working on it when the alarm went off. I popped the cord and grabbed it as I stood.”

  “Okay, that isn’t so bad since it really didn’t slow your progress, but what about the bag? I’m assuming that wasn’t in your lap.”

  My face heats. “You’re right. It was on a hook on the back of the door. I did have to stop to get it.”

  “Is it worth your life?”

  Not only has he noticed I exist, but wants to humiliate me too. “Of course not. But, I did leave my phone behind in the charger. I get points for that, don’t I?”

  He laughs and then leans over the table. “You weren’t the worst violator.” He nods to Mrs. Perkins, who is carrying a stack of binders.

  Dylan wanders over to us.

  “What is she carrying?” Cole asks.

  “Nutritional guides.”

  “She needs to computerize,” I find myself saying.

  Jenna Ferguson was pretty in high school, but were her eyes always such a warm brown? I know she wasn’t that curvy in high school. That I would have noticed. Rounded hips and the kind of ass a guy likes to grab onto. And that rack, full and plump. She has meat in all the right places. All woman, that’s for sure.

  Dylan clears his throat and I jerk myself away from watching the fine retreating ass of Jenna Ferguson.

  “Off limits,” he warns.

  “Why?”

  “She’s my friend and I know you.”

  No, he doesn’t. At least not as well as he thinks he does. “Hey, I’m a nice guy.”

  He snorts and begins folding up the tables we used. “I’m sure you are, but you also shattered poor young hearts,” he mimics the girls we knew from high school.

  “I did not.” I lift the opposite end and help him carry it to the back corner.

  He starts listing off names of girls I dated in high school and I roll my eyes. “That was five or more years ago and there’s no way they were in love with me. What
seventeen-year-old knows what the hell love is anyway?”

  He shrugs and grabs another table.

  “Even if what you’re saying is true, nobody has accused me of anything since we graduated.”

  “No, you just do your best to keep it to one night.”

  That’s true, but it’s not what he thinks. And, by the way he’s judging me, I’m not about to tell him the truth. He should know me better than that.

  I push away my irritation. I’ve never corrected Dylan, or anyone, in the past, so what should I expect?

  “Look,” Dylan says as were exiting the theatre. “I don’t want to see Jenna get hurt.”

  “I got that.” And I did, but to assume that I would automatically break her heart is presuming a hell of a lot. “I just wanted to invite her for a drink or something.”

  “Well, good luck with that.” Dylan laughs. “She knows your reputation and I doubt she’ll go anywhere with you.”

  Shit. I really should come clean, about a lot of things. Especially if it is going to hinder me asking a nice girl out.

  Three

  The fire drill and coming face to face with Cole Harper has left me a little flustered.

  Damn! How can he be even better looking than he was in high school?

  Hopefully I won’t ever see him again because there are some memories I don’t want to revisit. The most painful ones revolve around Cole. It doesn’t appear that he’s changed since high school either. Still cocky with the worst reputation. A male slut and I want nothing to do with him.

  And, if I repeat it often enough, I’ll start to believe it. At least I hope so because when I first looked into his eyes I certainly didn’t expect to experience the same butterflies that used to fill my stomach at fifteen.

  There’s a quick knock at my door and it pushes slightly open.

  I’m not even prepared for this meeting. All because of Cole and that damn fire drill. Forcing a smile, I gesture to the chair. “Come in, Tyler. Have a seat.”