“Expansion’s never going to happen.” Mitch laughed. “We can barely afford to pay teachers.”

“How much of a cut are we talking about?” The program could work with less money, Cal supposed.

“All of it,” Mitch said. “They’re going to reallocate the money to the STEM program. Science, technology, engineering, and math are the future. We need to develop new programs in those areas.”

“STEM’s important,” Cal said. “But what about the people who need an extra hand to get there?” Most of his students wanted to work for a variety of reasons. His program kept them in school and increased the likelihood of graduation. “I’m not knocking STEM, but people also need to develop work skills and the confidence to know they can go out in the world”—he rolled his hand forward, trying to make a visual for progress—“which may result in them eventually going to a trade school or college.”

“Like I said,” Mitch said. “It’s likely to be cut. All the more reason to not spend too much time getting to know my sister. Because even if you wanted to stay, there will be nothing to stay for.”

Cal crossed his arms over his chest, reigning himself in. “How much did you push for the program, Mitch?”

“Not at all, Cal. I agree with the school board.”

“Is this about Bryony?” Cal dropped his shoulders, squaring off. “Or the trivia game?”

“What?” Mitch’s surprise seemed authentic.

“Are you trying to sink the program because you don’t see me as a dependable team player, because I don’t always follow your lead?”

“What an absurd idea. I’m not that shallow.” Mitch’s cell phone buzzed. He flipped it open and brought it to his ear. “Let me call you back. No, I did not say I would dress up like a turkey for a pep rally in November. Tell Brian to do it. He’s the biggest turkey around here.” He closed the phone and looked back at Cal. “What was I saying?”

“Brian’s a bigger turkey than you are,” Cal said.

“No, I mean about the—oh, yeah, the trivia game. I wouldn’t allow my personal feelings to sway my professional judgment. What difference does it make anyway? You’re the one who made it clear right from the start you’d be gone at the end of the year.”

“Whether or not I’m here is irrelevant,” Cal said. “The program is important. I’d hate to see it cut because you didn’t see the value in it, or the value in someone like me.”

“This has nothing to do with you, Cal. The program’s a lost cause. They’ve been trying to eliminate it for years. I’m not surprised it’s on the chopping block, and I’m telling you, there’s no going back. It’s a done deal.”

Cal waited until his head felt less explosive. “Are we done here?”

“Yeah.” Mitch cuffed Cal’s shoulder and smiled. “Get in there and mold those young minds.”

Cal stood in front of the closed door and watched Bryony’s brother leave. Mitch opened his cell phone, put it to his ear before rounding the corner ahead, and disappeared from view.

The program would be cut after this year. Why did he care so much? Because he might lose something more important than a temporary assignment? This thing with Bryony could upend all of his plans. In the back of his mind he’d been wondering if Chuck would consider team-teaching. Then Cal would have a reason beyond Bryony to stay because he knew she wasn’t ready to be the one reason, and he needed more time with her. He was willing to give her all the time she needed.

The last time Charity called, she said Chuck was feeling better, ready for visitors. Cal would call him at lunch.

In the meantime, he had a class to teach. He took a breath, let it out, waltzed into his classroom, and asked, his voice ringing with as much zest as he could muster, “Who’s up next for their three minute marketing pitch?”

NO CHARITY FOR BRYONY: PART II

The idea to bribe Mitch had seemed perfectly rational at four in the morning, but now Bryony was under-slept and overwrought. Would her plan backfire? If so, what was the worst that could happen?

Todd was out sick, and Lillian had left to attend to a family obligation. The focus required to serve a steady stream of morning customers by herself failed to dilute Bryony’s worries. There was nothing she could do except wait for Cal’s possible irritation about her interference.

Maybe upsets were a sign their relationship was moving beyond the polite phase. Maybe it was time to get real.

The fixtures had been served and were settled in at their regular tables. The line of customers trickled down until nobody stood at the counter. Bryony left the work area to clean off a few tables and muster the courage to talk to Mr. Parker about the trivia contest. She chastised herself for offering him up without asking first. She should know better than to listen to ideas cooked up and acted on when she should be sleeping. She blamed her behavior on her budding relationship with Cal. Men brought out something akin to adolescence in her, hormones gone wild.

As she passed Abby’s table, Bryony commented on the tiny animal forming on the end of a crochet hook. She could see it was a gray elephant with pink inside his ears.

“It’s the first in a series,” Abby said. “I plan to make an entire menagerie.”

Etta tapped away on her laptop keyboard. Bryony stepped over to her table and picked up an empty plate, then wiped the unused side of the table with a damp cloth. Etta seemed oblivious.

Moving to the next table, Bryony spoke to the man behind the newspaper. “Hello, Mister Parker, anything worth reading today?”

“Only if you’re interested in sports, politics, human interest, fashion, cooking, or world news,” Mr. Parker said. He lowered the newspaper and peered over his glasses. “We live in a fascinating world.”

Bryony pulled out the chair opposite him. “Mind if I sit for a minute?”

His right eyebrow arched. “Sure, have a seat.”

“I have a request,” Bryony said, lowering herself into the chair. “My brother, Mitch, needs someone to fill in on his trivia team for a tournament, and I hear you might be the man for the job.”

“Where did you hear that?” Mr. Parker asked.

“Todd told me he’s never met anybody who knows as much as you do. And I see you reading the newspaper every day. Your resume is your daily routine.”

“Where and when does this tournament occur?” he asked.

“Tomorrow night. The sports bar on Taft Street. They start at eight o’clock.” Bryony held her breath as he deliberated.

“That’ll interrupt my usual bedtime, but I suppose I can help out.”

“Thank you, Mister Parker,” she said in a rush of exhalation. She asked him to write his phone number on a fresh napkin.

“It’s the least I can do,” he said. “That pie was just like my wife’s.” He returned her pen, raised the newspaper, and disappeared behind it.

Bryony stood and pushed the chair back in gently, guessing he had dismissed her, but as she started to walk away, he lowered the newspaper again. “Thank you for asking me to help out.” His voice was softer, his eyes misty.

She smiled. He raised the newspaper once more, and she knew with certainty this time the conversation over. One hurdle cleared, her worries about Cal calmed.

In the afternoon, Lillian returned from transporting her granddaughter “from point A to point B.”

Bryony greeted her with a cheery, “Hello! What a beautiful day, huh?”

“Charity and Susie are here again.” Lillian exchanged her jacket for her apron.

“Yes, they are.” They were customers to Bryony, nothing more. Every new sighting lowered her visceral response, desensitization in action.

“They’ve been coming in often,” Lillian said.