Glancing up at the clock, Heather Carver tried not to mentally calculate the minutes until she could go home. She did anyway—seventy-four. And her impatience with teaching third grade had come much too early in the school year. After all, it was only September.
At least it’s Friday, she thought, rationalizing that that was the reason she couldn’t wait until the final bell rang. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t why. Teaching had a way of taking everything from a person, especially someone who didn’t have anything else to give anything to.
At least it’s FridayShe pushed away her thoughts and focused on the little boy in front of her. With a flop of dark hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose, Mathias was reading from the book he’d gotten from the library that morning. He read
