129 - Class Report

*After listening to your father and his pretties, I have decided that when I build a house, the master suite is going to be soundproofed three times over. – Camille to Priscilla*

Sometime just past noon on Sunday, Darkness and Camille slipped into an exhausted sleep. Towels from their shared shower lay on the floor where they were discarded. The clothes that Darkness had worn yesterday were still where he stripped them off. Empty water bottles were tossed aside and left where they landed.

Against the far wall, the pedestal table was still in the cross. The floggers and paddles, cuffs and chains along with the occasional toy were scattered around the room. The stagnant air in the bedroom reeked of the fuckfest that had occurred overnight. And into the morning.

Downstairs, trash from their hastily eaten meal of fast-food burgers and fries, contactless delivery that was left on the front porch, was strewn across the dining room table.

The disarray of their room and house was not on either of their minds as Darkness’ phone buzzed on his bedside table. He disentangled himself from his wife and grabbed it off the wireless charger. Zydeco’s name appeared on the screen, and he clicked the green circle.

“Hello?” Darkness whispered.

“Just letting you know that the kids are headed home,” Zydeco told his godson. “Are you guys ready for them.”

“Not yet,” Darkness chuckled quietly as he slipped out of bed and found a pair of shorts to pull on. “But I will be.”

“I did tell them to stop over at that chicken place near the college that she likes.”

“Good. We haven’t eaten any food since last night,” he stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door.

Zydeco chuckled from his end of the line, “I caught how you phrased that. Did you have your fill of her last night?”

“Never,” Darkness chuckled as he headed down the stairs to the bottom floor.

They spoke for a few more minutes and then the call ended as Darkness cleaned up the house. He was in the process of sweeping the kitchen when the front door opened. Nearly an hour later, Camille came downstairs and joined them.

After she ate some of the chicken strips that the kids had brought home, she read through the paper that Mitch had written. She corrected a few misspelled words that were mainly the city names from The Netherlands, Poland and Germany.

Darkness took the older two kids upstairs to play a round of pool as Camille and Mitch sat together in the living room. She helped him pronounce the harder names and words.

“What if I mess up on how to say these towns?”

Camille chuckled, “I’ll be there to help you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she assured him. “One thing about my family, we are there and support each other. You may make a dumb ass decision, but we will support you. And when you realize that you made a stupid decision, we’ll be there for you too.”

“No matter what?” he asked quietly.

She hugged him close and kissed the top of his head, “No matter what, *zoon.”

He ran through his speech and presentation one more time and then she sent him upstairs to join the game. While they were occupied, she straightened up the master suite and started a load of laundry. After everything that they had done on those sheets last night and this morning, she might need to run the sheets through the washer a second time.

Giggling at that thought, she put the fresh set of bedding on their bed. With the room put back to right and the pedestal put back together; she headed down to join in the game night.

The following morning, Camille loaded the boxes that her mother had sent into the back of the Jeep. On the way to the school, they stopped at a small bakery that agreed to make a large batch of *Ontbijtkoek.

Sid had found the bakery and even sent them a case of Dutch Stroop – a caramel sauce that Camille thought was the best thing to have ever been created. Camille had not had any of the traditional breakfast cake since she had moved down to Louisiana.

When she picked up the cakes, she also requested a copy of the recipe. The kids did not know that Camille’s family believed that she could not cook. And so far, she had kept her family from knowing that she could now cook. Her plan was to go home and surprise them by cooking for them.

But that was not her focus for today. Today, her sole focus this morning was Mitch and his report.

When they arrived at the school, it took them each making two trips to bring everything inside. Camille signed in at the front desk and let them know that she would be staying for the day. As she was leaving, the principal entered, and she stopped him.

“Mr. Baker?”

He gave her a well-practiced smile, “Yes, ma’am.”

She offered her hand to the tall slender man with graying hair, “Camille Johnson, my son Mitch Johnson is in Miss Prentiss’ history class.”

“Oh, yes, I heard that he was redoing his report today,” he shook her hand. “First period, is that right?”

“Yes, I would love for you to join us,” she gave him the smile that she had perfected over the last few years working with Priscilla.

Personally, Camille hated being the center of attention. But being a co-owner of a PR and marketing company, she often found herself being forced into the limelight. She had mastered the art of hiding her discomfort.

“I think that we can make that happen,” he assured her with a diplomatic smile.

“Mrs. Johnson?” the secretary said, and Camille turned around to look at the blonde. “Security is stating that your husband and your other two kids are at the main door.”

“I’ll wait for them, then,” Camille said with a smile.

A few moments later, the door opened, and Darkness motioned for the older two to enter. They received their visitor passes, and they walked down to the classroom together. Darkness slipped his hand into Camille’s and lifted them to press a kiss on her knuckles.

“I thought we agreed that the older two were going to go to school,” she whispered.

He grinned down at her, “They cornered me this morning.”

She grinned back and shook her head, “And they will tell the same story?”

“Of course, they will,” he assured her. “You’re not going to ask them right away, are you?”

“Do you need a little time to get the stories straight?”

“Maybe,” he murmured as they entered the classroom.

They sat at the back of the room as the bell rang. Miss Prentiss had the students take their seats and went through the morning announcements.

“Okay, Mitchell Johnson is going to give a report on his family in the European theater in World War Two. And Mitchell, you brought visual aids?”

Mitchell stood at the front of the class and held up a picture of a young woman, “This is my adopted great-great-grandmother, Ilse Uittenbroek.”