“Because you are crazy. You’ve always been crazy.”
She laughs. “It’s one of my most endearing traits.”
I tilt my head. “You’ve got a lot of great traits. I love you.”
“I love you too, and I can’t wait to tell your mom how happy you’ve been all weekend.”
My brow furrows. “Is it bad that I feel guiltier if she knows?”
“You know that she wants you to have fun too, right?”
I nod, knowing she’s right. Even Alec is supportive—ridiculously overprotective but supportive. Taking a long sip of my drink, I watch the way the sunlight dances on the waves.
A moment later, without any sound, or perhaps mingled with all the other sounds, I somehow know Malcolm is there. It is a shift in the air or maybe his cologne. I don’t know how, but somehow the small hairs on the back of my neck stand in anticipation and I know...and then, before I can turn, his large warm hand lands gently yet possessively on my shoulder a second before he speaks.
It’s a funny thing that he does, his way of needing to be connected, to touch. In the two months since our first night, I’m surprised at how accustomed I’ve become to it—that touch before he speaks. His deep voice brings a smile to my face.
“Hey beautiful.” His lips graze my cheek.
“Hey.”
Brian is giving Sally a kiss as I turn my attention to Malcolm, watching as he pulls up a chair and sits beside me.
“I know we’re leaving tonight,” he begins, “but while you two were getting your massages, we pulled a few strings.”
My lower lip disappears behind my teeth. “Malcolm, I have to be back tonight, before late.”
He shakes his head. “Our reservations for our flight are for six o’clock. That means we need to leave for the airport by four. With the time difference, you’ll be home and to your son by eight.”
“He goes to bed—”
Sally clears her throat. “If you don’t think your mother knows Ja—”
My vigorous head shaking stops her from completing Jase’s name.
She goes on, “...that your mother knows that Jay-sus himself couldn’t keep you away. She also knows his schedule. If you don’t think she does, I’m very disappointed.”
Malcolm grins. “Don’t you know, Sally, that I’m not allowed to know his name? And that’s okay, but I know he has a great mom, and he’s in bed on school nights by eight-thirty.”
I reach out to Malcolm’s knee. “It’s not that you...it’s that—”
His lips still my answer with a kiss. “Stop. You’ll be home in time. I promise. But first, Brian and I secured an afternoon charter out on the bay. I can’t get you to an ocean this weekend, but if we hurry to the docks, I can get you to the gulf.”
“What?” Sally asks.
“Yes,” Brian answers. “We called some old friends. They used to do charters all the time for the team. Apparently, they still do. When they heard that Pep and I were looking for a last-minute boat, they cancelled some poor sap’s reservations...”
“No!” Sally and I say together.
“It’s no big deal. Something about a fiftieth anniversary...”
“What?” Sally says, her eyes huge.
Malcolm’s laugh rings over our table. “No. Brian’s exaggerating. Like he always does...”
Brian innocently shrugs.
“Really,” Malcolm goes on, “it’s not a big boat, but it’s big enough to take us out in the gulf with some wine and food and show you lovely ladies why you need to return to the sunshine state. And no one’s reservations were cancelled—just the captain’s day off.”
“I-I...” I begin, unsure what to say.
“Let me guess,” Malcolm says with a grin. “You’ve never been on a charter to the Gulf of Mexico before?”
My worries about Jase disappear. Though a small part of me still feels guilty that I won’t be home sooner, I know Malcolm won’t let me down. He’ll get me there before Jase goes to bed.
“I was going to say that since I’m the one who’s kidnapped, I guess I don’t have a choice.” When Malcolm simply looks at me, I let my smile grow. “And I’m very excited. You’re right, I’ve never been on a boat in any sort of saltwater before.” I kiss his cheek. “Thank you!”
One of the Great Lakes is the only large body of water I’d ever seen before this weekend. A few times when Alec and I were young, our parents took us to Lake Michigan. I recall as a child thinking that it was an ocean. It’s big and blue and cold, the last a contrast to this bay. Each time I’ve stepped into the waves here, the temperature is much warmer. There’s something about the salt air, too. “I can’t wait,” I confess.
“Good,” Malcolm says, laying a few bills on the table. “Then let’s go.”
I’m glad the charter comes complete with a captain and one crewman, even if we did mess up their day off. I don’t doubt that Malcolm could steer a boat if he said he could. So far, I haven’t found many things—anything—that he can’t do. Yet it’s nice to have him beside me as the boat crashes through the waves, taking us beyond the confines of Tampa Bay and out into the gulf.
While the captain drives—is that what one does with a boat?—the mate is responsible for keeping us fed while at the same time supplying us with wine and water. As plates of food continue to appear, I decide that once again, this is like nothing I’ve ever done. I almost wonder if it’s really me sailing through the blue as the saltwater sprays in tiny droplets upon my sunglasses and we move farther and farther away from Tampa. Once we pass under a giant bridge, high above our heads, Malcolm tells me we’re in the Gulf of Mexico and asks me what I think.
“Are there ever times when you can’t come up with words that are sufficient to express what you’re thinking?”
He smiles, not rushing me or pushing me to say more.
“It’s stunning,” I say, knowing my answer is woefully insufficient.
The pad of Malcolm’s thumb runs over my cheek, wiping away the sea droplets. “Are you wearing sunscreen?”
“Yes, and sunglasses, and a hat when the wind doesn’t blow it from my head.”
“Your cheeks are the perfect pink and...” His finger drops to the edge of my beach cover-up. “I can’t wait to find your tan lines.” We kiss. “Mandy, you’re stunning. This is water and sun. Over seventy percent of the earth is covered with water and the sun hits everywhere at some time. But you are...” His deep voice rumbles through me, surpassing the crashing waves and motor’s roar. “...you are...well, there’s only one of you.”
“Thank goodness,” Sally says, interrupting our private moment. “I love her, but the world isn’t ready for two of her.”
We all laugh.
As we all settle to watch the amazing view, Malcolm reaches for my hand. It’s the touch, the connection, and as our fingers intertwine, I contemplate how there’s only one Malcolm too.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Amanda
Is it true that for every good moment there’s an equally as harsh one? I’m not sure, but as I sit across the desk from the principal at Jase’s school, I feel that I may be paying my dues for the lovely weekend Malcolm and I shared only a short week and a half ago.
Sitting here is worse than any time I was ever called to the principal’s office as a student. Though I did attend the same school, the principal has changed. As I sit and take in the cases of books and the windows that look out to the playground, I can’t help but think that not much else is different. It’s like a time machine where only the colors of paint and carpet change along with the players, yet so much stays the same. If I could, I’d willingly go back in time to be sitting here for my own transgressions, instead of hearing about my son’s difficulties.
Through this all, I’ve come to realize that Mrs. Landecker is a caring woman and educator. Even though she is, I’d rather not have become so well acquainted with her. Unfortunately, this isn’t our first encounter. I wish I could even say it was only our second. A li
ttle over two months into the school year and this is our fourth.
“Amanda,” she says as I contemplate that the fact that we’ve gotten to a first-name basis is not necessarily a good thing. “We know,” she goes on, “that you’re doing all you can on your end. The thing is I’m beginning to think that Mrs. Williams and Jason aren’t a good fit. That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with either one, just that there might be a better match for Jason.”
She’s beginning to think? Because five minutes into our second meeting, I could already have told her that. What does that mean, though?
“What options do we have?” Please don’t say private school. My fingers bob against the arms of the chair as I fidget in place. “This is the school I attended, the one Jase’s father and uncle attended. Are you suggesting switching schools?”
“Oh, heaven’s no.”
I let out a long sigh and catch my breath. Even though my lungs are operational, it doesn’t help my nerves. They’re still frayed beyond repair.
The first meeting, only a week or so into the year, included Mrs. Williams, Jase’s teacher. An older woman, she has many times received the best-teaching award. I have no doubt that in her day the accolades may have been warranted. Now, however, she seems extremely rigid in her tried-and-true beliefs. During that meeting, the three of us spent ten minutes discussing the attributes of carpet squares and the importance of sitting still upon said square during circle time, reading time, and what seemed to amount to the better part of the day. If she’d been a salesperson, I might have ordered a lot of carpet squares right on the spot. They sounded almost magical.
“Mrs. Landecker...” I say. The first-name basis only goes one way. “...it breaks my heart that Jase is no longer excited about school. He’s in kindergarten. This is supposed to be fun and exciting and ignite in him the love of learning. He told me the other day he was bad.” I fight back the tears. “My son isn’t bad.”
Mrs. Landecker’s head moves slowly back and forth as her lips form a straight line. “I agree with you. I’ve spoken to Jason many times. He’s a sweet boy who happens to have an abundance of energy.”
I pull a paper from the folder I’m holding on my lap. It’s a chart with days of the week and categories, similar to the carpet-circle categories: reading, circle time, numbers, letters, raising your hand, sitting in your seat. Jase’s chart has a few smiling stickers, but the majority of them are in the column entitled working to improve.
My hand shakes as I pass the paper toward his principal.
“Positive reinforcement...” she begins.
Once her words slow I shake my head. “This isn’t positive. He’s smart enough to see that others are getting more stickers than he. These charts are displayed.”
“Have you ever heard of facilitative learning?”
I shake my head.
“It’s not necessarily new; however, it is for our school district. It’s very similar to the concept of Montessori learning. Mrs. Williams’s classroom is traditional, very much like the kindergarten class you or I attended at Jason’s age.
“Our district secured a grant for a pilot program. We have a new teacher in our district at our school this year, a man...”
My eyes widen: a man teaching kindergarten? I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“Amanda, I assure you Mr. P. is qualified. He came from out of state and is fully versed in the facilitative structure. With the grant, this is a multi-year program. While this is the first year of it here, the structural theory has documented support...”
My nerves seem to have calmed a bit, I realize, as I listen to her explain the theory of facilitative learning as it’s applied to a classroom of small children.
She laughs, easing my mind. “I’ll admit for those of us who aren’t used to it, sometimes it appears more like managed chaos, but I can attest to you that the parents and students have been overly pleased.
“This theory stems from the belief that moving is related to cognitive function. Movement can enhance learning.”
I want to ask how that works with children glued to carpet squares, but I don’t.
“In essence,” she goes on, “instead of telling students what they need to learn, in Mr. P.’s classroom, students discover learning on their own. It’s that desire that helps them move freely among different activities.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand. How does a kindergartener know what he needs to learn?”
“I had the same question.” She pauses, studying my reaction.
“I wish I could introduce you to Mr. P. today, but his class is on a field trip. You see, kindergarten students come to us with an array of backgrounds. Many, like Jason, have attended preschool and have parents like yourself who have spent time working with them. They are familiar with a classroom setting, being around other children, and come to us with a knowledge base that years ago was meant to be accomplished by the end of this school year.”
“Do you think that’s the problem...that Jase is bored? Did we teach him too much?”
She shakes her head. “I’m an educator. There’s never too much. However, in the traditional setting where everyone must sit and recite numbers or the alphabet, to those students who are already familiar it can seem redundant and even...yes...boring.”
“How is this facilitative structure different?”
“I’ll tell you what, even though Mr. P.’s class is out of the building, let me show you his classroom.”
I look down at my watch. I’d told Cruella de Vil that I’d be only an hour late, but now that I’m here, and for the first time feeling hopeful, I can’t stop now. “I’d love to see it.”
As we enter the kindergarten hallway, the classroom Mrs. Landecker leads me to is noticeably different. Of course, there are numbers above smart boards and letters in large colorful posters throughout, but there’s no line of desks. Instead there are clusters of desks and additional round tables with tubs of manipulative items: spongy letters, numbers, and shapes.
I simply stand and turn a full circle as I take in the difference. There’s something in the air that’s reassuring, such as a scent or a presence. I can’t put my finger on it, but somehow it eases my anxiety.
“You said managed chaos?” I ask.
“Yes, you see,” she explains, going to a table and lifting a lowercase letter B. She turns it one way. “It’s a b,” she says. Then she turns it the other way. “It’s also a d.”
My eyes narrow. “All right.”
“Dyslexia is more common than we realized.”
“Are you saying that Jase...?” I’d never noticed him reversing letters.
“No, I’m not. I’m explaining how a three-dimensional letter satisfies more senses in a child than a two-dimensional letter on a board or on a piece of paper. They can pick it up, manipulate it, and understand it.”
She pulls out two other letters: a lowercase U and a lowercase G. She then places the letters on the table and spells bug. With a smile, she asks, “If you were Jason and you were allowed to discover on your own that if you simply...” She turns over the B...and creates the word dug. “...could manipulate one letter and create a whole new word, it makes learning to spell a process of discovery rather than rote memory.”
“And it’s more fun,” I say with an understanding smile.
“It seems to be. Mr. P.’s classroom is filled with engaged learners.” She takes a step toward me. “I’m not trying to pry, but without a father figure at home, Mr. P. could also be a good influence as a positive male role model for Jason.”
I want to argue that Jase has my father and brother as positive male role models, but I see her point. Of course, my mind momentarily goes to Malcolm. The longer we’re seeing one another, the more I find myself thinking that he too could be a positive role model.
Yet I told him that I’d never introduce him to Jase.
What would happen if I did?
“Amanda, with your permission, I’d like to transfer
Jason to Mr. P.’s classroom.”
“When?” I ask, again taking in the surroundings.
Even Mr. P.’s desk is different. Instead of sitting like a judge in the front of the classroom, he seems to have a long work area along one wall. That’s when I notice the corner filled with books.
“Mrs. Landecker? Are children in his classroom reading?”
She tilts her head. “Reading isn’t on our list of kindergarten behavioral objectives, but that’s the thing with this model of learning: children discover at their own speed. Jason won’t be required to read by the first grade; however, if he can construct words out of foam letters at this table, then the next obvious step is wanting to put the words together in a sentence, and then put sentences together and understand stories.”
Tears fight to pool on my lids as I take in all she’s saying. “Yes. I see.”
Her smile grows. “If you can bring him to school again tomorrow morning, I believe having you and Jason sit down for a few minutes with Mr. P. will ease your concern and help to make the change easier.”
I know in my heart that Ms. DeVoe won’t be happy, but priorities are priorities. “What should I tell him?”
“Tell him that tomorrow he’s going to move to Mr. P.’s class.”
“Will he know who that is?”
“Oh, yes. All the students know Mr. P. and most of the moms, too,” she says, the last part with the biggest grin I’ve seen all day.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Amanda
My hands continue to shake uncontrollably as I drive from work to my parents’ home. Forget that, my entire body is experiencing tremors. I keep replaying the scene at the office when I arrived to work after my latest meeting with Mrs. Landecker.
As soon as I arrived, I stuck my head in Ms. DeVoe’s office. “Hi. I wanted to let you know I’m here.”
“Amanda, come in and shut the door.”
I did as she asked, taking a seat on the other side of her desk. As I looked at my manager, I thought about Mr. P.’s desk and how his wasn’t set in a position of authority like Ms. DeVoe’s or even Mrs. Williams’s.
All ONES: The Complete Collection Page 34