by Beth Andrews
“Did I do something to offend you in high school?”
“You tutored me. In English,” he added when she just stared.
“I remember, but what does my tutoring you a hundred years ago have to do with anything in the here and now?”
His jaw worked as if he was grinding his teeth into dust. “You think there’s something wrong with Max because I had issues in school.”
She hadn’t known it was possible, but he’d managed to shock her into silence for a second time. It had to be some sort of record.
“First of all, there is nothing, not one blessed thing wrong with Max,” she said, her voice vibrating as indignation on behalf of that sweet boy swept through her. “He’s having some issues that I feel need addressing. What I’m suggesting is that we figure out what those issues are so we can devise a strategy to help him succeed. And for your information, my evaluation of each student is based on his or her individual efforts. I take into account their past grades, test scores and how they’re currently doing in my class. And for you to suggest that I look at Max and think, ‘Oh, well, there’s the son of someone I helped understand King Lear junior year so he must have some...issues,’” she said, doing a fair impersonation of his gravelly voice on that last word, “is not only one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard, it’s also one of the most insulting.”
There. She’d given him a piece of her mind said in her best do-not-mess-with-me-I-am-a-teacher tone, the one that had cowed many others.
That those others happened to be under the age of ten didn’t matter.
“It was The Grapes of Wrath,” he said, not the least bit intimidated, darn him. “Sophomore year.”
She rolled her eyes then immediately squeezed them shut. God. Bad enough he had her acting unprofessionally, now she was reverting to the teenager she’d been when they’d spent a few hours studying Steinbeck’s classic novel. Next thing she knew, she’d be telling him, as clearly and succinctly as possible, exactly how big of an ass he was being.
Inhaling deeply, she held it for the count of five. She could do this. She dealt with children all day, had weathered more than her fair share of tantrums, meltdowns and bad behavior.
“All I want,” she said, “is to help Max. Surely you want the same thing.”
“If Max needs help, I’ll give it to him.”
“In the interest of doing what’s best for Max, I’m sure we can come to some sort of compromise.” Though she hadn’t been able to charm him in the least so far, she tried another smile. Hey, she may be banging her head against his obstinacy but that didn’t mean she had to give up. “Seeing as how we’re old friends and all.”
“We weren’t friends.”
Her smile slid away. Then again, giving up had its merits. Such as saving her from one heck of a headache. “What would you call it? Acquaintances? School chums? Oh, how about tutor and tutee?”
“Is that a real word?”
She had no idea. “The bottom line is that I’m concerned about Max.”
“I appreciate your concern,” he said in a tone that made it clear he couldn’t care less about her concern, her opinions or her standing as his son’s teacher. “But I don’t want Max observed by some psychologist or singled out in any way. Like I said, I’ll talk to him. Get him to pay more attention, to not fidget as much.”
“I don’t think it’ll be that easy. And as Max’s teacher, I feel it’s my responsibility to tell you I disagree with your decision and wish you would reconsider.”
“You don’t have to be his teacher.”
His threat, implicit but oh, so clear, slid along her spine, had her narrowing her eyes. No one threatened her. No one. “You’d pull Max from my class?”
He shrugged as if that said it all—which, she supposed, it did.
She stared at his broad back as he opened the door and called into the classroom, “Time to go, Max.”
“You’re not serious,” she said when he faced her. Then again, he looked as if he was never anything but serious. Serious. Stubborn. Annoying.
And most of all, just plain wrong.
When he twitched, as if moving to lift his shoulder, she held up a hand. “For God’s sake,” she snapped, “use your words and not one of those shrugs you’re so fond of.”
If possible, his frown became even darker. “I’ll do whatever’s best for Max,” he said as his son joined them. “And I’ll do it on my own.”
This isn’t what’s best for him, she wanted to yell. But Max shot worried glances between them, so she kept her thoughts to herself. Continued keeping them to herself as Eddie and his son walked away.
* * *
EDDIE PUSHED OPEN the school’s front doors, stepped into the sunshine and descended the wide, concrete steps, Max next to him. At the bottom, they turned left and headed toward the parking lot.
He breathed in the fresh air, but it did little to ease the tension tightening his neck, causing a headache to brew behind his temples. Worse than the pain? He couldn’t shake the image of Harper’s mouth, of those pink, heart-shaped lips moving as she’d talked.
And talked and talked and talked some more.
There were much better things she could do with that mouth.
All I want is to help Max. Surely you want the same thing.
Of course he did. That was all he’d ever wanted. All he cared about.
And damn her for questioning him like that, for making it seem as if his resistance to her concerns was something other than his protective instincts.
She wanted to stick Max with a label, one he’d have for the rest of his life.
One that would screw up his self-esteem, make him question his own abilities. No way would Eddie ever let that happen.
No way would he let his son go through what he’d gone through.
He’d handle it, he assured himself, in a calm, rational way.
Though Harper might disagree about the rational part.
Didn’t matter. He had to do what he felt was right.
Eddie would work with Max, talk to him about how important it was to pay close attention in class. He’d go over every bit of Max’s homework, make sure it got completed to the best of Max’s capabilities. In a few weeks, his grades would improve and Harper would realize she’d been wrong. That she’d overreacted about the fidgeting, short attention span and impatience—which were all normal traits shared by a great many seven-year-old boys.
His son was no different from anyone else.
“Dad?” Max asked, breathless as they reached the parking lot.
Realizing Max was jogging to keep pace with his long, angry strides, Eddie slowed. “Hmm?”
“Am I in trouble?”
Eddie stopped. “No. Why?”
Max stared at the ground, kicked a pebble. “’Cause Mrs. Kavanagh wanted to talk to you.”
“It was a parent/teacher conference. So she could tell me how you’re doing.”
“I haven’t been fighting,” Max blurted, his cheeks turning red. “Not even a little. Not even when Aaron took my turn on the monkey bars today. I walked away, like you told me.”
“That’s good.” Though he should probably add something about standing your ground when you know you’re in the right, not letting people push you around and learning how to talk things through. To compromise.
Use your words.
Easy for Harper to say. She had more than her fair share of words while Eddie was always searching for the right ones.
“Does Mrs. Kavanagh like me?” Max asked.
“Yeah. She likes you a lot.” That much had been clear. “Do you...” He grabbed the back of his neck, massaged the ache there. “Do you like her?”
Max nodded so hard, his hair flopped into his eyes. “She’s nice. And funny. And she doesn’t yell even when someone’s being really bad.”
Eddie dropped his hand. “That’s...great.”
Yeah, freaking terrific. It would be so much easier switching Max to another class if he�
��d disliked Harper or, at the very least, didn’t give a damn about her one way or the other. Not that Eddie was set on that course of action. She’d said herself she needed his permission for Max to be observed by the shrink. As long as she didn’t push him, Eddie wouldn’t have a reason to pull Max from her class.
“Come on,” he said. “We have to stop at Bradford House and see how Heath did with the kitchen cabinets.”
“Can I get a snack before practice?”
Damn. That was right. It was Tuesday. Max had hockey practice. Eddie would never stop being grateful Mark Benton had stepped up and offered to coach before Eddie could get stuck with the job.
He glanced at his watch. Why were there never enough hours in the day? “Sure, but we need to get moving.”
He clasped his son’s small, warm and slightly sticky hand. There would be a time, not too far in the future, when Max would grimace and shrink away when Eddie offered his hand.
But not today.
Today, his son held on instead of running ahead. Today, his son still needed him.
They climbed into the truck.
“Want to know what else I like about Mrs. Kavanagh?” Max asked as he buckled his seat belt.
Not in the least.
“Sure,” Eddie said with a sigh.
“She’s pretty,” Max whispered, a blush coloring his fair skin. “And she smells good.”
Eddie turned on the ignition, slammed his foot onto the clutch and jammed the truck into first gear. He’d noticed both those things, too. He wished like hell he hadn’t.
* * *
“HE HAD THE NERVE...the utter...utter...”
Harper tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling of Dr. Joan Crosby’s office in hope the word she was searching for would somehow magically appear in the air.
“Gall?” Joan asked from behind her neat desk.
Harper whirled on the older woman. Jabbed a finger in her direction. “Yes!
The utter gall to threaten to take Max out of my class.”
She still couldn’t believe it. Pacing to burn off some of her temper before she picked up her daughter from daycare, her quick, short strides took her to the far edge of the room and back in seconds. An easy enough task given the size of the office and the fact that there was nothing in there that wasn’t completely necessary. A desk and chair, three other chairs—two facing the desk, the third off to the side—and floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books. A small, round table with two kid-sized chairs sat in the far corner along with a plastic bin Harper knew held drawing paper, crayons and colored pencils.
Joan didn’t believe in wasting space, materials, time or words.
Harper grabbed a handful of M&M’s—her third such handful—from a ceramic bowl on the desk and tossed several into her mouth. They didn’t help.
She ate some more.
Stick with something long enough, and you were bound to get the results you wanted.
Naive? Perhaps. But it kept her happy and optimistic in the face of adversity. After Beau had been taken from her so suddenly, Harper had wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and die herself. She couldn’t, of course. She had people who counted on her, who needed her to be strong. Her daughter, Cassidy, for one.
Joan, Beau’s mother, for another.
So, yes, she lived a life of clichés. Chin up. Search out the good in life. The sun will come out tomorrow and all that jazz. Looking on the bright side had kept her sane during the past ten months. Believing in some greener pasture, in better days, helped to push her through each hour, every minute without her husband.
Convinced her things would get better.
Each day got a little easier. She no longer cried herself to sleep or felt as if there was a weight on her chest, one making it unbearable to breathe. She was living again, could see real hope for the future, could even imagine herself moving on. Dating. Possibly falling in love again.
Eventually. When the time was right. In another year or so when the idea of being with someone new didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility. When it wouldn’t feel like a betrayal of her husband, of what they’d shared.
Someday she would move on. Fully. Without regrets or guilt. She had to. Even when you lost the man you loved with all your heart, life went on, day after day.
It was funny that way.
She ate a red M&M followed quickly by a blue one. She froze in the act of reaching for another handful, her fingers twitching, and glared at Joan. “What are you, a sadist?”
Her mother-in-law considered that, as if the question deserved real thought. “I don’t believe so.”
“Then why are you letting me eat these? You know I’m trying to lose this extra baby weight.” Baby weight she carried on her hips and thighs despite delivering said baby two and a half years ago.
Guess not everything worked out the way you wanted, no matter how hard or long you stuck with it.
“I was afraid to suggest you slow down,” Joan said. “Or take the bowl lest you chomped my hand off at the wrist.”
“Ha ha.” Harper flopped onto the chair as Joan reached for the candy. “Wait,” Harper cried, leaping back up. She took two more. “Last ones. I swear.”
She’d make up for the extra calories by getting on the treadmill tonight.
Feeling better, if not entirely virtuous about her choice, she sucked on the first M&M to make it last as long as possible.
Joan tucked the bowl into a side drawer then clasped her hands together on top of the desk. “Now that you’ve settled down, why don’t you tell me what’s got you so upset?”
Harper slid the second chocolate into her mouth. Perhaps she’d chosen the wrong person to vent to. Why did she have to have a psychologist for a mother-in-law? And vice versa?
But they’d known each other a few years before Joan had introduced her only child to Harper. Even though Beau no longer tied them together, they were still family. More than that, they were each other’s connection to the man—the husband, the son—they’d both lost. During the worst grief imaginable, they’d stuck together, had been there for each other.
That would never change.
Through it all, their relationship had grown and evolved into friendship, one Harper cherished. It was that friend she needed now.
She’d just have to put up with the therapist butting in with her two cents every once in a while.
“I’m upset because he wouldn’t even listen to reason.” Wouldn’t listen to her. “I explained that Max needed help, that he was dangerously behind in all subject areas, and the first step toward getting to the bottom of Max’s problems was for you to observe him, but Eddie...brushed all my reasons aside.”
Like she was some annoying gnat come to burrow in that mop of hair on his head.
“Uh-huh. Is that all?”
Harper gaped. “Didn’t you hear me? He threatened to take Max from my class.” The more she thought of it, the more upset she got. She started pacing again. “Not once, in all my years of teaching—”
“Sweetie,” Joan said not unkindly, “you don’t get to use in all my years of teaching until you’ve been here at least twenty years.”
“Well, in the ten years I’ve taught I’ve never had any parent ask to remove their child from my class. I’m the most requested teacher in second grade.”
Joan arched a perfect eyebrow. “Bragging, dear?”
Harper’s cheeks heated. Too bad the candy was put away. The best cure for the blues, bad temper and embarrassment was chocolate. It fixed what ailed you.
“I’m stating a fact.” She chewed on the inside of her lip. “Maybe I should have told him that. Then he could have realized what a mistake it would be for him to take Max away from me.”
“I’d like to make sure I have this straight.” Joan steepled her fingers under her chin, her reading glasses on top of her graying blond curls. “Mr. Montesano is reluctant to discuss the possible reasons behind Max’s struggles in school and became defensive when you state
d your opinions.”
“Very defensive. And then he got offensive.”
Joan hummed in a way that made Harper feel as if she was being analyzed. Which, let’s be honest, she completely was. “And how did that make you feel?”
Harper’s lips twitched. “Please. I’m trying to keep a good mad going here.”
“And you’re doing an admirable job. But it might be better for your stress levels if you collect your thoughts and think of a solution to the problem.”
“I’d rather stay mad,” she grumbled.
“But mad doesn’t solve anything.”
True. She sighed. Stared at the framed photos on Joan’s desk—one of Harper and Beau on their wedding day, another of Beau holding their daughter, Cassidy, on his birthday last year.
Ten days later, Beau was gone.
“Eddie accused me of not doing my job.”
“Ah...”
“Oh, no. No.”
“What?”
“I know what you’re up to with that ah. You think you’ve got it all figured out, that there’s some deep-seated issue here causing me to be so upset. Probably something to do with my dog running away when I was four or my not getting enough love as a child.”
“Your parents adore you.”
“Exactly.” And, being an only child, she didn’t have to share that adoration with anyone else. “So there’s nothing to ah about here.”
“Hmm...”
With a groan, Harper flopped into the chair. “That’s even worse.”
“Seems to me,” Joan said in the same slow, thoughtful tone she employed when speaking with students, “the problem isn’t Mr. Montesano’s reaction—or at least, not only his reaction. It’s your reaction to that reaction.”
“He started it.”
Joan smiled. “Surprisingly, that’s not the first time I’ve heard those words uttered from someone sitting in that chair.”
Considering Joan’s usual clients were the under-twelve set, Harper wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or amused. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have let him get me so upset.”
“Have you considered the reason why you reacted the way you did?”