Caught Up in You (In Shady Grove Book 3)

by Beth Andrews

  “You gave him special treatment.”

  She couldn’t tell if that upset him or not. “No, what I did was use different teaching techniques. Kids with ADHD sometimes do better if they can prepare in advance for when they’ll be called on, are given probing questions and plenty of time to think through their answers.”

  While she couldn’t individualize every lesson plan, assignment or test, she could and did tweak how she taught to help each and every one of her students achieve their highest potential.

  “Can you do that even if Max isn’t diagnosed as ADHD?” Eddie asked.

  Slippery ground here. “Since I already have, you know the answer to that. But I still think it’s in Max’s best interest to have a proper diagnosis.”

  Eddie’s jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid. “Maybe we could try this first. You using some of those different techniques in class and me working with Max at home.”

  She tossed her hands into the air, barely missing clipping him on the chin. Honestly, it was as if every word she said bounced right off his stubborn head.

  “I don’t get it. You obviously love your son and want what’s best for him. So why on earth are you so against him getting the help he needs?”

  He stared at a spot above her head, stayed so still, she didn’t think he’d ever breathe again, let alone answer. But then he exhaled heavily and met her eyes. “Because of my learning...problems, I was sent to special classes, kept separate from most of my peers. I always felt...different,” he said slowly, as if he’d never spoken these words before and was figuring out how best to get them out of his head. “Like there was something wrong with me.”

  “There was nothing wrong with you,” she said, her soft tone no less adamant, her heart aching for the boy he’d been. “And there’s nothing wrong with Max.”

  “I still felt like I was never good enough. Smart enough. Like I was lacking in some fundamental way. And I need to do everything I can to protect Max from ever feeling that way.”

  He was trying to save his son from what he’d gone through. She understood that, sympathized with it, but this wasn’t some TV cop show where the main characters could go rogue and be rewarded as heroes for it. This was real life. And her very real career and professional reputation could be on the line if she stepped too far out of bounds.

  What he was asking went against the school district’s guidelines for helping students who were struggling. There were rules to follow, put in place to protect both the children and the teachers. It also went against her own instincts. Max needed to go through the steps outlined by the district—she’d already taken the first one by meeting with Eddie and discussing her concerns. The second one was to have Max diagnosed by one of the district’s psychologists and, ideally, his pediatrician. Then they could develop the best strategy to help him succeed.

  So why hadn’t she told Eddie no already?

  “What if you do everything you can and Max is still struggling?” she asked. “At what point do you admit there might be a bigger problem, one that you or I aren’t able to solve on our own? Or even with our collective powers?”

  “You mean because kids with ADHD have trouble learning?”

  “There’s a chance that children diagnosed with ADHD have a learning disability, but it’s relatively small. A quart—”

  “A quarter to a third.”

  “Someone’s been doing internet research.” Maybe he’d listened to her after all.

  “I stumbled on a few sites about it.” He sounded guilty, as if he’d admitted to downloading porn.

  Cass shrieked in pure joy—never a good sign—and Harper peeked around the corner into the living room and found her using the sofa as a trampoline.

  “No jumping on the couch, Cassidy.”

  “Okay, Mommy!” Another shriek and the unmistakable sound of the couch springs groaning.

  Harper sighed. “I appreciate what you’re doing,” she told Eddie, “and I get your reasons behind it. I do. But I still feel the best thing for Max is to go through the steps already in place, to utilize the school district’s programs and support network.”

  “We could try it...you working with him...for a few months. If there’s no improvement, I’ll—” He pressed his lips together. Swallowed. “I’ll agree to go through with the district plan.”

  When she hesitated, he stepped toward her, leaving a few feet between them, but he was close enough she smelled the spicy scent of his soap, could see the faint lines fanning his eyes.

  “Please,” he said, his rough voice seeming to rub against her skin.

  God, who knew one word could be so...potent? So hard to refuse?

  “I’ll tutor Max,” she grumbled, not bothering to hide her reluctance. “For one hour a day, Monday through Thursday right after school. Friday you and I can meet to go over his progress and I’ll give you some tips about helping him at home.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  He should. Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty. But she’d do it for Max.

  “I’ll tutor him,” she repeated, “but if he shows little or no improvement by the end of the second marking period, you agree to try things my way.”

  She could see his mind working, could imagine the inner debate he was having with himself. Hadn’t she had one of her own not two minutes ago? But this might be a good thing, this unexpected compromise they’d reached. She’d have a chance to work one-on-one with Max, giving her an opportunity to better assess his needs as well as his strengths and weaknesses. And if in the end she was able to help Max and know that she’d given Eddie peace of mind? Then it would be worth it.

  “Agreed,” he said and finally, thankfully, walked out her door.

  Leaving his scent and the image of him holding her daughter etched in Harper’s mind.

  * * *

  PASTOR ARROWSMITH WOULDN’T let go of her hands.

  Keeping her expression clear, her fingers relaxed, Joan smiled at the older gentleman. “Lovely sermon this morning, Pastor.”

  She had no idea if it’d been lovely. For all she knew he’d gone on a rampage about fire and brimstone and the evils of sin leading straight to hell. She didn’t listen to him anymore. Couldn’t believe in forgiveness and eternal salvation, had no desire to trust in a God who’d let her son be taken away from her.

  “Ah, thank you, Joan. Thank you.” The pastor, a rather rotund man in his early seventies with silver hair and a chin beard that made him look like a leprechaun, squeezed her hands. Held on tight as he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Mitzi and I have been thinking about you, what with the one-year anniversary approaching. And, of course, we keep you and your family in our prayers. How is everyone holding up?”

  Joan’s fingers went numb. Her heart raced, her stomach churned with a toxic combination of pain and anger. How dare he bring it up? She didn’t need reminding of how long it’d been since Beau had died.

  Two hundred and ninety-three days.

  And she certainly didn’t need his concern or the sympathy softening his expression. Did he really think she’d tell him her innermost thoughts and feelings? That she couldn’t hold up under the stress and strain?

  She didn’t need a shoulder to cry on or a sympathetic ear. Didn’t need to lean on anyone. She’d withstand her loss on her own two feet.

  “How is Mitzi?” Joan asked smoothly, the only telltale sign of her distress being the slight rasp of her usually clear voice. “I didn’t see her in church.”

  He hesitated, as if unsure about whether he should push. Joan met his gaze equably. No one watching would ever guess she was anything other than completely calm and in control.

  “Unfortunately, my better half is a bit under the weather. She’ll be sorry she missed you.”

  No longer caring how it looked, what he would think, she yanked her hands free, tucked them behind her back so he couldn’t reach for them again. He was just being kind, letting her change the subject. Trying to help her by being placating and s
ensitive to her feelings. She should be grateful.

  Instead, she hated him for it.

  “I was hoping to discuss setting up a meeting of the Women’s Club but I’ll catch up with her next week. Oh,” Joan continued, spying Steve near the corner, “there’s my husband. I’d better join him before he goes home without me. Please tell Mitzi I hope she feels better soon.”

  Without waiting for his reply, she walked off, the heels of her pumps sinking into the grass as she crossed the neatly trimmed yard in front of the church. Her fellow parishioners greeted her with a friendly word or wave. She responded to each and every one, stopping to chat for a moment, laughing at each inane comment about what a nice day it was, answering questions about Cassidy, pretending she cared about what was being said.

  She wanted to go home. To sit in her bedroom, nurse her throbbing headache with some tea and the dark. The quiet. But Steve was engrossed in conversation with a dark-haired, curvaceous woman a few years younger than them, one Joan recognized as a new member of the congregation but couldn’t name. They obviously knew each other, though. If their body language was anything to go by, they were comfortable around each other.

  Very comfortable.

  Joan couldn’t make herself care. Couldn’t work up even the tiniest twinge of jealousy, of doubt or worry. The other woman stood close to Steve, her body leaning ever so slightly toward him. As Joan watched, the woman threw her head back and laughed at something he said then playfully patted his arm.

  Typical signs of interest. Attraction. She was flirting with him, from the way she kept touching her glossy black hair to the way she made eye contact then looked away. Not that Joan blamed her. Steve was a handsome man, his brown hair only beginning to show signs of gray, his body toned and slim from his daily swim and workout at the gym. A handsome man with a quick, sharp sense of humor and a deep devotion to his family.

  He was a good man. Her husband. And she could no longer stand him touching her, had no desire to be intimate with him—physically or emotionally. Wished on most days that he’d leave her alone. All alone.

  He didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Didn’t deserve her turning him away time and time again. But she couldn’t stop herself.

  Since he had yet to notice her, she worked to keep her expression pleasant and joined him. “Sorry, sorry,” she said to Steve with a breathless laugh as she reached him and the other woman. “I was chatting with Pastor Arrowsmith. Poor Mitzi’s under the weather.” With a smile, she turned to the woman. “Hello.”

  “Dr. Crosby, it’s so nice to see you again. You might not remember but we met shortly after my kids and I moved here.” She offered her hand. “I’m Carrie English.”

  Yes, now Joan remembered. Carrie English, moved to Shady Grove after her divorce, worked as a paralegal or some such thing. “Of course. It’s so nice to see you again.”

  “Oh, you, too,” Carrie said. “I’m afraid I’ve been monopolizing your husband’s time. My oldest just got his driver’s permit and I’ve been drilling Steve about insurance rates.”

  “That’s such a wonderful milestone.” Beau had been so excited about learning how to drive, thrilled with the prospect of freedom, then so nervous when he’d first gotten behind the wheel. “How are your children?”

  She gave a rueful shrug. “They’re teenagers. What else can I say? Every word I utter is wrong and starts an argument. They eat me out of house and home, and are either texting on their phones or fighting with each other. I love them, don’t get me wrong, but there are times I want them to hurry and grow up already.”

  And she laughed.

  Anger flowed through Joan, left her trembling with the effort to hold it inside. A scream burned in her throat.

  Shut up! Shut up, you stupid cow! You don’t know how lucky you are to be able to see your children every day, to hear their voices, to hold them close.

  “The teenage years can be trying,” Steve said. “Our kids gave us a run for our money a few times, that’s for sure.” He looked at Joan expectantly as if waiting for her to agree.

  Steve’s children, Michael and Miranda, had been difficult teenagers. Rebellious. Defiant. But Beau had never given them any trouble. He’d been such an easy child, his middle and high school years had been uncomplicated and enjoyable.

  When she kept silent, hurt crossed Steve’s face but he masked it with a grin and turned to Carrie. “But to be honest, I wouldn’t trade those years for anything.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Carrie said. “As long as you promise things really do get better and they start acting like humans again.”

  “We should get going,” Joan blurted, unable to hear another word from this woman, this woman who had what Joan didn’t—her children healthy and whole and alive. She linked her arm through Steve’s, ignored how he stiffened. “I know how you hate to miss opening kickoff.”

  He nodded curtly then smiled at Carrie and offered her his card. “If you want us to take a look at your policy, give you a quote on what our rates would be, just give me a call at the office.”

  “Oh, you’ll be hearing from me,” she said, her voice turning husky.

  Joan kept pressed against Steve’s side as they crossed to the parking lot, only pulling away when they reached their car and he opened her door for her. She slid into the passenger seat, stared straight ahead while he got in and turned on the car.

  He looked at her, the engine idling. “Are you okay?”

  She yanked the seat belt across her chest, clicked it into place with a hard shove. “Why does everyone insist on asking me that?”

  Was she okay? Was she all right? How was she coping?

  It was none of their damn business.

  “They ask,” he said, “because they care about you.”

  She didn’t want them to and she didn’t wish to discuss this any further. “The next time you flirt with another woman, please try and be more discreet.”

  “Is that what this is about?” he asked. “You’re jealous?”

  He sounded hopeful but she refused to lie to him. He was the only person she wouldn’t lie to. “Not at all. But I have a reputation in the community, one I don’t want tarnished.”

  “I don’t see how you could be held accountable for my behavior.”

  She gaped at him. “Of course I can. Your behavior reflects on me and vice versa. We are a couple, both successful and are thought of in a certain way.” Steve owned a thriving insurance business. “People have expectations of how we should act, how we live our lives. One mistake, one moment of weakness could set tongues wagging.”

  And everyone would know she was broken.

  He jerked the car into gear, slowly pulled out of the lot. “I don’t give a damn about gossips.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, her lips barely moving, “but I do. All I’m asking is that if you do find yourself in a...compromising position...you make sure no one discovers it.”

  He slid a glance at her, his expression unreadable. “I’m not Bruce, Joan.”

  No, he wasn’t her first husband, was nothing like the philandering playboy she’d made the mistake of marrying right out of college. But he was a man.

  And she was no longer the woman he’d married, the wife he’d shared his life with all these years. She’d changed, and she wasn’t sure she would ever change back.

  They drove in silence the remaining mile home. Turning into their driveway, he pressed the garage door opener clipped to the visor.

  “You’re an attractive man,” Joan said as the door slowly rose. “An attractive man in the prime of your life. Our sex life has been far from satisfying for you lately so it’s understandable if you find yourself searching for another woman to be intimate with.” She met his eyes, kept calm under the heat of his narrowed gaze. “I would understand.”

  “You’d understand if I took a lover?” he asked in a quiet, dangerous tone she’d never, not once, heard from him before. He put the car into Park and turned off the engine, his words
low, his movements controlled. “My being with another woman wouldn’t bother you?”

  She thought of him with another woman, a woman like Carrie, imagined him touching her, making love to her the way he used to make love to Joan.

  She shut her eyes and scanned her body for a reaction, any sort of twinge of regret or panic, but there was nothing. No pain. No anger. No sadness.

  Nothing.

  “If you were to seek female companionship outside of our marriage, if you did so in a tasteful manner, a manner in which nobody ever found out about it, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

  He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that filled the car, chafed her nerve endings. “That’s big of you. And now, because you are such an enlightened woman, so magnanimous, you’re giving me your what? Blessing to have an affair?”

  She shifted, tugged at the seat belt which seemed to be strangling her. She unhooked it, let it snap back. Why couldn’t he see this was the perfect solution? He deserved more than she could give him right now, maybe more than she could ever give him again.

  “Not my blessing. My understanding. And,” she said, rubbing her palms along the legs of her dress pants, wrinkling the silky material, “if it suits you, my permission.”

  “If it suits me? What the hell is wrong with you? If you think I want your permission, if you think I’m the type of man who’d cheat on you, treat you like your bastard of a first husband, then you don’t know me at all.” He opened the door, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his quick breaths, but when he spoke, his voice was low, the words barely a whisper. “And I sure as hell don’t know you.”

  * * *

  “PUT THE GAME DOWN,” Eddie told Max for the third time, “and get out of the truck already.”

  Standing in Harper’s driveway, he held the driver’s side door open while his kid’s fingers pressed button after button on his video game. Some days he wanted to toss the damn thing out the window.

  “Max. Now.”

  Still playing, despite Eddie’s enough-of-this-bullshit tone, Max slid along the seat, finally looking up when he sat behind the steering wheel.