The Teacher

by Gray, Meg

  “Hey Emma, how was your class?” the roommate asked, joining them.

  “A little intense, but good,” she answered and then turned to Marcus. “Seth you remember Mr. Lewis.”

  “Sure,” he said, extending his hand and Marcus shook it firmly, “Nice to see you again, Mr. Lewis.”

  “Marcus,” he replied.

  “Marcus,” Seth repeated and then turned to Emma. “What do you say we get home and shower before heading out to lunch?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Ms. Hewitt said eagerly and Marcus stepped aside, barely shaking his head as the startling image of the two of them showering together popped into his head. Where did that come from, Marcus wanted to know.

  “Nice seeing you again,” Ms. Hewitt said as she stepped past him and left the gym.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emma stood back and watched her group of kindergartners check themselves into the afterschool program without any assistance or reminders from her. That was the joy of January, coming back from the two-week break, everyone refreshed and ready to jump back in, right where they left off. They had almost reached the halfway mark of the year. From here on out it would go fast. The second half of the year always seemed to fly by.

  She went back down the hall, making a stop at the Special Education classroom. The teacher, Alec Martin, was in his office in the back. He was on the telephone and Emma mouthed, “Sorry,” ready to turn and leave.

  “No worries,” Alec said as he waved her in. “I’m just checking my voicemail.” He motioned for her to take a chair and she did, catching a whiff of his masculine cologne as she crossed in front of him.

  The office was a small windowless box with a desk and chair, two filing cabinets, the plastic molded chair she was sitting in and Alec’s bike tucked in the corner. The four white walls were bare except for the solitary calendar still stuck on September.

  Today Alec wore a pair of light colored corduroy pants and an oversized sweater with white sneakers. For such a challenging job, Alec always looked so relaxed. Emma watched him scratch a note down on a piece of paper before he hung up.

  “So what’s up?” he asked as he swiveled around in his chair, momentarily revealing a single framed photograph on his desk of him and a golden haired woman standing with a group of children in front of a building. He smiled and tossed his head to the side, trying to push his long blond hair from his eyes.

  “I wanted to talk to you about some of my kiddos,” Emma said.

  “Shoot,” Alec replied and leaned back in his chair. He pulled one ankle over his other knee and twisted his ballpoint pen in his hands. No ring on his left hand, she noticed.

  “Well, first of all,” Emma said. “I’m happy to report that Mariah is performing at grade level. She recognizes all her letters, letter sounds, and numbers one through thirty.”

  “Great,” Alec replied. “We’ll talk about testing her out at our next meeting.” He jotted a note in his notebook. “Who else?”

  “Donald,” Emma continued and couldn’t help smiling. Donald’s ever-present happy-go-lucky attitude always brought a smile to her face.

  “What about our little guy?” Alec asked, jotting Donald’s name down.

  “He’s showing regression,” she said, her demeanor changing with the words. “I tested him today and he’s forgotten at least half of the letters he knew before the break.”

  “Yeah.” Alec frowned and scribbled another note. “Sandy mentioned she was noticing some regression too. We’ll need to bring this up at our next meeting with his parents. We’ll keep watching him, but if he doesn’t make any vast improvements we may need to think about offering summer services for him and I’ve been wondering if we shouldn’t do more cognitive testing.”

  Emma nodded in agreement.

  “Anyone else?” Alec smiled again. And what a nice smile it was.

  “Yeah, Brayden Lewis.”

  “Who?”

  “Brayden, we discussed him briefly at the beginning of the year. I’m just growing more and more concerned about him”

  “Remind me about him,” Alec said as he rolled his pen in his fingers.

  “He spends a lot of time sitting alone in the back of the classroom. If it wasn’t for Donald coaxing him out this week, he’d probably never have joined us for anything.”

  “God, I love that kid. Donald’s all heart isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is.” Emma smiled, sharing the same sentiments. “Anyway, I tested Brayden this week and he’s showing regression too. Before the break, it felt like we were making progress. He was participating more and didn’t blow up as easily, but now it feels like we’re back at square one.”

  “Do the parents report the same kind of problems at home? Have there been any changes in his life?”

  “I don’t know,” Emma said, shaking her head. “I can’t get his dad to take any of my phone calls and he missed the conference in the fall. Somebody new dropped Brayden off this week. Brayden just called her Stephanie, but I don’t know who she is.”

  “What about his mom?”

  Emma shrugged. “I have no idea. I have no information about her at all and Brayden’s never mentioned his mom.”

  “That’s kind of weird,” Alec replied and a crease appeared across his forehead.

  “Do you think it could be ODD, Oppositional Defiant Disorder?” he finally asked, rocking back in his chair.

  “I…I don’t know?” Emma said with a shrug, disorders and diagnoses weren’t her specialty. She only knew that what she was seeing wasn’t right.

  “Do you think Dad would be on board with some testing?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” Emma turned her hands upward and then smiled. “But I could talk to his secretary about it.”

  “I take it you talk to her a lot,” Alec said smiling back at her. Deep dimples appeared on both cheeks and Emma felt herself flush at the sight of them. She wondered if he knew the effect, those things could have on a girl.

  “Yeah, we’re practically on a first name basis,” she replied, a little sass in her voice. “I’m afraid I’ve made his not-worth-my-time list and she screens me out every time. I don’t think he likes me very much.”

  “I find that hard to believe, who couldn’t like you, Emma?” Alec asked, cocking his head to the side, his dimples deepened with his grin.

  Emma felt her cheeks flush again, was he flirting with her?

  “What does Brayden’s dad do?” Alec asked.

  “He’s a lawyer.”

  “Oooh,” Alec replied with raised eyebrows. “Well, see if he’s up for a meeting and we’ll go from there.”

  “Okay,” Emma agreed before going back to her classroom and dialing the law office. She would see if by some miracle Mr. Lewis would take her call. Then, she could ask about this new Stephanie person and why she brought Brayden to school late every day this week.

  The phone was answered on the second ring.

  * * *

  A pink message slip sat on Marcus’s desk when he returned to his office. He picked it up and reached for the shredder. Ms. Hewitt’s name was at the top. The word, tardiness caught his eye and he halted his action.

  Quickly he scanned the note. Ms. Hewitt wanted to schedule a meeting. Why, did that not surprise him? She was stepping up her requests from a return phone call to an actual face-to-face exchange. Well, that didn’t need to happen, Marcus thought dropping the message on his desk. If Brayden was showing up late to school, he could take care of that. It could all be handled without him having to scratch out time in his schedule to talk to her.

  He buzzed the intercom through to Gretta.

  “Yes, Mr. Lewis,” she answered.

  “Hi, Gretta. This message from Brayden’s teacher says he was tardy this week.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Did Ms. Hewitt say which day?”

  “Every day.”

  “Every day! Are you sure?”

  “Yes, she said he got to school later and later each
day. Today he was over an hour late.”

  An hour, Marcus clenched his jaw. “Thank you,” he said through gritted teeth and disconnected the intercom. He dropped into his chair and rubbed his hand over his upper lip. Pulling out his cell phone, he searched for the new nanny’s number. How could it be every nanny from this damn agency was incompetent? My God, he’d been able to get Brayden to school on time every day this year. This girl’s one job, her one measly task in the morning was to get Brayden to school.

  He held the phone away from his ear after an automated voice said, “Please enjoy the music while your party is reached,” and then some god-awful rock song began to play that he couldn’t make out the words to, and he probably didn’t want to.

  “Hello,” Stephanie answered in a high-pitched little voice.

  “Stephanie, this is Marcus Lewis,” he said into the phone.

  “Who?” Her perky voice grated on his nerves.

  “Marcus Lewis. Brayden’s father.”

  “Oh hey, Marcus,” she replied and he bristled at her casualness. He tried to ignore it and continued. “Stephanie, was there a problem getting Brayden to school this week?”

  “No,” she said. “He made it to school every day.”

  “I understand he was late every day this week, is that true?”

  “Well…he… um, yeah I guess we were running a little behind a couple of days, but he was just being so difficult and I tried, but…”

  “Thank you Stephanie,” he said, raising his voice to cut her off. “That was all I needed to know. You can consider today your last day and you won’t have to worry about getting my difficult son off to school anymore.”

  “Wait, but I…” he heard her try to call out as he ended the call with a push of a button.

  There went the ounce of freedom he had experienced over the last week. His early arrivals into the office and evenings at the gym were once again a thing of the past. Marcus scrolled through his phone numbers, looking for the nanny agency. He was about to push the green call button when he changed his mind. What was the point? They only seemed to employ amateur babysitters. He’d have to figure something else out.

  Marcus dropped his head into his hands.

  The deep well of emotions inside him began to surge and he tried to push them back down, but this latest glitch with the nanny was about to push him over the edge. Why was everything with his son so hard? When were things going to change? When Brayden was ten, fifteen, or twenty? How much worse were things going to get?

  A bolt of fear struck him deep in the heart. He couldn’t think about that now, not when he had a client meeting in ten minutes. He needed to clear his head.

  “I’ll be back,” he grumbled at Gretta as he marched out of the office, ignoring the curious stares from his colleagues gathered in the reception area. Three people waited for the elevator. Marcus didn’t want to be trapped inside with anyone so he headed for the stairwell.

  The concrete corridor was satisfyingly cool. He propelled himself down the stairs and his heart began to beat to the same rhythmic clap of his shoes. Reaching the ground floor, he went outside into the gray mist of the day. He shivered from the damp coolness and walked to the end of the block.

  It was the middle of winter, the darkest grayest time of the year. This was when people really started to grumble about the dreariness and gloomy weather, but not Marcus. He preferred the melancholy of the overcast days and the way he could hide his feelings of pain and despair in the dark clouds. A streetcar rumbled past as he turned the corner.

  After one lap around the block, Marcus felt the latch on his emotional box close inside of him. He turned the key locking his anger, guilt, and despair back up before heading into the building.

  Opting for the elevator this time he pressed the button and was quickly rewarded with an empty car. He stepped inside, but before the doors could close two people slipped inside with him. The woman, he quickly recognized as Ms. Hewitt’s cackling friend, but the man he’d never seen before.

  “Are you sure she won’t back out this time?” the man asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve squared it with Emma. We’re going out tomorrow night. You’re bringing Peter, right?”

  “Yeah, of course,” the guy answered. “I’m just still waiting for your friend to drum up some excuse.”

  “Well, she won’t. Trust me,” the woman said, staring into the compact she’d pulled from her leopard-print purse and pressed her lips together. “Her roommate’s out of town for the weekend and she doesn’t want to sit around all alone.” She snapped her compact shut. “So, I was thinking we’d try out that new place, Alejandro’s, in the Pearl District.”

  “Yeah sure,” the guy agreed, leaning one shoulder against the back wall. “But seriously what is the deal with her and her roommate? Are you sure they aren’t an item, because they seemed awful chummy that day I met them.”

  “Oh my God,” she shrieked. It was an ear-piercing sound and Marcus winced. “Emma and Seth. Are you kidding? Trust me that would never happen.” The elevator pinged and the woman stepped out, her head thrown back in laughter while her companion trailed behind her.

  Marcus pressed the eighteenth floor button again trying to hurry the elevator upward. He shook his head when the doors closed trying to get the conversation he’d just heard out of his mind. His curiosity had been triggered when he heard mention of Ms. Hewitt’s name. Why was her friend so sure something wasn’t blossoming between the two? Marcus had eyes too and he had to agree with the other man there was something chummy about her relationship with her roommate. It didn’t sit right with him either.

  Not that any of this was his concern, Marcus reminded himself as he stepped off the elevator. But if they weren’t an item, then what were they? And why was he still thinking about it when he stepped into the conference room where Richard and Muriel Brooks were waiting?

  Chapter Fourteen

  If looks could kill then someone should be drawing a white sheet up over Emma’s face at any moment. Steven Hoskins, Donald’s father, sat across the table from her and he’d been shooting her daggers for the last twenty minutes. What was his issue with her? She showered him and Jean with praise and kind words on Donald’s effort and attitude in class and the man still fixed an icy stare on her.

  This was, by far, the worst annual review meeting she had ever attended. Emma looked down at the six-petal flower she had doodled on the agenda in front of her and started on another one. Mrs. Wolf passed a sheet of paper to her and she signed it in the appropriate place, agreeing to the next set of goals for Donald to achieve. Steven momentarily shifted his glare away from her as he signed the paper.

  Another stack of papers came around the table and she took one passing the rest to Steven. It was what she and Alec had talked about, the need to do cognitive testing on Donald to determine his IQ. Depending on the test scores, if they were low enough, he could be identified as mentally retarded.

  Emma caught Alec’s eye as they waited for the papers to finish making their rounds at the table. He gave her a here-goes-nothing smile, and she flushed at the sight of his deep dimples, not to mention those dark, molten eyes she could so easily get lost in. He was so easy to look at. A pleasure to look at was more like it.

  Pay attention, she thought, looking away and drawing her eyes to the paper in front of her.

  Alec started by gently explaining the need for additional testing. “It is important that we determine Donald’s current cognitive level,” he said. “It will help guide us as we continue to plan for his academic goals.”

  Jean nodded, but not Steven. “We know Donald’s IQ is low. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Now you want to find out just how low, just how stupid my son is, is that what I’m hearing?” he ranted and turned to glare at Alec.

  Jean turned a deep shade of scarlet. The rest of the team froze, letting the hostility of the man’s words sweep over them. Dave, the school’s psychologist, was the first to move. He scratched his short g
raying beard and broke the brittle silence with his mellow voice, “It’s not that we want to know how low his IQ is, but rather how high it is.” Steven rolled his eyes, but Dave continued, “As educators we follow a map to guide our students in their learning. For most kids the map is the same, in Donald’s case, it’s different. We need to develop a specialized one for him. There are obstacles in the way of him reaching his destination that other kids don’t have. All we are trying to do is determine exactly what those obstacles are, so we can plan an appropriate detour for him instead of guessing our way through and winding up at another series of obstacles or dead ends causing us all to feel like we are failing. An IQ test is one more measure that will help guide us in mapping Donald’s education.”

  Steven didn’t respond immediately, but slowly he began to nod. Alec jumped at the opening and pushed the consent forms in front of him, then Jean.

  “All I need from you is a signature for your consent to the testing which Dave will be conducting in the next two weeks.”

  After both parents signed Alec continued, “Once we have the results from the tests we will call you to schedule another meeting to discuss our findings. Do either of you have any questions?”

  Both parents solemnly shook their heads and Alec pushed back from the table signaling that the meeting was over. Steven took to the exit before anyone else and Dave and Mrs. Wolf followed slowly and silently behind him. Jean remained in her seat and gathered her copies of the papers from today’s meeting into her purse.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jean said as she stood. “For his outburst today. He has just turned so bitter in the last few years. It’s hard on him that Donald is…the way he is. I know he loves our son, but he hasn’t figured out how to accept everything that comes along with having a child like Donald. Today was just one more blow. It’s always been like this with Donald, there’s always one more worry or concern or test or something we have to think about.”

  Jean’s eyes brimmed with tears and Emma reached out to hug her. She wanted to tell the woman it would be okay, Donald’s father would come around or that things would get easier as Donald got older. But she couldn’t be certain either one of those things would happen. Emma adored Donald. He was a precious child that sparked joy in her heart, but Donald wasn’t her son. He was her student and she didn’t have to worry about him every day and every night and watch him struggle and worry about his future. Her job ended when he stepped on the bus every afternoon, but his parents were on a twenty-four hour watch, for the rest of their lives.