The Teacher

by Gray, Meg

  Emma released Jean and both Alec and Sandy hugged her too, sharing words of encouragement. When Jean and Sandy left the room Emma let a tear slip from the corner of her eye and she wiped it away.

  “You okay?” Alec asked, noticing the tear.

  “Yeah, I feel for her. It has to be a lot to handle. I wish her husband was more supportive, but he’s throwing her into a divorce on top of everything else.”

  Alec walked with Emma to the door of his classroom.

  “I thought we weren’t going to get his dad to agree to the testing,” Emma continued.

  “I know. Me too,” Alec agreed. “But thank goodness for Dave the King of Metaphors. I think his little speech really helped to put things in perspective.”

  Emma nodded.

  “Any luck with Brayden’s dad, yet?” Alec asked.

  “No. He hasn’t called me back. Believe me I’ve left plenty of messages. I’ll try again tomorrow.” She sighed. “I’m really not in the mood to be ignored today.”

  “Alright,” he said. “Let me know. Maybe we could get The Wolf to make the call. That might get the guy’s attention.”

  “I don’t think even a call from the principal would be a big enough gesture to get his attention,” Emma said and with that, she headed down the hall to her own classroom where she put Donald’s file back in her long desk drawer. She pulled her coat on, zipped it and grabbed her umbrella before leaving. The sun drooped in the sky and Emma wanted to make sure she got home before dark. The long umbrella with its pointed tip gave her a small comfort as she headed for the door.

  * * *

  This is insanity, Emma thought as she sat at her desk and dialed Mr. Lewis’s phone number. Why did she continue to call this man’s office when she knew he wouldn’t take her calls? Did she really think Mr. Lewis would suddenly decide to talk to her? By some miracle, would he be the one to answer the phone?

  “Lewis and Sons Law Firm, how may I direct your call?” the familiar even toned voice of the secretary answered.

  “May I speak to Mr. Marcus Lewis, please?” Emma asked, feeling like a broken record.

  “One moment. May I ask who is calling?”

  “Ms. Hewitt, Brayden’s teacher.” There was a click on the other end and then a short pause.

  “I’m sorry, he is unavailable. Can I take a message?”

  Emma took a moment, trying to think of a different way to approach this situation.

  “Ms. Hewitt, are you still there?”

  “Yes, I am and please call me Emma. We’ve talked on the phone often enough you should know my first name. And what is your name?”

  “I’m Gretta. Gretta Stewart.”

  “Hi, Gretta. I appreciate all the messages you’ve taken for me and I know that Mr. Lewis gets them. So, thank you. I was just wondering why Mr. Lewis refuses to take my calls.”

  Emma could sense the woman’s hesitation, “He is a very busy man. I’m sure you understand that.”

  “Yes, of course, I do, but is he really too busy to be concerned about his son’s education?”

  “Well, now dear, that really isn’t for me to say,” Gretta responded.

  “No, of course not. I apologize, I just really need to get a meeting scheduled with him to talk about Brayden and I’m frustrated that he stonewalls me every time.”

  The prim secretary said nothing.

  “Can you think of any other way for me to reach Mr. Lewis, Gretta?”

  “Well, like I said before he is a very busy man, but his schedule looks free in about twenty minutes.”

  “Okay,” Emma said, thinking that if she called back in twenty minutes he still wouldn’t take her call.

  She was about to say as much when Mr. Lewis’s clever secretary asked, “Shall I put you on his schedule?”

  Of course, why hadn’t Emma thought of that? “Twenty minutes,” she repeated and checked her watch. “I’ll be there.”

  “And do you know where our office is located?” Gretta asked all professional like Emma was a true client.

  “I do,” Emma said.

  “You’re on the schedule,” Gretta said. “He’ll be here.”

  “Thank you Gretta,” Emma said into the phone.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Gretta replied and Emma was afraid she heard a twinge of regret in the words. She hoped Gretta wasn’t doing anything to jeopardize her job, the woman was only being compassionate and trying to help Mr. Lewis’s son.

  Emma scrambled to grab her coat and bag. She left the classroom tables unwashed and nothing prepared for tomorrow. Normally, she would never leave under such circumstances, but this was not a usual circumstance.

  She would hear it from the custodian tomorrow about her garbage cans not being placed in the hallway for pick up or her chairs not being stacked so he could sweep, but she didn’t care about that right now. She had to jump at the opportunity Gretta presented her.

  Emma ran to the nearest train stop and checked her watch as she purchased a ticket. She punched the buttons quickly, taking no time to congratulate herself on becoming an accomplished inner city traveler. When the light rail train stopped in front of her, the doors opened and she jumped aboard grabbing the first strap she saw—too anxious to sit down. Emma was the first one off when the train arrived downtown. She ran into the building. An elevator stood with its doors wide open and she dashed for it, throwing her arm between the door panels when they started to close. She squeezed herself into the small pocket of space at the front and the elevator began its ascent.

  Her palms were sweating, her stomach light and nervous full of quivering butterflies. She wished she had more time to prepare. She wished she knew what she was going to say. A few phrases began to run through her mind when the elevator doors opened on the eighteenth floor. Stepping out, she turned toward the law office doors and pulled them open.

  Behind a tall granite counter stood a petite woman watering a houseplant, with silver bobbed hair and a pair of reading glasses dangling from a silver chain around her neck. The woman smiled and set the watering can down.

  “Ms. Hewitt?” she asked, almost whispering and Emma nodded.

  “Gretta?” The woman also nodded and Emma extended her hand. “So nice to finally meet you.”

  “You too, dear,” she said, taking her hand. She held up a finger, letting Emma know she needed a moment. Gretta pushed an intercom button on her phone and Mr. Lewis’s voice came across from the other side.

  “Yes, Gretta?”

  “Your three-thirty is here.”

  “My…what…oh,”

  “Shall I send her in?” she asked before Mr. Lewis could collect his thoughts.

  “Yes,” he said still sounding confused and maybe a little disgruntled.

  Gretta let off the button and came around the counter.

  “This way.” She motioned down the hall and stopped short in front of a tall solid oak door. “Good luck,” she whispered. Emma reached for the doorknob.

  * * *

  The three-thirty block on Marcus’s Outlook calendar was blocked out, but there was no name or notes about the purpose of the meeting. This was unusual. What was going on with him? When did he start forgetting appointments? He was sure his afternoon was supposed to be free, so he could finish reviewing the stack of invoices in front of him.

  He needed to start getting more sleep. The nights with Brayden were rough. Over the last five weeks, Marcus had averaged three hours of sleep at night. Between the work he brought home and the hours he spent awake, listening to Brayden cry out next to him through his nightmares or awakening to bruise-inflicting kicks, he was beyond tired.

  His office door opened and Ms. Hewitt walked inside. Taken by surprise Marcus stared at her, trying to remember when he scheduled a meeting with her. While his mind searched for the answer, he realized she was waiting to be acknowledged. He stood and motioned for her to sit in one of the leather chairs across the desk from him.

  “Ms. Hewitt, I’m sorry, I don’t remember schedulin
g this meeting with you,” he said as they both sat down.

  Ms. Hewitt lifted her chin and clasped her hands in her lap. “You didn’t,” she said. “I recently learned of an opening and took it upon myself to schedule it. I’m sorry if this interferes with your day, but since you will not return my calls I decided to come see you.”

  He suppressed the smile he felt forming. She was a brave little soul marching in here unannounced like this. She had persistence and determination he would give her that. Somehow, she must have appealed to Gretta and gotten herself in here. He was amused, but then again he knew why she was here and that was not amusing at all.

  He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his desk. Looking down at his own hands he quietly asked, “This is about my son, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Ms. Hewitt replied.

  “You have concerns about him?” He looked at her now, challenging her.

  “Yes,” she replied again.

  He nodded once and sat back in his chair feeling an emotional shield rise between them, ready to repel any accusation or insinuation she was prepared to make about his parenting. A long list of rebuttals were already building in his mind, he could return anything she threw at him. Feeling prepared for the fight, he continued.

  “Alright Ms. Hewitt, what are your concerns?”

  “I’m concerned with Brayden’s academic progress in the classroom.”

  Marcus nodded; surprised she hadn’t immediately jumped into his disobedience or moodiness like all his previous teachers.

  “What exactly are you talking about?” he questioned with caution.

  “Before the holiday break Brayden knew ten letters and three letter sounds. I would have liked those numbers higher at the time, but at least it showed progress from the beginning of the year. After the two-week break I retested Brayden and he only remembered four letters and two letter sounds. Last week he was up to six letters, but they weren’t consistent with the four he knew before.”

  Marcus nodded.

  “I’m concerned there’s something interfering with his learning. I would like to schedule a meeting with you and other specialists at our school to discuss some testing that may help us better determine how to teach Brayden.”

  “Is that your only concern, Ms. Hewitt? Because, if he’s not learning like he should in your classroom, then maybe I can find someone better to teach him. I can get him a tutor.”

  A flicker of hurt crossed her face. Marcus had lashed out again with his words and he was surprised he felt bad about it.

  “No,” she said, keeping her determination close. “I am also concerned about his behavior in class. He doesn’t always follow directions, is often withdrawn and some days is highly irritable. His behavior could be the result of a learning disability or his learning could be impaired by his behavior. I don’t know, but I feel it’s worth investigating, for Brayden’s sake.”

  “Hence the need for these specialists,” he clarified and she nodded. “But I thought that was your specialty Ms. Hewitt, to teach children. Isn’t that why I send Brayden to you every day?” There was arrogance in his voice and he knew he sounded condescending.

  “My specialty, Mr. Lewis,” she responded, squaring her shoulders. “Is general education. I teach the general population of students. Occasionally, there are some kids, like Brayden, who don’t fit the general mold. We have an incredible team of specialized professionals at Fitzpatrick that I believe can lend insights into better ways of teaching Brayden. As a team we will determine if Brayden will benefit from a varied educational path. You are an integral part of this team, Mr. Lewis, you know your son better than any of us.”

  Her amber eyes looked into his. What was his response? He didn’t know. This is what he had waited for, right? An outstretched hand. Here it was and all he wanted to do was slap it away. Knowing his son needed help and admitting it out loud were two very different things. Feeling humbled by Ms. Hewitt’s own deflection of his insults toward her he lowered his defenses for a moment and asked the question he’d been mulling over for months, but was afraid to speak.

  “What do you think is wrong with him?” Marcus asked quietly.

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Brayden,” she was quick to reply. “I think he’s a very sweet little boy with a desperate desire to learn. I just think there’s something getting in the way of his ability to learn and that’s why I want to bring in the specialists we have available to help us. Please, Mr. Lewis if you can find the time to meet with us I think we can help Brayden be more successful.”

  This girl could have made a career as a lawyer, forming a compelling argument and leaving him little room to back out. She was the first person he could think of to speak nicely of his son. She admitted he wasn’t perfect, but also worthy of help. A spark of hope glinted behind her words.

  “Very well,” he said, waving her out the door. What harm could one meeting do? “Schedule it with Gretta on your way out and I’ll be there.”

  Marcus quickly turned his attention back to the pile of invoices, ignoring the delight that glowed in Ms. Hewitt’s face. He looked up again when she paused at the door.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Lewis,” she said before she left.

  Five minutes later an appointment notice flashed on his computer screen. He would see Ms. Hewitt next week at five p.m. in her classroom. He couldn’t help but smile.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Donald’s follow-up meeting was short, but far from sweet. Dave kindly and patiently explained the results of the IQ test, which showed Donald scoring low enough to warrant a mental retardation classification. The team solemnly agreed to add the classification to Donald’s eligibility of services. Alec talked briefly about the changes for Donald’s educational plan.

  Emma sat quietly and watched silent tears fall from Jean’s eyes and Steven’s emotionless face. At the meeting’s end, Emma saw Steven glare at Jean before he stormed out of the classroom, slamming the door, and rattling the windows. Emma retrieved a box of tissues from her desk and brought them to Jean who pulled out two. She followed Sandy and Jean to the door and the two women left together. As they walked out Emma felt her own eyes mist with tears.

  In the hallway, she saw Mr. Lewis leaning against the wall.

  “It’ll be just a moment, Mr. Lewis,” she said and he nodded before she stepped back into the classroom.

  * * *

  “We’re ready for you, Mr. Lewis,” Emma said, opening the door again. “I apologize for the wait.”

  “That’s quite alright,” he said, walking into the room and taking the seat Jean had vacated. Emma took her seat between Alec and Mrs. Wolf. Mr. Lewis ignored the others and kept his gaze on Emma. Mrs. Wolf shifted uncomfortably. The intimidation factor Mr. Lewis brought to the table was profound, even Alec and Dave looked a little uneasy.

  “Mr. Lewis,” Emma said, trying to ease some of the tension in the room. “I’m going to let my colleagues introduce themselves before we begin.”

  He nodded.

  “I’m Deborah Wolf, the principal.”

  “I’m Dave Stevens, school’s psychologist.”

  Mr. Lewis nodded at Dave.

  “Alec Martin, special education teacher,” Alec said. Mr. Lewis’s eyes swept past him, returning to Emma.

  Emma launched into her report on Brayden’s academic performance and behaviors in the classroom. From there Alec took over the meeting.

  “Tell us about Brayden’s preschool experience,” Alec said.

  “Brayden was in three different preschools last year, none of which worked out for us, so I kept him at home,” Mr. Lewis replied.

  Emma wondered if none of which worked out for us, was code for Brayden was kicked out, but didn’t ask.

  “And what was the longest period of time Brayden spent in those schools?” Alec asked.

  “A week.”

  Alec and Dave scribbled notes in their notebooks.

  “You said when the preschools d
idn’t work out that you kept Brayden at home,” Alec clarified.

  Mr. Lewis nodded.

  “Who was with him during the day?” Alec continued.

  “My housekeeper or a nanny,” Mr. Lewis answered. Emma could read the frustration in Alec’s face with Mr. Lewis’s answers. The man wasn’t forthcoming.

  “Can you tell us about Brayden’s birth? Were there any complications with the pregnancy or delivery?”

  Mr. Lewis shook his head. Alec’s chest heaved in an inaudible sigh.

  “Did Brayden’s mother use any drugs or alcohol during the pregnancy?”

  There was a twitch of Mr. Lewis’s lips before he answered, “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Does Brayden ever see his mother?”

  “No,” Mr. Lewis said with irritation, but it masked something else. Emma’s curiosity was piqued. All eyes were on Mr. Lewis waiting for him to continue, to paint some kind of picture for them about Brayden’s mother, but nothing came, just silence.

  Alec looked down at his notepad again, “Okay, has Brayden always been in good health? Any hospitalizations or trips to the ER?” Alec gave Emma a helpless smile and she gladly returned it hoping she communicated how much she knew he was trying.

  “Yes,” Mr. Lewis answered. He cleared his throat and Emma switched her eyes to him.

  “Yes he’s been in good health or yes, he’s been in the hospital?” Emma asked, clarifying his answer.

  “He’s always been in good health,” Mr. Lewis replied. “And he was in the hospital for a couple of days right before he turned two.”

  When it seemed like he wasn’t going to share anymore, Emma begged him with her eyes to keep talking. His intense blue eyes bore into hers.