Private Lessons

by Dara Girard

  “Don’t worry we’ll do an assessment so we can start at the right level. Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

  She folded her arms. “Go ahead.”

  “How did you get a driver’s license?”

  “The DMV accommodates non-readers. I had someone read me the written part and then after that my driver’s license renews automatically.”

  “But what about street signs and addresses?”

  She held up her cell phone. “GPS helps and maps and if I really get turned around I just ask for directions, but that’s why I kept my route routine when I first started, no surprises. Being on call would be a nightmare for me. But I know everywhere now by landmarks and the map in my head.”

  “The items on the menu at the coffee shop?”

  She tapped the side of her head. “With the help of a friend, I memorized it all.”

  “How do you do your job at the office?”

  “I use text-to-speech and a lot of dictation and my friend helps.”

  “How do you know so much? You spoke to the residents about Chaucer and the Spanish Inquisition. You know about the latest bestsellers and classics. History.”

  “I like to listen to audiobooks and podcasts. I like to learn, I just never got the chance to learn to read. And in a world of words you learn to adapt.” Jodi sighed. “Anymore questions?”

  Dylan glanced at the time. “More than we have time for.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Why do you look so different?”

  He looked down at his clothes. “Do I?”

  “Yes, especially the glasses. I never pictured you wearing them.”

  An unreadable expression came and went. “Anything else?”

  She looked at his shirt. “Did you go on a shopping spree or something?”

  “Hmm.”

  She supposed men needed retail therapy too, getting fired was never fun for anyone, but his clothes looked expensive. He had a worker’s body, but sitting on the edge of the desk, he commanded the room. He seemed like the kind of man who could make any environment work for him. His casual attire looked as if it could pay for a trip abroad. Perhaps he’d found a discount outlet. She shifted her gaze from his clothes to his eyes surprised to find him studying her in a way that made her skin tingle. “What?”

  “You don’t need to be angry.”

  Why hadn’t she noticed before how his voice resonated? How the low deep vibration seemed to stir something within her? “Do you want to know the truth?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m angry at myself. I’m embarrassed, okay? I’ll pay you.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t have to pay me.”

  “I’ll pay you to quit.”

  His brows shot up. “Why would I want to quit?”

  “So that I can get another teacher. It’s nothing personal. I’m sure you’re a great teacher, but I can’t…It’s a long story.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I won’t quit.”

  “But I don’t want your help.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just don’t.”

  “Is that pride or fear talking?”

  “None of your business.”

  Dylan pulled out a sheet of paper and placed it in front of her. “Let’s first assess where you are.”

  Jodi pushed the paper away. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

  He pushed the paper back and rested a pencil on top of it. “You can take as long as you need.”

  She snapped the pencil in two and rested the broken pieces on the paper. “You must be loving this. The woman who fired you now needs your help. I don’t want to be some pity project.”

  “I don’t pity anyone who’s brave enough to admit when they need help.

  “You once told me that you wanted to get a promotion and this is a straight way to that. You learn to read and your career could skyrocket and that means a significant increase in salary. On top of that, a number of the ideas you’d told me about could start to be implemented. So you’d have more power.”

  Was that pride or fear talking? He’d asked her. Her pride had been wounded but she’d been foolish enough to believe she even had half a chance with a man like him. It stung but it was honest. If she pushed her pride aside all that was left was fear.

  A big looming fear.

  A fear that had always been there, that maybe she was too dumb to read.

  “What if…”

  He folded his arms and waited.

  “What if I fail?” she finished in a quiet voice.

  “I don’t fail.”

  “I didn’t say you. I said—”

  “If you fail then I fail and I don’t plan to fail. So what do you say?” he held out his hand.

  Jodi looked down at his hand. In six months she’d know how to read. It was the offer of a lifetime. She shook his hand then froze, feeling the heat of his palm, the soft grip of his fingers around hers. She started to pull away. “First, did you…”

  He tightened his grasp. “Did I what?”

  “Did you mean what you said at the coffee shop?”

  “What did I say?”

  Jodi briefly shut her eyes. Right, she’d imagined it. She knew it. She released her grasp. “Never mind.”

  He didn’t let go. “If you mean what I mentioned about liking you, yes I meant it.” He drew her close, letting his gaze slowly trail the length of her, lingering on her new manicure and lace stockings. “Every word.”

  She licked her bottom lip, feeling breathless. “Oh.”

  He released her hand. “Unfortunately.”

  “Why unfortunately?”

  “Because I don’t date students,” he said in a flat voice.

  Her heart fell. “You don’t?”

  He adjusted his glasses and shook his head.

  Her heart lifted as a thought came to her. “Well, if you want—”

  “You’re not going to quit and I’m not going to quit. We’re both going to have to stick this out through the end.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then…we’ll see.” He winked at her. “Don’t worry, Jodi. I’m a patient man.”

  12

  That was a lie.

  Dylan rested his head on his arms in the now empty room, Jodi had been gone five minutes, but he’d been unable to move. He’d been able to be distant and professional the rest of the session with her, but he already felt his stamina fading.

  Six months? He couldn’t touch that sexy, beautiful woman for six months? He wasn’t that patient. But he would have to be. He’d made a promise to the owner of Harrell House and he didn’t want to blow it.

  “What are you still doing here, Flynn? I have a student coming in ten minutes.”

  Dylan lifted his head and looked at Nikia Washington, the founder of Harrell House, an older woman with blonde highlights and ruby red lipstick. “What do you do when you meet the right woman at the wrong time?” he asked.

  “You cannot date students. That’s the rule.”

  He gathered his items. “I know that.”

  Nikia lifted his chin, forcing him to look at her. “All those years ago, I took a chance on you. Don’t let me down.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You promised.”

  “This isn’t about—”

  “You have to be more guarded. I warned you to make sure that no more clients fall for you.”

  He held out his arms in surrender. “Do I look like I do it on purpose?”

  “I know. That’s what makes it worse, but it’s bad for business having students fall for you all the time. Twice I had students coming to me in tears when they had to end their sessions with you.”

  “It’s because I’m good.”

  “No, because you don’t know you’re appeal. At first you look so…” She shook her head.
“I thought it would be safe giving you only male students until…”

  Dylan cleared his throat remembering one of his favorite students, Hudson. A thirty-five year old electrician who wanted to get certified. “I really liked him. He was a great guy.”

  “And he liked you too. So much so that you didn’t even realize you’d gone out on several dates with him.”

  He felt his cheeks burn. “We had a good time.”

  “Until you found out that he—”

  Dylan waved the awkward and painful memory away. “Okay, okay. That’s enough.” Fortunately, Hudson met someone else and they kept in touch.

  “My point is that you’re sometimes clueless when it comes to reading people, so you must keep things as distant as possible. You have this strange ability to draw people to you once they get over…” She gestured to him.

  “How scary I look,” he finished.

  “Yes. I don’t want to lose you, but you have to tone down your intensity a little. Otherwise I can’t let you continue to work with us.”

  He didn’t like the thought of that. Harrell House had been just what he’d needed when he’d gotten in trouble as a teenager, following the death of his father, and been forced to do community service. Harrell House was the one place people didn’t expect him to do their dirty work, didn’t fear him, and didn’t want something from him.

  He liked helping people and feeling useful. It wasn’t something that happened in his day-to-day life. His grandmother needed him to be someone else, his mother needed him to protect her, his siblings needed him too, but his students just needed him to be there for them. He didn’t want to lose something he’d been doing for almost seventeen years. Now at thirty-six he couldn’t imagine his life without it.

  Unfortunately, Jodi was a threat to that. Just as she had been a threat to him when he was undercover. He had to focus on the goal—teaching her to read. Even if he wanted to be with her, he knew there was no chance for them. She could never find out who he really was.

  He would follow the rules and keep his distance. That’s what he did best.

  13

  He had never felt like ripping pages out of a book before. He did now. Dylan watched Jodi labor over a passage and gripped his hands in his lap. He glanced out the window at the dusting of unexpected snow on a lamppost outside. It was spring, but the sky hadn’t noticed.

  He counted to ten, as he listened to her halted and painful reading in the background, then returned his gaze back to her. It didn’t help that he couldn’t stop watching her mouth move, or notice the way she would cross and uncross her ankles, shifting the position of her dark green skirt against her thighs, which made him wonder about things he shouldn’t.

  He felt his control and patience thinning. He’d done everything right. He’d been professional, reserved. For nearly four months he’d been helping her, giving her his best and she was not making progress.

  She was failing.

  He hated failure.

  He picked up a pen then slowly set it down afraid he might throw it instead. “You haven’t been practicing,” he said, cutting her off.

  She looked up from the paper, startled. “Yes, I have. I work very hard.”

  Now she was lying to him, he hated that even more. “It’s not showing,” he said, making sure to keep his tone even. He didn’t want to sound angry, just disappointed. “You should be farther along by now.”

  “I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do.”

  “If you have then you wouldn’t be struggling right now.”

  She pointed to the children’s book. “I’m reading it, aren’t I?”

  “Barely.”

  She snapped the book closed. “I’m done.”

  “Sit down.”

  Jodi tossed the book on the table. It slid across the surface and fell to the ground. “No, I’m through with this.”

  Dylan picked up the book and set it slowly down, he kept his voice low. “You have to work harder.”

  “I do work hard.”

  “Not hard enough. Based on the assessment we did, I created a personalized schedule for you. There are timely, practical goals to be met and you’re not hitting them.”

  “Maybe because you’re a terrible teacher. Maybe because I hate every minute I have to spend with you telling me what I’m doing wrong; what I should know; how far I should be compared to your damn schedule. I’m not a robot. I’m not a test subject.” She tapped her chest. “I’m a person and I want this more than you could ever imagine, but you make it worse. You make me feel like a failure. You think I don’t feel disappointed? You think it doesn’t hurt that I keep making the same mistakes? But it’s the look you give me that makes it worse.” She grabbed her coat off the back of her chair. “So I’m done.” She moved to leave.

  He blocked her. “Wait.”

  “No, I shouldn’t have said yes to this. I knew it wouldn’t work.”

  He held out his hand, motioning to her seat. “You need more time. Learning is—”

  She pushed his hand away. “Don’t you get it? I’m not sick of learning. I’m sick of you.” She pulled a note out of her handbag and balled it up. “I was going to give this to you. You’re the first person I ever wrote something to in my life, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” She tossed the scrunched up paper on the table. “You’re my worst nightmare. A teacher who doesn’t care. You’re like all the rest. But don’t let that worry you. You didn’t fail. I did.”

  She said something else, but he didn’t hear her. Something else kept echoing in his mind.

  I’m sick of you. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard those words. He’d first heard them from his father when he’d failed his first eye exam. ‘You’re not trying hard enough. Your eyes are weak because you are.’ He’d lost being chosen for student council in a race he hadn’t even wanted to enter. ‘That’s because they know you’re not a winner. You have to be the best. You’re not working hard enough. If you’re number two you’re last. Get out of my sight, I’m sick of you.’ His father’s words echoed in his mind.

  He remembered the time with his grandmother when he’d missed a swing in baseball and she’d turned her back on him. The implication being that if he’d practiced more he wouldn’t have failed. It stung and he practiced more. But he never became the best, so he left the sport, even though he loved the game. He’d learned that good enough never was.

  He didn’t want her to feel as he had as a child. He remembered that lonely, isolating feeling. He knew Jodi. He knew she was smart. Knew she could learn. Instead, he’d thought about the outcome rather than the process. He’d only looked at the goals, and the deadlines and milestones he’d put in place because he liked her and wanted her to succeed. He hadn’t put her in the equation. But he knew now he had no one to blame but himself. He’d been too hard on her. He’d lost his temper and had said things he shouldn’t have.

  For a moment he’d become them—his father and grandmother and the thought disgusted him. He had been a terrible teacher. It was his job to do better.

  He grabbed her wrist before she could leave. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. I’ll do better.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t—”

  “Please give me another chance.”

  “Maybe it’s not you and it is me. Maybe I can’t learn.

  Maybe—”

  Dylan took out a pad and wrote down something then handed it to her. “Read it.”

  Jodi shook her head and sighed. “No.”

  “Please.”

  She took a deep breath then sounded out the short sentence. “Yes…you…can.” Tears filled her eyes. “You think so?”

  “Could you have read that a couple of months ago?”

  She looked down.

  “I want you to write ‘I can do it’ ten times. And then read it out loud.”

  She hesitated.

  “I know you don’t feel as if you can trust me, but I want this as much as you. I will make sure—”
>
  “It’s taking too long. You said so yourself. I should—”

  “I was wrong.” He lifted up the wadded piece of paper.

  She reached for it. “No, don’t read it.”

  “Sit down.”

  She sat and clasped her hands together. “Dylan, please.”

  “You said it was for me,” he said also taking a seat.

  “It’s stupid. I didn’t know what I saying.”

  He smoothed it out. “Too late now,” he said then started to read.

  Thank you. You helped me get a dream. I red my first bill today. Thank you again. Jodi.

  He briefly held his head in his hands and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his shame. He’d scolded her because she hadn’t progressed on his time schedule. He had grand plans for her. But all she’d wanted to do was read something so simple, so ordinary. Something he’d taken for granted.

  She hadn’t failed. She’d already accomplished so much. He was the one who’d been blind. He opened his eyes and read the note again.

  “I told you it was stupid,” Jodi said.

  He ignored her. He didn’t care that she’d confused the word ‘red’ and ‘read’ he remembered her frustration with the words ‘flower’ and ‘flour’ and how she’d wondered why ‘loose’ and ‘choose’ didn’t rhyme and why ‘off’ and ‘of’ sound so different but ‘read’( pronounced: reed) and ‘read’ (pronounced: red) looked the same but sounded different?

  He didn’t have an answer, though he was certain there was one. But that didn’t matter now. She’d written him four lines. Lines that were like poetry to him. You’re the first person I ever wrote to in my life. He finally realized how far they’d come. How special this moment was.

  Dylan carefully folded the note then wrote a word down on the notepad.

  Jodi stared at it stunned. “It’s too long.”

  “Sound it out.”

  “Mag knife cent.”

  “Close. Mag nif ee cent.” He sounded it out for her. “Magnificent.” He tapped the word. “That’s you.”

  “You didn’t think so a few minutes ago.”

  “I said I was wrong.” He closed the workbooks. “Tell me what you really want to learn.”