by Anna Schmidt
“How about I get Sally and you get Justin and the four of us go out tomorrow after work? Do you like boats?”
The way this man’s mind leaped from topic to topic was confusing to Rachel. “Boats?”
“I’ll rent one from Margery Barker’s marina. We could pack a picnic and take a ride around the bay—calm waters and all—and watch the sun set.”
“Justin would love a boat ride.” It might be the very thing to lift his spirits. He would not be quite as excited that the offer included Sally.
“Then it’s a date—not a date—a boat ride with food,” he said. “We’ll have the kids meet us here after school and as soon as we’ve both finished for the day, we can go, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed, her head still spinning with the way this casual inquiry about how she was doing had turned into something much more complicated. “I will prepare some—”
“You will not. I’ll take care of everything—boat, food, the works, okay?”
It was impossible to refuse him. “Okay.”
When Rachel spoke to Hester about the teacher’s note, her friend could come up with no ideas about why Mr. Mortimer would ask to meet with Rachel.
“I think it’s kind of a normal thing in public schools,” Hester had suggested, and that did make sense. After all, in their Mennonite school back in Ohio with its much smaller enrollment it was routine for the teacher to call upon a parent to talk about how a child was progressing—especially a child new to the community.
So Rachel called the school and left a message for Mr. Mortimer to contact her at work after asking Eileen if she thought it would be all right to receive the call there.
“Of course,” Paul’s assistant assured her. “Heavens, if you only knew how some people abuse the system with their personal calls. It’s not like you’re going to make a habit of this.”
The teacher’s call came the next afternoon, right before Justin was due to arrive at her office after school for their boat ride.
“Mrs. Kaufmann? This is Justin’s teacher—Ralph Mortimer.”
“Yes, hello.” Rachel heard the nervousness in her voice and cleared her throat to cover it. “How are you?”
“Very well, thank you. I’m afraid that I have a concern, however, about Justin.”
“He has shown me several papers with high marks,” she ventured.
“Your son is a bright and industrious student, Mrs. Kaufmann. It is not his work ethic that concerns me. It is his choice in companions.”
“I don’t understand.”
She heard the teacher sigh heavily. “That is why I think it would be good if we could meet in person.”
Rachel’s mind reeled with everything that she had to accomplish over the coming days. Pastor Paul was out of town attending a conference so she was filling in for him. On top of that she had sole responsibility for any on-call emergencies. In addition she had a paper due for one of her online classes and a supervisor from the certification board in Tallahassee was coming to observe her work.
“Mrs. Kaufmann?”
“I apologize. Is there no way you can simply tell me what the problem is now?”
“Well, I would prefer a face-to-face but it is Friday. Could I meet with you in person on Monday?”
“Of course.” Rachel had no idea whether or not she could arrange such a thing, but when it came to Justin, she would move whatever mountain stood in the way of helping her child. “But please tell me exactly what this is about.”
“Very well. Has Justin mentioned another student named Derek Piper?”
“Not exactly.” Rachel thought about the boy on the bus, the rowdy boy shouting out the window at Justin as the bus pulled away. Was that Derek? She couldn’t remember.
“I won’t pull punches here, Mrs. Kaufmann. Derek is older—he was held back this year. He’s a bright enough student but lazy.”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with—”
“I have evidence that Justin is providing Derek with answers to the math assignments.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Rachel protested. “We are a family of strong faith.”
“Under normal circumstances I believe that Justin would follow the right path. But Derek can be a very persuasive young man and, as you must know, Justin is quite introverted. Since arriving here, he has struggled in connecting with other students. Derek seems to have taken your son under his wing, so to speak, and I don’t think that Justin fully appreciates that there is a price for that friendship.”
Rachel’s mouth had gone dry, and she had to swallow several times before she could form her next words. “My son is an honest child, Mr. Mortimer. He would not …”
“Mrs. Kaufmann, from the brief conversation Justin and I had, I don’t believe that he sees himself as breaking any rules. From what I have observed he sincerely believes that he is simply coaching Derek in math.”
“I will discuss this matter with him, Mr. Mortimer. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
“So I will see you on Monday?”
“Ja—yes. I will be there.”
As she hung up the phone, she heard Eileen greet Justin. “Going on a little boat ride, I hear,” she said in her trademark cheerful voice.
“Yes ma’am.”
Not wanting to spoil the outing, Rachel greeted her son with a smile. “I have work to do in the children’s wing so why don’t you sit at my desk and work on your homework?”
“But you won’t have to stay late, will you?” Justin said. “I mean, we’ll still be able to go?”
“We certainly will,” Rachel assured him. “Dr. Booker told me he might even let you drive the boat.”
Justin’s smile had none of the hesitation and uncertainty that Rachel had begun to fear was becoming his permanent reaction to anything she might say. “No way.”
It was an expression he had picked up at school and she had decided to let it stand without comment. “That’s what Dr. Booker told me. He said that Sally takes the helm whenever they go out.”
At the mention of Sally, Justin’s smile faded. “She’s coming, then?”
“Well yes, that was always the plan, Justin.”
Without further comment Justin edged past her and sat down at her desk. He bent to unzip his backpack and remove a stack of books.
Eileen’s phone rang. “She’s on her way.” Paul’s assistant gave her a sympathetic look and then reached into the small refrigerator by her desk and took out a soft drink. “Hey Justin, how about a soda?”
Justin glanced at Rachel and then swiveled the chair to face away from her. “No thanks. I’m good,” he muttered and opened a fat oversized book and started to read.
Later, when they left the hospital, Ben was waiting for them. Rachel did not even hesitate when it came to the seating arrangements. She greeted Sally with a smile and climbed in back with her while Justin deposited his backpack in the trunk and then got into the front seat next to Ben. He was still brooding, but Ben seemed to be very good at finding his way through that.
“What’s your mother feeding you, Justin? Looks to me like you’ve grown a couple of inches since you moved here.”
Justin shot Ben a look and gave him a slow grin. “I’m taller than she is.”
Ben laughed and glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “That’s not saying much. Your mom is a bit of shrimp in the height department.”
Justin snorted and Sally giggled.
“I beg your pardon. I will have you know, Dr. Booker, that I am easily the tallest one among my female relatives.”
Ben rolled his eyes at her, and both kids exploded into laughter.
It occurred to her that he would make a very good father. But then she thought about him married to Darcy, and somehow she could not picture Darcy as anything other than an overprotective and controlling parent. Embarrassed at such an unkind thought, she turned her attention to Sally.
“I have a message for you from Caroline Royce,” she said. “She wanted me to le
t you know that the group decided to go with lemon yellow.”
“Finally,” Sally sighed happily.
“Lemon yellow for what?” Ben asked.
“The theme color for our club,” Sally said. “A bunch of the kids I got to know last year are forming a club—kind of a survivor support group. They wanted to go with blue—like heaven or something. I said we had made lemonade out of the lemons we’d been handed and therefore, yellow made more sense.”
“These are all sick kids?” Justin asked, interested in spite of himself.
“Well, not anymore—or at least not all of us. I’m not sick,” she said firmly then turned to Rachel. “When did you see Caroline?”
“Today.”
“She’s back in the hospital?”
Rachel heard the distress in Sally’s voice, and she glanced at the mirror. Ben shot her a sympathetic look and nodded.
“Yes, Sally. She was admitted late last night. She had developed a high fever.”
“It’s not related to her cancer, honey,” Ben assured her. “It’s an infection she picked up while she was camping with her parents last week.”
“Everything’s related to cancer,” Sally muttered, folding her arms across her chest and staring out the window. “Why do you think it’s called the ‘Big C’? Because it’s always got to be in charge.”
“Hey,” Ben said soothingly. “Where’s that lemonade spirit?”
Sally’s fierce expression softened slightly. “She’ll be okay?”
“She’ll be okay,” Ben assured her.
“I’m going to get her a bright yellow T-shirt. Will you be sure she gets it, Rachel?”
“I will.”
Rachel turned her attention back to Justin, his light blond hair visible over the top of the headrest on his seat. How fortunate she was that he was so healthy. And Justin was a good child regardless of his teacher’s obvious concern. Surely Mr. Mortimer had misread the situation. Justin would never cheat or help someone else do such a thing. On Monday she would make sure that Mr. Mortimer—and anyone else with questions—understood that.
Chapter 15
Darcy was on her way back to her office but her thoughts were on Ben. Something between them was different, and the shift had come even before she had told him about the incident with Rachel and Zeke. She thought back to the ball and realized that he’d acted differently even before then—at the run.
At first she hadn’t noticed. Competitive by nature, she had been totally focused on recording her best time when she and Ben had joined hundreds of other runners at the starting line. And when she had crossed the finish line ahead of Ben she had teased him about how missing those last two days of training had cost him.
He had grinned and invited her to celebrate with breakfast at a popular restaurant on St. Armand’s Circle. The restaurant had been full of other runners as well as volunteers from the race. The noisy conversation had made it impossible to share anything more intimate than a smile. Afterward they had walked back across the arching Ringling Bridge with its incredible views of the bay and the Gulf beyond to his condo where she had left her car.
Along the way, Ben had kept the conversation impersonal, talking about his final days at the teaching hospital, the party the staff there had thrown for him, and his relief to be able to concentrate fully on his role at the new hospital. When they reached the entrance to his condo he had walked her to her car, thanking her for helping him train and saying he would see her later.
At the time she had chastised herself for wanting to press for more—lunch by the bay perhaps. But she had sternly reminded herself that men did not like it when a woman was too pushy. If she had learned nothing else from her mother that lesson had been drummed into her head repeatedly. So she had gone home, done her laundry, cleaned her apartment, treated herself to a pedicure, and generally counted the minutes until she would see Ben again in a matter of a few hours.
So engrossed was Darcy with analyzing what might have gone wrong with her relationship with Ben that the very last person that she expected to find waiting for her outside her office was Zeke Shepherd.
“I thought I asked you to stay away from this hospital,” she said.
“Actually you never really asked—just sort of implied that I was less than welcome here.” He followed her into her office and sat down in one of two blue leather armchairs that faced her desk. “Nice digs,” he added, glancing around.
“Thank you. What is it that you want, Mr. Shepherd?” Using his surname reminded her that he was the brother of the president of the hospital’s board of directors—her boss. She stepped behind her desk and sat down, folding her hands on the large bare surface.
“I want to make sure that you have no worries about my performance for the children a few weeks ago. It’s been eating at me that you might have gotten the wrong idea, so how can I reassure you?”
“Why do you think it’s necessary to do this?”
He grinned, and Darcy was unnerved to realize that she found his smile—his white, even teeth, his wide mouth, his entire person now that she was really seeing him for any real length of time—charming.
“Because I upset you that day—rather, my presence here did.” He leaned forward to look her in the eye. “Why is that?”
“I am responsible for—”
He got up then and started walking around, his hands locked behind his back as he studied the framed degrees on her wall and the few personal items she’d added to her office. “You see, one thing that I got to be very good at while I was in the service,” he continued as if she had not spoken, “was reading other people. I was especially good at reading fear or distrust in others. It made me pretty valuable over in the desert where there are real language and cultural barriers.”
“You think I distrust you?”
He shot her a look over his shoulder then continued his tour. “No ma’am. I think I scare the bejeebers out of you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Zeke grinned, straightened her framed MBA degree, and sat down again. “But here’s the thing,” he said, leaning forward and pinning her with those deep-set black eyes, “I’m reflecting on my future these days.”
He left the comment hanging as he studied his hands. Darcy couldn’t help but notice that his nails were clean and neatly trimmed.
“And?” she asked, impatient with herself for being even the slightest bit interested.
“And I was thinking I ought to probably get on with it.”
Darcy stood up. “If you’re looking for a job, Mr. Shepherd, I’m afraid you’ve come—”
“It’s Zeke, and I’ve got a good steady job over there at the co-op.” He remained seated and continued to study his hands. “What I’m looking for, Darcy, is a mentor.”
“A mentor? I’m afraid I don’t understand.” That was the understatement of the hour. She studied him closely, searching for any sign that he might be putting her on.
“My brother admires you,” he continued. “Says you’re the kind of self-made business person that he rarely encounters these days—male or female. He and Sharon—among others—have been pushing me to get back into the rat race for some time now.” He grinned sheepishly. “But I find that I no longer understand the rules of the game.”
Darcy moved to the door, intent on sending him the message that their meeting was over, a message that even he couldn’t possibly misinterpret. “Mr. Shepherd—Zeke—if you need mentoring you won’t find anyone better than your brother so I suggest—”
“Come on, Darcy. One piece of advice.” He ambled toward the door.
“Get a haircut,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a hospital to run.”
He fingered the glossy black ponytail that hung a little past his shoulders. “No worries. Thanks for your time.” He walked into the outer office where, thankfully, Darcy’s assistant was away from her desk. When he reached the elevators, he turned back. “Just one more—”
“Good day, Mr. Shep
herd,” Darcy said and closed her office door before he could complete his sentence.
Then, like someone hiding out, she hovered near the door listening for the elevator to arrive. Only after she heard the elevator doors open and close did she return to her desk.
Her hands were actually shaking. That was how much her up close and personal encounter with Zeke Shepherd had unnerved her.
The truth was that he was nothing like the man she had thought him to be—neither in looks nor conversation or attitude. Of course he was very different from Malcolm, and yet the similarities could not be missed. The eyes that probed and questioned. The smile—a little crooked and slow to come. The easy grace and confidence with which both men moved.
Certainly anyone who spent time in Sarasota knew Zeke on sight. He was a regular at the weekly farmers’ market and almost as often could be seen on Main Street or near the bay strumming his guitar or sipping a coffee as he enjoyed the passing parade of people. But she had to wonder how many people would be surprised at the way his eyes flashed with curiosity and, yes, intelligence. She wondered how many people would look beyond the ill-fitting clothes and the long hair to see the man himself.
She rocked back in her chair, staring at the place where he had sat across from her, recalling his probing black eyes that had looked at her with amusement yet genuine interest as if he wanted to understand her. The smile that seemed forever lurking behind a mouth that was set at a slightly crooked angle in his sun-toasted face. She found herself imagining what he might look like with a proper haircut. She had never seen him other than clean-shaven and wondered why always if she considered him at all she had assumed he would have at least a scruffy sprout of whiskers.
She opened her eyes and tilted her chair upright, shaking off all thoughts of Zeke and his demeanor and his good looks. What could it possibly matter to her one way or another if the man shaved or not? And yet throughout the afternoon, every time she looked up from her work at the now vacant leather chair she remembered his smile … and those eyes. Eyes that challenged and questioned and, she had to admit, eyes that had completely changed the way she thought about Zeke Shepherd.