"C'mon, Katie," he said abruptly, extending his hand to her. He glanced at the door.
Leaving. He was leaving and taking Katie with him.
"Mr. Byrne! Good heavens, you can't just go!" Helen called out to him. "Wait right there. Hi, Katie!" she added in her cheeriest voice, pivoting her hand back and forth at the child.
She ran up to Alexander's overprotective mother and after a short struggle was able to reassure her that Nathaniel Byrne wasn't really the bogeyman, despite the dark suit and the scowl. "He's just someone's father. Really, Mrs. Lagor," she added in an undertone, "we're going to have to discuss Alexander's fear of strangers. It's getting worse. Please call me tomorrow to arrange a time."
"My son is not afraid. He's cautious," the mother said in a voice wound tight. "As he should be."
"Yes, but—please. Call me." Without waiting for her response, Helen turned to her thoroughly offended client.
There they were, face-to-face: Helen Evett, director of what she thought was the best darn preschool in Salem; and Nathaniel Byrne, who looked as if he'd just tripped and stumbled into the seventh circle of hell.
She stuck out her hand to him and said, "Hello, I'm Helen Evett," before Peaches had time to make the introduction.
Byrne was obviously still smarting from his treatment by little Alexander. "So this is The Open Door," he said as he watched the toddler being carried out, still sniffling, by his mother. "That means—what? That you take anyone, including baby psychopaths?"
Helen didn't approve of flippancy in front of little ones. She gave Katie a cheerful hello and then said in soft warning to Byrne, "Some children are more fearful than others. We don't belittle them for it."
Blue eyes—bluer even than Katie's—looked into her gray ones without remorse. "That kid needs work," Byrne said flatly.
"He needs reassurance. That's what we're here for."
Helen turned to Peaches with relief; here, at least, was a friendly face. The look in her eyes was as sympathetic as the half-amused smile on her lips. "Ignore the guy," she seemed to say. "What does he know?"
"Nice to see you again," Helen said, extending her hand to Katie's beautiful nanny.
"What a wonderful location you have! I love all the little ones' artwork," Peaches said, looking around her with pleasure. "Aren't the drawings fun, Katie?"
Katie, like all egocentric three-year-olds, could care less. It wasn't her own stuff that was hanging on the wall. She yawned and looked around without seeing.
The last of the mothers were straggling out; Helen couldn't help noticing how drawn they were to the strikingly attractive trio standing next to her. By far, the biggest draw of the three was Katie's dad. There was no shortage of attractive Mommies or adorable toddlers at the preschool; but to-die-for men like Nathaniel Byrne didn't walk through the open door of The Open Door every day.
In the meantime Byrne, hands in his pocket, seemed immersed in his own line of thought. "I mean, right now Katie is pretty outgoing," he said, oblivious to the mothers' stares. "But I'd hate to see her come out of preschool acting like—"
With a lazy nod toward the exit Alexander had just passed through, Byrne made it clear that he thought The Open Door could do more harm than good for Katie.
Helen's eyebrows went up ever so slightly. It was too ironic, giving Katie preferential treatment just to be told the school might be a bad influence on her.
"The subject of how toddlers should deal with strangers is a bit complex, Mr. Byrne," she said. "Perhaps now is not the best time to go into it."
She inclined her head toward Katie, who was hanging from Peaches's hand and pivoting on one foot as she swung her other arm in a wide arc for extra momentum. Everything about the child said bored, bored, bored.
"Fair enough," said Byrne, taking Helen's rebuke in stride. He looked at her for a second or two longer than he needed to; she had the sense that it was a quick and easy form of intimidation with him. "Suppose you take us on that nickel tour, then," he suggested.
"My pleasure," said Helen coolly.
Damn, he was a pain! She'd been expecting a certain amount of arrogance from Byrne; the man was a stock trader, after all. But his reluctance to sign Katie up had caught her by surprise. She didn't know how to handle him. It had been a long time since she'd had to sell someone on The Open Door; most parents arrived hats in hand, eager and sometimes desperate to get their children into the school.
Not this fella.
Helen took a deep breath. Whatever it takes to get Katie registered, she told herself, no longer questioning why. Feeling a little like a snake-oil salesman, she began selling her school as hard as she could. First stop: reception desk.
"This is Janet Harken, our administrative assistant and the school's guardian angel," Helen said with obvious affection. "Janet does everything around here but walk on water."
Laughing off the compliment, the youthful grandmother handed Byrne another brochure on The Open Door and offered Katie a big pink flower-shaped sticker that said "Visitor" on it. Byrne slid the brochure into his inside suit pocket without a glance. But Katie, staring at the huge hot pink sticker on her chest, was ready to sign up then and there.
One down, two to go.
They stepped across the hall to Helen's office, a calm and cozy environment decorated in celadon tones and rich woods, with a potted palm on the floor and tumbles of ivy dotting the bookshelves. A vase stuffed with cheery supermarket flowers adorned the walnut partners desk, the desk for which Helen no longer had a partner.
"I just need to get the keys to the kitchen and the lunchroom," Helen explained as they went in.
She was retrieving a key ring from her top drawer when Katie made a dash for a heavy glass globe that Helen used as a paperweight. "What's this?" the child asked, reaching up with both hands for it.
"Careful, honey!" Helen said, whisking the clear glass ball out of her reach. "You wouldn't want this to fall on your toes!"
"What is it?"
"I use it to keep the wind from blowing my papers everywhere," she explained. She relocated the ball onto a high shelf and said, "Shall we continue our tour?"
As they approached the classrooms Helen began ticking off the school's solid credentials. "We're accredited by the national associations, of course, and by the FIDCR, in addition to OFC. It's in the brochure. You'll notice also that we have an even better ratio of adults to three-year-olds than is recommended by the conservative AAP and NAEYC—"
"Sorry, you're losing me," Byrne interrupted.
"It's in the brochure," she said, realizing that his world was AMEX and NASDAQ. She added, "I'm proud to say the turnover rate of our teachers is very, very low. The staff have been thoroughly screened, and all of the teachers have degrees in early childhood education. I should warn you that that isn't always the case."
"I'm not really interested in other cases," he said flatly. "I'm here to learn about The Open Door."
Stung, Helen colored and said, "I understand." He was right. Why was she resorting to scare tactics? Again this desperation! It was utterly beneath her. Embarrassed and off balance, she tried to rally her wits—which would've been a heck of a lot easier if he weren't being so arrogant. And, of course, if he were less damn good-looking.
"An—Miss Maylen," she said as they all stopped and peered into the first classroom, where the young teacher was tidying an open row of colored storage cubbies that lined one wall. "May we have a look around?"
Helen made the introductions while Katie headed straight for the neatly organized bins of toys, each one labeled with big block letters, and settled on the one filled with plastic FOODS: milk and bread and fruit and cheese, and uncanny versions of pizza slices. From the bin marked DISHES came plates and cups and saucers as Katie began laying out a picnic on the floor.
In her tartan-plaid jumper and white frilly blouse, the child looked absolutely adorable.
But her father had to try hard not to frown. "Food. Dolls. Stuffed animals. I suppose it'd be to
o much to hope she'd head for the Legos and actually start constructing something."
"The girls often do," Kristy said reassuringly. "It just depends."
Byrne sighed and shook his head. "Not my little girl. Can you do something about that?" he suddenly asked, fixing a hopeful look on poor Kristy. "Steer her away from the domestic stuff and more toward skills that pay?"
The teacher glanced at Helen, who rolled her eyes from behind Byrne's back. They got this question all the time:
Can you turn my sweet little three-year-old into a rocket scientist, no matter what?
Kristy said carefully, "Well, we work hard at stimulating the children in a number of ways—not only intellectually but physically; not only socially but individually. But—"
"But we don't push the children where they don't want to go," said Helen, interrupting. "And we don't subject them to formal learning," she added, more willing than Kristy to be blunt about it. "It's too soon. Some of them would suffer burnout."
"But some of them wouldn't," argued Byrne, switching his attention from Kristy to her boss. It was unsettling, the way his demeanor instantly changed. His voice took on a taunting edge; his look became confrontational.
"So there are no reading lessons?" he asked unnecessarily. "No math? Isn't that approach a little quaint for the computer age? What do the kids do all day, besides play with plastic pears and cheese wedges?"
He was trying to pick a fight. Maybe he was testing her mettle; maybe he was looking for an excuse not to sign Katie up. Helen didn't know. But she couldn't misrepresent The Open Door, no matter how good she thought it would be for his daughter.
"If you look around you, Mr. Byrne, you'll see that we expose the children to numbers and letters, to music and nature and science," she said with more asperity than she'd intended. "But we don't have a rigidly structured program. And that's by design."
"What do you do with precocious children?"
"We encourage them."
"That's what you said about the timid ones."
"And I meant it. We have quiet corners; we have active ones."
Byrne seemed to be waiting for more. Helen looked him in the eye and lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. "I will not promise that Katie will be able to read or write at the end of the term, Mr. Byrne."
Byrne declined to argue further. He turned to Katie's nanny, who'd been watching the verbal sparring with interest. "Well, Peach? Whaddya think?"
Chapter 6
Peaches went over to one of the toddler chairs and surprised everyone by sitting down in it and looking around the room from a three-year-old's vantage.
"It's a very attractive room," she said to Byrne. "Colorful without being overpowering ... lots of interesting, low-hung posters ... good light. And it srnells"—she took a deep breath—"clean," she said, smiling. "Are the classes reasonably quiet?"
Helen was impressed. Here were lots of shrewd, practical observations.
"No preschool will ever be completely quiet," she said honestly. "It would be bad if it were. But the noise is good noise, if you know what I mean. And the sounds don't bounce around; we've insulated as well as possible."
She said to Byrne—because she knew he was responsible—"It's a shame you weren't in time to see the classes in session."
Unlike some schools and despite the security complications, The Open Door was available for observation, even during the tricky times: right after arrivals and just before naps.
Byrne said snappishly, "I did the best I damn well could."
She saw his cheeks flush. She'd hit a nerve. Good. He was a single parent now; with or without a nanny, he was going to have to work twice as hard. The sooner he figured it out, the better for Katie.
"I'm sure you did," Helen said with a serene smile.
He thought he was a hero, showing up personally at the school. The fathers often felt that way. It would be sweet if it weren't so sad. Still, he had shown up, late or not, and for that he deserved some credit. Helen resolved to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"It can't be easy," she said, "trying to fit a preschool screening into your terribly hectic pace."
It was supposed to sound sympathetic, but somehow it came out snotty. Helen couldn't believe it. She seemed to have no control over her own sentiments. Embarrassed by the sneer in her voice, she looked away, only to see Kristy and Peaches staring at her. Even more flustered now, Helen threw herself at little Katie's mercy.
"Katie? Would you like to see the rest of the school?" she asked in a nervously high-pitched voice.
Katie was busy trotting from DOLLS to PUZZLES to the big one—BOOKS—and wasn't all that interested in leaving. "No. I wanna stay here," she decided.
In the meantime, Byrne had taken Helen by the elbow and was saying, "May I speak to you alone for a moment, please?"
"Of course," Helen answered all too faintly. "Miss Maylen, would you mind explaining to Ms. Bartholemew the various scheduling options available? Thank you. We'll be right back."
She rallied and lifted her elbow pointedly out of Byrne's grip, then walked ahead of him into the hall. "We can use my office, if you like," she said cooly.
"Fine."
They walked in testy silence to Helen's office.
Helen dropped into her swivel chair and pinched a droopy leaf off one of the freesias in the vase on her desk. "Have a seat," she said, reasserting her authority in the situation.
Byrne stood. "What the hell's going on here?"
"Excuse me?"
"Why should I do that? I haven't been subjected to that kind of attitude since my—well, let's say I know that tone when I hear it. You have a grudge against me." He parked his fanny on the edge of her desk and folded his arms across his chest. "May I ask why?"
"'Grudge' seems strong, Mr. Byrne," she answered, trying to sound ironic. Nonetheless, she was thinking that grudge was a darn good choice of words.
"What's it all about, then—that sarcasm back there? You don't know me from Adam."
"True enough," she conceded. "But I could say the same about you. You seem to have shown up here loaded for bear."
"Not true," he said, visibly annoyed. "It was hard for me to make the decision to put Katie in preschool. If you think I'm just dumping her—"
"Of course I don't." She did. "It's obvious that you want what's best for her." It wasn't. "The difficulty will be in choosing from several fine preschools." Easy as pie. "Naturally we think The Open Door has the most to offer." Dope.
"My wife wanted Katie to come here," Byrne said with an odd little twist in his voice. He dropped his gaze to the cut flowers and began fiddling with a yellowed leaf.
"Yes," Helen said, relenting. "I was so sorry to hear ...."
"Thanks," he said without looking at her. He pulled away the leaf so forcefully it bent the stem of the freesia. "It was rather sudden."
"I know."
He looked up sharply at her. "What do you know?"
Helen felt a ka-thump in her breast. She didn't know a thing, and yet her heart was pounding wildly.
"I mean, she sounded fine when she spoke to me on the day before she—"
Actually, Linda Byrne had sounded anything but fine. How could he not argue the point?
In any case, he didn't. He said quietly, "It was a big blow to Katie. I know three-year-olds are resilient, but I'm worried about her."
"She knows about Mrs. Byrne's death?" It should've been a silly question, but Helen knew from experience that it was not.
"Well, actually," Byrne said, embarrassed, "at first I told Katie that her mother went away for a while. It seemed the kindest thing. Peaches put me straight about that, though. I had to go back to Katie and—"
He took a deep breath of air and shook his head. "I'll tell you, it was rough. Katie seemed to accept it, but lately she's become listless... cranky ... she keeps asking when Mommy's coming back. It's my fault, I guess, for having programmed her to expect it."
"It's not your fault," Helen found herself s
aying. "It's very hard for children that age to grasp the permanence of death. Even I—" She stopped herself from bringing Hank into the conversation; this was about Katie's bereavement, not her own.
Byrne hardly noticed her hesitation. Now that he had opened up about his daughter, he seemed eager to go on. He was so clearly, painfully in the dark about what to do, despite the good advice he seemed to be getting from Peaches.
He said, "I thought the best thing would be to keep Katie's routine as normal as possible—isn't that what you're supposed to do?—but without her mother, her life is hardly normal."
Helen had a thought. "I presume you're keeping Peaches on as her nanny?"
"If she left us now I'd die," he said simply.
"In that case, you might consider trying to talk her into putting in a few hours occasionally as a teacher's assistant. That way, Katie's new environment would still be reassuring."
He seemed amazed, as if Helen had just guessed the combination to his safe. "Exactly what Peaches suggested! Great! If you two are both on the same wavelength—well, that's great. It must be the right thing to do. Y'know, suddenly I feel a hell of a lot better about this."
Oh, how glad he was to be relieved of making more decisions. Helen could almost see the weight roll off his back as he stood up and flashed a devastatingly attractive grin at her.
Wow.
It was one thing to be handsome, another thing altogether to be seductive when you weren't even trying. Wow. She had to catch her breath. What an irresistible grin. Wow.
Helen found herself returning it. There they were, suddenly happy about who knows what, when Peaches appeared at the door with Katie in tow. The nanny seemed upset.
"Hey, kiddo," Byrne said easily to his daughter. "How would you like to come to school here and have Peaches around to play with, too?" He winked at Peaches, who tried to tell him something, and then he did a knee-bend down to Katie's level and said, "I'm pretty sure you can do that."
"Mr. Byrne—I don't think so," said the nanny in an unhappy voice.
"No, it's all right, Peach," said Byrne. "In fact, it was Mrs. Evett who suggested it," he added with another grateful smile at Helen.
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