The Teacher (12 page)

Chapter
Sixteen

Marcus groaned when he awoke to the sight
of snow on the sidewalks and roadways. The unexpected snow and freezing rain
left the city paralyzed. Marcus watched the banner run along the bottom of the
television screen. The list named local closures and seemed to be growing. Portland
Public Schools was on the list. Buses were down and the anchorwoman advised
everyone to stay home unless it was absolutely necessary to be out.

Marcus made a call to Gretta instructing
her to reschedule his appointments. Next, he called Dennis and Abigail giving
them, their assignments for the day. He opened his laptop on the kitchen table
and started firing off emails. A scant hour later Brayden came down the stairs,
his hair tangled from a fitful night of sleep.

He squinted at his father. “Is it
Saturday?” he asked.

“No, Bray, it’s Friday, but your school
is closed today.”

“Why?”

“Go look outside.”

Brayden walked to the large window in the
living room and pulled the curtain back, a smile instantly illuminated his
face. “Is that snow?” he asked with excitement.

Marcus realized this was the first time
Brayden had ever seen snow on the ground.

“It sure is,” he said, walking over to
stand behind his son and look at the powdered sugar layering of snow through
his son’s eyes. It was enchanting how it turned the gray drab city street into
a clean and white frosted oasis.

“Can we go build a snowman?” Brayden
asked, looking up at him. His eyes were full of wonder.

“No, you haven’t even had breakfast
yet,” Marcus reminded him.

“I’m not hungry. I want to build a
snowman.”

“You don’t have any snow boots or gloves.
You’ll freeze as soon as you get out there,” Marcus said and pulled Brayden
from the window.

“No I won’t,” Brayden whined and slumped
his shoulders forward.

Marcus pulled a box of cereal from the
cupboard and set it on the glass table. “Here,” he offered. “Have some
breakfast.” He went to the cupboard for a bowl.

“I don’t want to have breakfast. I want
to go outside.” Brayden stomped his foot and balled his fists. Marcus’s
patience evaporated.

“We’re not going outside, Brayden and
that’s final,” he shouted, dropping the bowl on the table with a loud crash.
“Now quit asking and eat your breakfast. I have work to do.” Marcus sat at his
computer and heard the sound of Brayden’s feet on the stairs again. The
familiar sounds of animated voices on the television soon followed.

Sometime around noon Brayden came
downstairs, still wearing his pajamas, and went to the refrigerator pulling out
a juice box and Lunchable. Brayden marched back upstairs without even a glance
at his father. They hadn’t spoken since this morning and all the guilt and
anger that Marcus so readily felt about his relationship with his son came
swooshing back. He wished he knew how to talk to Brayden. In the last few days
since his meeting with Ms. Hewitt and her “colleagues,” he had wondered what
Brayden remembered of the fire or Vanessa, but each time an opportunity arose
to ask his son, Marcus changed his mind. While the silence between them was heartbreaking,
at least it signified peace. Bringing up the past would only hurt and Marcus
didn’t want to feel that pain all over again.

He was still livid with Ms. Hewitt for
conning him into that stupid meeting. He walked in there with hope. She said
she wanted to help him with Brayden, but those so-called specialists were not
getting anywhere near his son.

That special education teacher was the
one who worked with kids that were mentally challenged. Is that what she
thought about Brayden? His son was not stupid, that much he knew. And the way
the guy couldn’t keep his sappy eyes off Ms. Hewitt had really irritated him.

Then there was the shrink, so smug about
wanting to examine Brayden as if he was some scientific specimen. Well, that
wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to let these people dredge up his past,
examine it, and tell him everything he’d done wrong since that horrible day.

Marcus threw his energy back into his work
for the next two hours as the cartoons upstairs changed to video games.
Finally, exhausting every piece of work he could do from home, Marcus went
upstairs.

He sat on the edge of the bed next to
Brayden and picked up the extra controller.

“Mind if I play too?” Marcus asked.

Brayden just shrugged keeping his eyes
trained on the screen and furiously punching at the buttons running his wide
receiver into the end zone for a touchdown. Brayden started a new game and the
two of them played together for another half hour.

“So, I was thinking we should probably
head out and find some dinner,” Marcus said, firing away at the controller.

Brayden said nothing.

“What do you say you go get dressed and
we’ll go for a little walk in the snow before we grab some burgers?”

“And root beer floats?” Brayden asked,
working his tongue along with his hands as his defensive back made an
interception before being tackled.

“You got it,” Marcus answered.

“Sure,” Brayden said. He finished the
next play before running off to his bedroom.

“Make sure you bundle up,” Marcus called
after him. “Two pairs of pants and two pairs of socks.” Marcus dug around in
his own closet and found a sweatshirt to put on over his t-shirt.

Brayden returned with a pair of
sweatpants on and a pair of unbuttoned jeans over the top.

“Okay,” Marcus said with a laugh. “Maybe
we’ll stick to one pair of pants.” He helped peel the jeans off and followed
Brayden down the stairs. He helped him into his rain boots and zipped an extra
sweatshirt on him before putting his raincoat on. Marcus grabbed his parka and
two stocking caps before they left the apartment.

Outside the sidewalks were clear of
snow. Marcus and Brayden crunched along on the layer of salt granules the store
owners had laid out. The pristine white snow had turned to a murky brown slush.
Brayden reached down for a small, undisturbed patch of snow at the base of a
concrete bench. He held it, cupped in his hand, like a tiny baby bird and
studied it. It didn’t take long for the snow to melt in his palm and then
Brayden wiped his hand on his pants.

They walked a few more blocks. A large
truck passed them at the corner, dumping gravel into the intersection. They
turned into Mel’s Diner, the best burger joint on the northwest side. They
scraped their wet feet on the rug at the entrance and crossed the large black
and white tile floor to a red vinyl covered booth.

Brayden pulled off his coat and hat.
Marcus reached across the table to smooth the static in his hair and touched
the cold red apples of his son’s cheeks.

“Pretty cold out there wasn’t it?” Marcus
asked and Brayden nodded.

The waitress approached, took their
order and left behind a cup of broken crayons and a four page coloring book.

“So, too bad you had to miss school
today, huh, Bray?” Marcus asked as the waitress returned with their floats.

Brayden shrugged as he pulled his long
handled spoon out of the tall glass with a heap of vanilla ice cream.

“Do you like school?” Marcus asked.

Again, Brayden shrugged.

“Do you do anything fun while you’re
there?” Marcus took a bite of ice cream.

Brayden shrugged a third time.

Marcus could feel his patience ebbing,
but tried again determined to get something out of his son, “Is Ms. Hewitt a
good teacher?”

Again came a shrug, then a nod, and
finally, “I guess so.”

“You guess so? What do you guess is good
about her?”

“She’s nice. And she doesn’t yell at me
like those other teachers did, or those nannies or Rosa or…” Brayden’s voice
trailed off and he dropped his eyes to the table.

“Like I do,” Marcus finished for him,
feeling a choke in his throat.

Brayden didn’t look at him, but Marcus
could see a trace of a nod.

“What else do you like about her?”
Marcus asked when he knew he could trust his voice again.

“She’s kinda funny,” Brayden said, digging
into his ice cream as their burger baskets and fries arrived.

“Really? How is she funny?” Marcus asked.

“Well, she plays these really funny
songs and then does dances to them.”

“What kind of dances?” Marcus asked,
truly curious.

“There’s one we do, like a chicken.”
Brayden smiled as he bit down on a fry.

“A chicken? How does a chicken dance?”

“Like this,” Brayden said, tucking his
arms under like wings and jutting his head forward and back. Marcus laughed as
Brayden slid from the booth and turned his knees inward. He started kicking up
his heels and then twisted his hips before starting the whole thing over again.
Marcus applauded his son’s impromptu performance and let out a laugh when
Brayden jumped back to his seat and reached for another French fry.

“So Ms. Hewitt taught you that?” Marcus
asked amused as he fleetingly thought of her performance in that class at the
gym.

“Yeah, it’s pretty fun,” Brayden said,
obvious pride washing over his face.

“Well, I’m glad you like Ms. Hewitt.”
Marcus wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin. Marcus still had his reservations
about her, but he could see she’d made an impact on Brayden.

They both dug into their meals, devouring
their hamburgers and fries.

“Hey Dad,” Brayden said, when they
finished eating.

“Yeah?”

“Can I stay up and help you work tonight?”

“I don’t have any work to do tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I got it all done this afternoon,
which is a good thing.” He leaned over the table, crossed his arms, and looked
at Brayden. “You want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a basketball night. The
Blazers tip off in one hour,” he said and tapped his watch. “So we’d better get
a move on.”

“Alright,” Brayden said and jumped from
the table, pulling on his coat. Marcus paid their bill and followed a very
happy Brayden out the door, wishing for more moments like this.

Chapter
Seventeen

The apartment smelled of rosemary and roasted
chicken. Emma sat back with her glass of wine and watched her friends scrape
their plates clean. The bowl of rice pilaf and fresh green beans were gone,
just like the snow from yesterday.

It was an unexpected treat for Emma to
find the city blanketed in white. She spent the day at home cozied up on the
couch with a mug of hot cocoa and a book. Monday morning she knew she would be
back at work with a group of ecstatic kids buzzing about their snow day, but it
was a small price to pay for the impromptu time off.

“Emma that was excellent,” Seth said,
scooting back from the dinner table. He looked across the table at Stacy. “Did
I luck out or what with this roommate, or what?” He jerked his thumb at Emma,
who smiled at the recognition. He wore the new gray, blue V-neck sweater Kelly gave
him for Christmas. The color matched his eyes perfectly. His jaw was covered in
a thin layer of stubble, he said it was his new weekend-look, but Emma knew it
probably had more to do with his romantic withdrawals. Since New Year’s neither
Kelly nor Seth had been able to arrange travel to see the other. Seth was up
against a deadline on a project in Salt Lake City, staying through several
weekends and Kelly was short on vacation time.

“Yeah, this was great Em. I’m glad I
wore my stretchy pants tonight or else I might be bursting a button,” Stacy
said, tugging on the waistband of her black leggings. Her hair was pulled into
a tight bun with chopsticks crisscrossing through it and wore a black silk
tunic covered in a red floral pattern.

“I’m just glad we were all finally able
to get together,” Emma said, reaching for her wine glass. “You two have the craziest
schedules.” Emma tipped her glass and finished off the last of her wine.

“So,” Stacy said, changing the subject
with one big flap of her hands. “I’m thinking about getting my lips done. Sexy,
right?” She looked from Seth to Emma.

“If you say so,” Emma replied.

“I do say so, men like full pouty lips,”
she said as she leaned over the table and pursed her lips into a pout. “Tell
her Seth.” She pointed at Emma. “Tell her men like pouty.”

“Men like pouty,” Seth mimicked and
smiled at Emma over his wine glass before taking a drink.

“Really?” Emma asked.

“Yes, they think it’s sexy,” Stacy said.
“Tell her Seth.”

“Sexy,” he mimicked again and raised his
eyebrows for emphasis before taking another drink of wine.

“Maybe we could go together, Em, it
would be fun.” Stacy’s eyes lit up with her idea.

“Oh no, I don’t think so, I’m not into
plastic surgery,” Emma replied as she stood to gather the plates from the table.
She carried a stack to the kitchen.

“It’s not surgery,” Stacy said.

Emma didn’t need to look at her friend
to know she was rolling her eyes. It was a classic Stacy move that she’d seen
hundreds of times.

“It’s just a couple of injections and it
wears off in like six months or something. If you don’t like it, you can just
go back to your thin little lips.”

“Oh, well in that case,” Emma said,
returning to the table and exaggerating her voice. She rested her hands on the
back of her chair and looked at Seth before turning back to Stacy. “The answer
is still NO.” Emma took another stack of plates to the kitchen.

“Right, I forgot who I was talking to.
Little Miss Vanilla,” Stacy called after her. “Do you know what she wore the
other night when we went out with James and Peter?” Stacy asked, turning her
attention to Seth.

“I can’t imagine,” he replied, leaning
back in his chair.

“Jeans, tennis shoes, and a turtleneck for
crying out loud!”

“Shameless,” Seth said in mock dismay.

“I know,” Stacy replied with a nod. She
eyed Emma when she came back to the table. “Just look at you, girl. What is
this you’re trying to pull off?” She wagged her finger up and down at Emma’s outfit.
“You’ve got this whole cover-me-up thing going on. Have you seen her closet?”
Stacy asked, slapping both hands on the table as she leaned over it and questioned
Seth. “It’s all floor length skirts, turtlenecks and Mary Janes for God’s sake,
it’s like she’s trying to turn men away.” Stacy laughed at her own joke. Seth
just smiled.

“Do I have to remind you,” Emma said,
setting three parfait glasses on the table before heading back to the kitchen
to get spoons. “That it’s the middle of winter and I work with five and six
year olds. Short skirts and high heels aren’t exactly practical in my line of
work.”

“Whatever Emma,” Stacy said, reaching
for a parfait. “All I know is you’ll never get laid if you keep dressing like
that.”

“I’m not trying to get laid,” Emma said
to her wanton friend.

“Oh girl, you need to get laid,” Stacy
nodded back at her emphatically. “Tell her Seth.”

Seth threw his hands up this time, “I’m
staying out of this one.”

Stacy dipped her spoon into her dessert.
“Oh look Seth,” she said, her voice drenched in sarcasm. “She made us vanilla pudding,
how fitting.” She popped a bite into her mouth. As the mousse settled over Stacy’s
palette her eyes bulged.

“Oh my God, Emma,” she panted. “This is
sinful. What is it?”

“It’s a white chocolate mousse.”

“Yum, yum,” Stacy said, digging in for
more. “But seriously, Emma, you’ve got to spice it up a little. This country
mouse thing isn’t going to get you far with these city boys.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I think I’m doing just
fine on my own,” Emma said, a smile tugged on the corners of her lips.

“Oh really, and when’s the last time a
guy asked you out?” Stacy retorted.

“Um, just this week.”

“Really?” Seth and Stacy asked at the
same time.

“Yes, really,” Emma replied.

“One of your cutsie little kiddos doesn’t
count,” Stacy said.

“It wasn’t one of my kids. It was
another teacher,” Emma said, taking in another spoonful of mousse.

“Well, fill us in,” Seth urged as he
scraped the sides of his glass with his spoon.

“He invited me to go watch his band play
at a bar tonight.”

“Tonight?” Seth repeated. “Then what are
you doing sitting around here with us?”

“We’d already made our plans and besides
he plays there every Saturday, so I can go another time. Hey, maybe you’d like
to come with me next weekend.” Emma answered.

“Yeah…” Seth started to agree.

“No, no, no,” Stacy said, jabbing her
spoon in the air at the two of them. “You can’t bring another guy on a date
with you. Are you crazy Emma? That’s a sure way to turn a guy off, they don’t
like competition. It’s a testosterone thing. Some guys have it worse than
others, but if I were you I’d go solo and show him just how available you are.
He’s not going to like seeing Seth there.”

“Aaah,” Emma soothed, petting Seth’s arm
like a kitten. “Who wouldn’t like seeing Seth, he’s adorable.”

Seth flashed a patronizing grin in her
direction.

“I’m just warning you,” Stacy said with
a shake of her head.

“You know who really doesn’t like me,”
Seth said, licking the last bite of mousse off his spoon. “Is that dad of your
student that we ran into at the gym. He stared me down pretty hard.”

“Really,” Emma said. “I didn’t notice.”

“Yup and he did the same thing the night
he brought you home.”

“Brought you home?” Stacy repeated, her
ears perking up.

“It was months ago,” Emma said, settling
back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “He picked me up after
a guy tried to mug me outside the school and drove me home.”

“Wait a minute,” Stacy said, waving her
arms in front of her face. “You were mugged? Why am I just now hearing about
it? What happened?”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Emma sighed. “I
left school after dark one day and didn’t see the other guy coming. He caught
me by surprise and tried to take my bag. But my student’s dad saw everything
and drove up and scared the guy off. That’s all.”

“Oooh, so are we talking about a single
dad or a dad who’s married with five kids?” Stacy asked, jumping right to the
part of the story she found most interesting.

“Single,” Emma replied.

“And he rushed up to help you when you
were in distress?” Stacy flipped her hand pressing the back of it to her
forehead.

“Yes.”

“Is he hot?” Her eyes twinkled with
anticipation.

Emma rolled her eyes, “Yeah, he’s good
looking enough.”

“Girl, you should totally go for him,”
Stacy said, her voice raising an octave in her excitement.

“Yeah, right?” Emma replied.

“Oh come on,” Stacy said. “What’s wrong
with this guy?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe that he’s the
father of one of my students,” Emma said, knowing this sound reasoning would be
lost on her indiscriminant friend.

“For only like a few more months, so
what’s the harm in laying down the ground work now. Let him know you’re
interested.” Stacy gave a little shrug like there was no problem with flirting
with a parent of one of her students, as if it was an accepted practice.

“But I’m not interested,” Emma said.

“Sure you are,” Stacy persisted.

“No, I’m not. And I thought I just told
you about this other guy who asked me out.”

“You’re not that into him,” Stacy said with
a wave her hand. “Because if you were, you would have pitched our plans right
out the window and ran to that bar tonight, not even thinking about dragging
Seth along. You’d want that guy all to yourself, but you didn’t. So now, tell
me. If Mr.-I’m-A-Hottie-Single-Dad called you up and asked you out for tonight,
what would you have done?”

“He wouldn’t call me,” Emma replied,
inwardly thinking
he’s never called me.

“But, what if he did?” Stacy smiled,
liking this game she was playing with Emma.

Emma shook her head. She couldn’t
imagine any circumstance where Mr. Lewis would call her for a social reason.
That would never happen. He wouldn’t even call her back when she wanted to talk
about his son. But it disturbed Emma that she couldn’t form the words of her refusal.
Why would Emma ever willingly choose to be around Mr. Lewis?

She remembered how she rushed out of her
classroom last month to see him for their spur of the moment meeting, but that
was because of Brayden. Her own intrigue into the man had nothing to do with
it. It couldn’t, right?

No, of course not.

Of course not.