The Teacher (8 page)

Chapter
Ten

This visit was shaping up to be like all
the others. Marcus’s brother, Luke, called last Friday before their
grandfather’s party, claiming the plane had been grounded and he had no way out
of Denver. The soft giggling Marcus heard in the background made him think
there was another reason Luke wasn’t finding his way out of town. Without the
distraction of one more person, all of the focus fell on Marcus and Brayden…and
not in a good way.

Marcus’s mother paraded every available
woman she could dredge up in front of him. His father dragged him to the office,
“just to help out here and there.” When Brayden wasn’t being ignored, he was
hammered with commands:
stand up straight, don’t fidget, speak up,
or
be quiet
. They were both restless to get home and with tomorrow being
Christmas Day, it meant their little vacation was halfway over.

Marcus lifted Brayden’s arm and then
dropped it against the sheets. Brayden groaned and smacked his lips. Marcus
held his breath and waited. Groaning again Brayden rolled to his side and
curled his arms and legs in. He was sound asleep.

Marcus pulled the covers up to his son’s
shoulder, brushed the blond hair from his forehead, and whispered, “Just one
more week, Bray, and we’ll be out of here.”

From the high shelf in the closet,
Marcus pulled the paper shopping bags Gretta packed for him. They were full of
presents for Brayden. The bags banged against his legs, making a crinkling
sound and Marcus froze. He checked over his shoulder—Brayden was still asleep.

Out in the hallway Marcus moved toward
the large sweeping staircase of his parents’ new colonial home, at least Marcus
thought of it as new. Margaret and Alfred sold their old Lake Sammamish home
and moved to Mercer Island around the same time he and Brayden left for
Portland.

After the tragedy with Vanessa, the
disintegration of his mother’s business and partnership, she proclaimed it was
time for a change and snatched up this estate when it came on the market. The
house was twice as large as their previous home. A master suite graced each of
the three floors and there were two extra bedrooms on the top floor along with
a bonus room. The ceiling was high in the center of the house and a formal
living room, study, library and dining room opened up through French doors off the
center of the home. Marcus wondered what his parents did with all the rooms and
three acres of land when it was just the two of them.

A small cottage sat on the east side of
the grounds where the housekeeper Maricella and her husband, Guillermo, the
gardener and driver lived. The couple worked for the previous owners and stayed
on after the sale of the property. He knew his mother liked the status “live-in
help” created for their family.

The crystal chandelier was still ablaze,
lighting the entire grand entryway. He assumed his parents were still awake and
stepped delicately on the golden wood floors. With any luck he would get the
gifts under the Christmas tree and make it back upstairs undetected.

Marcus heard voices coming from his
father’s study as he slipped into the living room. Without turning the lights on,
he arranged the packages under the designer Christmas tree. It was covered in
frosted glass ball ornaments, white lights and six-inch white glass butterflies
clipped to the branches. Kneeling beneath the branches, he began to arrange the
unmarked gifts from Santa, the sweet scent of the pine needles filled his
senses as he worked.

The lights blinked to life above him and
Marcus turned to see his mother, her bony fingers wrapped around a small glass
of sherry. Under her arm, she carried a present wrapped in red paper with a
white bow. She walked toward him with her black and gold silk caftan flowing
behind her and held out the gift. 

“Maricella said this was delivered while
we were at church tonight. Do what you want with it?” she said as she released
the gift into his hands and turned to leave. Marcus didn’t need to look at the
card to know who it was from.

His mother paused in the doorway placing
one hand on the white paneled trim. “Join your father and me in his study when
you’re finished here,” she commanded over her shoulder before she left. He
removed the card from the package and set it next to the other unmarked gifts
for Brayden. Stuffing the card into his pocket, he switched the light off in
the room and crossed over to his father’s study.

At the table under the portrait of his
mother, painted twenty years ago, Marcus picked up a bottle of scotch and
poured himself a drink. His father leaned back in his leather desk chair,
steepling his hands in front of him and tapping his forefingers together with
impatience. Marcus took a seat in the empty wingback chair and waited for
whatever his parents felt they needed to discuss with him.

“We need to talk about your Christmas
gift,” his father began. The wrinkles bracketing the corners of his mouth
deepened with his frown.

“I don’t need a gift,” Marcus said.

“It’s not a question of what you need,”
Margaret cut in. “It’s about what we would like to give you. That’s why it’s
called a gift, darling.” She added with a smile.

Marcus nodded, never one to argue with
his mother.

Alfred leaned over his desk, “We,” he
glanced at Margaret who nodded. “Want to take care of Brayden’s tuition for the
remainder of the school year.”

“There’s no…” Marcus started, but his
father’s raised palm silenced him.

“We understand you are doing very well
for yourself and this is not charity. It is a gift and consider it done.”

“Done?” Marcus asked, needing
clarification.

“Well, it was supposed to be done, but
there seems to be a little problem.”

Marcus waited. He had a bad feeling
about what was coming next.

“I sent the check to Portland Christian
Academy last week, the school we’d discussed last summer as a good alternative
to the one Brayden got himself kicked out of last year.” There was a
condescending tilt to his father’s head when he said this and Marcus looked
down into his glass, swirling the amber liquid. He wanted to take a drink to
help soften the blow that was coming but the tightness in his throat wouldn’t
have allowed the drink to pass. His father opened a drawer and pulled out a
check with a post-it note attached. “The check was returned yesterday. They say
Brayden Lewis is not registered at the school.”

“We thought we’d agreed PCA was where he
should go Marcus,” his mother added, throwing a hand up in the air.

“It wasn’t a good fit for him,” Marcus
said, not meeting either of their eyes.

“What does that mean?” Margaret asked.
“Did he get kicked out of there too? This is really getting out of hand Marcus.
You need to get a handle on that child or else, he’ll…” she sucked in a deep
sharp breath, forcing the words to stop.

Alfred rubbed his hands down the front
of his face, showing his age and weariness. “Okay, so that school didn’t work
out either. Fine. Where do I need to send the check then?”

“I don’t need you to send a check,
Father,” Marcus said. “I have his schooling under control, its fine. Thank you for
the generous thought.” Marcus wanted this to be the end of the conversation,
but he knew questions had sprung in his parents’ minds and they wouldn’t rest
until they had answers.

“Very well, then, at least let us send
the school a donation for new computers or books for the library, whatever they
might need. What is the name of the school?” His father picked up his pen and
waited, poised and ready to write.

“Fitzpatrick,” Marcus finally revealed
and Alfred scrawled it down.

“Okay,” his father replied, “and you say
you have all the tuition and fees covered for the year, so when I call next
week there will be no balance on your account.”

Marcus felt like a ten years old boy right
now. Trying to answer his parents honestly, but also trying to avoid the
answers that he knew would get him into trouble. Why were his parents butting
so far into his business? Why were they checking up on him, on Brayden and the school?

He took a deep breath.
Here it comes
,
he thought and shook his head. “The school doesn’t charge tuition.” Next to him,
he heard the horrific gasp of his mother.

“Is it one of those magnet schools or
charter schools where they focus on the arts or science? A fine arts education
looks good on a college application.” She turned from Marcus to Alfred nodding,
trying to believe this must be the answer and for a second Marcus was almost
willing to play along and agree. But knowing his parents the moment he walked
out of the room they’d be on the internet researching the school and the truth
would be out before midnight one way or another.

“No, it’s a public school.” There, it
was out.

Margaret’s hand fluttered to her mouth
and she turned away from Marcus toward her husband.

“This has gone too far, Marcus,” his
father yelled, slamming his fist on the desk. “You have to start making
decisions for your son’s future, for the future of this family. A public school
will never provide him with the experiences and connections he needs to
succeed. This is unacceptable.”

“It’s only for this year,” Marcus
started to explain. “I’ve already started the application process for Portland
Private Academy
and
PCA for next year. This is just temporary,” but even
as he said this he knew it was a lie. Already Brayden’s academics were lagging
and judging by the number of phone calls his teacher had made his behavior
wasn’t improving much either. It would be a hard sell to get any private school
to take him.

“Marcus, this isn’t like you to make
such atrocious decisions. At least, get the boy a private tutor or move back
here. We can get him in at St. Mary’s, your father can talk to Father Ralph
about it. I’m sure we can get this all taken care of.” Marcus saw the dots
connecting in his mother’s mind as she laid out this plan, hoping to lure him
back to Seattle.

“At some point Marcus, you have to fix
this. You and Brayden cannot keep going on like this, your mother is right,”
Alfred said. “Move back home.”

Marcus stood and stalked away from his
parents, keeping his back to them. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his
glass tighter. He released his grip and set the glass back on the silver tray
beneath his mother’s portrait. A portrait like this had hung in the living of
his home, one of Vanessa perched in a chair—a wedding gift from his parents. It
was gone now. It went up in flames with the rest of his life.

He fled Seattle for a reason and stayed
away for even more—this was a place he would never call home again.

“I’ll think about it,” he said as he
turned back to his parents, steeling his voice to be steady and calm.

“See that you do,” his father said,
turning his attention to his filing drawer. “There is something wrong with that
boy.” It was an afterthought and Marcus knew he should ignore it, but he was talking
about Brayden, his son.

Marcus strode across the room ready to
state a defense, champion his son in some way, but realized he couldn’t even
come up with an argument. Was it true? Was his son as horrible as everyone believed?
Was he the only one blind to it? The thought turned him cold, but then he
remembered the soft curvy letters on Brayden’s progress report from his
teacher. She said Brayden was good at drawing. He remembered the way she smiled
down at Brayden and praised his story. The progress report hadn’t been filled
with accusations like he’d expected but offered him something else. What were
her words again,
let’s work together and help Brayden.
She offered to
help, but help was something Marcus didn’t know how to ask for.

He turned back to his parents, stuffing
one hand in his pocket where he felt the sharp edge of the folded card. He
clenched his other hand into a fist and brought it to his mouth. They were
watching him, but Marcus still couldn’t formulate the words he needed. The
strain of anticipation in the air of the study was so thick nobody heard the
front door open.

Brayden’s voice surprised them all. “Uncle
Luke!” Marcus spun and walked out to see his son running down the stairs to his
uncle.

“Hey little man,” Luke said, scooping
him up. Luke’s boyish smile faded when he looked over Brayden’s head at Marcus.

“Hey, Bray,” Marcus said, gently taking
his son from his brother. “I didn’t know you were up.”

“I woke up,” Brayden said, rubbing the
sleep from his eyes. “But you weren’t there.” His lower lip drooped in a pout. Brayden
buried his head in his father’s shoulder as Margaret and Alfred walked out of
the study.

“Let’s get you back to bed. We don’t
want Santa to find you up and wandering around.” Marcus stepped around his
brother, solemnly adding, “Nice of you to finally make it.”

Behind him, Margaret stepped in to
embrace her youngest son, cheerfully exclaiming her greeting, all notes of
disgust from their earlier conversation gone, even though Luke was six days
late in arriving.

Chapter
Eleven

Emma lifted her half-empty glass of
ginger ale and toasted the TV. “Happy New Year,” she said, as she watched the glittering,
mirrored ball drop in Times Square. Chester, her sister’s lazy orange tabby
cat, yawned up at her and stretched his front paw. She swallowed the rest of
her drink and zapped the remote at the TV, drawing the screen blank.

“Thanks for the company,” she said as
she rubbed the cat between the ears. She dropped her glass off in the kitchen
before she climbed the stairs to her nieces’ room. Emma looked over the side of
Lauren’s crib. Her niece was curled peacefully in a ball and sleeping, her
mouth formed in a perfect circle. Chelsea’s legs dangled off the side of her
twin bed and Emma pulled her back to the center before covering her with the
duvet.

The pink princess clock glowed 12:17
when Emma slipped beneath the sheets of the twin pull out bed on the floor.
Audrey and Finn were celebrating at a neighbor’s house and Emma hoped they were
having fun. She was happy to babysit Chelsea and Lauren for the evening because
it gave her the perfect excuse not to go to the New Year’s Eve bash Stacy
wanted to drag her to. If Seth were around to tag along with, that would be
different, but he was in California tonight kissing his own someone special.
No, Emma preferred to be alone, with no one to kiss, instead of lost in a crowd
of drunken strangers with no one she wanted to kiss.

Emma awoke to her sister’s warm breath on
her cheek as she leaned down and whispered in her ear.

“We’re back,” she hissed, then giggled.
The smell of champagne was heavy on her breath. Finn watched from the doorway.
Emma barely glimpsed his face, but he looked tired and annoyed at his wife who
was holding a finger to her own lips saying, “Shhh,” as if he was the one who
might wake the children. Audrey staggered out with her heels in hand and Finn
took her by the arm steadying her down the hallway.

The next morning Emma awakened to
Chelsea jumping on her belly. The smell of bacon drifted up the stairs. She
looked over at Lauren’s crib and saw that it was empty.

“Where’s your sister?” she asked in a
near panic.

“Daddy got her out this morning. He’s
making pancakes and said I could see if you were awake yet.”

“Oh, I’m definitely awake now, thank you
Chelsea. I’ll be right down.”

The little girl bounced off the bed and
sped down the stairs. Emma found Finn and the girls in the kitchen. Her
brother-in-law wore a worn-out pair of sweat pants, a white t-shirt and thick
wool socks. He held Lauren, who drank from a sippy cup, in one arm and the
pancake flipper in the other. He grinned at her when she walked in. Emma took
Lauren from him and buckled her into her highchair next to Chelsea who was
already at the table ready to eat.

Finn brought a plate piled high with
pancakes over to the table and Emma helped the girls with the butter and syrup.
She cut each pancake into bite size pieces. Finn returned with another plate of
bacon and eggs and a cup of coffee for Emma.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting it and
they both sat in two of the empty chairs at the table. One chair remained
empty. The girls were deep into their pancake breakfast.

“Thanks for staying the night,” Finn
said.

“Absolutely,” Emma told him. “Did you
guys have fun?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, unconvincingly as
he helped Lauren reach her sippy cup.

“Is Audrey awake?”

He shook his head, his mouth full of
pancakes. “Nah, she’s still sleepin’ it off.”

Emma nodded and took another bite of her
own pancake. Chelsea jumped from her seat at the table, announced she was
finished, and licked the syrup from her fingers. Lauren, not wanting to be left
behind, started squirming in her highchair saying, “Out, out, out…” and Finn
released her, doing a quick swipe of her hands with his napkin before she
followed her sister into the living room to watch the morning cartoons.

Emma and Finn finished their pancakes in
silence. He seemed deep in thought about something and Emma didn’t want to
disturb whatever it was he was working out, so she saved her questions until
they were clearing the table.

“Is everything okay with you and
Audrey?” She had asked her sister the same thing at Christmas after she
overheard the two having an argument in her parents’ living room on Christmas
Eve. Emma hadn’t heard what they were saying, only the tone of their voices and
it was unlike any conversation she’d ever heard exchanged between the two of them.

“Sure, the holidays are always crazy,
but I’ve got some down time now and we’ll get back to normal,” he reassured
her.

“Well, I’m glad you guys got to go out
last night and have a little fun.”

“Hmmmph,” he grunted. “Yeah, if you call
watching your wife gettin’ plastered with her prissy little friends fun, then
yeah, it was great fun.”

The sound of hearing Finn pronounce the
word fun (
foon
) twice in one sentence usually made Emma smile, but not
this morning. She was too caught up in the way he said it, as if he were
passing judgment on Audrey. Since when had Finn taken a dislike to Audrey
having a few drinks? Finn’s parents owned a pub in Dublin. He grew up in a
social drinking climate, unlike Emma and Audrey’s anti-alcohol childhood.

Had Audrey had too much to drink last
night or did something else happen that had irritated Finn? Emma was about to
ask when Audrey herself walked into the kitchen with her hand pressed to her
forehead. Her robe hung open over her pinstriped pajamas.

Without a word to anyone, she reached
high into a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of aspirin downing two or maybe
three, Emma wasn’t sure. Finn handed her a glass of water to chase the pills
and then set a cup of coffee on the counter in front of her.

“Why did you let me drink so much last
night?” she asked her husband through the fog of her hangover.

“Didn’t know it was my job to keep track
of your booze last night, love.” Reproachful sarcasm crept into his voice,
surprising Emma again. She had never heard Finn talk to her sister like this
before. He walked into the living room and snuggled between the girls on the
couch.

“You okay?” Emma asked her sister.

She nodded, “Yeah, I’ll just be paying
for last night all day.” Audrey smiled and sipped her coffee. “Hey, thanks
again for watching the girls.”

“No problem. We had fun,” Emma assured
her sister. “I think I’ll head up and shower before I take off.”

“Sure,” Audrey replied, taking another
sip of coffee. “Big plans for today?”

“Not really, just a little grocery
shopping and apartment cleaning.”

“I see, running home to be with your
special friend.” Audrey’s tone was almost mean.

“Excuse me?” Emma asked, narrowing her
eyes on her sister. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Audrey said, changing her
tone and waving a hand in front of her face. “It’s just all you seem to talk
about is Seth-this and Seth-that. I just don’t want you to waste your time
barking up the wrong tree.”

“Whose tree you barking up, Emma?” Finn
asked returning to the kitchen and joining the conversation. He poured himself
another cup of coffee and leaned against the counter.

“Nobody,” Emma replied, rolling her
eyes.

“We were just talking about Seth,”
Audrey filled in for her.

Finn lifted his cup about to take a
drink, “Isn’t he…”

“Yes,” Emma answered. “And I have no
delusions about Seth and I being anything more than friends.”

“You only dream about being married to
him,” Audrey snickered into her cup.

“Audrey!” Emma shrieked at her sister.
She didn’t want Finn to hear about her pathetic fantasies.

“Hey, you know we just bought some new
towels.” Finn smirked. “Maybe you’d like to bring them home, so Seth could
change up his wardrobe around the place, you know?”

Great.
Finn
was already in on all her secrets. That was the last time she confided anything
embarrassing to her sister. Finn and Audrey smiled at each other over their
coffee cups, having too much fun at her expense.

“You guys are just mean,” Emma said, walking
out of the kitchen. She heard them laugh behind her. Well, at least they were
in a better mood with each other.

*     *     *

For the next two days, Emma spent time watching
her new best friends on the Food Network Channel—Rachael Ray, Giada De
Laurentiis and Guy Fieri. After spending Christmas Break in Orchard Creek and
working with her mother in the kitchen baking fresh cinnamon rolls and roasting
a turkey all day for dinner, Emma had made a New Year’s resolution to eat
better. No more toast and eggs for dinner or take-out. The tiny apartment freezer
was packed full of homemade pasta, pre-cooked lasagnas, soups and casseroles.
She hadn’t realized how much she missed being in the kitchen. The apartment
offered only a small square of real estate to the kitchen, but she enjoyed
every moment of being in there.

Stacy was after her to set a date to go
out with Peter and James. Again, Emma piled on the excuses. This little set up
was the last thing she wanted to do, there was no future for her with Peter or
James. A quiet night at home with Seth was far more appealing. Seth would be
home any minute. Emma spent the afternoon cooking an eggplant lasagna and
homemade French bread, she was anxious to surprise him with her home cooked
meal.

The timer on the stove sounded and the
front door opened as Emma pulled the lasagna from the oven.

“Wow, something smells
good,” Seth called. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway.

“It’s your dinner,”
Emma said and smiled at him.

“Anything I can do to
help?” he asked, walking over to look at the lasagna she was holding.

“No, just take a seat.”

Seth took a chair at
the table and waited while Emma brought the lasagna, salad and bread to the
table. They sat and enjoyed their meal together. Emma was happy to see Seth
take second and third helpings of everything. She listened while Seth talked of
his holiday in California with Kelly and the New Year’s party they attended at
the beach.

Emma told Seth about
her quiet Christmas in the country, her nieces and the time she spent over the
last few days cooking huge meals and freezing the leftovers.

“I kind of took all the
space in the freezer,” she said with a guilty smile. “I did leave your two
frozen dinners in there.”

“You mean the whole
freezer is full of more food like this?” Seth asked, watching her.

She nodded.

“This,” he said,
pointing to the lasagna pan with only smears of sauce and bits of cheese
remaining. “Is better than any of those frozen dinners I have in there. I’ll
take your home cooking over those any day.”

Emma smiled, “I’m glad
you liked it.”

“Loved it is more like
it. You know I’ve always heard that the way to a man’s heart is through his
stomach and this, my dear, is almost good enough to change my heart.” He winked
at her when he said this and she smiled, her mind sticking to the word
almost
.

Emma stood to clear the
dishes from the table and Seth followed her to the sink with his own handful of
dishes. Together they rinsed and loaded the dishwasher. Emma poured the
detergent and latched the door closed, before pressing the “on” button.

“What are you doing
tomorrow?” Seth asked as they walked out of the kitchen and into the living
room, sitting together on the couch.

“Not much,” Emma
replied.

“I’d like to take you
to lunch. There’s a place downtown that I think you’ll like. Are you up for
it?”

“Sure,” Emma said.

Seth picked up the mail
Emma had been stacking on the small side table next to the couch for him. He
shuffled through the envelopes and then waved a postcard in the air.

“Hey, my gym is
offering a free guest pass for members this month. Maybe you’d like to come
with me in the morning and then we could go on to lunch.”

“I don’t know, Seth,
I’m not much into lifting weights or running on a treadmill.”

“They have other things
to do there too, you know, like classes. Yoga, Pilates and all that,” he
studied the card again. “Look, a new Zumba class is starting up on Saturdays at
nine. That might be fun.”

“Alright,” Emma said
with a shrug. “I guess I could give it a try, but lunch had better be really
good.”

“Don’t worry. It will
be.” Emma wanted to refuse him, but how could she when he looked at her with
that his sexy charming smile.