Winter Hopes (Seasons of Love) (18 page)

“I’d love to see you, and that sounds so good,” she said. “But it’s not fair to you. To fly out here again—”

“Shhh,” he cut her off. He delicately moved his thumb over her
lips to silence her. “I told you, the money’s not an issue for me, so please don’t argue with me about that. Andy is the main issue for
you. You
can’t
come to Chicago every other weekend. I can go wherever I
want, whenever I want. I have the freedom, the flexibility; you don't. So
you just find the babysitting coverage, and I’ll come here. No work stuff this time, no made up business trip—I’ll fly in real early on
Saturday and fly home late on Sunday. I’ll even stay at a hotel on Long Island if it’s easier for you than coming into Manhattan. But we’re doing this. So you just tell me
when
.”

Her lips sealed together as she searched the depths of his dark eyes. She knew he was sincere, that he meant every sweet, earnest
word. She believed him. She consciously jettisoned her doubts and inhibitions, and smiled a luminous smile. “Um… tomorrow?”

His eyes lit up and his smile mirrored hers as he kissed her
deeply, threading his fingers through her hair and pulling her close.

“TRY AGAIN, JIMMY.”
Lydia rearranged the letter tiles in front of the eight-year-old boy sitting across from her. “If we want to turn the word ‘car’ into ‘care’, how would we do that?”

Jimmy yawned. He was more tired than usual that morning.
Lydia wondered if he was still not getting enough sleep at night, and made
a mental note to send another note home to his mother, asking if
everything was alright.

From her desk, Lydia’s cell phone rang. It was the ringtone she’d chosen specifically for Andy’s preschool. Her insides instantly seized with dread. “Excuse me, Jimmy, I’ll be right back, okay?”

Jimmy nodded drowsily and rested his chin on his hand.

Lydia got up from the table and rushed to her small desk. She grabbed her cell phone. “Hi, this is Lydia Powell,” she said, unable to keep the worry out of her voice. “Is Andy alright?”

“Hi Mrs. Powell, it’s Mrs. Greene,” said Andy’s preschool
teacher. “He’s okay, he’s fine. But we had an incident this morning, and you need to be aware of what happened.”

Lydia felt her blood pulse and swirl through her core, making
her slightly nauseous.
Not again.
“What happened?”

“Well, we were having circle time, and he was trying to tell us something about the book we were reading. He tried several times,
and we really tried to understand and help him, but we weren’t
getting
it. He got frustrated, as he has before, of course, and, well…” Mrs.
Greene paused before saying, “Well, he picked up a chair—one of the child-sized chairs, but still, a chair—and threw it across the room. Barely missed another student. But she was pretty shaken up nonetheless.”

Oh God.
“She’s alright, though?” Lydia managed to ask. Her
mouth felt like it had been sandpapered, and her hands were turning to ice. “He didn’t hurt anybody, did he?”

“No, no, everyone’s fine, thank goodness,” Mrs. Greene assured
her. “It’s just, that, well… we were wondering if you could come in for a conference. With us, and with the school directors. So we could
discuss this further, and discuss possible alternatives and outcomes.”

Lydia was a teacher. She knew school-speak. This was not good. “Um, of course, sure… let me just check my schedule, could you
hold on for just a minute?”

“We were thinking some time tomorrow morning, if you have any time available?” Mrs. Greene said. Her voice was even enough, but the message was unmistakable.

Lydia closed her eyes, took a silent deep breath. “Sure. I’ll be
there. How’s nine o’clock?”

***

Jane walked over to the kitchen nook, set down a steaming cup of orange spice tea in front of her younger sister, and studied her with concern. “You know that line you get, that crease in your forehead whenever you’re upset?”

Lydia nodded.

“It’s been there from the moment you walked into the house and hasn’t let up.” Jane sat down, grasped her sister’s hands across the table, and cupped them gently around the mug to warm them.

Lydia smiled wearily. Jane knew her so well.

“So what’s the bottom line here?” Jane asked, pulling her hands
away from Lydia’s to fold them on the table in front of her. “Are
they throwing him out of school?”

“Not exactly. Not yet, anyway,” Lydia said. The warmth of the
cup felt good under her wintry hands. “The meeting this morning was basically to set up the pretense: they don’t think regular
preschool is the right thing for him. His speech delay is severe, his frustration is growing, and he’s acting out more and more.”

“They’re afraid he’s going to hurt somebody,” Jane guessed.

“Probably. But they have a point.” Lydia sighed and admitted, “Maybe regular school is too much to handle for him right now. He needs something else, something more.”

“Oh, Lyddie, come on,” Jane scoffed. “That’s crap. He gets along here with all my kids just fine.” She opened a palm and swept it in the direction of the basement; the loud, joyful voices of Andy, Ethan,
and Sophie playing together were easily discernible. “Does that
sound like someone dangerous?”

“But he
has
thrown things, even here,” Lydia reminded her. “He gets so frustrated sometimes that he’s had some serious tantrums. He needs help. And maybe it’s more help than these teachers are equipped to give him. Maybe they’re right.”

Jane sighed heavily. “Alright then. Say they are. So now what?”

“We now have a meeting with the CPSE chairperson of the school district,” Lydia said.

“The what?” Jane asked, confused.

“CPSE stands for Childhood Preschool Special Education. CPSE makes decisions for all preschool children in a given district. The
CPSE meeting is next week. We’ll see what the chairperson has to say.”

“Wait, what?” Jane gaped at her younger sister. “Special Ed?
Andy doesn’t need Special Ed.”

“How do you know?” Lydia said evenly.

“Because he’s not on the spectrum at all,” Jane argued. “And
he’s a very bright little boy.”

“Who is rapidly becoming a behavior problem,” Lydia said in defeat. “And his speech, even though he gets speech therapy three
times a
week, isn’t improving as quickly as we’d hoped. In fact, it’s barely
improved at all.”

“Oh for Chrissakes,” Jane spat, eyes flashing fire. “He’ll get
there!
He needs more time! He’s frustrated because he can’t express
himself! He’s not a behavior problem!”

“Ah Janie.” Lydia smiled softly. “You’re a ferociously devoted aunt, and I love you for it. But I’m a teacher. I know what they’re
saying,
what they’re thinking, and what will likely happen now. They’re going to recommend sending him to a special needs school. The
director
today used the words, ‘a more structured environment’. I knew exactly what she meant, right away. They’d already set up the
meeting with CPSE before I even got there this morning.”

Jane expelled a harsh, disgruntled breath. “Are you going to fight them?”

“Actually, no,” Lydia said flatly. “It’s not like they want to send him to prison, Janie. It’s a special needs school. He’d probably get
speech every single day, along with whatever else he might need
that we’re unaware of. It could very well be the better place for him.”

“I hate when you talk like a teacher,” Jane grumbled.

“Fine. How’s this: I’m getting desperate,” Lydia admitted. “He obviously needs more help than he’s getting. I want whatever’s best
for Andy. If that’s the place he needs to be, then that’s where he should be. What am I going to do?”

“I like it better when you talk like a mother,” Jane said. She heaved a deep sigh. “If you’re so okay with this, then why do you look like hell?”

“Because no mother wants to hear that their child is acting out in
school,” Lydia said simply, her posture wilting. Her shoulders slumped. “Who wants to hear that their child isn’t progressing,
much less that he might be a danger to others, or to himself? Yeah,
that
was fun.”

Jane reached across the table to hold Lydia's hands again. “Andy is one of the sweetest little boys I’ve ever seen. He just can’t talk, and he’s frustrated. He’s going to get there. He’s going to be fine.”

Lydia’s eyes filled with tears as she stared at her sister in silent anguish.

“Shhh,” Jane said, grasping her hands tighter. “No, no, honey. Don't do that. One day, that kid will be talking normally, and he
won’t shut the hell up, and we’ll remember back to when we used to worry about him so much and say, ‘Can you believe how crazy we made ourselves?’ I promise, Lyddie.”

Lydia just nodded mutely and sniffed her tears back.

“Hey.” Jane sat up a bit straighter in her chair. “Have you told Matt about this yet?”

At that, Lydia instantly dissolved into a mixture of weary agitation and hot defiance. “No. Ugh. I’m not even going to tell him
about any of
this until after the initial CPSE meeting. Why bother when there’s really not much to tell him yet? He’ll just aggravate me until the
meeting. I’d rather put off his aggravating me until
after
the meeting.”

“Works for me.” Jane shrugged.

Cooper walked into the kitchen. “Mom? Can I have a snack?”

“Of course,” Jane said, rising from the table.

“How’s it going, Coop?” Lydia asked her eldest nephew, making a conscious effort to shake off her gloom.

“Fine, thanks. Just hungry.” He went over to sit in the chair his mother had vacated.

“How about…” Jane said slowly, standing in front of the open refrigerator, “an apple?”

“Nooo,” Cooper moaned. “I want Doritos.”

“Tell ya what,” Jane said, turning back to her son with a shiny green apple in her hand. “You eat the apple, and you can have the chips
with
it. Deal?”

“Deal,” Cooper grunted.

Lydia smiled benevolently. “Poor you, you have such a terrible mom, making you eat something healthy. The horror.”

Cooper just gave a half smirk. Then his face lit up as he said, “Hey, Aunt Lydia, guess what I’m reading now?”

“Harry Potter, third book,” she said.

“Nope,” he said, his chest puffing up with pride. “I’m up to the
fourth
one.”

“What?” Lydia said in disbelief. She gaped at the nine-year-old boy. “Weren’t you just reading the second one, like, last week?”

“That was almost two weeks ago already,” Cooper scoffed.

“He’s like you,” Jane said to her sister as she brought the apple and a bowl of chips to the table. “Fastest and most focused reader I
ever saw. When he picks up a book, he can’t put it down ‘til he’s
done with it. Just like his auntie.”

Lydia smiled proudly at her nephew. “Thatta boy. Good for you, honey.”

Cooper gave her a broad, pleased smile, took his food, and left the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be in my room, okay?”

“Okay,” Jane said, retaking her seat. She waited until her son
was out of earshot before she said, “God, he reminds me of you so much sometimes. How did I have
your
child?”

Lydia smiled at the jest and said, “He’s pretty awesome.”

“He is indeed,” Jane said. “Speaking of awesome, how’s Sam doing?”

Lydia’s smile turned into one of deep pleasure. “He’s fine, thank you.”

“God, look at you,” Jane groaned. “All I have to do is mention his name, and you light up like a Christmas tree. My goodness. What are you, fourteen?”

“I know. It’s awful, isn’t it? But I can’t help it.” Lydia sipped her tea.

“I’m just busting your chops. I like seeing you all goopy and
happy,” Jane said. “Do you two talk every day?”

“Yeah. Or I get a bunch of texts on his busier days, if he can’t talk. But yeah, daily contact.”

“And he’s still coming out here next weekend?” Jane grinned. “You’re letting Matt have Andy for another sleepover?”

“Yup. That’s the plan.”

“If Matt knew you’ll be spending the weekend in the city with Sam…” Jane said with a salacious smirk. “God, I can’t wait ‘til Matt
finds out you’re seeing someone. I wish I could be there to see his face.”

Lydia just smiled and shook her head. “Not that I’m telling him anything any time soon, but even when I do, I don’t think he’ll care that much.”

Jane snorted and laughed loudly. “What? Please. You’re kidding yourself.”

“Jane. He doesn’t care about me, he doesn’t want me. We’re
divorced, remember? He wanted to be legally rid of me forever. Why would he care if I’m seeing someone?”

Jane just stared at her sister. “How can you be this dense? Just
because Matt doesn’t want you anymore, doesn’t mean he wants to see you with someone else. He doesn’t want to know that you’re
happy
. Especially if you found someone first. You’re sleeping with
someone
first
. Trust me, Matt will not be happy. I think he’ll be flat out pissed. If it were the other way around, believe me, it would bother you too.”

“Whatever,” Lydia said, and took another sip of her tea. “This is very good, by the way, thank you.”

Her weak attempt to change the topic failed as Jane snorted
again. “You’re a moron. You’re so clouded by your rosy thoughts of
Sam, you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Well, that much is true,” Lydia admitted. “I’ve been on such a high since I saw him… these last two days brought me crashing back down to earth. What a bummer.”