The Teacher (18 page)

Chapter
Twenty-three

“Isn’t there someone else?” Marcus
barked into the phone. “Why does it have to be me?”

“You’re the only one I trust with this deal.
You nailed down The Barclay Corporation’s first acquisition for us. I thought
you’d jump at the chance to work with them again. This new deal could mean big
things for the firm.” Alfred’s voice was even and calm.

“Maybe this isn’t the best time for you
and Mother to take that European tour, can’t you reschedule?”

“No, this trip is overdue. Your mother
deserves it. We were supposed to go three years ago before all that ugliness
happened. She’s been through a lot, selling her business, moving to our new
house, changing country clubs and losing Deidre’s friendship. You’re not the
only one who’s suffered,” his father argued.

“Fine,” Marcus said, allowing his father
to equate their changing of country clubs to the hell he’d suffered since the
fire.

“I’m supposed to be semi-retired, you
know? I’m getting too old for these long hours and could use a little reprieve
myself. You’re the one that’s supposed to be running this office, not me. I
just stepped in so you could drop down to Portland and get yourself sorted out.
This will be a good time for you to break back into things here. I’ve already
spoken to Father Ralph at St. Mary’s and if you send Brayden’s transcripts
he’ll take a look at him.”

Marcus clenched and then
released his free hand. Here it was again, this whole
when you come home to
Seattle
bit. He didn’t want to go back. He knew this arrangement for the cruise around the
Barclay deal was his parents’ ploy to get him back to Seattle, a place he would
rather forget. But loyalty to the firm that his great-grandfather founded and
the fact that the Barclay Corporation was a long-standing client prompted him
to cave, falling victim to his sense of obligation.

“How long will you be gone
again?” Marcus asked with a sigh and rubbed at his temples.

“It’s a two month tour.
We’ll be gone eight weeks. But we’d love for you and Brayden to spend a couple
of weeks with us when we return. Your mother’s been scouting a few condos for
you in the downtown area.”

Marcus felt the knot between
his shoulders tighten. Two months, that was nearly the entire summer. What
about Brayden? Marcus had just received a summer schedule from Dave. Marcus
knew it was important to keep up with Brayden’s therapy. He’d seen a real
change in him since he started working with Dave. Brayden seemed more content
these days. Some days he still erupted with anger or frustration or would withdraw
inside of himself, but it occurred less often and he seemed to come out of it
faster. Marcus was also looking into a tutor for Brayden for the summer. He was
still hopeful Brayden would be accepted at Portland Private Academy next year,
but with his current academic standing, it was unlikely he would be admitted.

“I’ll let you know tomorrow,”
Marcus finally responded. “There are some things I have to work out first, but
yeah, I can probably take care of the Barclay Deal.”

“Excellent,” his father’s satisfied
voice came over the line.

The next morning Marcus
talked with Dave about getting recommendations for a child psychologist in the
Seattle area. Before hanging up Dave reminded him that Brayden would need a
consistent and predictable routine for the summer.

“Will you have family there
for help and support?” Dave inquired.

“A little,” Marcus lied,
wondering how he was going to manage this summer. Rosa was having knee
replacement surgery next month and he couldn’t drag her with them to Seattle.
Maricella, his parents’ housekeeper, would be around, but she barely spoke
English and had a strong distaste for children. Something would work out,
something had to. Marcus felt himself being pushed into a lonely and difficult
position, but somehow he was determined to come out ahead. He would find a way
to fulfill his role as father, son and attorney.

He didn’t know how he was
going to do it yet, but he would. Finally, he felt like he was doing right by
his son and he wasn’t about to have it all fall apart now.

That night as Marcus reheated
two chicken potpies Rosa had left in the refrigerator for them, Brayden pulled
a white paper sack out of his backpack. The bag was folded at the top, a red
ribbon ran through two punched holes, and was tied off in a bow.

“What’s in the bag, buddy?”
Marcus asked him.

Brayden shrugged and carried
it into the kitchen where he set it on the counter.

“It looks like a present,”
Marcus said. “Is it a present?”

Brayden nodded.

“So, who is it for?” Marcus
asked, grinning.

“It’s for Mother’s Day,” Brayden
said.

“Oh,” Marcus said, dropping
his smile and freezing in place. He felt himself break into a cold sweat, his
mind raced thinking about how he could change the subject before Brayden asked
him questions he didn’t want to answer.

“Ms. Hewitt said we don’t
have to give it to a mother, if we don’t have one,” Brayden continued,
apparently not noticing his father’s momentary lapse into paralysis.

“So, who would you like to
give your present to?” Marcus asked, clearing his throat from the choke of
emotions he had been prepared to fight.

“I want to give it to Ms.
Hewitt.”

“Really?” Marcus asked in
surprise.

“Yeah,” Brayden said,
shooting him a wide-eyed look. “She said we could give it to anyone we wanted
that was special to us.”

Marcus held his hands up showing
his son he was surrendering to whatever fight he imagined was about to ensue.
“If that’s what you want Bray, then that’s fine with me. Can I at least take a
peek first?”

“Sure,” Brayden said,
shrugging and Marcus pulled at the end of the thin red ribbon. He pulled out a
painted glass jar and spun it in his hand. Three red flowers were painted
around the base of the jar with five blue dots above each one. Vertical purple
lines separated the flowers. Marcus took a closer look. The lines were impeccably
straight and the paint from the red flower petals barely overlapped the yellow
interior circle.

“Did you do this all by
yourself?” Marcus asked, thinking that he himself wouldn’t be able to achieve
such smooth and straight strokes.

Brayden nodded.

“Really?” Marcus asked.
“Nobody helped you?”

“Well, Ms. Hewitt mixed the
paints for us and she helped me wash off the paint when I messed up, so I could
try again.”

“Wow, Bray, this is really good. I like it a lot.”
His son smiled at him. “I didn’t think you would like the flowers. They’re red

roses.”

“Roses, huh?” Marcus said, thinking they looked more like daisies.

“Yeah, they’re Ms. Hewitt’s favorite flower.”
“Oh, I see,” Marcus said. “I’m sure she’ll love them.”

“And the blue dots are rain, because she loves the rain and purple
is her favorite color.”

“It’s great,” Marcus told him, wrapping it back in its tissue
paper and retying the bow.

The loops were larger than before and drooped instead of holding
their form in a petite bow. “You sure know a lot about your teacher,” Marcus
said, pulling two forks from a drawer. He handed them to Brayden who placed
them on the placemats at the breakfast bar.

“She tells us everything,”
Brayden said, climbing into his chair where he waited for his dinner.

“Everything, huh?” Marcus
asked as he poured two glasses of milk and set them on the placemats.

“Yup,” Brayden said, picking
up his glass with two hands and gulping half of it down in three big swallows.
Marcus leaned back on the black granite counter while the microwave counted
down fifty-seven more seconds and watched his son wipe the traces of a milk
moustache away with the back of his hand.

“So, what does she tell
you?” Marcus asked with a confident nod, his interest slightly piqued as to
what his son knew about this woman that he did not.

“Her favorite fruit is
peaches, her favorite vegetable is broccoli,” Brayden made a face when he said
this. “She likes dogs and horses and grew up on a farm.”

“Yes, I believe you
mentioned that one before,” Marcus said and turned as the microwave beeped.
“Anything else?” He felt a little guilty about probing his son for information,
but he was interested and they were talking. It seemed like Ms. Hewitt was the
only topic they could carry on a conversation about.

“She’s twenty-seven and doesn’t
have any kids, but says she will someday. When is Someday, Dad?”

Marcus set the potpies down
and smiled, “Well, it’s not today and it’s not tomorrow, but it’s another day
that’s coming.”

Brayden nodded and broke the
crust of his pie shell with his fork letting the steam from within rise up.

“I’m glad you like her,”
Marcus said, ruffling his son’s hair.

“Can she be my teacher next
year?” Brayden asked.

“I, uh, I don’t know, Bray,”
Marcus replied. Brayden’s eyes were so bright and full of hope he didn’t want
to extinguish it. He knew it was unlikely Emma would be Brayden’s teacher
again, even if he stayed at Fitzpatrick.

“I hope she is,” Brayden
said, swinging his feet under his chair and pushing a forkful of the pie into
his mouth.

Marcus took his first bite
too and then was struck by the answer he’d been looking for. Emma. She was his
solution. He couldn’t guarantee Brayden she’d be his teacher next year, but maybe
she could be for the summer. In Seattle. Marcus couldn’t think of anyone he’d
rather have with his son.

The wheels in his brain
began to turn as he fit all the details of the arrangement together and
prepared a solid argument to persuade her into taking the job. She had to. He
needed her.

*     *     *

Spring was in the air. The
birds sang. Daffodils and tulips bloomed. Heavy winter coats were traded in for
light jackets with hoods to protect against the rain, but there hadn’t been a
drop for five days straight. The promise of summer seemed to be right around
the corner and spring fever was running rampant through Fitzpatrick Elementary.

The children’s energy was
brighter and fuller. Emma tried to schedule extended recesses and special
activities outside when she could. It was hard to keep her flock of fidgeting
bodies focused on finishing their academic work in the classroom.

The evenings were getting
warmer and staying light longer. The fresh blanket of spring beckoned her
outside to sit and read or picnic in the park. It made her long for someone to
share it with. She and Seth took a lovely evening stroll last night, but when
they returned to the apartment, he’d rushed off to call Kelly, reminding Emma that
her time with him was borrowed from the one he loved.

Seth was ecstatic about his
newest assignment—another project in the LA area. Emma, on the other hand, was
disappointed. With Seth gone and school letting out soon, she’d have more time
on her hands than she’d know what to do with. The job hunt wasn’t going well,
not that she’d had much time to look, but what she inquired about so far didn’t
look promising. Most of the coffee shops in her neighborhood were extending
their college students’ hours over the summer. Audrey offered her some
inconsistent babysitting hours, but Emma declined knowing her sister was just
being charitable. The school year wasn’t over yet, she still had time to figure
something out.

Eleven days. That’s what the
countdown in the staff room read.

Emma carried a crate full of
student portfolios back to her classroom, ready to call it a day.

The bright sunshine streamed
through the windows at the end of the hallway. She turned into her dark room, temporarily
blinded from the lighting change. She was startled by a familiar, yet disembodied
voice.

“Hi Emma.”

She set the crate on her
kidney-bean shaped table and turned in the direction of the voice.

“Hi, there,” she responded,
her eyes slowly adjusting to the light. Marcus stood near her desk, an envelope
in his hand.

“Hi,” he said again, smiling.
“Do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” Emma replied,
sitting on the edge of her table and folding her arms in front of her. She
tilted her head and watched him. He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket and his tie
was loose around his neck. He usually looked at her directly and meaningfully,
but today, there was something reserved about him.

“Are you,” he started then
stopped. “Do you have plans for the summer?”

She wasn’t quite sure what
he was asking or why he was asking, so she answered vaguely, “Uh, not really.”

He nodded and cleared his
throat. This seemed to restore some of his composure. “What I mean to ask is—are
you looking for work this summer?”

Emma dropped her arms. “As a
matter of fact I am,” she said. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to, but my
paychecks didn’t go as far as I’d hoped and now I need to build up my savings
if I’m ever going to buy…” she stopped herself, looking away from him. Why was
she complaining about her financial situation to him, he probably couldn’t care
less?