The Teacher (21 page)

“Good morning, Ms. Hewitt,”
Marcus said, starting the day off with the conventionalism their relationship
had returned to. Since her arrival Emma felt like she couldn’t figure out where
she stood with Marcus. The progress they’d made in being at ease with each
other had suddenly vanished. Around him, she could go from feeling like a guest
in his family’s home to the hired help in an instant.

It felt as if they were
dancing around each other, trying to figure out how to coexist in this house.
Marcus invited her to join them in the dining room for every meal, but when
Brayden asked her to play basketball or tennis in the evenings, Marcus reminded
his son of her need for time alone. Sometimes she wondered if he was concerned
about her having time to herself or if it was just the excuse he used to let
her know she was off the clock for the day. It was a delicate dance and she was
trying to follow his lead.

“Good morning.” Emma smiled
at Brayden next to her, whose cheeks were full of French toast. His hair was
tousled in the back from his night of sleep.

Marcus took a sip of coffee
and smiled at her as he set down his cup.

Brayden choked down his
mouthful of French toast in his haste to speak. “We’re going to the beach
today,” Brayden said. “Can you come with us? Dad said you could if you wanted
to.”

“Oh I can, can I?” Emma asked,
looking at Brayden then Marcus.

“Of course, we’d love to
have you join us,” Marcus said, but Emma couldn’t tell if that was sincerity in
his voice or not.

Brayden’s expectant eyes
were still on her and she couldn’t deny how nice a day at the beach sounded.
She couldn’t read Marcus, but Brayden’s desire for her to come along was
written all over his face and so she accepted, “I’d love to.”

 “Really?” Marcus seemed surprised, but
then his face softened into a smile. “We’ll be leaving at ten, if that’s
alright?”

Emma nodded—glad to have evoked a smile
and not a scowl from Marcus. She took her first bite of breakfast, amazed by
its
mouth-watering goodness. The filling was whipped
and felt light and fluffy inside her mouth. She tried to discern the flavors.
It seemed simple, some cream cheese, a little vanilla and finely chopped nuts. Were
they walnuts or pecans? Either way, it was just the right amount of texture
pocketed inside the thick slice of French bread. She chewed slowly and
thoughtfully.

“Is there something wrong
with your breakfast?” Marcus asked, a crease forming above his brow.

“No, not at all,” Emma said.
“It’s delicious. I was just enjoying the texture and flavors. What’s the nut
inside, Maricella? Did you use walnuts?”

The housekeeper barely
looked at her when she replied, “Pecans, ma’am.”

“Well, it’s delicious, thank
you.” Emma got the feeling Maricella didn’t like her and she didn’t know why. She
had been nothing but nice to the woman since her arrival and she tried to keep
her space clean and tidy, not wanting to create extra work for the housekeeper.
None of her efforts seemed to help. Every day Emma returned to her room finding
her bed, which she’d already made in the morning, made up again with the sheets
and blankets pulled to a smoothness Emma could never achieve. Marcus was smiling
at her and she wondered why he looked so amused.

“More coffee, please
Maricella,” Marcus requested, his smile stretching across his lips. The
housekeeper jumped to attention and returned with the pot, pouring a stream of
the dark brew into Marcus’s cup. She lifted his empty plate with her free hand
and returned to the kitchen.

“If you’ll excuse me,”
Marcus said, pushing back from the table. “I have some phone calls to make
before we leave. Brayden, I’ll see you upstairs when you’re finished.” Brayden
nodded and Marcus picked up his coffee cup bringing it with him as he left the
room.

At ten o’clock Emma walked
up the stairs, wearing a pair of black linen shorts and a white t-shirt, her
large bag thrown over one shoulder. She stopped when she heard the loud smack
of her cheap foam flip-flops hit against her heels in the grand entryway. The
sound echoed in the large refined space and she quickly slipped them off,
walking the rest of the distance in her bare feet.

“One, two, three…” Emma
could hear Brayden count as he descended the steps with his father. He jumped
off the bottom step and shouted, “Twenty!” Marcus turned to look at Emma, his
eyebrows arched in surprise.

“Great counting Brayden,”
she said, smiling at both of them and then Marcus turned to his son.

“That was great, Bray,” he
echoed in praise.

Brayden reached for the pail
and shovel waiting for him by the front door. Marcus picked up the woven picnic
basket and they all walked out the door together.

The sky was blue and clear,
the sun warmed them as they fought for a space on the narrow sands of Alki
Beach. They finally found a small patch of sand behind a steel drum fire pit.
Emma folded her towel and set it down next to a pile of seaweed, then sat and
faced the water looking out at the view of Puget Sound. Marcus set the picnic
basket next to her and reached in. He pulled out a Frisbee and twirled it with
his fingertips.

“Want to play?” he asked.

“No thanks,” she replied,
pulling her novel from her bag. “I’m going to try and get some reading done.”

He nodded and Brayden
followed him out toward the water where they passed the Frisbee back and forth.
Some of Brayden’s throws fell short and some hit the ground rolling away on its
side, but he seemed to enjoy chasing after it. From a distance, Emma watched, struck
by the similarities she saw in the father and son. She was already aware of the
deep blue eyes they shared, but now she watched how they stood and moved, the
way they both waited for the Frisbee poised with their hands on their bent
knees ready to dart after the disc. They both moved with the grace of a
gazelle, a natural, athletic flow. They were so alike.

A seagull landed in front of
her and strutted across the sand searching for a snack. Marcus and Brayden
walked back toward her and Emma tried to pretend she was immersed in the pages
of her book.

“Somebody’s hungry,” Marcus
said, dropping the Frisbee next to the basket.

“What can I say, I’m a
growing boy,” Brayden said with a tone that suggested wisdom beyond his years. Both
Emma and Marcus laughed.

Marcus spread out a blanket
and Emma grabbed one side, kneeling on the corner to hold it in place. Next, he
pulled the basket over, lifted the top, produced a juice box, and two bottles
of water. He handed one to Emma. It was cold and dripped with condensation.
Brayden broke his straw open and poked it through the little hole on top. He
slurped it down, crushing the box at the end as he sucked out the last of its
contents.

There were three sandwiches,
carrot sticks—both Brayden and Marcus passed on those—three containers of pasta
salad, and cookies for dessert. When Brayden finished he jumped up and grabbed
his shovel and pail.

“Can I go dig?” he asked his
father.

“Yes, just stay where I can
see you,” Marcus told him and watched while Brayden walked away, stopping ten
feet in front of them.

Emma tucked her empty
container and garbage back into the basket before settling back on the blanket.
Marcus sat with one leg bent in front of him and one arm resting on his knee.
His eyes were on Brayden. His gaze was steady and focused, so much like
Brayden’s.

“He looks just like you,”
Emma said, breaking their silence.

“When I look at him all I
see is his mother,” Marcus’s tone was even but weak. Emma didn’t know what to
say. Marcus moved, cleaning up the rest of the blanket and latched the picnic
basket closed. He leaned back on one elbow, watching Brayden and Emma didn’t
know that she’d ever seen him look this relaxed. His bare feet caked with sand
and his long legs covered in dark curls of hair were paler than his arms, but
not by much. He wore a Stanford basketball t-shirt and his eyes were covered by
dark aviator style sunglasses.

“You’re great with him,”
Marcus said, not taking his eyes off Brayden who was losing more sand in each
shovel scoop to the wind than he was depositing in his bucket.

“So are you,” Emma said
gently.

Marcus smiled and shook his
head. “You know he hasn’t even touched his video games since you’ve gotten
here. At night he usually plays for hours while I work, but now he sits in bed
with the books you brought, looking for objects hidden inside pictures or doing
mazes or drawing in that sketch pad. It really is amazing what you’ve been
doing with him.”

“I haven’t done much,” Emma
said. “He seems really relaxed here and that’s making a big difference for him.
He must really like coming here.”

Marcus made a sound
somewhere between a cough and a laugh, “I wouldn’t say that our trips here have
been very, um…good. We’re usually counting the days until we can go back home.”

They were silent again.

“Not this time, though,”
Marcus said, looking at her. His voice was soft and kind, “It’s different with
you here. I’m so glad you came.”

Emma felt a fluttering in
her heart. She was glad to be here too, but didn’t trust the words to come out
right, so she just smiled. Marcus jumped up and joined Brayden digging in the
sand.

Chapter
Twenty-six

Marcus was in a deep sleep when he heard
a voice, soft and sultry, “Good morning, Sweetheart. Rise and shine. I’ve
missed you.” It was husky and familiar yet wrong—very, very wrong. He knew he
must be dreaming and tried to pull himself awake. There was a caress on his
cheek, a body pressing against his and then the voice again, “C’mon baby, it’s
been too long.”

Marcus opened one eye to catch the sight
of fully pursed lips coming toward him. The smell of Polo Blue, the cologne
worn by all the men in his family, registered in his brain. He instinctively
threw his arm over his face and elbowed the uninvited guest in the jaw.

“Jesus Christ, Luke. What are you
doing?” he said to his brother who fell back on his elbow and rubbed his jaw.
Marcus sat up and shook the sleepiness from his brain. Brayden was still sound
asleep on the other side of him, his slow and steady breaths evidence that he
hadn’t been disturbed by his uncle’s immature entrance.

With a jerk of his thumb, Marcus
motioned Luke off the bed and out of the room. Marcus pulled a t-shirt on and
followed him into the hall. They found Maricella in the kitchen where the smell
of bacon and coffee filled the air. She poured two mugs of coffee, blushing
with a smile when she handed one to Luke. His brother had that effect on all
women, young, old, married or single, he could make any one of them blush with
his dimpled smile.

Outside on the patio Luke set his coffee
cup down and hopped up on the stone countertop next to the outdoor grill. He
shook his head to the side, trying to shake his long hair out of his turquoise
blue eyes. He wore a pair of black and white plaid shorts, a black t-shirt, and
the canvas shoes he bought already worn and frayed, making him look like a
ridiculous vagabond. Marcus leaned on the wall next to him and rested an elbow
close to his brother’s knee.

“So, what are you doing here?” Marcus
asked, testing the temperature of his coffee. “I thought you weren’t coming in
until next week.”

Luke shrugged, picked up his own mug and
wrapped his hands around it. “Vegas was getting a little boring, so I decided
to head this way. See my big brother and favorite nephew.”

“That either means you ran out of money
or women,” Marcus said, eyeing his brother. “So, which is it?” Marcus prodded
when there was no response.

“Is this what I get after driving all
night to see you? An interrogation?”

Marcus shrugged and sipped his coffee.

“So, what’s been going on with you?”
Luke asked.

“Not much. Dad’s got me working on the
Barclay deal and things around here have been pretty quiet.”

“I see Brayden’s still sleeping in your
bed.”

“Yeah, but he’s sleeping better at
night. He hasn’t had a nightmare in months.” Marcus smiled, “I know I should
really start pushing him to sleep by himself, but it’s kind of nice having him
close to me.”

“Yeah,” Luke agreed. “It’s always nice
to have a warm body next to you.”

“Something you don’t go without very
often, I’m sure.”

Luke didn’t say anything, just flashed
his brother a smile and drank more coffee. Marcus stared down at the cup in his
hands.

“He’s in counseling now.”

“Seriously?” Luke asked, dropping his
head for emphasis. “What did Mom and Dad say about that?”

“I haven’t told them yet.” Marcus avoided
his brother’s eyes. “But I’m sure they’ll be incredibly understanding when I
do,” he finished sarcastically and lifted his cup for another drink.

“Uh, huh, sure,” Luke agreed. “What made
you decide to do that?”

“He was diagnosed at school with
post-traumatic-stress-disorder and he started some counseling with the
psychologist there. I’m keeping up his sessions while we’re here.”

“How’s it going for him?”

“Okay, I guess. He doesn’t talk about it
much and his therapist said for me to follow his lead. When he’s ready to talk
to me, he will.”

“Does this have anything to do with…”
Luke hesitated. “Vanessa and the fire?”

“Probably.”

Luke was about to say something else
when his eyes brightened and his cheeks dimpled into a smile. “Hey, look who’s
up and at ‘em.”

Marcus turned and saw a bleary-eyed Brayden
shuffle out onto the patio.

“Uncle Luke!” Brayden said, breaking
into a run. Marcus lifted him up into his brother’s lap. Brayden wrapped
himself around his uncle in a bear hug.

“I like this welcome a whole lot better
than the one your dad gave me,” Luke said, releasing Brayden from the giant hug.
Brayden looked up at Luke.

“Why, what did Dad do?” he asked.

“He punched me, right here.” Luke craned
his head back and pointed at his jawline.

Brayden looked to his father, wide-eyed.

“I didn’t punch him. I bumped him with
my elbow—accidentally.” Brayden seemed to accept this answer and relaxed
against Luke’s chest. Luke looked at Marcus, letting him know he noticed the
dramatic difference in Brayden’s demeanor.

“Who’s ready for breakfast?” Marcus
asked, lifting Brayden to the ground. Luke jumped to the ground. As they walked
into the dining room, they heard a loud rumbling noise and Marcus pulled
Brayden and Luke into the doorway.

*     *     *

Emma secured the luxurious bath towel
around her by tucking the corner between her breasts and reached for her comb. She
heard a deep rumbling, like a distant locomotive. The sound grew louder and
sent a trickle of fear down her back as she felt the ground beneath her shake.
Acting on instinct, she leapt across the floor to the doorway of her bathroom.

Earthquake.

The intensity of the earth’s movement
shook every bone in her body. She clutched the wood frame, tucking her chin to
her chest and wondered if she should keep holding on or let go and cover her
head like she always instructed her students to do in earthquake drills. Behind
her, she heard the sound of her makeup scattering on the floor and the thumping
of the framed mirrors that hung above the sinks. Other things were falling in
her room too, but she wouldn’t lift her chin high enough to look up. Suddenly
she felt her body rise up as the floor beneath her rippled and the carpet in
front of her looked like a succession of waves rolling toward her. It was
surreal to see her solid surroundings turn to liquid and then congeal again.

The shaking stopped in less than a
minute, but to Emma it felt like hours. Her muscles were tight, she couldn’t
make them relax. She was frozen. Unable to move, fearing the earth would start
to quake again.

*     *     *

When the room stopped shaking Marcus
looked at his son, “You okay Brayden?”

“Yeah,” he said. “What just happened?”

“It was an earthquake and we’re all
okay.” Immediately his mind flashed to Emma in her room downstairs. “Emma,” he
said aloud. “Luke. Stay with Brayden,” he ordered and rushed to the stairwell,
hurdling over the broken glass of a mirror. Guillermo burst through the front
door on his way to find his wife. He and Marcus exchanged a look, but neither
one slowed down.

Visions of Emma trapped down below or
knocked unconscious by something falling off the wall spurred Marcus to move
fast. He took the stairs two at a time and leapt to the ground before reaching
the bottom step. The smell of wine permeated the air. It was dark. He reached
for the switch. Nothing happened, they had lost power. Stepping carefully, he
dragged a hand along the wall to help guide him. The carpet squished under his
feet. He kept moving past the wine cellar door and on to Emma’s room.

“Emma,” he called. “Emma!”

There was no answer. He was at her door,
knocking.

*     *     *

Emma closed her eyes and braced herself
for another round of the quake when she heard a hammering sound. But nothing
happened. The ground didn’t move.

“Emma, are you…oh, geez, I’m sorry.”
Marcus’s voice was near and she snapped her eyes open. He was in front of her,
one hand covering his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, eyes still
covered. “When you didn’t answer I was afraid something happened to you.”

Emma looked down at her naked body. In
her leap to safety, her towel must have somehow come loose—it lay in a puddle
behind her.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, retrieving the
towel from the floor. She hastily wrapped it back into place and covered her
trembling body.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asked, slowly
dropping his hand.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, clutching the
towel with one hand and smoothing her wet hair with the other.

“Are you sure?” Marcus stepped closer to
her, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he said, not sounding convinced.
“We’re all upstairs in the dining room. Do you need anything before I go?”

“No,” she said as tears of relief and
embarrassment escaped down her cheeks. She sniffed, trying to stop the ridiculous
tears.

“Emma.” He said her name so delicately
and then in one fluid movement, he stepped in and wrapped his arms around her,
steadying the tremor in her body. She let herself fall into him.

*     *     *

Emma straightened up the bathroom and
pulled her wet hair into a low ponytail. She went to her closet for her clothes
and slipped her towel off in front of the full-length mirror, wondering what
exactly it was Marcus had seen.

Her skin was soft and creamy white, her
breasts, not large, but still firm and round. Turning she noticed the muscles
in her legs, calves and buttocks. There was definition and tone to the muscles,
from all her walking in the past year. The evidence of Maricella’s good cooking
had settled on her hips, rounding them out. Not bad, she assessed, but that
didn’t make her feel any less self-conscious as she dressed.

An aftershock rattled the room and she
reached for the wall, but it was already over. Emma relaxed—thankful it hadn’t
been as violent as the initial quake.

Skirting past the puddle of wine in the
hall Emma went up the stairs. She stopped short in the doorway of the dining
room. An unfamiliar man sat in the chair at the table next to Brayden. Her place
had been set next to Marcus.

“Aaaah,” the stranger said, his long
thick hair lapped up in curls around his neck and ears. “So, this must be the
Goldilocks whose been sleeping in my bed.” His blue eyes twinkled flirtatiously
at her and his smile was framed by the scruff of a man who hadn’t shaved in a
couple of days.

She was startled. Did this guy have her
confused with some woman he’d been sleeping with? He looked familiar, but she
couldn’t place him. She looked at Marcus, momentarily forgetting their run in a
few minutes earlier.

“This is my brother, Luke. Luke this is
Ms. Hewitt,” Marcus said, making the introduction. “He usually stays in the basement
suite when he visits.”

Emma nodded and returned his smile,
recognizing him from the family portraits she had seen in the house. In the pictures,
he was clean-shaven and his hair was shorter.

“And I see you’ve been sitting in my
chair and eating my porridge,” she teased him back. His smile deepened,
crinkling his eyes just like Marcus’s. She instantly liked this man and his
carefree aura. She smiled right back at him because it was easier to look
across the table at him than over at Marcus who’d just seen her naked and held
her so tenderly in his arms.

Brayden looked across the table at her,
worried. “Don’t worry Ms. Hewitt. Uncle Luke didn’t eat all the cereal. There’s
still some left for you.” And as if on cue Maricella appeared from the kitchen
with a bowl of cornflakes.

The bowl quivered on the plate as the
earth shuddered one more time. Maricella set the plate on the table and Emma
could see her hands tremble. She reached for the woman’s hand and sandwiched it
in between her own. She didn’t release it, forcing Maricella to look at her.

“Thank you,” she said and watched
Maricella draw in a breath, pulling strength from Emma’s touch. Maricella
nodded and went back to the kitchen.

“So, Ms. Hewitt,” Luke said, a smile
still spread across his face. “I understand my brother has brought you all the
way up here just to hang with Brayden this summer.” Luke reached his elbow over
and nudged Brayden, who smiled up at his uncle.

“Yes he did. Aren’t I the lucky one
around here?” She pushed her cornflakes around in her bowl and smiled at
Brayden.

“Hey, Bray,” Luke said, looking down at
Brayden. “Do you think maybe we could switch places? You can go to work with
your dad on Monday and I’ll stay here with Ms. Hewitt?” He winked and flashed
Emma another smile. He was flirting with her and while she could tell that he
gave his attention to anything in a skirt, she didn’t care and played right
along.

“No, I like staying here with Ms.
Hewitt. Dad’s work is boring.” Next to her, Marcus reclined back in his chair
and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Emma felt his leg brush
against her knees. She wasn’t prepared for the electric shock that his touch
sparked inside her. It was hard to know if he felt it too, because she wouldn’t
look at him. He pulled his leg away crossing it over the other ankle. She
stared at the cereal growing soggy in her bowl and barely caught the
negotiations going on across the table.