Them (Him #3) (12 page)

I sink down next to her and hold her face in my hands, my eyes asking the question my lips don’t.

“I’m okay,” she answers, then pauses to take a shaky breath. “I’m just so happy.”

My hands drop to band around her and her face tucks into my neck as I hold her to my chest.

“So happy,” she repeats, and I know she’s crying.

My nose stings and I blink away my own tears. I hate to see her cry, but knowing they are tears of joy settles somewhere deep inside my gut.

After my sister passed away, my family life was beyond dysfunctional. My parents both checked out. They lost themselves in their grief and not only forgot about each other, they forgot about me, as well. I’ll never understand that. Making Sarah happy is my mission in life. Knowing that I’m succeeding is what, in turn, makes me happy.

“Go back down to Logan,” she whispers. “I don’t want him worrying.”

“I know we’re not telling anyone yet, but should we tell him?” I ask, pulling back so I can see her face.

She hesitates. “I think we should make sure everything is okay with the . . .” Her face softens. “ . . . baby first.”

I nod, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll get your phone.”

She looks confused and giggles. “Why?”

“You have a doctor’s appointment to make.”

Sarah is struggling with what to get Logan for Christmas. She’s worrying herself sick with trying to make it perfect for him. That or she’s using it as an excuse not to think about the doctor’s appointment we have scheduled tomorrow.

“Let me handle his gift.”

Her brows lift. “But . . .” she starts to argue.

“Nope.” I lean down to murmur against her lips. “I’ve got this.”

She relaxes in my arms, and I hate to leave her but Logan and I need to get to school.

“Have you shopped for Rascal?” I ask, knowing she hasn’t.

Her eyes light up. “She needs a stocking.”

That’s my girl. I brush my lips softly against her again before I pull away. Logan is waiting for me by the side door.

On the way to school, I do some sleuthing to see what he’d like for Christmas. He’s an active kid, and I’ve already planned to get him some Lacrosse gear so he can participate when I start coaching in the spring. That will be one part of his present but while I want him to learn what it feels like to be part of a team, I also want him to learn how to embrace solitude, as well.

There’s a trick to being alone without feeling lonely. He’s had a tough year, had to deal with more than any kid his age ever should in such a short period of time. We talk, and he meets with a counselor regularly, but he isn’t dealing. There’s something he needs to work out, and my guess is he needs to do it on his own.

When I was his age, I had my camera and my skateboard. While he thinks the pictures I have up around the house and in the classroom are cool, he hasn’t had that spark of interest to show that photography is something he’d like to learn more about. He’s active, though, and loves to be outside. When the weather is nice and he isn’t playing Minecraft, he’s in the backyard playing with Rascal.

I’d like to get him a bike or a skateboard, but I’m still trying to figure out which he’d be more excited about getting. Right now, it’s a toss-up. Worst-case, I’ll flip a coin if he doesn’t give me more hints soon. Christmas is ten days away, so there’s a decent chance things will be out of stock if I don’t get a move on.

After I park, we walk in together. When we reach the main entrance, we split ways but he always waits for me to squeeze his shoulder before he takes off toward his locker. My classroom is in a hallway with the other electives like choir and band, the gym at the end of the hall. Logan has English as his homeroom, and it’s on the other side of the school.

The week before winter break is always tough school-wise. The kids’ minds are all elsewhere, so it’s hard to keep them from getting distracted. In my advanced classes, we’re going over self-portraits. It’s amazing how the kids see themselves. For whatever reason that has to do more with psychology than art, they always highlight perceived flaws. Year after year of different students and it still surprises me.

At the end of the session, we review self-portraits from other artists, some well-known, some not, and discuss them. It never happens right away, but at some point the kids always get it. They get that what they might feel is a flaw is also something that makes them unique and interesting. That if everyone looked the same life would be boring. That there is beauty in imperfections, that the imperfection in itself is perfect.

Sure, there are rules when it comes to art, and technique which is my job to teach these kids. The goal, though, after all of those lessons is to give them the confidence to allow their art and their expression of it to be free. That changes the way they look not only at themselves but, I hope, at the world around them. If I have a mission, it’s to teach the kids to embrace curiosity.

Managing all of that while stressing over Sarah’s doctor appointment and what to get Logan for Christmas is proving to be harder than I thought it would be. I’m relieved when the bell rings for lunch. Logan still eats with me most days, which is good because during my last class, I decided I was going to give up on my detective work and just ask him outright what he wants.

I’m waiting for him when I hear his voice from the hall. I don’t try to eavesdrop, but since the hall has mainly emptied for lunch it’s impossible not to hear him and the girl he’s talking to.

“So, do you want to work on the project at my house or yours?” the girl asks.

“Um . . .”

I can hear the hesitation in his voice clear as day. Is he worried Sarah and I would care if he had a friend over? I don’t want to interrupt his conversation, but . . . my thoughts scatter as he continues.

“Hang on. Let me check with Mr. Price.”

I do my best to look engrossed with the portrait in front of me.

“Hey, Mr. Price.” Logan pops his head in the door.

I glance up. “Hey, Logan.”

“Is it cool if Amber comes over one day during winter break to work on something for history?”

I shrug, wondering who Amber is and mentally trying to place the name. “Sure, as long as it’s cool with her folks.”

He grins. “Cool. Thanks, Mr. Price.”

Now I’m seriously wondering who Amber is. He turns, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he walks back to her.

“Let’s work on it at my house.”

My gut clenches. It’s the first time I’ve heard him refer to our house as ‘his.’ For a moment, the air in my throat catches as the importance of that slams into me with an almost physical force.

I avoid his eyes after he’s said bye to Amber and walks into my class. He drops his bag on the floor with a thud and slides into the chair closest to me which faces my desk. Once I’m certain my face won’t give away what his words meant to me, I look up at him. He’s still grinning.

I smirk. “So, tell me about Amber.”

If possible, his grin widens. “She’s this girl.”

I bet.

“Do I know her?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think she takes art. She’s in chorus.”

“What kind of project do you have to do?”

“We need to make a movie about life during the Civil War.”

“Just the two of you?”

He nods, still grinning. I pull the mini-cooler from under my desk and open it. Sarah made each of us sandwiches: turkey for me, ham for Logan. I lift his sandwich, wait for him to raise his hands and toss it to him. He catches it easily.

“So, do you know what you’ll do for the movie?”

He tries to talk around the mouthful he’s just taken but then holds up his hand and chews furiously before he starts again. “We’re going to be married, and she’s going to get all sad that I have to go off to war.”

“Married?” My right eyebrow lifts up.

“Yep,” Logan replies before inhaling more of his sandwich.

Sarah is going to love this.

Now, time to get down to gift business.
“Logan, do you know how to skateboard?”

His head lifts and he shakes it. His expression is lost on me; I can’t tell if he’s interested or not.

“Want to learn how?”

“I tried before,” he starts. “When I was in elementary school. I sucked at keeping my balance.”

“Do you remember what kind of board you were on?”

He squints, and I can almost see the gears turning in his head as he tries to remember. “I think it had Spiderman on it.”

“There are these boards called long boards. They’re easier to keep your balance on, but they aren’t really for tricks, mainly cruising. Would you like to try something like that out?”

His eyes light up. “I know some guys who ride long boards.”

That’s answer enough for me.

After lunch, I text Sarah to let her know I’ll run out to get Logan’s gift later tonight. She replies with pictures of the stuff she picked up for Rascal and one of Rascal sitting on Santa’s lap.

That picture alone got me through the rest of my day. Once Logan and I got back to the house, I filled Sarah in on my plans and told her about Amber. She ate it up, excitement over meeting a girl Logan might like written all over her beautiful face. I made her promise not to grill Logan about Amber while I was gone. She pouted but gave in.

Not far from our place is a newer shopping mall and after kissing my girl senseless, I made my way over there to the board shop. Before I got my first car, I either rode my bike or skateboarded everywhere. I wasn’t serious about either; they were solely a method of transportation at the time. Working in a middle school, I’ve been able to absorb what things my kids are interested in.

Long boards are huge with the boys right now. Half of the time I assign something where the class can pick the subject to draw, paint, mosaic or stipple, I get thirty long board pictures turned in. When I decided to get Logan either a bike or a board, I Googled both to get an idea of the different types out there. The second Logan mentioned balance being an issue board-wise, I knew a long board was the way to go.

It’s both longer and wider than your standard board, so you can take a wider stance on it. Other than that, I was clueless so I let the kids at the board shop trick me out. I may have gone overboard, but it’s Logan’s first Christmas without his dad so I want to do whatever I can to make it easier on him. By the time I leave, I have a tricked-out board with a sick geometric design on the bottom, a helmet, plus a spare set of trucks, wheels and pads.

I load everything into the trunk of my Jetta and head home. Logan is in the kitchen with Sarah, telling her about his history project. I shoot her a look letting her know I’m on to her. She’s sneaky, getting Logan to talk about Amber by asking about the project instead of asking about Amber. She tries to look innocent and fails, a blush reddening her cheeks.

Luckily, Logan is oblivious so I stalk over to her and kiss her instead of calling her out. They’re making dinner together. Logan likes food, and not just eating it. Since he’s moved in with us, he’s helped both of us make dinner whenever he’s finished his homework in time to.

While he sets the table, I tell Sarah his gift is in my trunk and I’ll bring it in and sneak it up to our room once he’s gone to bed. Sarah’s in charge of wrapping presents. Whatever artistic talent I have fell short of that.

“So, how was Rascal with Santa?”

Sarah covers her mouth as she starts to laugh. “I had no idea Santa was going to be there, but once I saw him I had to get a picture of them.” She points to the picture now proudly hanging on our fridge. “Rascal was hysterical. She tried to chew on the fur above his boots. His elf gave me some treats to distract her long enough to get her away from him.”

“So, Rascal isn’t a fan of fur?” I laugh.

She nods. “PETA would be so proud.”

“Doesn’t it defeat the purpose of Christmas gifts being a surprise if you take the dog you’re shopping for with you?”

She waves me off. “Like she’ll remember. Besides, she loves going to the pet store.”

I bend down and clap my hands, calling Rascal over to me. She comes bounding over, her tongue lolling out of her mouth, and rolls over onto her back in front of me. I rub her belly and continue to listen in as Sarah tries to get more details about Amber out of Logan.

Since she’s distracted and too close for me to ignore, I sneak a couple of squeezes to her ass when Logan isn’t looking. Each time, she trips over her words and turns to glare down at me while I innocently go back to petting Rascal. I lift my hand to sneak in another squeeze, but she’s on to me and gently kicks her foot back at me.

Foiled.

Giving up, I stand. “What’s for dinner?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Logan answers.

“And garlic bread,” Sarah adds, trying her best to look annoyed at me.

“Smells great.” I ignore her glare and change the subject. “Has Rascal been out recently?”

“I’ll let her out,” Logan volunteers, setting the wooden spoon he was using to stir the noodles on the counter.

Once he’s out of sight, I pull Sarah against me. “Now I have to you all to myself,” I tease, kissing her cheek loudly.