by Donna Fasano
"But Andrew—"
"Enough," she said. "Pushing and shoving is wrong. Both you and Andrew will spend the rest of recess period at your desks." Then she added, "After you've picked up the checkers."
"I won't!" Timmy nearly shouted.
His sharp tone took Anna aback.
"Excuse me, young man?"
"I don't want to do it," Timmy said. "So I don't have to do it."
"That's fine." Anna kept her tone calm, yet authoritative. "April, will you help Eric and Andrew pick up the checkers?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Anna ushered Timmy to his desk, pulled out his chair and stood there until he sat down. She bent her knees and rested her forearm on Timmy's desk.
"I'm going to have to call home about this, Timmy," she informed him. "I can't have you hurting others and fighting. I can't allow you to defy me. You can't act like that in our classroom." Then she repeated softly, "I'm going to have to call home."
"That's okay," Timmy said. "Uncle Derrick will be on my side."
Anna couldn't stop the worried frown that bit into her brow. "I'm on your side," she told him. "But, Timmy, I have to be on everybody's side." She sighed. "And sometimes that isn't easy. But you were clearly wrong in what you did. And you need to sit here and think about that."
Chapter 5
Anna paced the small confines of the school's front office. She was alone, the school secretary had gone home, but she could hear Mr. Styes, the school principal, in his own office down the short, inner hallway gathering his things together to leave for the day.
Having called Derrick about Timmy's behavior during her planning period, Anna remembered the alarm in his tone and his quick offer to meet with her—today. It was unusual for a parent or guardian to drop everything and come to the school.
He had, however, repeated their meeting place—the school office—a couple of times, and she would have smiled at the memory of it if her apprehension would have allowed her. But it wouldn't. She'd not only made a mental note of the time and place of the appointment, but she'd also jotted the information down on paper. But even if she hadn't written it down, she doubted very much if the anxiety gnawing inside her stomach all afternoon at the thought of meeting with Derrick would have permitted her to forget.
Her telephone conversation with Timmy's godfather had been so different from the one she'd had with Andrew's mother, a woman who had had to be pushed and cajoled into coming in to school. The woman had disregarded her son's fighting, saying, "Boys will be boys, Miss Maxwell. Come on, you know that as well as I do." When Anna refused to accept that excuse or that attitude, the child's mother grudgingly agreed to meet, but not until early the next week, and not without letting Anna know exactly how inconvenienced she was by the whole ordeal.
Anna sighed. Derrick's concern for Timmy set him miles above a few of the natural-born parents of her students. She figured that was what made him so... appealing—the fact that he cared so much about the welfare of a child who wasn't actually his son.
Though, if she were to be entirely honest, she'd have to admit there was something else that made the man attractive to her. Something about him that allured her... enticed her—
"Is everything all right, Miss Maxwell?"
Anna nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Mr. Styes's voice. She'd been so engrossed in her thoughts about Derrick—again—that she hadn't heard the man approach her.
"Yes," she assured him. "I'm meeting with Derrick Richmond at three-thirty."
"Ah, yes," Mr. Styes broke in. "About the shoving match today between Timmy Richmond and Andrew Whitney."
Anna was surprised that he'd heard about the incident so quickly.
"Mrs. Sands talked to me about the matter."
Anna had spoken to the school counselor and asked the woman to set up a session for each of the boys to discuss their behavior. Derrick wouldn't like the idea when he found out, but school policy dictated her actions in this case. Besides, she was certain a conversation with Mrs. Sands would help both Timmy and Andrew to better understand why their physical fighting couldn't be tolerated.
"We can't have that kind of aggressive behavior here at school," Mr. Styes said. "I'm glad to see you're addressing the problem so quickly. It shows just how interested you are in your students."
Compliments from Mr. Styes were few and far between. She would have liked to take a moment to savor his words, but dark questions arose in her mind.
Have I become too interested where Timmy is concerned? she wondered. Have I overstepped my bounds as his teacher?
"You called Mrs. Whitney as well, haven't you?"
The principal's question instantly brightened Anna's mood. It seems he agreed with the action she'd taken.
"Yes," she answered. "Yes, I did. And I'm meeting with her early next week."
"Good. Let me know how things go." Mr. Styes moved toward the door, throwing over his shoulder, "Have a nice weekend."
Once she was alone, Anna allowed herself to smile. She hadn't overstepped the boundaries of an educator, she decided. She'd called Derrick with her concerns, yes, but she'd called Mrs. Whitney too. She'd made an appointment to meet with Derrick, but she'd also forced Andrew's mother to come to school to discuss her son's behavior.
But you didn't meet the Whitneys outside of school,
her dark thoughts reasoned stubbornly. You didn't spend a glorious Saturday morning sailing on the bay....
Closing her eyes, Anna leaned heavily against the waist-high counter, bowed her head and pressed her fist firmly to her forehead. Why did those moments she'd spent in Derrick's arms continue to haunt her? Why couldn't she simply put them—and him—out of her mind?
"Hello, Anna."
"Derrick!" Her eyes flew open and she stood away from the counter. Unwittingly she glanced at the big-faced clock on the wall. Precisely three-thirty—she should have known.
"You remembered to meet me at the office, I see."
His charming smile caused her heart to ricochet in her rib cage. Her mouth suddenly felt as dry as aged cotton, and rational thought became puffy dandelion seeds blown about by a stiff breeze.
"I wrote it down," she said, the breathless quality of her voice grating on her.
"Even if you hadn't—" his eyes held a teasing glint "—I'd have come looking for you."
His tone was as warm and intoxicating as fruity sangria and Anna found herself wanting to sip at it.
He came close, took her hands in his and said, "I've missed you."
A warning bell jangled in her head. She blinked. Don't allow yourself to be sucked into this... this... atmosphere of seduction.
Seduction? That was much too strong a word to use to describe what happened whenever she and this man came face-to-face....
But as she looked into Derrick's dark, golden-flecked gaze, she was left wondering.
"How have you been?"
His question was spoken with a soft concern that implied nothing less than a deep, personal intimacy—an intimacy that threatened to take away each and every doubt and fear Anna had about getting close to this man.
Think, Anna! she told herself sternly. Keep your head together. You have reasons for keeping your distance from this man. Important reasons, of which pain, rejection, and humiliation are only a few.
These sobering thoughts caused her to leave his personal question unanswered. Obviously so. But she squared her shoulders and donned her most professional persona.
"Let's go into the conference room," she said, happy that her tone was cool and evinced none of the turmoil she was feeling. She gently pulled her hands from his grasp. "Can I offer you coffee or tea?"
Derrick frowned. She half expected him to confront her, to blatantly ask her why she'd gone all stiff and impersonal, but he didn't and she couldn't deny feeling relieved.
"I'm fine," was all he said.
She went into the windowless conference room, flipping on the overhead fluorescent light.
"I thought
we should meet in here," she told him, "rather than walking all the way back to my classroom. Take a seat."
She waited until he chose a chair, and then she sat down across from, rather than adjacent to, him. For some reason, she felt more comfortable with the entire width of the table between them.
There were unasked questions in his eyes, and she hoped that's where they stayed. She wanted to keep this conference focused on Timmy; however, she couldn't do that if he insisted on probing her personal feelings.
"I'm glad," Derrick said softly, "we're having a chance to get together and talk—"
"About Timmy," Anna cut in, desperate to stress the focal point of their meeting.
His brow creased. "Of course."
Derrick looked toward a corner of the room behind her, and when his gaze once more locked onto her face, the air in the room seemed to have changed its molecular structure, becoming heavy with an undercurrent of thick emotion.
"I was going to call you," he said.
His words were laced with a quiet, tantalizing allure that sent her heart racing. And the expression in his eyes... She swallowed with difficulty. Lord, was it possible for this man to seduce her with something as simple as his tone of voice? Could he enthrall her with mere looks?
"Oh, Derrick," she whispered. Unable to continue to face the intensity in his dark eyes, she looked down at where her hands were clamped together on the conference tabletop. "I just don't think that's a good idea."
She continued to avoid his gaze. The silence that filled the next few moments didn't surprise her, but his next statement did.
"But you told me to."
Lifting her eyes to his, she saw that his frown had deepened. She managed another small, tight swallow.
"I told you to call me if you had a problem with Timmy," she said.
He arched his dark brows a fraction. "Precisely."
"You're having a problem with Timmy?"
He nodded slowly, and Anna felt the heat of embarrassment flush her cheeks. Perspiration prickled her forehead and upper lip, and she fought the urge to wipe her fingertips across her mouth.
Had she totally misread the heavy, seductive atmosphere she'd thought he'd conjured in the room? Had she misinterpreted the enticement in his tone? The invitation in his expression?
She drew her bottom lip between her teeth. Had she made a complete and utter fool of herself here?
There was a knock at the conference room door and then it was pushed open.
"Hello-o-o."
Anna stood and hurried to the door, feeling that she'd never loved the sound of Mrs. Sands's lyrical voice more than she did right now.
"Come in," she said, a wide grin spread across her mouth.
Holding open the door, she ushered the woman into the room.
"Derrick Richmond," Anna said, "this is Mrs. Sands, our school counselor."
He stood and shook hands with the heavyset woman.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Richmond," Mrs. Sands said.
"I'd like to be able to say the same—" Derrick eased himself warily back down into the seat "—but I must admit that I feel as though you two are about to gang up on me."
He shot a narrowed, questioning glance at Anna.
"Oh, don't feel that way," Mrs. Sands said. "Anna didn't even know I was coming. I ran into Mr. Styes on his way out of the building, and he told me the two of you were meeting. I thought I'd just slip in and say hello, but if you'd rather conduct this meeting without my input—"
"We'd love your input," Anna rushed to assure her, closing the door behind the woman. "Please, sit down with us. Derrick... or rather, Mr. Richmond was just about to tell me about a problem Timmy's having at home."
Mrs. Sands's commanding nature was legendary in the school. She sat down at the head of the conference table and leaned forward on her dimpled elbows, as though she had every intention of taking over the conference. Normally Anna might have felt a little miffed about the counselor's dominant behavior, especially since Mrs. Sands hadn't had the chance to even meet Timmy yet. But Anna was so relieved to have the woman's company that she didn't really mind stepping back and allowing her to take the helm.
"So," Mrs. Sands began, "Timmy's troubles aren't just at school, he's having problems at home, too. That's a significant coincidence, don't you think?"
Anna didn't know if the counselor was addressing her or Derrick, but she could see that Derrick didn't like her question at all.
He, too, leaned forward and rested his elbows on the tabletop. "Tell me," he said, his words holding a grave note, "how did you come to be involved in this?"
The musical quality of Mrs. Sands's voice didn't hide the fact that she took her job seriously. "Mr. Richmond, as part of the Special Education Task Force here at—"
Derrick stood. "I've heard enough."
"It's not what you think," Anna said, her tone loud and rushed. "Please, Derrick, sit down and listen. Mrs. Sands is just a counselor. A school counselor who talks to the children. It's school policy to alert her if there are any physical altercations between students. I've set up a session—one session—for Timmy, during which Mrs. Sands will explain school policy regarding fighting."
Derrick's dark eyes glittered with animosity, and Anna was afraid he'd walk out of the meeting.
"Please, Derrick," Anna pleaded. "Explain your problem. Listen to what she has to say. Let her help you. She's a trained counselor."
He seemed to mentally debate the situation and his options. But finally he lowered himself back into the chair.
"I don't know what that was all about," Mrs. Sands said, "but I really do care about the students attending this school and I do want to help if I can."
Anna was relieved to hear the counselor's tone soften, and she was further pleased when Mrs. Sands relaxed against the back of her chair in a less dominating demeanor. Anna guessed the woman was smart enough to have realized that Derrick wasn't a man to be bullied.
"So," Anna said softly, "tell us what's going on with Timmy at home."
He sighed heavily, then he looked directly across the table at her. "As you know, Tim and I came up with a list of chores for him to do."
"Learning responsibility," Mrs. Sands said quietly, almost to herself. "That's a good thing."
Derrick didn't acknowledge her. "Well, it was going great. And then all of a sudden Tim decided he didn't want to help out around the house any longer."
Anna frowned. She couldn't quite understand Timmy's behavior. She'd believed that feeling needed would be the solution to his problem. She'd witnessed the child's puppy-like eagerness to help Derrick that Saturday she'd visited. But now she was stumped.
"May I ask a question?"
Both Anna and Derrick directed their attention to Mrs. Sands.
"Please," Derrick said tightly.
"What was your reaction to Timmy's refusal?"
"The boy's five years old," he said, as though that explained everything. Then he shrugged. "I did the chores myself."
The counselor chuckled. "And you fell right into the little trap he set up."
Anna watched as Derrick's shoulders squared defensively. "I beg your pardon? What is that supposed to mean?"
"I'm saying," Mrs. Sands remarked, "that Timmy manipulated you and you allowed it to happen."
"Manipulated?" His jaw tensed. His tone increased in volume as he said, "I don't believe I'm sitting here listening—"
"Let's all calm down a bit," Anna suggested quietly. After they both visibly relaxed, she looked at Mrs. Sands. "I'm interested to know what you mean."
The woman reached up and lightly scratched a spot on her chin. "I read Timmy's file. And Andrew Whitney's. I hope you don't mind, but if I'm to meet with the boys, I thought I'd need to know all I could."
"Oh, I agree," Anna said.
"From the notes you wrote in the child's file," she said, "I read that Timmy's father was in the Navy. That Timmy was shuffled from house to house. Not a very stable environment."
; Mrs. Sands directed her gaze at Derrick.
"I also read that you had a career in the Navy, Mr. Richmond. A career that you gave up in order to raise Timmy in more solid surroundings, a more secure environment. That's extremely commendable." She smiled at him. "But unfortunately he's testing you."
"Testing me?" Derrick's question was spoken in a bewildered whisper.
Mrs. Sands nodded. "Not consciously, of course. But he is testing you. He's trying to determine your resolve. He doesn't think you mean to stick with him."
"That's sounds so awful," Anna remarked.
The counselor shrugged. "Why would he think otherwise? His father didn't stick with him. His father went out on long tours of duty, leaving him in the care of whoever would take him." Then her tone softened. "Timmy's file tells a very sad story."
There was a moment of thick silence.
Finally Derrick said, "But I'm not going anywhere."
"That's good," Mrs. Sands said. "Now all you have to do is let him know that."
"How?" he asked.
The woman grinned, a dimple appearing in her rounded cheek. "One day at a time."
"Wait a minute," he said. "I need more detailed instructions."
"Well, for one thing," Mrs. Sands said, "you need to take charge of your home."
Derrick frowned, and Anna could clearly see he didn't understand, although she knew instantly what the counselor was trying to say.
"Derrick," Anna said softly, "what would have happened when you were in the Navy if the man who was supposed to steer the ship decided he didn't feel like showing up for work?"
"That's a pretty scary thought."
Anna went on. "Well, would his superior officer have allowed him to shirk his responsibilities?"
"Of course not," he said. "He'd be disciplined."
"So, there's your answer—" she smiled "—Timmy needs to do his chores to learn responsibility and to feel like a necessary part of the family unit. If he doesn't do them, he needs to be disciplined."
