The Teacher

by Gray, Meg

  Emma sighed and uncrossed her legs, only to cross them again when a man, in dark blue jeans and a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, stopped in the doorway. His dark eyes studied her and Emma recognized him from the singles mixer last month.

  “Hi,” he said hesitantly. “Are you waiting for Stacy?”

  “Yeah, I’m her friend, Emma. We met last month.” It was easy to see he didn’t remember her.

  “Oh, that’s right,” he said, throwing his head back like the realization had just hit him. “I’m James.”

  Yeah, I remember, Emma wanted to reply, you asked me if my kindergarteners took a nap, before going to find someone more interesting to talk to, but instead she just smiled. Seth squeezed past James and took his seat next to Emma again.

  “This is my roommate, Seth,” Emma said. “And this is James. He works with Stacy.”

  “Hey man,” James offered.

  “Hey there,” Seth said and then turned to Emma. “Shouldn’t she be here by now?”

  “Patience, patience,” Emma placated, patting Seth on the knee. “You know the presence of Stacy is a gift and we will be graciously rewarded when she arrives.” They both snickered at the memory of Stacy’s old college line. Stacy never did learn to run on a schedule and always argued that her company was worth waiting for. Seth elbowed Emma playfully when Stacy walked in, grazing past James, whose face immediately lit up at the sight of her.

  “Hi James, hi guys,” she said breezily when she entered the room and dropped into her desk chair.

  “Hi Stacy,” James said his eyes intent on her. “What are you working on today?”

  “Not much,” she replied. “I’m actually done for the day.”

  “Oh great me too. Do you all want to grab some lunch or something?”

  “Can’t,” Stacy said.

  “Alright, well maybe another time then,” James said and backed away from the door, looking wounded.

  “Ooooh,” Stacy squealed, stopping James in his tracks. “Yeah, how about we double sometime with your friend…” Stacy tapped the desk trying to recall a name. “The guy with the glasses, had sort of a sexy college prep look going on?”

  “Peter?” James supplied.

  “Yes, Peter. He seemed nice. Wouldn’t that be fun Emma? The four of us could go out.”

  Emma shot Seth a helpless glance.

  “Sure,” Emma said brightly. “That’d be fun.”

  “Great,” James said brightening himself. “I’ll get something set up and call you, ‘kay Stacy?”

  “Okay,” she said and then James was gone, intent on his new mission. “Get the door,” Stacy instructed Seth and he jumped to close the door while Stacy booted up her computer. She drummed her red nails on the desk while they all waited. “Okay, okay, here it is,” she said, clicking the mouse twice and then pushed back in her chair, rolling away from the desk.

  Emma stepped in between her and the computer and clicked on the email. She zeroed in on the results column. Behind her, Stacy sat with her legs crossed and one hand covered her eyes.

  “What does it say?” Stacy pleaded.

  “Negative. Negative. Negative...” Emma scanned down the list. “Every single one of them is negative, Stace.”

  “Really?” she said, rolling back to the computer and crashing into the back of Emma’s knees. She clapped excitedly when she too scanned all the results. With a sigh of relief, she deleted the email.

  There was a knock at the door and they all turned toward it. “Come in,” Stacy called and James entered.

  “Hey,” he said, looking at all of them. “Peter’s available tonight if you two are.”

  Stacy looked at Emma and she felt her stomach turn, she wasn’t in the mood for a date tonight and Seth must have read the look on her face. He knew her so well.

  “We’ve got that thing tonight,” he said, looking at her.

  “Right,” Emma agreed and nodded. “That is tonight isn’t it? Yeah, um, tonight probably isn’t good.” She folded her arms in front of her.

  “Okay,” James said obviously disappointed. “Is there a good day for you next week?”

  Emma looked at Seth again. “Won’t you be at your sister’s?” he threw in.

  “Oh yeah. I will. I’ll be at my sister’s.” Emma was going to be watching her nieces while Audrey finished the last of her Christmas shopping, but it didn’t necessarily interfere with her evenings. It was a lie, but she really didn’t want to go on this date. She met Peter last month and the entire time she spent talking to him, he watched other girls from the corner of his eye. He was not into her and she was not into him.

  Stacy looked from Emma to Seth and rolled her eyes. “We’ll figure something out,” she offered to James with a smile before he walked away.

  “You two are awful, you know that right?” Stacy said, picking up her purse. “Now, let’s go celebrate. I’m thinking chocolate.”

  “You two go on ahead,” Seth said as he stood. “I’ve got to get to the gym. Congrats on not having gonorrhea, Stace.” He pumped a thumbs up in the air and Stacy returned his sarcastic gesture with one of her own, only she used a different finger.

  “Come on girl,” Stacy said, linking her arm through Emma’s. “Let’s go to this place I know where you can sit and sip chocolate from a cup. It’s sinful, but then you can tell me all about why you don’t want to go out with James and Peter.”

  Chapter Ten

  This visit was shaping up to be like all the others. Marcus’s brother, Luke, called last Friday before their grandfather’s party, claiming the plane had been grounded and he had no way out of Denver. The soft giggling Marcus heard in the background made him think there was another reason Luke wasn’t finding his way out of town. Without the distraction of one more person, all of the focus fell on Marcus and Brayden…and not in a good way.

  Marcus’s mother paraded every available woman she could dredge up in front of him. His father dragged him to the office, “just to help out here and there.” When Brayden wasn’t being ignored, he was hammered with commands: stand up straight, don’t fidget, speak up, or be quiet. They were both restless to get home and with tomorrow being Christmas Day, it meant their little vacation was halfway over.

  Marcus lifted Brayden’s arm and then dropped it against the sheets. Brayden groaned and smacked his lips. Marcus held his breath and waited. Groaning again Brayden rolled to his side and curled his arms and legs in. He was sound asleep.

  Marcus pulled the covers up to his son’s shoulder, brushed the blond hair from his forehead, and whispered, “Just one more week, Bray, and we’ll be out of here.”

  From the high shelf in the closet, Marcus pulled the paper shopping bags Gretta packed for him. They were full of presents for Brayden. The bags banged against his legs, making a crinkling sound and Marcus froze. He checked over his shoulder—Brayden was still asleep.

  Out in the hallway Marcus moved toward the large sweeping staircase of his parents’ new colonial home, at least Marcus thought of it as new. Margaret and Alfred sold their old Lake Sammamish home and moved to Mercer Island around the same time he and Brayden left for Portland.

  After the tragedy with Vanessa, the disintegration of his mother’s business and partnership, she proclaimed it was time for a change and snatched up this estate when it came on the market. The house was twice as large as their previous home. A master suite graced each of the three floors and there were two extra bedrooms on the top floor along with a bonus room. The ceiling was high in the center of the house and a formal living room, study, library and dining room opened up through French doors off the center of the home. Marcus wondered what his parents did with all the rooms and three acres of land when it was just the two of them.

  A small cottage sat on the east side of the grounds where the housekeeper Maricella and her husband, Guillermo, the gardener and driver lived. The couple worked for the previous owners and stayed on after the sale of the property. He knew his mother liked the sta
tus “live-in help” created for their family.

  The crystal chandelier was still ablaze, lighting the entire grand entryway. He assumed his parents were still awake and stepped delicately on the golden wood floors. With any luck he would get the gifts under the Christmas tree and make it back upstairs undetected.

  Marcus heard voices coming from his father’s study as he slipped into the living room. Without turning the lights on, he arranged the packages under the designer Christmas tree. It was covered in frosted glass ball ornaments, white lights and six-inch white glass butterflies clipped to the branches. Kneeling beneath the branches, he began to arrange the unmarked gifts from Santa, the sweet scent of the pine needles filled his senses as he worked.

  The lights blinked to life above him and Marcus turned to see his mother, her bony fingers wrapped around a small glass of sherry. Under her arm, she carried a present wrapped in red paper with a white bow. She walked toward him with her black and gold silk caftan flowing behind her and held out the gift.

  “Maricella said this was delivered while we were at church tonight. Do what you want with it?” she said as she released the gift into his hands and turned to leave. Marcus didn’t need to look at the card to know who it was from.

  His mother paused in the doorway placing one hand on the white paneled trim. “Join your father and me in his study when you’re finished here,” she commanded over her shoulder before she left. He removed the card from the package and set it next to the other unmarked gifts for Brayden. Stuffing the card into his pocket, he switched the light off in the room and crossed over to his father’s study.

  At the table under the portrait of his mother, painted twenty years ago, Marcus picked up a bottle of scotch and poured himself a drink. His father leaned back in his leather desk chair, steepling his hands in front of him and tapping his forefingers together with impatience. Marcus took a seat in the empty wingback chair and waited for whatever his parents felt they needed to discuss with him.

  “We need to talk about your Christmas gift,” his father began. The wrinkles bracketing the corners of his mouth deepened with his frown.

  “I don’t need a gift,” Marcus said.

  “It’s not a question of what you need,” Margaret cut in. “It’s about what we would like to give you. That’s why it’s called a gift, darling.” She added with a smile.

  Marcus nodded, never one to argue with his mother.

  Alfred leaned over his desk, “We,” he glanced at Margaret who nodded. “Want to take care of Brayden’s tuition for the remainder of the school year.”

  “There’s no…” Marcus started, but his father’s raised palm silenced him.

  “We understand you are doing very well for yourself and this is not charity. It is a gift and consider it done.”

  “Done?” Marcus asked, needing clarification.

  “Well, it was supposed to be done, but there seems to be a little problem.”

  Marcus waited. He had a bad feeling about what was coming next.

  “I sent the check to Portland Christian Academy last week, the school we’d discussed last summer as a good alternative to the one Brayden got himself kicked out of last year.” There was a condescending tilt to his father’s head when he said this and Marcus looked down into his glass, swirling the amber liquid. He wanted to take a drink to help soften the blow that was coming but the tightness in his throat wouldn’t have allowed the drink to pass. His father opened a drawer and pulled out a check with a post-it note attached. “The check was returned yesterday. They say Brayden Lewis is not registered at the school.”

  “We thought we’d agreed PCA was where he should go Marcus,” his mother added, throwing a hand up in the air.

  “It wasn’t a good fit for him,” Marcus said, not meeting either of their eyes.

  “What does that mean?” Margaret asked. “Did he get kicked out of there too? This is really getting out of hand Marcus. You need to get a handle on that child or else, he’ll…” she sucked in a deep sharp breath, forcing the words to stop.

  Alfred rubbed his hands down the front of his face, showing his age and weariness. “Okay, so that school didn’t work out either. Fine. Where do I need to send the check then?”

  “I don’t need you to send a check, Father,” Marcus said. “I have his schooling under control, its fine. Thank you for the generous thought.” Marcus wanted this to be the end of the conversation, but he knew questions had sprung in his parents’ minds and they wouldn’t rest until they had answers.

  “Very well, then, at least let us send the school a donation for new computers or books for the library, whatever they might need. What is the name of the school?” His father picked up his pen and waited, poised and ready to write.

  “Fitzpatrick,” Marcus finally revealed and Alfred scrawled it down.

  “Okay,” his father replied, “and you say you have all the tuition and fees covered for the year, so when I call next week there will be no balance on your account.”

  Marcus felt like a ten years old boy right now. Trying to answer his parents honestly, but also trying to avoid the answers that he knew would get him into trouble. Why were his parents butting so far into his business? Why were they checking up on him, on Brayden and the school?

  He took a deep breath. Here it comes, he thought and shook his head. “The school doesn’t charge tuition.” Next to him, he heard the horrific gasp of his mother.

  “Is it one of those magnet schools or charter schools where they focus on the arts or science? A fine arts education looks good on a college application.” She turned from Marcus to Alfred nodding, trying to believe this must be the answer and for a second Marcus was almost willing to play along and agree. But knowing his parents the moment he walked out of the room they’d be on the internet researching the school and the truth would be out before midnight one way or another.

  “No, it’s a public school.” There, it was out.

  Margaret’s hand fluttered to her mouth and she turned away from Marcus toward her husband.

  “This has gone too far, Marcus,” his father yelled, slamming his fist on the desk. “You have to start making decisions for your son’s future, for the future of this family. A public school will never provide him with the experiences and connections he needs to succeed. This is unacceptable.”

  “It’s only for this year,” Marcus started to explain. “I’ve already started the application process for Portland Private Academy and PCA for next year. This is just temporary,” but even as he said this he knew it was a lie. Already Brayden’s academics were lagging and judging by the number of phone calls his teacher had made his behavior wasn’t improving much either. It would be a hard sell to get any private school to take him.

  “Marcus, this isn’t like you to make such atrocious decisions. At least, get the boy a private tutor or move back here. We can get him in at St. Mary’s, your father can talk to Father Ralph about it. I’m sure we can get this all taken care of.” Marcus saw the dots connecting in his mother’s mind as she laid out this plan, hoping to lure him back to Seattle.

  “At some point Marcus, you have to fix this. You and Brayden cannot keep going on like this, your mother is right,” Alfred said. “Move back home.”

  Marcus stood and stalked away from his parents, keeping his back to them. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his glass tighter. He released his grip and set the glass back on the silver tray beneath his mother’s portrait. A portrait like this had hung in the living of his home, one of Vanessa perched in a chair—a wedding gift from his parents. It was gone now. It went up in flames with the rest of his life.

  He fled Seattle for a reason and stayed away for even more—this was a place he would never call home again.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said as he turned back to his parents, steeling his voice to be steady and calm.

  “See that you do,” his father said, turning his attention to his filing drawer. “There is something wrong with that boy.” It
was an afterthought and Marcus knew he should ignore it, but he was talking about Brayden, his son.

  Marcus strode across the room ready to state a defense, champion his son in some way, but realized he couldn’t even come up with an argument. Was it true? Was his son as horrible as everyone believed? Was he the only one blind to it? The thought turned him cold, but then he remembered the soft curvy letters on Brayden’s progress report from his teacher. She said Brayden was good at drawing. He remembered the way she smiled down at Brayden and praised his story. The progress report hadn’t been filled with accusations like he’d expected but offered him something else. What were her words again, let’s work together and help Brayden. She offered to help, but help was something Marcus didn’t know how to ask for.

  He turned back to his parents, stuffing one hand in his pocket where he felt the sharp edge of the folded card. He clenched his other hand into a fist and brought it to his mouth. They were watching him, but Marcus still couldn’t formulate the words he needed. The strain of anticipation in the air of the study was so thick nobody heard the front door open.

  Brayden’s voice surprised them all. “Uncle Luke!” Marcus spun and walked out to see his son running down the stairs to his uncle.

  “Hey little man,” Luke said, scooping him up. Luke’s boyish smile faded when he looked over Brayden’s head at Marcus.

  “Hey, Bray,” Marcus said, gently taking his son from his brother. “I didn’t know you were up.”

  “I woke up,” Brayden said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “But you weren’t there.” His lower lip drooped in a pout. Brayden buried his head in his father’s shoulder as Margaret and Alfred walked out of the study.

  “Let’s get you back to bed. We don’t want Santa to find you up and wandering around.” Marcus stepped around his brother, solemnly adding, “Nice of you to finally make it.”