The Teacher

by Gray, Meg

  “Our home outside of Seattle caught fire one day while I was at work. Brayden was at home with his mother. When I got there, the firefighters were inside searching for Brayden and my wife. They found him first. He had minor burns and suffered from smoke inhalation. In a couple of days he was fine and released from the hospital.” Mr. Lewis exhaled. A tiny tremble had worked its way into his voice.

  “And Brayden’s mother?” Dave asked.

  “The firemen pulled her out too, but Brayden never saw her again after that day.” Mr. Lewis’s voice was tight.

  Alec and Dave exchanged a look.

  “When did you and Brayden move to Portland?” Emma asked, out of her own curiosity, while Alec and Dave scribbled more notes.

  “Six weeks after the fire. A transfer opportunity opened up here and I took it.”

  “Does Brayden ask about his mother or the fire?” Dave inquired.

  “No,” Mr. Lewis answered.

  “Has he ever received any counseling?” Dave asked.

  “No,” Mr. Lewis answered again.

  Alec pushed a paper in front of Mr. Lewis. “Has Brayden been to the doctor recently?”

  “No,” Mr. Lewis replied and looked at the paper.

  “This is a release for medical information,” Alec explained. “We’d like the doctor to sign off that Brayden is healthy, has good vision and hearing before we move forward. We want to make sure that we aren’t overlooking a medical concern that might be interfering with his learning. Would you be able to get Brayden into his doctor in the next couple of weeks?”

  Mr. Lewis stared at the paper, but didn’t answer. Alec passed him another.

  “This is a consent form for us to do more testing with Brayden. Dave will run through some other tests with Brayden to see what we can learn about his learning abilities. After we get the results we’ll have another meeting to discuss an appropriate plan of action for Brayden’s education.”

  Alec passed him a pen, but Mr. Lewis made no move to pick it up.

  Emma thought about what it must be like to survive a fire and lose a mother. She thought of the pictures of the firefighters Brayden drew so often and wondered what memory he had of that awful day. The lens she viewed Mr. Lewis through softened as she tried to imagine what life had been like for him these last few years. Please sign, she silently pleaded, please sign the paper so we can help Brayden.

  Mr. Lewis sat back in his chair and Emma recognized his defensive posture and cold stare.

  Dave cleared his throat. “Mr. Lewis,” he said, “I can imagine this is a lot to take in at the moment. You and your son have been through something traumatic. Brayden’s performance in the classroom suggests he needs our help. This fire could have left a deep emotional mark on him and we’d like to find out how best to serve him.”

  “He doesn’t remember the fire,” Mr. Lewis snapped back at him. “He wasn’t even two when it happened.”

  “Something is interfering with Brayden’s learning. It could be a memory of the fire or something else,” Dave continued, ignoring Mr. Lewis’s tone. “If Brayden suffered a fall physically and you noticed symptoms of him limping or redness or swelling on his leg you’d take him to a doctor. And if the doctor thought the bone was broken you’d ask for an x-ray, right? You and the doctor would want to look closer and examine the problem before deciding if he needed a cast or a splint or just a bandage. And that’s exactly what we want to do too. We want to examine Brayden more closely, because all we are doing is putting on bandages and that doesn’t seem to be working. We can’t examine Brayden more closely unless you give us your consent, just like you have to give the doctor consent to do an x-ray.”

  Emma wanted to stand up and applaud. Dave explained the situation perfectly, really putting it in perspective. What parent wouldn’t have their child’s bone x-rayed? She knew Mr. Lewis could be a formidable man, but she also believed he loved his son and wanted to do what was best for him. He would sign, Emma was confident.

  The chair scraped eerily against the silence in the room as Mr. Lewis pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ll think about it,” he said and left the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

  “Well,” Mrs. Wolf huffed with irritation as she stood up. “I’ll tell you what that man needs is a solid dose of reality. Can’t he see how badly his son is hurting? I don’t understand these parents, so wrapped up in their own lives and completely ignoring their children.”

  Dave gathered his own notes and files and walked out of the room with Deborah, who was still grumbling about the result of the meeting. Emma looked out the window, her mood as dark and ominous as the swollen clouds in the sky. She was disappointed, after all her effort and all her faith, Mr. Lewis had rejected their help, had rejected helping his son.

  “That guy is a piece of work,” Alec said, interrupting her thoughts. “Don’t let him get you down, Emma. You’re doing a great job with Brayden.”

  “Thanks,” she said, half-smiling at him.

  “Hey, what’re you doing Saturday night?” Alec asked, surprising her with the change of subject.

  “I’m having dinner with some friends, why?” Emma replied. Why did Alec want to know her Saturday night plans?

  “Oh, well, I was just going to invite you to The Brewery on Fifth. My band is playing and I thought you might enjoy it. You can bring your friends if you want. We play there on Saturday nights, so if this weekend doesn’t work then maybe another time.”

  “I didn’t know you were in a band,” Emma said, adding an ounce of flirtation to her voice. “What do you play?”

  “I’m the drummer,” Alec said, slapping out a rhythm on table. A proud smile stretched across his face as he stood and walked around the table.

  “Really?” Emma asked with intrigue. She was smiling, because it was so easy with Alec, he was so relaxed and friendly. She liked the idea of him being interested in music and part of a band. That was kind of, alluring.

  “Yeah, me and some of my buddies started a group in college and play this gig whenever we can. We aren’t that great, but it’s pretty fun.”

  “It sounds like fun. I’ll try and make it another weekend if that’s okay?”

  “Absolutely,” Alec said. “Have a good night.” And Emma was pretty sure she would, being asked out by the incredibly good-looking Alec Martin was foremost in her mind now.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Marcus groaned when he awoke to the sight of snow on the sidewalks and roadways. The unexpected snow and freezing rain left the city paralyzed. Marcus watched the banner run along the bottom of the television screen. The list named local closures and seemed to be growing. Portland Public Schools was on the list. Buses were down and the anchorwoman advised everyone to stay home unless it was absolutely necessary to be out.

  Marcus made a call to Gretta instructing her to reschedule his appointments. Next, he called Dennis and Abigail giving them, their assignments for the day. He opened his laptop on the kitchen table and started firing off emails. A scant hour later Brayden came down the stairs, his hair tangled from a fitful night of sleep.

  He squinted at his father. “Is it Saturday?” he asked.

  “No, Bray, it’s Friday, but your school is closed today.”

  “Why?”

  “Go look outside.”

  Brayden walked to the large window in the living room and pulled the curtain back, a smile instantly illuminated his face. “Is that snow?” he asked with excitement.

  Marcus realized this was the first time Brayden had ever seen snow on the ground.

  “It sure is,” he said, walking over to stand behind his son and look at the powdered sugar layering of snow through his son’s eyes. It was enchanting how it turned the gray drab city street into a clean and white frosted oasis.

  “Can we go build a snowman?” Brayden asked, looking up at him. His eyes were full of wonder.

  “No, you haven’t even had breakfast yet,” Marcus reminded him.

  “I’m no
t hungry. I want to build a snowman.”

  “You don’t have any snow boots or gloves. You’ll freeze as soon as you get out there,” Marcus said and pulled Brayden from the window.

  “No I won’t,” Brayden whined and slumped his shoulders forward.

  Marcus pulled a box of cereal from the cupboard and set it on the glass table. “Here,” he offered. “Have some breakfast.” He went to the cupboard for a bowl.

  “I don’t want to have breakfast. I want to go outside.” Brayden stomped his foot and balled his fists. Marcus’s patience evaporated.

  “We’re not going outside, Brayden and that’s final,” he shouted, dropping the bowl on the table with a loud crash. “Now quit asking and eat your breakfast. I have work to do.” Marcus sat at his computer and heard the sound of Brayden’s feet on the stairs again. The familiar sounds of animated voices on the television soon followed.

  Sometime around noon Brayden came downstairs, still wearing his pajamas, and went to the refrigerator pulling out a juice box and Lunchable. Brayden marched back upstairs without even a glance at his father. They hadn’t spoken since this morning and all the guilt and anger that Marcus so readily felt about his relationship with his son came swooshing back. He wished he knew how to talk to Brayden. In the last few days since his meeting with Ms. Hewitt and her “colleagues,” he had wondered what Brayden remembered of the fire or Vanessa, but each time an opportunity arose to ask his son, Marcus changed his mind. While the silence between them was heartbreaking, at least it signified peace. Bringing up the past would only hurt and Marcus didn’t want to feel that pain all over again.

  He was still livid with Ms. Hewitt for conning him into that stupid meeting. He walked in there with hope. She said she wanted to help him with Brayden, but those so-called specialists were not getting anywhere near his son.

  That special education teacher was the one who worked with kids that were mentally challenged. Is that what she thought about Brayden? His son was not stupid, that much he knew. And the way the guy couldn’t keep his sappy eyes off Ms. Hewitt had really irritated him.

  Then there was the shrink, so smug about wanting to examine Brayden as if he was some scientific specimen. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to let these people dredge up his past, examine it, and tell him everything he’d done wrong since that horrible day.

  Marcus threw his energy back into his work for the next two hours as the cartoons upstairs changed to video games. Finally, exhausting every piece of work he could do from home, Marcus went upstairs.

  He sat on the edge of the bed next to Brayden and picked up the extra controller.

  “Mind if I play too?” Marcus asked.

  Brayden just shrugged keeping his eyes trained on the screen and furiously punching at the buttons running his wide receiver into the end zone for a touchdown. Brayden started a new game and the two of them played together for another half hour.

  “So, I was thinking we should probably head out and find some dinner,” Marcus said, firing away at the controller.

  Brayden said nothing.

  “What do you say you go get dressed and we’ll go for a little walk in the snow before we grab some burgers?”

  “And root beer floats?” Brayden asked, working his tongue along with his hands as his defensive back made an interception before being tackled.

  “You got it,” Marcus answered.

  “Sure,” Brayden said. He finished the next play before running off to his bedroom.

  “Make sure you bundle up,” Marcus called after him. “Two pairs of pants and two pairs of socks.” Marcus dug around in his own closet and found a sweatshirt to put on over his t-shirt.

  Brayden returned with a pair of sweatpants on and a pair of unbuttoned jeans over the top.

  “Okay,” Marcus said with a laugh. “Maybe we’ll stick to one pair of pants.” He helped peel the jeans off and followed Brayden down the stairs. He helped him into his rain boots and zipped an extra sweatshirt on him before putting his raincoat on. Marcus grabbed his parka and two stocking caps before they left the apartment.

  Outside the sidewalks were clear of snow. Marcus and Brayden crunched along on the layer of salt granules the store owners had laid out. The pristine white snow had turned to a murky brown slush. Brayden reached down for a small, undisturbed patch of snow at the base of a concrete bench. He held it, cupped in his hand, like a tiny baby bird and studied it. It didn’t take long for the snow to melt in his palm and then Brayden wiped his hand on his pants.

  They walked a few more blocks. A large truck passed them at the corner, dumping gravel into the intersection. They turned into Mel’s Diner, the best burger joint on the northwest side. They scraped their wet feet on the rug at the entrance and crossed the large black and white tile floor to a red vinyl covered booth.

  Brayden pulled off his coat and hat. Marcus reached across the table to smooth the static in his hair and touched the cold red apples of his son’s cheeks.

  “Pretty cold out there wasn’t it?” Marcus asked and Brayden nodded.

  The waitress approached, took their order and left behind a cup of broken crayons and a four page coloring book.

  “So, too bad you had to miss school today, huh, Bray?” Marcus asked as the waitress returned with their floats.

  Brayden shrugged as he pulled his long handled spoon out of the tall glass with a heap of vanilla ice cream.

  “Do you like school?” Marcus asked.

  Again, Brayden shrugged.

  “Do you do anything fun while you’re there?” Marcus took a bite of ice cream.

  Brayden shrugged a third time.

  Marcus could feel his patience ebbing, but tried again determined to get something out of his son, “Is Ms. Hewitt a good teacher?”

  Again came a shrug, then a nod, and finally, “I guess so.”

  “You guess so? What do you guess is good about her?”

  “She’s nice. And she doesn’t yell at me like those other teachers did, or those nannies or Rosa or…” Brayden’s voice trailed off and he dropped his eyes to the table.

  “Like I do,” Marcus finished for him, feeling a choke in his throat.

  Brayden didn’t look at him, but Marcus could see a trace of a nod.

  “What else do you like about her?” Marcus asked when he knew he could trust his voice again.

  “She’s kinda funny,” Brayden said, digging into his ice cream as their burger baskets and fries arrived.

  “Really? How is she funny?” Marcus asked.

  “Well, she plays these really funny songs and then does dances to them.”

  “What kind of dances?” Marcus asked, truly curious.

  “There’s one we do, like a chicken.” Brayden smiled as he bit down on a fry.

  “A chicken? How does a chicken dance?”

  “Like this,” Brayden said, tucking his arms under like wings and jutting his head forward and back. Marcus laughed as Brayden slid from the booth and turned his knees inward. He started kicking up his heels and then twisted his hips before starting the whole thing over again. Marcus applauded his son’s impromptu performance and let out a laugh when Brayden jumped back to his seat and reached for another French fry.

  “So Ms. Hewitt taught you that?” Marcus asked amused as he fleetingly thought of her performance in that class at the gym.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty fun,” Brayden said, obvious pride washing over his face.

  “Well, I’m glad you like Ms. Hewitt.” Marcus wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin. Marcus still had his reservations about her, but he could see she’d made an impact on Brayden.

  They both dug into their meals, devouring their hamburgers and fries.

  “Hey Dad,” Brayden said, when they finished eating.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I stay up and help you work tonight?”

  “I don’t have any work to do tonight.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I got it all done this aftern
oon, which is a good thing.” He leaned over the table, crossed his arms, and looked at Brayden. “You want to know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a basketball night. The Blazers tip off in one hour,” he said and tapped his watch. “So we’d better get a move on.”

  “Alright,” Brayden said and jumped from the table, pulling on his coat. Marcus paid their bill and followed a very happy Brayden out the door, wishing for more moments like this.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The apartment smelled of rosemary and roasted chicken. Emma sat back with her glass of wine and watched her friends scrape their plates clean. The bowl of rice pilaf and fresh green beans were gone, just like the snow from yesterday.

  It was an unexpected treat for Emma to find the city blanketed in white. She spent the day at home cozied up on the couch with a mug of hot cocoa and a book. Monday morning she knew she would be back at work with a group of ecstatic kids buzzing about their snow day, but it was a small price to pay for the impromptu time off.

  “Emma that was excellent,” Seth said, scooting back from the dinner table. He looked across the table at Stacy. “Did I luck out or what with this roommate, or what?” He jerked his thumb at Emma, who smiled at the recognition. He wore the new gray, blue V-neck sweater Kelly gave him for Christmas. The color matched his eyes perfectly. His jaw was covered in a thin layer of stubble, he said it was his new weekend-look, but Emma knew it probably had more to do with his romantic withdrawals. Since New Year’s neither Kelly nor Seth had been able to arrange travel to see the other. Seth was up against a deadline on a project in Salt Lake City, staying through several weekends and Kelly was short on vacation time.

  “Yeah, this was great Em. I’m glad I wore my stretchy pants tonight or else I might be bursting a button,” Stacy said, tugging on the waistband of her black leggings. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun with chopsticks crisscrossing through it and wore a black silk tunic covered in a red floral pattern.

  “I’m just glad we were all finally able to get together,” Emma said, reaching for her wine glass. “You two have the craziest schedules.” Emma tipped her glass and finished off the last of her wine.