ON THE VERGE
By Karen Lenfestey
Praise for Karen Lenfestey:
“Lenfestey is a charming writer. . . with a gift for storytelling.”
--Glo Magazine
“The plot kept me guessing and I loved the characters.”
—Nicole Green, Author of Love Out of Order
Talking about A Sister’s Promise
On the Verge
Summary:
Interior decorator Valentine Taylor loves four things: her fiancé, her seven-year-old-son, houses with character and Dr Pepper. Soon after she marries Nathan, a man who hopes to be as good a father as he is husband, he falls down a flight of stairs and injures his head. As Nathan recovers physically, it becomes apparent that he is no longer the same man.
He buys her a 1920's Spanish-style dream house, but it's one they cannot afford. He becomes impulsive, unpredictable and sometimes angry. Together they try to repair their once grand home as they struggle to rebuild their relationship.
When Val’s husband changes into someone completely different, how long should she wait for her true love to return? What if he never does?
Note the Book Club Discussion Questions at the end of the book.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to Dr. Isa Canavati for lending his medical expertise to this novel and to Lauren Pieri for her insights into interior design. I greatly appreciate the feedback I received from Paula Adams, Amanda Luedeke, Jennifer Newton, Judy Post, Julie Sellers, Summit City Scribes and the Internet Writing Workshop. I owe Ann Wintrode for her meticulous editing skills. Thanks go to Karen Belcher who helped immensely with designing the cover and to Susan Stahl whose house inspired me.
Copyright © to Karen Lenfestey 2012.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
CHAPTER ONE
Valentine Sullivan hated to postpone her honeymoon for this, but she was a mother above all else.
Her blood pressure rose as she made her way to the first grade classroom late Monday afternoon. Her kitten heels clicked on the linoleum floor and she felt like a death-row inmate walking toward her execution.
This wasn’t the first time Mrs. Bean had called an urgent parent-teacher conference to discuss Chip’s “poor choices” in class. He preferred to talk during silent reading time and had told the kids that his dad was never around because he was an FBI agent. What was Val going to do with him?
Spotting a vending machine near the teacher’s lounge, she rushed forward to scan for her favorite drink. A Dr Pepper would be the perfect little treat after what she knew would be a stressful meeting.
She blew the black bangs of her asymmetrical haircut out of her eyes so she could see better. But there was nothing to see. She shook her head. “Today is definitely not my day.”
Around the corner she noticed a bulletin board filled with kids’ drawings of what they wanted to be when they grew up. She paused to locate the smiling stick figure boy standing next to a car that she knew would be there. Finding Chip’s artwork, the car purple this time, she warmed with a mother’s pride.
A moment later pain squeezed her heart. If her son didn’t buckle down, he’d never fulfill his dream of designing cars. So young to be destined for disappointment.
She continued on her way, pausing when she found the room. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the handle and opened Mrs. Bean’s door.
Instead of chalk dust, the classroom smelled of dry erase markers. Mrs. Bean sat at her orderly desk with little plastic trays labeled “in” and “graded”. Her hair was in a tight French twist and she dressed as if she worked in an office rather than with small children. There weren’t any Christmas sweaters or dangling Easter egg earrings in her wardrobe. She stopped typing on her computer and looked up at Val. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
Val walked in slowly. School didn’t exactly hold fond memories for her. She’d always been doodling in the margins or passing notes with her girlfriends instead of listening to the teacher.
She took a seat in one of the child-sized chairs next to the teacher’s desk. Boy, if this didn’t make her feel small.
Val crossed her legs and let out a sigh. “What’s Chip done now?” At that moment, the classroom door opened behind her. She turned and saw Nathan, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, filling the doorframe. “I didn’t know you were coming.” He must’ve left work early.
He walked in and shook Mrs. Bean’s hand. “Hi. I’m Chip’s stepfather.” Nathan pulled up another miniature chair, took a seat and rested his arm on the back of Val’s chair. She glanced at her new husband’s olive eyes and beamed. She felt stronger, somehow, with him sitting next to her at this meeting.
Mrs. Bean forced a smile, etching lines around her mouth that looked like parentheses. “Chip has an amazing imagination. In fact, he told me you were getting married this weekend and taking him on the honeymoon to Mexico.”
Val patted Nathan’s leg. “Well, the getting married part was true.”
“Oh, best wishes! I didn’t realize. . . .” The teacher paused. “Anyway, I’ve expressed my concerns to you before, but now that there are only twelve more weeks of school, I need to be frank. I don’t believe Chip will be ready to go on to second grade next year.”
Val’s breath stopped short. She clutched Nathan’s knee.
Mrs. Bean reached for a folder and pulled out a sheet filled with numbers and graphs. “He scored at the bottom of the NWEA testing for reading. And when we read aloud in class, he refuses to participate. The truth is I’m not sure if he can read.”
Val’s pulse throbbed in her neck. “Aren’t they a little young to be expected to read?”
Mrs. Bean flattened her age-spotted hand on top of the folder. “Expectations of first graders have greatly changed since you and I went to school.”
Val tried to remember first grade. She didn’t think they had naptime, but between snacks and learning to write their names, it seemed like they mostly made things out of Popsicle sticks. She definitely didn’t remember knowing how to read. They’d also had a pet hamster, which the kids took turns feeding each week. Scanning the room, Val saw no other signs of life. Shouldn’t they have a class pet? At least a goldfish or something?
Nathan studied the test scores a moment longer. “Could you tutor him after school? We’d pay you.”
The teacher shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I have assignments to grade, lesson plans to make. . . .” She pulled out a sheet of paper with wide lines and little dashes in the center. Along the side were numbers one through five. Otherwise, the lines were blank. “This is what Chip turns in every week for his spelling test.”
Val muffled a frustrated sigh. She couldn’t decide who to be mad at--her son or the school. After all, she’d been reading him bedtime stories since he was a baby. She’d been trying to get him to read for the past year, but he didn’t seem ready. “Can’t we just let them be kids anymore? There’s so much pressure.”
“I agree. But the state has standards and we’re expected to meet them. I’m not doing anyone a favor if I pass Chip and he’s not ready for second grade. It wouldn’t be fair to him or his next teacher.”
“So you’re saying he’s going to fail the first grade. What does that do to a kid’s self-esteem?”
Mrs. Bean squirmed in her chair. Self-esteem must be a sensitive subject. “I don’t want to hold Chip back. But if he won’t demonstrate that he has learned to read basic words,
I’ll have to. I suggest you read to him every night and encourage him to read. Perhaps make flashcards out of the spelling words and play ‘Go Fish.’”
Val squeezed her hands together. Flash cards. She was not a flash cards kind of mom. She was a ‘Let’s see what we can make out of this shoebox’ kind of mom. “Is that all?”
Mrs. Bean pulled out a drawing with black crayons. “This is what Chip drew when I asked him to draw his home.” A mother and child held hands in one room. Outside there was a big, angry man who was scribbled over with crayon. Val didn’t need a psychology degree to see what Chip thought of Nathan. But Nathan wasn’t angry or mean. He just expected Chip to mind.
Val looked to see Nathan’s reaction. He appeared hurt, but tried to mask it. Embarrassed, Val blinked several times before trying to explain. “Chip isn’t very excited at the thought of sharing me with Nathan. Maybe I’ve spoiled him too much up until now.”
“Have you considered family counseling?” Mrs. Bean asked.
Shaking her head, Val took a deep breath. They didn’t need an outsider telling them what to do. “I’m sure Chip will adjust to having a stepfather in time. And I’ll keep working with him on his reading.”
Nathan sat up straighter. “I will, too. We’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he moves on with his class.”
She could already hear Nathan declaring no more TV or computer games, until Chip was passing first grade. She cringed thinking of how she would enforce such strict rules. Not that she had any better ideas.
Val folded the drawing and the test scores and tucked them in her purse. “I have to get going.”
When Mrs. Bean reached out to shake Val’s hand, she had a smudge of red ink on her index finger. “I hope we can work together as a team.”
“Sure.” Whatever. Chip was with Mrs. Bean seven hours a day. The woman had a degree in elementary education and yet she couldn’t get Chip to read. What could Val do?
Out in the quiet hallway, Val faced Nathan. “Thanks for coming. I’ll go get Chip from after-care and take him to the bookstore. Maybe if he gets to pick out some books, he’ll be more motivated to read.”
Nathan squeezed the back of his neck as if he found the meeting as stressful as she had. “Instead of buying books, why not stop by the library?”
As usual, she appreciated Nathan’s sound advice.
# # #
Darkness crept through the slats of Chip’s blinds that evening as Val sat next to him on his blue sheets. She opened the “Go, Dog. Go!” book and held it between them. “How about I read a sentence and then you read a sentence?”
He fumbled with the top button of his racecar pajamas. “No. You read. I like it when you read.”
Her shoulders tightened. “But Mrs. Bean said you need to read. This is important. Please try.”
Chip shook his head. “You read. I can’t.”
So she read to him, pointing to each word as she went, just as the teacher had suggested. She read about dogs on skates, dogs on bikes and dogs driving convertibles. But Chip wasn’t following along. He looked at his Matchbox car collection sitting on his shelf. The display shelf Nathan had built just a few weeks after they’d started dating. The man had even donated a few of his own toy cars from when he was a boy.
Chip squinted at the shelf. “I lost my yellow Mustang. Have you seen it?”
Her head ached and she wished it were her bedtime, too. The wedding weekend had been exhausting and today’s meeting with Mrs. Bean still weighed on her mind. Tonight after dinner, Nathan had done the dishes while Val helped Chip study the week’s spelling words and do two math worksheets. The homework seemed a bit excessive for a seven-year-old. But she didn’t want her son to fail, either. “Chip, pay attention.”
“Do you need me to come in there?” Nathan called from down the hall, sounding foreboding.
“No.” She and Chip answered in unison. She could use some help, but didn’t want this to turn into a battle of wills. She could be too easy on her son, she knew, but Nathan could sometimes be too demanding. “Chip, it will work better if you look at the word while I’m reading.”
“Hey, Mom. Where’s my red shirt? Tomorrow the first graders are supposed to wear red shirts.”
Sighing, she shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s in the dirty clothes hamper.” Her eyelids lowered and she fought to keep them open.
Chip jumped down off his bed and ran to his closet. “But I have to wear red. Mrs. Bean said we could get extra credit if we wore red.”
She slapped the book shut. Enough for tonight. She walked over to his dresser and opened a drawer, searching. No red. Why did they come up with these silly things? All the first graders wear red shirts. What did any of this have to do with reading? Because reading was all that really mattered, apparently.
She peeked into Chip’s closet, where he was tearing clothes off the hangers and throwing them on the floor. “Chip, stop making a mess. It doesn’t matter if you wear red tomorrow. If you don’t start participating in class, Mrs. Bean isn’t going to let you go on to second grade.” As soon as she said the words, she hated herself. Her child didn’t need the added stress of worrying about flunking.
He froze and his mouth formed a tiny “O.” “What does that mean? I won’t be with my friends?”
“No.” She fumbled for the right words. “I’m sure she’s just bluffing.”
“What does bluffing mean?”
She rolled her tired eyes. “Never mind.”
“I need a red shirt. Mrs. Bean said so. She won’t pass me if I’m not wearing red.”
Chip was so extreme. Val kept searching even though her patience had shriveled up and died. “How about this?” She held up a blue shirt with horizontal red stripes.
“No. Red. All red. I know I have a red shirt. My dad gave it to me.”
Val knew which shirt he meant. It was a red T-shirt her ex had won in a bar trivia contest. It was actually too big for Chip, but he wore it every chance he got.
“I don’t see it, honey. It must be dirty.”
“Wash it then.” Boy, he was bossy.
The laundry room was in the basement and she just didn’t feel up to it. “No, Chip. I’m not doing laundry tonight. I have work to do.” She needed to sketch out some ideas for a new client’s living room.
“Pleeeeease, Mom?”
Guilt stabbed between her ribs. How could she say no to her son? Deep down he was such a sweet kid. He was struggling to accept that he had a stepdad. And what kid wouldn’t have a hard time with that? “Well, okay.”
He let out a cheer.
She patted his head and tucked him in. With a hug and a kiss on the forehead, she remembered when he’d been small enough to fit into her arms. “Who’s my favorite little boy in the whole world?”
He grinned, showing off his missing two front teeth. “I am.”
“That’s right.” She turned off the lights and closed the door behind her. Then she sighed. She needed to wash his silly red shirt. It was so important to him.
She walked into the bedroom where Nathan sat on the bed reading Parenting with Love and Logic. “I’m worried about Chip. He shows absolutely no interest in reading.”
He put down the book and looked at her. “What can I do to help?”
“We could each read him a story. The more exposure to reading, the better.” She picked up a laundry basket of clean clothes that hadn’t been folded and dumped it onto the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Chip is supposed to wear a red shirt to school tomorrow. So, I thought I’d do a quick load.”
Perhaps Nathan could see the exhaustion in her eyes. “You haven’t sat down all evening. Let me do it.”
She hesitated. As a single mom, she wasn’t used to having anyone else pick up the slack. “Maybe if you twist my arm.” She reached out her hand and he pretended to turn it. They both laughed and he let go. Handing him the empty basket, she told him to grab Chip’s red shirt out of the hamper in t
he hall closet. Then she flipped the channel to HGTV before she started folding the wrinkled laundry. She listened as Nathan’s footsteps moved down the hall and the closet door squeaked open.
It was so nice to have someone help her. God, motherhood was tiring. She hadn’t had a day off in seven years. Even when she’d been married to Chip’s dad, she’d felt the weight of the world on her shoulders. Things were different with Nathan. He seemed anxious to ease her burden. And she desperately needed him to.
A few moments later, she heard slow steps descending the stairs. When she felt confident he was half-way down, she flipped the channel to a show about ghost hunters.
A loud thud interrupted the sound of Nathan’s steps. Then silence.
She sprang to her feet and rushed to the stairwell. Nathan lay sprawled, face down at the bottom of the stairs. Not moving.
Her palm pressed against her chest. “Oh my God!” The laundry basket had toppled over and red clothes spilled around him, matching the blood gushing from his forehead.
Val stood there like a zombie.
Chip ran out of his room, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong, Mommy?”
Unable to answer, she stared at Nathan’s body. And the yellow toy car near his foot.
CHAPTER TWO
Three Days Earlier
Val took a sip of pop--her fifth one of the day--then studied her unhappy fiancé as he drove them toward the church. “I don’t want to argue the day before our wedding, but. . . .” She couldn’t cave this time, either.
She placed her drink in the cup holder and toyed with her solitaire engagement ring, watching it sparkle in the rare sunlight. Over the last few weeks, Michigan’s winter and spring had been tangoing, with cloudy, blustery days taking the lead most often. Fortunately, the sun had made an appearance for the weekend of her wedding. She took it as a sign.
Nathan ran his hand through his thick brown hair. “What was wrong with the last house we toured?”
On the Verge (Sisters Series Book 3) Page 1
