by Amy Woods
Yet, there he was, at her table in a cafeteria filled with empty ones.
“I don’t really know anyone yet, so I guess you’re the unlucky tablemate of the new kid,” he said as he slid down the table toward her.
Liam was surprised when Paige laughed, the melodic sound tickling his ears and spine. She looked up from her notes and the violet-blue of her eyes glittered at him. It was the first time he’d seen this softer side of her, and he wanted more. What would it take to get her to smile at him like that again and again? Whatever it was, he would do it in a heartbeat.
“I don’t mind much. No matter how long I’ve been here, I always still feel a little like a newbie,” she said.
Liam returned her smile. “I would think that in your job, you’d know everyone.”
Paige looked down at her papers again and Liam instantly wanted her eyes back on him.
“I suppose in a way I do, but it’s difficult being in my position. It puts certain…expectations…on my interactions with other teachers.”
Immediately after speaking, Paige bit her full bottom lip, as though she’d said too much. She shook her head a little and put on what looked like an attempt at a confident grin.
“But I love my job. I really do. It’s just that…well…” She shook her head and looked up at him again. “I guess every position has its rough spots, doesn’t it?”
Liam nodded, hoping he could reassure her. He realized once again that he’d go pretty far to get her to smile at him again, to see those berry lips part one more time and her eyes crinkle around the corners.
With force, he pulled his gaze away from her mouth and met her eyes.
“That it does,” he said. “But I love my job, too. It’s one of the hardest jobs in the world but also…”
“The best,” Paige filled in.
Liam laughed. “Yes, it is pretty great. I’ve wanted to work with kids in some capacity since I was one myself, and I’ve always loved art.”
Paige grinned and Liam noticed a hint of mischief this time.
“So were you like me, then, with dolls circled around your bedroom waiting with eagerness to hear every word you had to say?”
She was teasing him, he realized, though it felt strange coming from the person who’d been so tense just the previous afternoon. But she was also irresistible.
“Not dolls. Army men,” he said.
Paige laughed again. This time, her mouth opened fully and, before he could stop himself, his mind wandered into the dangerous territory of what it would feel like to have his lips against hers.
He really needed to make some friends—male ones. He was way out of line thinking this way about anyone right now, especially about his boss.
“Ah, I see. Army men, then. Same thing.”
“Not the same,” Liam retorted, frowning in mock seriousness.
Maybe there was more to the dragon lady than met the eye. Maybe she did have a soft underbelly.
Maybe he could get her to show him more of it.
“Did you always want to be a teacher, then?” she asked.
Liam nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Although grad school’s opened up some new doors, and now I’m working toward a doctorate in art therapy while I teach.”
Though his father had laid it on thick from the beginning that he disapproved of Liam’s career choice. It had interfered with the man’s plans for his only son—plans that existed prior to Liam’s birth and about which Liam had never had a say. His dad had always wanted Liam to go into the family oil business, and Liam’s open disinterest in the company had done nothing to dissuade the man. He’d pushed and pushed until Liam hadn’t had any option but to push back even harder by flat-out refusing to take over when the time came for his father to retire.
“I’m impressed,” Paige said, raising her eyebrows.
“I don’t think there’s anything out there like working with kids. You get access to these great little brains that are just starting to form ideas and perspectives about the world. And you get to watch them process it every single day and see the way their eyes light up when they’ve worked really hard and they finally understand. It’s really something, if you ask me.”
Liam looked up to find Paige watching him intently, and he felt silly. He always got a little mushy when he talked to people about his job.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I just really have a passion for it.” Almost unlike anything else. But since starting grad school and spending time with the kids in his art-therapy classes, he’d decided that, ultimately, becoming a full-time therapist was the best path for him. Both teaching and art therapy offered so many promising avenues for children to heal and process grief, but as soon as he completed his doctoral studies and the internship, he would set up a full-time practice of his own.
“I think that’s great, actually,” Paige said, interrupting his thoughts. “I wish we could find more like you. The kids need people with that kind of passion and interest in them.”
“And I think my favorite medium is a great way to get to know them on a deeper level. Kids will do a lot of things with art that they can’t do anywhere else.”
“What do you mean?” asked Paige. She’d leaned closer to him across the table and she was staring at him, her blue eyes intense under furrowed brows.
“I just mean that art is one of the best forms of communication.” Tentatively, he added, “It’s also the best way, sometimes, for people to heal.” At that, Paige scooted back a little and her eyes darkened. “Did I say something to offend you?”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just that word—‘healing.’”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s nothing. I just seem to find myself thinking more and more about what it actually means for someone to be healed from something.”
Liam knew he was getting closer to the core of Paige’s discomfort, whatever it might be. He guessed it must be related to Owen’s condition. It wasn’t a normal thing for a kid to completely stop talking, not unless there was real trauma at the bottom of it. His first thought had been that maybe there was an abusive father in the picture, but Paige had been very clear that she was a Ms., not a Mrs., so possibly that was out—at least he hoped it was.
But he couldn’t figure out what else it might be. Usually, children didn’t have such reaction to normal, everyday kid problems. It wasn’t like a bruise that would gradually heal itself, transitioning from black to purple to yellow, before it simply disappeared. Selective mutism was almost always a response to something very far out of the ordinary. Regardless, Liam knew it couldn’t be anything good, and, for some reason, he felt compelled to find out what may have caused it.
The truth was, he had something different to offer Paige and Owen—in the form of art therapy, of course. Liam figured Paige wouldn’t be open to it at first. Most parents he worked with had trouble understanding how art could help their children process their emotions. But maybe, just maybe, if he worked slowly to convince her, he could help her son get better. As it was, Owen was probably missing out on social experiences in his formative years. In fact, Liam estimated that, if the boy didn’t make major progress soon, resulting emotional damage could last beyond his elementary school years.
Liam could tell easily that Paige was a good mom—a great one, in fact. He knew, though, that often parents were so close to their kids that they lost the ability to see any alternative ways to help them. It was as though they’d sunk into an ocean of advice and needed to be pulled above water again to breathe and start fresh. As a teacher, it was his duty to help each child.
And his desire to help Owen had absolutely nothing to do with the ridiculously lovely Paige Graham.
* * *
Before Paige had a chance to say anything more, a microphone crackled up on stage. Principal Matthews addressed
the staff, then a barbecue was laid out, filling the air with its rich, enticing scent, and Liam and Paige joined the long line of teachers to get their plates.
Paige knew she should have been mingling with a few teachers, but she had gotten sidetracked…by Liam. It was unnerving how easily he seemed to grab her attention. He was so close that she couldn’t concentrate on anything else but his presence behind her. She needed to watch out; otherwise she’d be entering territory she wanted to stay as far away from as possible. Even though six months had passed since her husband’s death and she truly wanted to move on at some point, the idea of letting Mark go completely was new enough to frighten her. Taking a step in that direction would be a risk she wasn’t yet certain she should take.
As Liam filled his plate, Paige headed off to grab a cup of sweet tea. Despite the delicious aroma that initially caused her mouth to water, and the passing plates piled high with some of her favorite dishes, she somehow wasn’t hungry anymore. And she needed to get back to work.
She circulated around the room, armed with her tea, and greeted all the new teachers before catching up with some of the more seasoned ones, many of whom had been close friends when she’d been in the classroom herself. She found herself relieved to be free of Liam for a few minutes. Something about him drew her in. Something comfortable and safe that had her stomach churning with uneasiness—a warm feeling she hadn’t had in a long time.
Sometimes she wondered if she’d ever really had a chance to grieve her husband’s death, so obsessed had she been with making sure Owen had everything he needed. Mark dying from the fire had been unexpected and traumatic—like something out of a shocking news story that could never actually happen to her.
Paige lost her train of thought as Principal Matthews approached. “How’s everything going?” she asked.
“Pretty well. I think I’ve managed to say at least a few words of encouragement to just about everyone. I think we’ll have a good year. You’ve hired an excellent staff, as usual,” Paige said, smiling in appreciation.
“I’m glad,” Principal Matthews said. Paige had known the older woman for many years and had admired her just as long. Her silver hair and round, pink cheeks gave her a grandmotherly appearance that kids naturally warmed to. Kind and fair, and always quick to smile at the children, she defied all stereotypes of what kids thought a principal should be. Ms. Matthews had a grandmotherly air about her and the students seemed to think that it would be worse to disappoint her than to be shouted at by her. If Ms. Matthews would indeed be retiring soon, her shoes would be very hard to fill. Paige couldn’t imagine anyone doing the job as well.
“Paige,” Ms. Matthews said, reaching up to place a small hand on her shoulder. “There is something I’d really like to talk to you about if you have a moment tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes, of course.” Paige hoped she hid her sudden concern. She couldn’t guess what it might be, but she knew there had been an incident with a student’s parents that morning. Apparently the couple had had some understandable difficulty accepting the school diagnostician’s new diagnosis of their child’s learning disability.
Principal Matthews smiled at Paige, who thought she saw a hint of sadness in the older woman’s eyes. “I’ll stop by your office, Ms. Matthews,” Paige said, and her boss squeezed her forearm gently before turning to talk with some of the other faculty.
Paige felt her stomach grumble and decided she’d finally been social enough; her appetite had returned with a vengeance. She navigated toward the barbecue spread and put together a plate of what was left at the buffet. Sitting down at an empty table, she suddenly remembered that she’d left her notes and favorite pen at the table she’d shared earlier with Liam. Just as she started to get up to fetch them, she felt someone standing behind her and looked over her shoulder to see Liam’s large frame looming uncomfortably close. He smelled delicious—a unique mix of masculine soap and art supplies. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, reaching down to hand her the pen and folder full of notes she’d just been thinking about, “but it looks like you forgot these.” His hand brushed hers as he passed her belongings, and a confusing mix of desire and caution flowed through her.
“Thanks so much,” she said, hoping he hadn’t caught on to what she’d felt. “My grandmother gave me this pen when I got my first teaching job.” The smile he’d worn so easily before was gone.
“And about Owen…” he said, before pausing, then continuing. “I’ve been thinking about him a lot and I know that there must be some way I can help him. It’s a pretty big deal for a kid to lose the ability to speak to other kids his age. I’m just wondering, as his teacher, if there’s anything more I should know.”
Paige knew she was overreacting the minute she felt her heart begin to throb faster in her chest. Any of the desire she’d felt for Liam a moment ago vanished, to be replaced by maternal defensiveness. She knew he was just trying to help, but she was tired of people trying to tell her how to handle her son. Over the past six months she’d heard her fill of advice. She felt indignant when she thought that someone she’d just met, someone she’d have to interact with regularly, would offer her advice on her son’s life.
She’d lost too many close friends already by being promoted to assistant principal. She’d also drifted apart from some that she and Mark had known as a couple, as well as friends who’d pushed too hard trying to tell her how Owen should be helped. They all had different opinions about what was best for him and seemed to forget that she was his mother and that she—and she alone—should know best. The comments and advice had slowly chipped away at the maternal instinct Paige had always trusted until she’d begun to wonder whether she was acting in Owen’s best interests. And then there were the most hurtful comments, the ones from people who thought that she should just try forcing Owen to speak, as though he were withholding his words on purpose for attention. Attention? She wanted to scream at these people that attention seemed to be the last thing Owen wanted. In fact, he seemed, to her shattered heart, to want to withdraw from the world completely, to retreat from life at the ripe old age of six.
Like the thousands of similar overtures, Liam’s offer to help felt as if it had been a criticism of her ability to parent masked as innocent concern.
“There’s nothing more that you need to know,” Paige snapped. “As I’ve said numerous times now, unless he has problems in class, I really don’t want to talk about it any further.”
Her answer didn’t seem to satisfy him. She could see curiosity, but also kindness, behind his green eyes, neither of which she cared to indulge. She’d seen the same look countless times before.
“It’s just that, the more I think about it, the more I’m certain I can help him,” Liam insisted, taking a seat next to her as the cafeteria cleared.
Paige glanced at the clock. Almost time for her next parent meeting.
Why couldn’t this man just leave her alone? What was it about her son that had him so intrigued? He’d said himself that he’d seen cases like Owen’s before, so if her child wasn’t unique, then why was he pushing so hard? Maybe she needed to be more direct because Liam apparently wasn’t getting the message.
“Owen and I are fine, Mr. Campbell,” she said abruptly, rising and gathering her still-full plate and notes. “Please just leave it alone.”
She gave him no chance to respond and left the table, tossing her food into the trash on her way out the door.
Chapter Three
Liam could tell by Paige’s reaction that he’d gone too far when he’d spoken to her at the meeting earlier that afternoon. Normally he wasn’t so pushy, but there was just something about Owen that he couldn’t resist. Although the boy hadn’t spoken, Liam had seen a quiet seriousness, a depth and sweetness about him beyond his six years, an understanding and gentleness that the other kids seemed to pick up on. Rather than respond to Owen’s sil
ence by teasing or ignoring him, his peers seemed to stick by him.
Even though Owen probably continued to learn new vocabulary despite his lack of vocalization, he was missing out on getting to really connect with kids his age, on forming friendships that would carry him through high school and beyond. And if he were truthful with himself, Liam had to admit that Owen made him think of the children he’d like to have someday and reminded him of why he’d wanted kids in the first place. He knew he would have been incredibly proud to have a calm, sweet little guy like him to call his own.
And he knew in his heart of hearts that he could be a good father.
Liam pushed the thoughts from his mind as he cleaned up the evidence of another day in the art room. The mess around him was pretty tame and the kids were decent about helping him to clean up at the end of their class periods. But as the year went on, he knew the messes would grow larger and larger as the kids got braver with their projects. The thought made him smile.
He looked up from clearing a knee-level table to see Owen standing in the doorway, watching him work with large curious eyes. He hadn’t had a chance to finish cleaning up his room before the teachers’ meeting, so he’d returned to his classroom as soon as it let out. But he was surprised to see Owen there. Maybe the kid had waited for his mom in her office, gotten bored and wandered down to Liam’s room.
“Hey, Owen,” he said, hoping for, but not expecting, a response.
Owen shifted his small red backpack on his shoulders and stood nervously, as if waiting to be invited into the room.
“Come on in, buddy,” Liam said, putting away the rest of the paints.
He glanced behind him as he took sticky brushes to the sink in the corner and began to rinse them. Owen had put his backpack in the cubby with his name on it and had taken a seat at one of the tables.
“I have some brand-new clay in the cabinet over there,” Liam said. His hands still were wet, so he pointed a shoulder to guide Owen in the right direction. “You’re welcome to take it out and work with it if you want.”
