After a moment, she let him go, only to catch his chin in her fingers and make him look at her. “Say what again?”
“That you and Matt aren’t anything like you and Dad were. Because him and you... It was better. Is better. Like, a million, zillion times better. He makes you laugh, Mom.” He slumped against the sofa cushions, feeling a little like he might throw up, like everything was getting turned upside down again. “He makes me laugh. I feel good, when he’s around. And...and safe.”
“Oh, baby... I know.” She swallowed. “Believe me, I know.”
Tears bunching in his eyes, Coop looked at her again. “Then why do we have to leave? Why can’t we stay right here and you and Matt could get married so we could be a real family?”
“Married?”
“Yeah, married. I mean, wouldn’t that make sense?”
Mom let out a huge sigh that almost sounded like a laugh. “Sweetie...people don’t—or at least, shouldn’t—get married simply because, in some ways, it makes sense. There’s more to it than that.”
“Like what?”
She pulled him close and kissed the top of his head. “Like all kind of things eight-year-old boys aren’t ready to understand. And definitely shouldn’t be worrying about. Look...I’m glad you like Matt so much. Really glad. His whole family... They’re great people. Good people. And you can see him and the Colonel and Abby anytime you want, I promise.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” She stroked his hair for a moment, then said, “I know a lot more now than I did when I married your father. Or at least I’d like to think I do. And one of those things is that for two people to be together, it has to feel...right. Really right, way deep inside. From the very beginning. And...Matt deserves more than I can be for him right now. You’ll just have to trust me on this.” She messed with his hair some more, then said, “And you need to get back to bed—you have school tomorrow.”
“Like I’m gonna be able to sleep.”
“Maybe...some hot chocolate would help?”
Knowing he was making his grumpy face, Coop pushed himself off the sofa. “Hot chocolate’s not gonna fix this one, Mom,” he said, then tromped back to his room.
* * *
From behind the U-Haul backed up to Kelly’s “new” house, Matt heard a car door slam. Seconds later a brief, humorless laugh preceded a gravelly voice. “You do realize that most landlords don’t help their tenants move? Especially out?”
Grunting, Matt dragged Aislin’s mattress down the loading plank and across the small yard. Kelly had mentioned her former mother-in-law was coming to keep an eye on Linnie, but Matt hadn’t expected to get the third degree the minute the woman arrived.
“Was that supposed to be a reply?” she called behind him.
Matt set the mattress inside the open door, returned to the truck for the box spring.
“Only one I got.”
“Pity. Because that one sucks.” Her purse hanging from her shoulder, she crossed toned, tan arms over her sleeveless blouse. Tiny, but tough. Like a fox terrier his mother had once had. “I take it Kelly and the kids aren’t here?”
“Nope. Kelly and Coop are over at the other house, packing the van while Linnie naps. And you’re early.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Lynn said, smiling, and Matt thought, Hell. Fine, so to most people—as in, sane ones—this probably looked a little bizarre. Okay, very bizarre. But after his and Kelly’s little chat ten days ago, it occurred to him it was one thing to release the woman from a commitment or promise or whatever she probably shouldn’t have made to begin with, and another thing entirely to abandon her—and the kids—altogether. He could give her space without giving her grief.
Then Lynn picked up a small cooler she’d set down on the short wall bordering the porch steps and said, “I’ve got beer, want one?” and he thought, Go, Grandma.
As well as Hell, again.
“I really need to get this set up,” he said, heading for the house.
“Five minutes, tops,” Lynn said, sitting on the steps, the cooler beside her, and he leaned the box spring up against the side of the house and glowered at the woman. She shrugged and unzipped the cooler.
“Got a problem with German?”
“Nope.” Lynn handed Matt a can; he popped the top, then sat beside her. “I suppose you think this is crazy.”
“From someone who came to the funeral of a man he’d never met? To support a woman he hadn’t seen since they were teenagers?” She laughed. “You tell me. So. What’s really going on here?”
Matt took a swallow, then said, “No offense, Lynn...but this is between me and Kelly. Or was. It wouldn’t seem right dragging you into it.”
“Except, see, I already dragged myself into it.” When he frowned at her, she said, “I might’ve...given Kelly a little push. In your direction. Of course, if she hadn’t been already teetering, I could have shoved with the force of Hercules and it wouldn’t have done a damn bit of good—”
“You were the one behind her...?” He felt his face warm. “How much did she tell you?”
“That she took my suggestion to heart.” She tilted her own can to her bare lips, then to him. “And nearly broke hers in the process. Not to mention yours.”
“I sincerely doubt her heart is broken. I mean, we’re not...together like we were. But I still see her every day. She seems to be doing just fine—”
“‘Seems’?”
“Lynn...I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do. But talking to me isn’t going to change anything. Kell knows I’m here, for her and the kids. Always. But I can’t fix whatever’s going on inside her head. God knows I would if I could...but I can’t. So thanks for the concern, and the beer—” he lifted the can in salute “—but things don’t always fall into place the way we’d like—”
“He never fought for her, you know.”
Matt frowned. “Who?”
“Rick. Oh, he acted like a petulant child when Kelly left him—the same way he acted when he was a child whenever he didn’t get his way,” she said with a sigh, “but it was always about him. How the world had done him wrong. He wanted Kelly to be there for him, but he was never there for her. Not in any way that really counted. But Kelly...”
Lynn tilted the can at Matt. “She not only held their marriage together, she held my son together. And when she finally realized she couldn’t do that anymore, he fell apart. And unfortunately took part of Kelly with him.” A slight frown pushed her brows together. “She’s a giver, our Kelly. But from what I gather, I don’t think anyone else has ever returned the favor. Or say to her, you matter more to me than anything or anybody else in the world. So no wonder she’s on this independence kick. Because the people she should have been able to rely on most all screwed her over. In one way or another.”
“I did not screw her over—”
“No. But you sure as hell abandoned her, didn’t you?”
Matt flung a hand out toward the moving fan, the mattress leaning against the siding between the windows. “Seriously?”
“Anybody can help somebody move. But you’re not exactly putting your ass on the line for her, are you? And she’s only trying to cover hers—”
“I told her I love her, for God’s sake!”
“And then what did you do? You graciously got out of her way.”
“Because that’s what she wanted! What was I supposed to do? Tell her no?” When Lynn lifted one eyebrow, Matt shook his head. “Sorry, Lynn...but I had my head handed to me on a platter once before because I was ‘hovering.’ No way am I going down that road again.”
Lynn blew out a disgusted puh. “Trust me, sweetheart—all that I-need-space malarkey? She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s not space she needs, it’s support. So she can grow, be what she needs to be. She’s never h
ad that, so how the hell does she know what that looks like? And here’s a news flash—telling somebody you love them doesn’t mean a damn thing unless you’re willing to make an idiot of yourself. And until you are...”
She shrugged, her words slamming into his head like the butt of a Glock right as Kelly’s van pulled into the drive behind the U-Haul. Coop got out first, grinning when he spotted his grandmother before unhooking Linnie from her seat. With a squeal, the little girl scrambled down and over to Lynn as Matt caught Kelly’s gaze, seeing in it every bit as much pain and confusion as was probably in his. Because for damn sure whatever they were to each other now, that was what wasn’t working.
And a blink later, a second revelation skidded into the first—that for all Kelly’s protests and rationalizations, she wasn’t the problem here.
He was.
* * *
A day or so before the move, Kelly had received a “summons,” as she thought of it from Coop’s teacher that she’d like to speak with Kelly at her earliest convenience. And her initial, guilt-riddled thought had been that the tension between her and Coop since telling him they were leaving Matt’s house had translated into problems at school.
But what other choice did she have? she thought as she pulled into the school parking lot. As much as she’d do almost anything for her children, she couldn’t pretend everything was fine—that she was—when it wasn’t. Been there, done that, had the scars to show for it. And she refused to go there again, not only for her own sake, but also for the kids’. And Matt’s.
No matter how much her insides felt scraped out.
Breathing deeply, she crossed the lot, went inside, scribbled her name and the time on the log-in sheet in the school office.
“Room 122, Ms. McNeil,” the smiling secretary said. “Mrs. Farmer’s expecting you.”
“Thanks.” Visitor pass in hand, Kelly scurried down the green-and-beige-tiled corridor, the walls plastered with dozens of art projects. She tried to convince her bladder she’d peed not ten minutes ago, she was fine.
Room 122. Glass-paneled door. More artwork displays in the room beyond, very cheerful, really. And there was her son, sitting at a desk in front, working away on something or other. Behind the teacher’s desk sat a very pretty dark-skinned woman, her hair a tamed mass of glistening black coils. At Kelly’s knock she looked up, breaking into a bright smile. Standing, Mrs. Farmer waved her in and said, “Your mother’s here, Cooper,” as Kelly entered.
He glanced up, his face expressionless, his glasses crooked. As usual. Kelly resisted the impulse to straighten them. To hug him.
“Have a seat, Ms. McNeil,” the teacher said, and Kelly squished herself behind the third-grade-size desk next to her son, folding her hands on top. Leaning back against the front of her own desk, Mrs. Farmer said, “I called you in because there’s a discrepancy between Coop’s records and the work he’s doing in my class.”
Guilt sank its claws in even deeper as Kelly glanced over at Coop. But he was focused on his task, seemingly unconcerned. Sighing, Kelly returned her gaze to his teacher.
“I’m...sorry—”
“For what?” Mrs. Farmer said, then softly laughed. “I’m sorry for not making myself clear from the get-go. His records indicate he was almost a full year behind at his last school.”
“Yes.”
“But I gather you homeschooled him for a while?”
“About six months, yes.”
“Well, whatever the two of you did during that time? He’s so far ahead of his class in his core subjects, I’d like to have him tested for our gifted program.”
Kelly’s jaw dropped...a moment before panic gripped her so hard she could barely breathe. Frowning slightly, Mrs. Farmer reached behind her and picked up a large envelope from her desk. “Coop? You mind taking this to the office for me?”
“So you and Mom can talk in private?”
“You got it, honey,” she said, her laugh a low rumble. With a sharp glance at Kelly, Cooper took the envelope and left, and the teacher smiled again at Kelly. “Coop told me you took him out of school because he was being bullied?”
“I did. It was only verbal, but—”
“Bullying is bullying. Believe me, I know.” She crossed her arms, her eyes kind. “You’d hardly be the only mother to do what you did. You do know this school has a zero-tolerance policy against that sort of thing?”
“Oh, trust me, it was one of the first things I asked about.”
“I imagine so. And I hope you don’t mind, but Coop and I had a long talk about it. About how it’s important to realize what those other kids were saying? All lies.”
Exactly what she’d tried to tell Cooper. Except with his father’s only reinforcing the...crap, she hadn’t been able to make a lot of headway. Not, however, something she felt comfortable sharing with this woman she didn’t know, kind eyed or not.
“And now you’re worried if he goes into Gifted, he’ll get picked on again. I can assure you that won’t be an issue.”
Kelly blew a sharp breath through her nose. “Can you? Really? Even a zero-tolerance policy—and believe me, I’m grateful for that—doesn’t mean it won’t happen. Some kids... It’s like they look for any excuse to torment someone who’s different—”
“But you want the best for your son, right?”
“Of course! And I do understand this could be a wonderful opportunity. I do. But...he’s been through so many changes already in the past year or so....” Shaking her head, she glanced toward the bank of windows along the wall, then back at the teacher. “If Coop’s doing so well in your class... If he’s happy, I mean—”
“He certainly seems to be. And he’d stay right here. If he qualifies, though, there’s a supplemental program that would keep him stimulated. Because I’m guessing that child is going to get bored very quickly. And we do not want that, believe me.”
“No.” Kelly gave a weak smile. “We definitely don’t.”
Smiling, Mrs. Farmer pushed away from her desk. “You don’t have to decide right this second. But why don’t we have him tested, take it from there?”
After a moment, Kelly nodded. “Okay. One step at a time, right?”
“Absolutely.”
Kelly pried herself from the tiny desk and stood, working the kinks out of her left knee as they walked to the door, where Mrs. Farmer asked, “May I ask you a question?”
“Uh...sure.”
“Since things were clearly going so well with the homeschooling, why did you put him back in the classroom setting? I know you’re a single mom—it must have been tricky, juggling work and teaching, but if you did it for six months...?”
“It was Coop’s idea, actually. Well, after we moved to Maple River.”
“Did that surprise you?”
“A little, yes. Especially considering what had happened before. But despite everything, I think he missed...being part of something.”
“Gutsy kid,” the teacher said, then briefly touched Kelly’s arm. “And an even gutsier mama.... Oh, thank you, Coop,” she said when the boy returned. “Go on and get your backpack, your mom and I all done here.”
“I really like Mrs. Farmer,” Kelly said as they walked, their voices echoing in the silent, empty hall. Coop shrugged.
“She’s okay. Where’s Linnie?”
“Asleep, Mrs. Otero came over. So...that’s really neat, huh? About maybe going into the gifted program?”
“I guess.”
The handlebar on the big front door clonked when Kelly pushed it open. “You don’t sound very excited. No, we’re not walking, I brought the car,” she said when he headed toward the walking path instead of the parking lot.
On a heavy sigh, Coop sharply turned and tromped toward the van, his backpack bouncing on his back. They were in the car, seat belts
latched, before Kelly heard behind her, “I don’t know if I want to do Gifted.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Dunno. I just don’t.”
“Are you worried? Or scared?”
“Maybe. Yeah.”
“Do you know why?”
“Because...what if it’s too hard? That’s where all the really smart kids are, right?”
“Um...maybe that’s why Mrs. Farmer thinks you should give it a shot? Because you are one of the smart kids?”
“I don’t feel very smart. Not that smart, anyway.”
She pulled into their driveway. The house was nice enough, she supposed, if a little bland. Reminding herself it was only a month-to-month rental and someday she’d have her own house again, Kelly got out, waiting for Coop. He came up to her, hanging on to his backpack straps like suspenders, and she looped an arm around his shoulders.
“I think everyone feels they’re not as smart, or brave, or strong as they really are....”
She stopped, frowning. “And that’s a trap, isn’t it?” she said quietly.
As she mentally slapped herself upside the head.
“Huh?” Coop said beside her. Kelly looked down at him, feeling as though fireworks were going off in her brain.
“Come here,” she said, leading him to the porch steps. The wrong porch steps, she thought, as they sat on the pockmarked cement. “You know how sometimes it feels like there’s voices inside our heads, telling us stuff we know better than to listen to? Like...knowing it’s bad to eat too much candy, but that little voice tells you to do it, anyway?”
He sheepishly smiled. “Like I did at Easter?”
“Like you did at Easter, exactly. Well, this is kind of like that. Because you do know you’re smart. You told me yourself how easy the work was in school now. How you were reading harder books than most of your class. And look how quickly you figured out that LEGO set Matt gave you. All by yourself! Right?” When he nodded, she said, “And you sure as heck are brave, asking to go back to school. And a new school, no less, where you didn’t even know anybody.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
The Real Mr. Right Page 19
