by Irene Hannon
And so, in different ways, he felt responsible for both Rebecca and Isabel. That sense of responsibility to another person was never something he’d wanted. But the odd thing was, now that he had it, he liked it. Caring about them, being committed to their well-being, didn’t seem like a burden at all. It seemed like a gift. Because both of these special ladies had already enriched his life in countless ways.
“Pete…I’d like to see you for a minute.”
The tall, lanky youth looked at Zach nervously, then shot a glance at his buddies, who were waiting in the hall. Zach noted the direction of his gaze, and as the last student filed out of his classroom, he very deliberately moved over to the door and firmly closed it.
“I have to go or I’ll miss my ride,” the boy said, trying for defiance but not quite pulling it off.
“How far away do you live?” Zach asked, keeping his tone casual.
“About three miles.”
“No problem. I’ll take you home when we’re finished.”
“Finished with what?” the boy asked suspiciously.
“Let me ask you something, Pete,” Zach replied, ignoring the question as he propped a shoulder against the door and folded his arms across his chest. “Why did you take this class?”
Pete stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you take this class?” Zach repeated.
The boy shrugged. “It sounded better than another year of English lit.”
“You did realize that in a creative writing class you’d be expected to write, didn’t you?”
He gave Zach a sullen look, but remained silent.
Zach held his gaze steadily, and finally Pete’s wavered, dropping to the floor as he shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted nervously from one foot to the other.
“I’ll tell you what,” Zach continued conversationally. “I’m new here, and as far as I’m concerned you’re starting with a clean slate. You’ve only missed one homework assignment so far, and I’m going to let you make it up right now.”
“Now?” Pete repeated, his dumbfounded gaze jolting up to Zach’s.
“That’s right. It shouldn’t take you long. An hour at the most.”
“But what if I don’t want to?”
Zach pushed himself away from the door and walked toward the boy, hesitating in surprise for a brief second when Pete took a startled step back, almost as if he expected to be struck. Zach resumed his advance more slowly. “I think you do want to, Pete,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on the youth’s. “I’ve heard you’re quite a student when you put your mind to it. And Mr. Carr said you have a real talent with words. I’d like to see what you can do.”
“Why?” Pete asked suspiciously.
Zach considered his answer carefully, sensing that whatever he said could make or break his relationship with this boy.
“Well, I happen to admire good writing,” he said frankly.
“There’s a magic in being able to put words on paper in a way that brings a story to life, whether it’s an investigative article or a short story. I think it’s a very special gift, and people who have that gift should be encouraged to develop it. One of the best ways to do that is by writing as much as possible. So if you have the gift, I’d like to do what I can to help you develop it.”
Pete stared at him for a moment, then looked down and shuffled his feet. “I’m not that good.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge?” Zach suggested. “Would a laptop help?”
Pete gave him a surprised look. “Yeah.”
“Good thing I brought mine along, then,” Zach replied, flashing the teenager a grin. “You okay with Word Perfect?”
“Sure.”
Zach retrieved the computer from underneath his desk and zipped open the case. “I’ll print your work out at home,” he told Pete as he set up the computer on a desk and plugged it in. “You ever work on one of these before?”
“No.”
“Let me show you a couple of things, then.”
With minimal instruction, and after asking a couple of astute questions, Pete was comfortable with the computer. The boy was sharp, Zach thought, just as the other teachers had said. “Okay, have at it. I’ll be up front correcting papers. No hurry.”
Fortunately he’d already told Rebecca of his plan, which she enthusiastically endorsed, and so she knew he would he late picking up Isabel tonight. He glanced at Pete, who sat slumped in front of the computer, staring at the screen, his fingers still idle. Suddenly, though, the boy leaned forward and started to type, and Zach settled back to finish reading the papers that had been turned in on Monday. So far so good.
He lost track of time as he made his way through the stack, writing both compliments and constructive criticism on each paper. The students were creative, he had to give them that. But there was plenty of room for improvement in terms of style, grammar and punctuation. Had the school ever considered a journalism class? he wondered. Or an editing class? Both would be excellent ways for students to polish the basics, as well as develop tight writing styles. They would be fairly easy to institute, he mused. It would just require…
“I’m finished.”
Zach glanced up at Pete, who stood with his shoulders slouched, hands in his pockets, on the other side of the desk. Zach glanced at his watch—just over an hour. At least he’d made some sort of effort and not just blown the assignment off, he thought in relief.
“Great. Go ahead and shut down the computer while I gather up these papers. Then I’ll drive you home.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can hitch a ride.”
“A promise is a promise,” Zach replied firmly as he stood up and slid the stack of papers into his briefcase.
Pete silently retreated to stow the computer, and by the time he returned Zach was waiting. “So how long have you lived in St. Genevieve, Pete?” he asked conversationally as he led the way to his car.
Pete shrugged. “Too long.”
Zach looked at him. “You don’t like it here?”
“It’s okay, I guess. For a small town.”
“You like cities better?”
“Yeah. I’m going to move to Chicago or New York or maybe even L.A. when I get out of school. Someplace where there’s more action.” He turned to look at Zach. “Are you really an investigative reporter?”
“That’s right.”
“So what are you doing here? Teaching must be pretty boring after that.”
“Depends on how you define boring,” Zach countered. “Let me tell you something, Pete. I’ve seen my share of action, and believe it or not, it isn’t all that glamorous,” he said frankly. “Teaching may not look exciting, but it can be very satisfying. That’s why I double majored in college. As for why I’m here…it was timing, I guess. I was ready for a break from the fast life in St. Louis, and with Mr. Carr out, it was a good chance for me to get back into teaching, even if it’s only for the rest of the semester.” Zach glanced over at Pete, in time to catch a fleeting—but grudging—look of admiration in his eyes. “So now tell me about you.”
Pete was reticent at first, but under Zach’s casual but targeted probing he revealed a great deal. Some things Zach learned by the words Pete said; others, by the words he didn’t say.
He came from a broken home, and apparently there had been a great deal of bitterness in the divorce seven years before. His father was awarded custody simply because his mother didn’t want him. Zach got the distinct impression that there was no love lost between father and son. It seemed Pete had had a couple of minor run-ins with the law, which had alienated father and son even more. Even in the best of circumstances, however, Frank Cramer did not sound like the nurturing type, Zach thought grimly. He apparently didn’t care how Pete did in school, didn’t place much value on education, figured if a plant job was good enough for him it ought to be good enough for his son. He especially didn’t think much of Pete’s interest in writing and literature. In fact, it didn’t sound like h
e thought much of Pete, period. Given that environment, Zach was surprised Pete showed up at school at all.
When they pulled up in front of the tiny house on the outskirts of town, Zach turned to Pete. “I expect you to finish today’s assignment on time, Pete,” he said, his gaze direct, his tone no-nonsense.
Pete half opened the door, then turned back to look at Zach. “Are you gonna make me stay late again if I don’t?”
“Yes, I am.”
Pete hesitated, then climbed out of the car. “Thanks for the lift.”
“No problem. See you tomorrow.”
As Zach pulled away from the curb, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Pete was still standing there, staring after the car, his hands in his pockets, his posture slouched. Zach wasn’t sure how successful he’d been with the boy. His plan had been to be firm, to set the ground rules, as Rebecca had suggested. At the same time, he wanted to appear approachable and caring. And it appeared that Pete needed someone like that in his life.
Zach sighed. This teaching business was a whole lot more complicated than he’d expected. He’d always thought of it as classroom work—lecturing, grading papers, that kind of thing. He hadn’t expected to get drawn into the lives of his students outside of class. But he now realized it was impossible to separate the two. One influenced the other.
Zach wasn’t sure if he’d gotten through to Pete. But someone needed to. Because if what the other teachers said about his intelligence was true, it could very well be his ticket to the larger world he craved.
The challenge was to convince him of that.
“Well, I’ll be,” Zach said softly as he read the final line.
Rebecca looked up curiously from the board game she was playing on the floor with Isabel. “What’s up?”
Zach glanced over at her and shook his head. “I just read Pete’s paper.”
“And?” she prompted.
“This kid can write,” he replied, shaking his head in amazement. “I mean really write. Not high-school-level stuff, either. And this is just something he whipped off in an hour,” he added incredulously. “If I hadn’t been sitting there while he wrote it I wouldn’t believe this was his work.”
“Can I see?” Rebecca asked.
“Sure. I’d appreciate a second opinion. I was hoping he’d have talent, so maybe my judgment is jaded. Maybe I’m seeing more here than there really is.”
Rebecca took the sheets of paper and reached over to smooth back Isabel’s hair. “I’ll be right with you, okay, sweetie?”
“Okay. Can I have another cookie while I wait?”
Rebecca smiled. “I think that would be all right.”
Isabel jumped up and scampered toward Zach’s tiny kitchenette as Rebecca scooted toward the couch and leaned against the front. Zach settled back into the cushions, content for the moment to enjoy the view of her long, shapely legs stretched out in front of her, to leisurely trace the enticing curves of her toned, firm body, to appreciate the endearing way she chewed her lower lip as she read, a frown of concentration on her brow.
When she’d appeared at the door earlier in the evening with a plate of chocolate chip cookies, he’d been taken aback. He’d been desperately searching for an excuse to invite her over, increasingly frustrated by their brief hellos and goodbyes at the restaurant when he dropped Isabel off and picked her up. He wanted to spend time with Rebecca, but neither of their schedules had allowed for that this week. Except for Monday night, when they’d had dinner together, he’d barely had a chance to say more than a dozen words to her. Tuesday night she’d driven to St. Louis to teach a cooking class at a gourmet shop. Wednesday night she had a church function. He’d thought about asking her to have dinner with them tonight when he picked up Isabel earlier in the afternoon, but when he’d arrived Rose told him that Rebecca had gone to the bank. So he’d written off this evening. To say he’d been glad to see her at the door was an understatement. He enjoyed spending time with Isabel, was grateful that she had warmed up to him, but he was desperately in need of some adult company. Preferably of the female variety. And preferably someone named Rebecca.
As he gazed down at her bent head, he thought about how much his life had changed in the past five weeks. He’d gone from hotshot investigative reporter to high school English teacher, from swinging single to pseudo family man. And he liked it. A lot. It was as if a missing piece in his life had suddenly fallen into place. If he didn’t know better, he’d think…
“Wow!” The single word, spoken in a hushed tone, reassured Zach that he wasn’t off base in his assessment of Pete’s work.
“So I was right?”
Rebecca turned to look at him, her eyes incredulous. “This is amazing! It’s written with such sensitivity, such pathos…how old is Pete?”
“Seventeen.”
She shook her head. “Incredible. All I can say is, he has a future ahead of him if this is any sample of his ability.”
“Can we finish our game now, Rebecca?” Isabel asked.
“Sure thing, sweetie. Then it’s off to bed for you.” She turned once more to Zach. “It would be wrong to waste this kind of talent. I hope you can get through to him,” she said earnestly.
“I hope so, too.”
“Hi, Rebecca. How’s it going down there in the boonies?”
Rebecca smiled as she recognized the familiar voice of her wise-cracking, heart-of-gold sister-in-law. “Hi, Sam. I hear tell we’re going to get running water next week,” she replied in an exaggerated country-folk accent.
Sam chuckled. “Touché,” she conceded. “But you do seem far away. We never get to see enough of you.”
“Well, right now I should think company would be the last thing you’d want. Don’t you have your hands full with a little bundle of joy named Emily?”
“She does keep me hopping,” Sam admitted cheerfully, clearly not minding in the least.
“So how are you feeling?”
“Tired. But isn’t that the story of all new mothers? Otherwise, great.”
“How’s Brad?”
“Tired,” she echoed. “But loving every minute of being a daddy.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Rebecca said affectionately.
“Listen, Rebecca, speaking of Easter…”
“Were we?” Rebecca asked with a smile, used to Sam’s conversational gymnastics—one direction one minute, another the next.
“As long as you mention it, no. But we are now. So what are you doing?”
“Now, or on Easter?” she teased.
“Easter, of course. Stay with me here, Rebecca.”
“I’m trying,” Rebecca replied with a laugh. That was one of the things she loved about talking to Sam—the other woman always made her laugh. She’d never met anyone with quite as much life and energy as Sam, and her sister-in-law made Brad incredibly happy. Which meant that as far as Rebecca was concerned, Sam was the greatest.
“So? What are your plans?”
“I don’t have any yet,” she admitted.
“Good. Because we’d love to have you up for the day. Henry is coming to visit for about a week, and we could all go to church together, have a nice dinner. It would be a great chance for us all to catch up.”
“That does sound good,” Rebecca agreed. But what about Zach and Isabel? she wondered, biting her lip. She hated to leave them alone on the holiday.
“And you’re welcome to bring Isabel,” Sam added, as if reading her sister-in-law’s mind.
“Oh, I think she’d like that!” Rebecca replied with a relieved smile. “She hasn’t had a chance to do much since she’s been here. We’ve just been too busy to take her anywhere.”
“Zach is welcome, too, by the way,” Sam threw in with an air of casual indifference that didn’t fool Rebecca for a minute. Rebecca had made it a point to downplay her relationship with Zach, saying simply that she was helping out a friend. But Sam’s invitation clearly implied that she suspected it was more than that. Which left only one explan
ation. Henry.
“What has Dad been telling you?” Rebecca asked suspiciously.
“Oh, not much,” Sam replied airily. “Not much at all. Just that you brought a really hot-looking guy down there to pick up the furniture. An interested hot-looking guy. No, I stand corrected. Make that a very interested hot-looking guy. And that the feeling seemed to be mutual. Of course, this is all secondhand information, you understand. We’re only the brother and sister-in-law. Why should you tell us anything?”
The chiding was good-natured in tone, but Rebecca was immensely grateful that Sam couldn’t see the crimson color that nevertheless flooded her face. She should have figured Henry would freely offer information—and opinion. She’d better set things straight right now. “I would have been glad to tell you—if there was anything to tell,” she pointed out, congratulating herself on her matter-of-fact delivery. “Zach is just an acquaintance, like I’ve told you all along.”
“So then I guess you don’t want to bring him along for Easter, this being a family gathering and all,” Sam countered innocently.
Rebecca squirmed on her chair, tucking a leg under her. She’d backed herself into this corner, now she had to find a way out. “Well, I hate for him to be alone on a holiday,” she hedged.
“That would be a shame,” Sam agreed.
“It might be the kind thing to do, to invite him to spend the day with us.”
“Yes, I suppose it would.”
“Well, I guess I could ask, anyway.”
“I guess you could.”
“All he can do is say no.”
“That’s right.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll ask.”
