by Leah Atwood
Matthias glanced at him, his eyes squinted. “So you’re not just trying to watch over me?”
“No.” Tate took a deep breath and exhaled as he stood. “But even if I were, it would only be because I love you.”
“I know you do,” Matthias said. “But I’m in high school now. I’m not a little kid anymore.”
Tate could respect that, however, his nephew was only 13. Even with his handicap, he’d managed to skip a grade. Being smaller than the other kids and younger was hard enough on normal students. As his uncle, and the principal, it was his job to look out for him.
“I know, and I’m very proud of all you have accomplished.” He walked around the desk and held the door for his nephew. “We best get to practice or Miss Fletcher will have our heads.”
With Matthias using crutches, it took longer to make it to the auditorium. Tate didn’t know if that’s why he felt anxious or if it was the thought of being the only real grown up in the school play. It also gave him the opportunity to shadow Charity. He’d have the opportunity to observe her teaching methods since this was only her second year at their school.
Charity’s face looked intent as she explained her vision for the set with Mrs. Morrison and a couple of her students. As he studied her, he realized she was a beautiful woman. Why wasn’t she married? Her face didn’t have the youthful appearance of someone in their early twenties. Yet she looked younger than his thirty-two years. He knew why he was single, but wondered about her reason for being unattached.
Tate realized how little he really knew about Charity. Last year, he’d noticed her, but never had the opportunity to exchange more than polite greetings in passing. Like most students, as long as they flew under the radar and didn’t create any waves, he was content to let them go about their business.
Charity must have felt him staring at her. She turned, smiled, and nodded toward him. She’d apparently let the students rub off on her if she had resorted to giving the nod. He preferred that teachers would be better role models for students and not be influenced by them instead.
Her conversation apparently over, she headed in his direction. Thumbing through the stack of papers in her arm, she pulled out something and handed it to him. “Here is a copy of the play. Your lines are highlighted.”
“Thank you.” Tate took the papers and held them at his side. “What are you doing after practice?”
He hadn’t expected the deer in the headlights stare from Charity. She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. Going home, I reckon. Maybe grab a bit to eat.”
“Good. I had hoped to talk with you later about a couple things. I thought perhaps we could grab a bite to eat after I drop my nephew off.”
She looked like she was about to protest.
“You said you didn’t have other plans—” he reminded her.
“No.” She blinked. A rosy tint flooded her cheeks. “I don’t have plans.”
“Good. It’s settled then.” Tate smiled. “Would you like to eat at that new oriental place that opened about a mile from here?”
“Uh, sure.”
He shouldn’t enjoy her discomfort, but he did. “I’ll drop Matthias off after practice and meet you there then.”
A commotion, accompanied by loud chanting drew Tate’s attention to the floor area near the stage. “Tucker!” Tate shouted and rushed across the stage.
Tucker, the star quarterback, paused with Matthias extended horizontally above his head.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Tate’s heart pounded. “Put Matthias down carefully before you hurt him.”
It was a good thing Tucker wasn’t standing closer. Tate was half tempted to jump off the platform and wring the student's neck. “What in the world were you thinking?” Tate glanced from the boy to his nephew and then helped Matthias stand.
“I was just trying to help him get on stage quicker.” Tucker entwined both hands behind his head and paced in a circle before bending to pick up one of the crutches Matthias had lost. He handed it to Tate. “I wasn’t trying to hurt him.”
“And yet you could have,” Tate ground out between clenched teeth. “You need to behave more responsibly and think about your actions before you do something.”
A student behind Tate said, “Wow, I know why Miss Fletcher cast you for the part of Scrooge.”
“That’s enough,” Charity said. “Let’s break up into groups and rehearse your lines. I want you all to practice adding feeling and expression to your voice as you read your parts. While you are doing that, Mrs. Porter and her students will be coming around to ask your size and possibly take measurements. Please be sure to cooperate with them because we need to make sure the costumes will fit.”
As the small crowd that had gathered around them dispersed, Matthias looked up at Tate. His expression gravitated from anger to sadness. “Tucker wouldn’t hurt me.” Matthias picked up his copy of the play and clutched it in his hand as waddled off with his crutches.
Tate ran a hand through his hair and sighed, gripping his copy of the play tightly in his other hand. He hated this stupid play. If not for his nephew, he would be home right now. Doing. . .? Whatever it was he normally did, which would be more productive than monitoring students after school.
By the time play practice was over and he’d escorted Matthias to the door, Tate was anxious to get to the restaurant and be done with his conversation with Charity. While he’d wanted to learn more about her, he knew rebuking her for her lax mannerism in dealing with students wouldn’t win him any popularity contest.
When he arrived, Charity was already seated at a table, sipping on a glass of water.
“I’m sorry.” Tate took a seat across from her in the booth. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“No, not long.”
“Good.” Tate looked for the waitress and motioned for her to come over to their table. “I’m surprised they haven’t given you a menu yet.”
“It’s a buffet.”
Tate glanced at Charity. “Ah. Would you rather eat some place else?”
Charity laughed. “Is there something wrong with a buffet?”
He shrugged. “I know there’s the convenience of having your food all ready for you, but then there’s the thing that. . . Well, your food isn’t cooked fresh to order.”
“Fine.” Charity giggled as she stood.
Tate followed suit, thankful that she saw things his way. Only, she didn’t head toward the exit. He fought the urge to grumble as he trailed behind her.
“We’ve decided to eat back here, at the hibachi grill instead,” Charity told the hostess, who then seated them at a table with what appeared to be two other couples. The woman who had seated them handed them both a menu.
“Thank you.”
Charity smiled and thanked the woman as well. When she was out of hearing range, Charity addressed him, “You don’t look very happy. Is this okay?”
“It’ll do.” His tone sounded curt to his own ears. “This isn’t the type of place I would normally take someone to for a business meeting. Someone might get the wrong impression.”
“I think you’re safe.” Charity giggled.
The woman was a bit peculiar. Something about her laugh rattled him. She was amused? Did she find the thought of being mistaken as his date hilarious? “I was thinking about the fact that you’re single and have two married teachers helping out with the play. Hopefully it won’t infringe on their family time, especially since Mrs. Morrison is pregnant.”
“I’ve already discussed it with both of them.” Charity’s expression sobered. “Their roles outside the classroom will be minimal once they have their projects lined out. The majority of work will be done by students during class time.”
“That’s good.”
The waitress came and took their orders. While Charity opted for the teriyaki chicken and steak, he chose scallops with his steak. Tate was glad they were seated on an end. He felt less inclined to socialize with the others at their table.
She continued laying her napkin across her lap, tilted her head and stared at him a moment. “I’d like to think so.”
Tate shrugged. “It may be one of the reasons students take advantage of you.”
“I beg your pardon?” She wasn’t smiling now.
“It’s not a bad thing. . . Really.” Tate sighed. He leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. “The students tend to want to play around more because you’re more lenient on them.”
“I’m not a task master,” Charity said, her left eyebrow arched as she glared at him. “I think students should have some fun as long as they are accomplishing what is expected of them.”
“Then perhaps you should expect a bit more.” Tate leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on his thighs.
This time her laughter was incredulous, which was evident by the way her lower jaw moved. “I think I expect plenty from my students, and if you’ve reviewed the standardized test scores from my students last year, they were marginally higher than the other English classes were according to the scores from the previous year—which was before I came to Southwest.”
Were they? He’d have to research her claims. “If that is true, then it is quite impressive.”
“If that is supposed to be a compliment,” Charity said, “Then it wasn’t a very good one.”
“I’m sorry.” Tate took a deep breath. “I’ve been out of sorts all night, since seeing Tucker dangling my nephew over his head. My heart about dropped out of my chest.”
Charity’s shoulders relaxed and her piercing eyes softened. She reached over and gently laid a hand on his arm. “Tucker is a big guy, but he’s as gentle as an overgrown teddy bear. He’d be the first one to hurt anybody who ever laid a finger on Matthias.”
Tate stared at Charity. Apparently her soft side wasn’t reserved just for students. “Tell me something. . .”
She eyed him curiously, a hint of a smile played at her lips. “What?”
“How come you’re not married?”
Charity withdrew her hand from his arm and straightened. Their waitress returned with a tray of drinks and passed them out. They both cordially thanked her.
“Well?”
Charity took a slow sip of her iced tea. “I don’t really like talking about it.”
“I’m sorry.” He shouldn’t have pried. He didn’t like talking about his marital status either.
“It’s all right. You didn’t know.” She shook her head and forced a smile. The glistening in her eyes revealed deep sadness. “My husband died in Afghanistan.”
“Oh, my. I’m really sorry, Charity. I didn’t know.” Tate ran his fingers through his hair and wished he could kick himself for opening his big mouth. “Your husband was a hero.”
“Ha.” Charity’s laugh drew his attention. “I may have agreed with you if one of the other soldiers in his unit hadn’t shown up at his funeral—pregnant.” Her eyes widened. “With his child.”
“Wow, and I thought I had it bad.” Tate shook his head. “At least I didn’t marry her.”
“Marry who? The pregnant soldier?”
Tate laughed at the confused look on Charity’s face. “No. I’m sorry. I seem to be apologizing a lot tonight.”
Charity spread her index finger and thumb apart, about an inch and smiled. “A little.”
“Not that it’s any consolation, but I got dumped at the altar,” Tate said.
“Oh. . .” Charity frowned. “That had to hurt.”
Tate’s laugh wasn’t totally sincere. “Given it was Christmas Eve, a supposed midnight wedding. Let’s just say, Katie made sure to make Christmas a memorable occasion for me. Unfortunately, not a good memory.”
“I’m sorry.” This time it was her turn to apologize—not that he was keeping score. If so, he was still in the negative column.
“She ended up marrying my best man a few months later.”
Charity gasped, her hand instinctively covering her chest. “Oh, my. The story just gets worse doesn’t it?”
Tate shrugged. “Perhaps for him. She drove him to drink and he ended up driving his car off the road.”
“Even though it was painful, maybe it was a blessing in disguise.”
“How do you figure?” Tate asked.
“If you had married her, she would have made your life miserable instead of his.”
Hadn’t she already made his life miserable? He didn’t trust women—or men for that matter, given his best friend had betrayed his trust.
Chapter Five
The doorbell rang. Who was coming to see him in the middle of the night? Tate donned his slippers and stumbled to the front door. He flung it open. “Tucker? What in the world are you doing here?”
“We need to talk, Mr. S.” Tucker brushed past him and headed toward the kitchen.
“Are you wearing a white gown?” Tate trailed after his intruder.
Tucker glanced at him over his shoulder. “Yeah, go figure. I play Bob Cratchit in the play, yet I end up in this getup.” He opened the refrigerator.
Tate scratched his head. This didn’t make sense. “So you’re here about the play?”
“You could say that.” Tucker closed the refrigerator and opened the freezer before swiftly closing it. “Dude, haven’t you heard of a little thing called shopping?”
“What?”
The brawny teenager laughed. “Didn’t think so.” He hopped up on the counter top.
“I beg your pardon?” This student had crossed into brash, treating Tate’s home as if he lived there.
“No need to beg, Mr. S.” Tucker held up a hand, as if to stop him from needing to comment further.
“Why do you keep calling me, Mr. S?” Tate clenched his teeth, forcing himself to keep from doing the same thing with his fist. Assaulting a student in his home in the middle of the night, especially with the student dressed like that, wouldn’t reflect well on him.
“Glad you asked, Mr. S.” A lopsided grin creased his rugged features. “What the S stands for is up to you. You can either remain a modern day Scrooge, doomed to a life of indigestion, or you can go back to being the fun-loving and friendly Mr. Stephens you used to be before you became bitter.”
“You’d be bitter too if—” Tate took a deep breath and unclenched his fist that had somehow balled up on their own accord. “I don’t see what business my personal life is to you.”
“You’re right, man.” Tucker shrugged and hopped off the counter. “Your poor attitude in no way reflects on the student body. Seems to me I heard that speech somewhere before. Oh, yeah.” He snapped his fingers. “I believe that was part of the speech you gave during an assembly.”
Tate turned around, intending to walk away, but instead he was standing on the platform in the auditorium. “Whoa.” His arms flailed to keep from toppling over the edge. Tucker grabbed his T-shirt and pulled him back. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Wait a minute. That’s you and Matthias.” Tate pointed to the auditorium floor and looked over his shoulder at Tucker and then back again.”
Tucker was bent over, talking with Matthias. “Hey, dude. Ain’t it hard getting up those stairs with those crutches?”
“Yeah, but you deal with it. What choice do I have?” His nephew shrugged his shoulders.
Tate’s heart melted. Why hadn’t he thought about that himself? He should have walked the distance to enter the auditorium through the back entrance.
“It’ll be our secret. I got you covered.” Tucker nodded and picked Matthias up, hoisting him above his head.
That’s when the other version of Tate hollered and rushed across the stage.
“All right,” Tate hollered and turned his back on the scene. “Maybe I didn’t know what all was going on, or that you were trying to help. It doesn’t matter wh
at your motives were. The reality is, you still could have hurt him.”
“Perhaps we should go now,” Tucker suggested.
Tate followed him out the back doors of the auditorium. “Wait a minute.” He looked around. “Why are we in Mrs. Morrison’s art class?” No sooner than the words escaped his lips, Charity and Mrs. Morrison walked into the room.
“I can’t believe you cast Mr. Stephens as Scrooge.” Mrs. Morrison shook her head as she rubbed her stomach and took a seat at her desk. Charity pulled the chair that was on the side of the desk around to sit next to her. “Although Brad was right, the part fits him perfectly.”
Charity giggled. “I know I shouldn’t laugh.” Her expression sobered. “Honestly, I only suggested he play the role as an incentive to get him to leave. I expected him to back off and not hang around for practices once I suggested it—”
“Suggested?” Mrs. Morrison tilted back slightly in her chair and arched her eyebrows. “I think it was a little more than a suggestion.”
“Okay, okay.” Charity smiled.
“Are you ready to go now?” Tucker asked.
“Shh.” Tate crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.” Then he looked at Tucker. “They can’t hear us or anything, can they?”
Tucker shook his head.
“Good.” Tate took a seat in a student’s desk and stared at Charity. Had she played him? This little field trip into the twilight zone might give him a little insight to what teachers are saying behind his back and how they try manipulating him.
“I think Tate means well,” Charity was saying.
“And when did you start calling him by his first name?” Mrs. Morrison smiled and wiggled her eyebrows. “The rest of us aren’t exactly on a first name basis with him.”
“Well. . . um.” Charity’s cheeks flushed. “I’m sure I’m not the only one. Other teachers who’ve had his nephew.”
“I had his nephew last year.”
“Oh, right.” Charity’s face turned rosier than before. “You’re the one who warned me what it would be like having him in my class.” Charity’s shoulders slumped. “And you were right.”
