Her Lesson in Love

by Heidi Lowe

"You should have woken me, Danielle. I said I was happy to take him."

  "I've been doing it almost every day since he started school. No use stopping now." Finished. I grabbed my jacket, slipped it on.

  "Still, I said I would. You're just being petty when you thwart my attempts to take a more active role in our son's life. You complain that I don't, and when I want to, this is what I get."

  I laughed humorlessly. "Maybe I wouldn't have such a problem with this new and sudden dedication to your son's education if I didn't know about your ulterior motive." I lowered my voice so Chester wouldn't hear.

  "What ulterior motive? You need help, you know that? You get these insane ideas into your head and just run along with them."

  "Okay, so I'm wrong in thinking that the only reason you're suddenly interested in being a father is because of our son's hot new teacher?"

  "See, out of your mind! You think I want every piece of ass that crosses my path. That's on you, not me." I always knew when I'd caught him in a lie – his voice went up in pitch.

  "Don't give me that crap. You've been making little comments about her all week."

  "Just taking an interest in our son's education."

  "Whatever, Dominic. Step aside, I'm already late." I practically had to shove him aside as I left the room, because he seemed unwilling to let me pass without a struggle.

  "You wouldn't be so insecure if you were putting out yourself. Just saying."

  What an asshole! I should have left it alone, but he riled me up so much that I had to have the final word.

  "Put out? To you? No thanks. I'd rather not play the STI lottery again!"

  My impatient son was all but tapping his foot at the bottom of the stairs. "I'm definitely going to get detention now."

  "I'll square it with Miss Petal," I promised, and my stomach did a leap at the thought.

  As we approached the classroom, I could already hear her voice addressing the class. Thud, thud went my heart.

  "What if she doesn't let me in?" Chester said. "Some of the other teachers do that when their pupils are late."

  I didn't answer him. Even though I had no idea what type of person Miss Petal was beneath that smile and those warm, beckoning eyes, I wanted to believe that she was kindhearted. Someone with the face of an angel couldn't possibly be a tyrant who punished kids for their parents' lateness, surely?

  I peered through the glass screen on the door, saw her at the front of the room. I watched for a few seconds before tapping lightly. She stopped talking, and the whole class turned to the door.

  "Come in," she called in the sweetest voice. We entered tentatively. "Good morning." She smiled at us, at me. God, that smile. How many hearts had she melted with it? How many more had she yet to melt? I felt my own dissolve as I stared at her.

  "Hi. I'm so sorry we're late. It's my fault. My alarm didn't go off. I'm sorry," I said, flustered.

  "Hmm, I thought there was someone missing this morning."

  "This won't happen again, I promise." I nudged my son into the room.

  "I'll take your word for it. We like punctuality in this class, don't we, guys?"

  As one, the class said yes.

  "I give out detentions to parents too, Mrs. Thomas." The class laughed, and she winked at me.

  It was all too overwhelming. Not only had she remembered my name, she'd made a joke and...winked at me! Who was this woman and why did I suddenly feel light-headed when I looked at her?

  "Uh, right. Like I said, it won't happen again. I'll be on my way now."

  "Bye." She did a little wave, and I got a glimpse of my son's face in the crowd: red with embarrassment. I was obviously cramping his style.

  I left hurriedly, though leaving was the last thing I wanted to do. Oh to have been seven years old again, to be in the second grade with a teacher like that. But where were these thoughts coming from? Was it just admiration for an attractive woman doing an amazing job? Yes, it had to be that.

  I hung outside the room, catching my breath, getting my heartbeat down to a normal speed.

  "Okay, so where were we? My name begins with a P – Petal. P is also for paper. Now we'll go around the room saying our name, saying the first letter of it, and then choosing something that also begins with that letter. Does everyone understand?"

  I could play that game. D for desire – the desire to trade places with your seven-year-old son. Or D for deranged – what you are for wanting to trade places with your seven-year-old-son!

  I stood outside that room peering inside, listening as the students answered enthusiastically, jokes and laughter ensuing. For a couple of minutes this went on, and I forgot all about the chores I had to do, about the jewelry orders I needed to fulfill. Nothing else seemed more important than being here, watching her work.

  I thought I was well hidden, that because of the way the glass was made it would be difficult for anyone to see out at me. But when she started towards the door, I turned and tried to sneak away.

  "Mrs. Thomas, you're still here?" Too late. She'd opened the door and caught me.

  I looked at her guiltily. "Hi, uh...I...uh..."

  "Were you spying on me?" she asked, eyes and voice full of amusement.

  I felt my cheeks burn. "No, of course not, I–"

  She laughed. "I'm kidding." She touched my arm lightly as a way to relax me. It did exactly the opposite. "I get it, you're a concerned mother who wants to see how well I perform. I would be curious too. Please, come in. There's a seat at the back if you want to watch for a little while."

  My legs were carrying me without my permission. I avoided eye contact with Chester, who I imagined wanted to kill me by then.

  I stayed for fifteen minutes, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. I watched and listened with fascination. Observed how at ease she was at the front of the room, and how mesmerized they all were. She was the complete package: funny, confident, learned and beautiful.

  They loved her, and my God, it was easy to see why.

  THREE

  "And Miss Petal says before we were monkeys we lived in the sea and had gills and everything."

  "And Miss Petal says that in a hundred thousand years humans will have evolved into something else, and we will look different than we do now."

  "And Miss Petal says there are many different species living on the other planets."

  It had been going on like that for two weeks, ever since her arrival. Breakfasts and dinners progressed the same, with Chester rambling about everything he'd learned in class, never forgetting to drop his teacher's now famous name in, reminding me of her existence.

  The thing was, I didn't need a reminder. I saw her every day when I dropped him off and picked him up. I saw the smile. The golden tresses of soft blonde hair. The enviously svelte body. The difference now, as opposed to with past teachers, was that I eagerly anticipated these brief moments in her presence. The sneaky little glances I took when she wasn't looking. Or the little smiles we exchanged when she caught me looking. I'd blushed so much around her, she must have thought that was my permanent color!

  "Wow, someone really likes Miss Petal, huh?" I said to my son that morning, after yet another of his monologues about his great and wonderful new teacher.

  "She's awesome. And she has an amazing voice when she sings."

  Of course she can sing too, I thought, doing an internal eye roll. What else could she do, heal the sick? Turn water into wine? He'd told me and Dominic last week, when we helped him on his hobbies essay, that she used to be a gymnast. A pro, he'd said, competing in competitions until her late teens.

  "Really?" I'd watched Dominic's eyebrows rise with intrigue. "A gymnast? And does she still practice? She must be pretty flexible..."

  I didn't need him to spell out what was on his dirty mind. The guy was like an open book – the sort that should have been banned or burned!

  "She used to be in the choir at school. She says we're going to start a class rock band. So cool," Chester went on. I'd taught him n
ot to speak with his mouth full, but when it came to Miss Petal, his favorite subject, he couldn't contain himself. Cereal sprayed everywhere as he chatted animatedly.

  "I can't wait to eat some of Miss Petal's cake today at the bake sale. It's chocolate."

  "I thought you didn't like chocolate cake, honey."

  "But Miss Petal's one will be nice. I just know it."

  I held back a laugh. Like father, like son.

  "Should we take the cookies with us now, or should I bring them this afternoon when we set up the stall?"

  He shrugged and went on talking about his teacher. If I were any other mother, Beth or Miranda especially, I would have banned mention of her name under my roof by now. But for some reason I enjoyed learning about Miss Petal's life, without her knowing. It felt a little sneaky, even though I wasn't sending Chester to her to extract the information. He couldn't answer the more pertinent questions, however, like: did she move here alone? How old was she? Was there a man in her life? None of that was my business, nor could I figure out why it even mattered to me.

  I would have to do some digging of my own. And the bake sale was the perfect opportunity for that.

  Parents and students circled and hovered around the various stalls, on which sat treats of all kinds – from homemade toffee to fancy cupcakes. I counted twenty-five tables, including mine and Chester's. Everyone had gone to a lot of trouble, like they did every year. It was sort of a big deal for the school, something mothers planned weeks in advance, practicing new recipes, trying to perfect them in time for the bake sale. All proceeds went to charity, so everyone was happy.

  I'd opted for my snowflake cookies, which had always been a hit.

  "Mmm, you have to give me this recipe," Beth said, munching on her third one. She didn't mind dropping several dollars on these, and insisted I just sell the whole batch to her.

  I laughed. "You ask me that every time I make these. It's a trade secret. If I told you I'd have to kill you."

  She pouted. "What a horrible person you are! I can't believe we're friends."

  "Are we friends?" I joked. "I thought our kids were friends. You and I just tolerate each other."

  After insisting that I was the worst person she'd ever met, then telling me she'd be back to gossip in ten minutes, she left me to go hunt down some more treats. The way she ate, she should have been the size of a castle!

  I saw Chester in the crowd with a couple of his friends, Beth's son Jack, and Miranda's daughter Emma. Typical. It was his bake sale, yet I'd been left to do the labor. Come to think of it, he hadn't helped much in the baking either.

  I was lost in thought, wondering whether I'd been unwittingly raising my son to be just like his father, when I looked up and saw Miss Petal approaching my table. Her strap dress was a light yellow and flowed when she walked, just like her hair.

  "Hi." She beamed at me, white teeth gleaming.

  "Hello." There was a frog in my throat. When I cleared it I said it again.

  She looked down at the sign on the table. "Snowflake cookies. Yummy." I watched her tongue pass across her bottom lip, and I couldn't tear my eyes away. "I just heard some of the other parents talking about them." She reached into her purse, a little one she wore across her shoulder. She took out two dollar bills. "One, please."

  I took the money from her, picked up a napkin and handed her a cookie. "If they're as delicious as everyone says they are, I might take the whole lot."

  "Actually, there's a three per customer rule."

  "Really? Wow, they must be something special."

  My intention hadn't been to watch her eat, but that was precisely what I did. I watched her take her first bite, with those succulent red lips. It seemed to happen in slow motion. I wanted her to like it; love it. Her approval was suddenly extremely important to me.

  "Oh my God, this is like a bite of Heaven!"

  Approved.

  I laughed. "I'm glad you like it."

  "Like it? I love it." She gobbled and gobbled the rest down, moaning with delight after every mouthful. The whole thing sounded a little x-rated. Too sexy for this setting. Or was that just my lecherous mind making me think that?

  "Now I understand why there's a three per customer rule. I think I'll take two more, take them home with me."

  My curiosity was piqued. Who was she taking them home for, herself or the male model I suspected she was dating? In my head she lived in this fancy, expensive apartment in the upmarket part of town, drove an expensive car, and had a rich, hunky boyfriend to fit her perfectly beautiful life. That image didn't exactly fit with the woman standing before me now, however; munching away at one of my cookies, she seemed completely unconcerned by how she looked, or what anyone thought of her.

  I wrapped a couple more up and took her money. I felt like giving them all to her for free! She probably had that effect on many people.

  "Hey, I adore your necklace. Where did you get it?" she said.

  "I made it. That's what I do. Make jewelry no one wants, then spend my life trying to convince them they can't live without it."

  She chuckled. "So you make jewelry and you can bake? And the rest of us mere mortals have to settle for being ordinary."

  Was she teasing me? There were many things this woman was, but ordinary wasn't one of them.

  I snorted, then spoke before I could stop myself. "Says the lady who sings, used to be a gymnast, and once beat Serena Williams in a friendly game of tennis."

  Oh, dear God! What the hell was I thinking coming out with that stuff? Well, that was just it, I wasn't thinking. Why had Chester shared that information with me? And, more importantly, why had I retained it?

  She looked at me with narrowed eyes, a little smirk at the corner of her mouth. "Well, that's just not fair. You know all about me, but I know nothing about you, Mrs. Thomas."

  She put a hand on her hip, and she looked and sounded like a true southern belle, her accent becoming more pronounced, more singsong in her amusement.

  "I'm sorry. Chester goes on and on about you. It's Miss Petal this, Miss Petal that." There was no way she missed my blush.

  She chuckled. "I know what children are like, don't worry about it. Chester's a great kid."

  "Do you have kids?" I silently praised myself on the natural transition into the topic of her marital status.

  "Oh no." She shook her head quickly, as though the idea was absurd. "Motherhood's a long way off for me."

  "And your boyfriend, he feels the same...?"

  "Well, if I had one he might." Her smile was daring, as though she knew the casual tone I'd been trying for was forced.

  So she was single. The world truly didn't make sense. What was the saying? If a beautiful woman is single, she must be crazy. Misogynistic drivel, but it did get me thinking. Maybe she was between relationships. Or perhaps had come out of a bitter divorce just recently. Who was I to question why she was single? I knew better than most what trouble men were. If anything, she was the sane one.

  I wanted to grill her further, but one of the dads came over to the table. I knew immediately that he had no intention of buying anything, and that Miss Petal was his target. This wasn't an isolated incident. In fact it was a regular occurrence, something I'd witnessed numerous times. The men would hover around her like bees to nectar, like moths to light bulbs. Flirted outrageously, offering to do things for her, always one overzealous compliment away from being creepy.

  "If you come down to the garage, we can do you a deal, no problem."

  "My friend owns a restaurant in town. Nice place. Just let me know when you wanna go down there and you can eat there free of charge. It might only work if I'm with you, though..."

  Yeah, they really were that slimy. Married men flirting with their kids' teacher. How pathetic. I wondered what Dominic would offer her? He'd probably offer to add her to his hedge fund or something, promising to make her filthy, stinking rich.

  "See ya, Mrs. Thomas," Miss Petal said, and walked off with the man. I shook my
head, and didn't realize I'd folded my arms until Chester came to the table and asked me why I was sulking.

  I really didn't want to consider the answer to that.

  FOUR

  "I've never seen you in that shirt before."

  Dominic's voice startled me. I didn't know I'd left my door open. How long had he been standing there watching me change?

  It was a Saturday afternoon and I was headed into town to the local bookstore. One of my favorite authors was doing a book-signing for her latest release. I'd been eagerly awaiting this event the past three months, and when I got excited like this about something it usually meant at least five outfit changes to get the right look for the day.

  "It's new," I said, dismissively. What the hell was he doing in my room anyway? He still thought he had a right to let himself in whenever he wanted.

  "Can I see it from the front?"

  "Why?"

  "Because."

  Oh, I knew what this was. High libido, none of his floozies around to satisfy his appetite, so he had to look to his wife as a last resort. His wife, who'd had to endure his nasty comments about her very slight weight gain and anything else he could use to make her feel worthless. I was by no means fat, and the few pounds I'd gained had been through stress eating, thanks to his cheating.

  "I don't have time to entertain you, Dominic. I'm sure you can find someone else to do that for you."

  "We're still married, you know. Sometimes I think you forget that." I heard the agitation in his voice.

  "Me?" Now I had to look at him, unable to believe the audacity. "Talk about pot calling the kettle black."

  "Oh enough about the women. Let go of the past. God, you sound like a broken record. And you wonder why I felt the need to look elsewhere."

  Had he come in here to screw me or screw with me? Because these comments, they were causing more shock than anger in me. Maybe he was taking his opportunity to fight now that Chester was at a friend's for the day.

  But I didn't have the time or energy to deal with his nonsense. I had a book-signing to get to.