Ten minutes later, Sam slipped in between the sheets and molded his naked body to Lydia’s, spooning her affectionately. Filled with deep elation at the feel of her warm, soft body, he held her close. But the feel of his cool, slightly damp skin woke her with a start. She smiled without even opening her eyes. With a deep hum of delicious satisfaction, she curled herself against him and murmured drowsily, “You’re back.”
“I am.” He smiled, and kissed her cheek. “Did you miss me?”
“Terribly.” She smiled back. “Even though I was sleeping, I missed you terribly.” She turned, wrapped her arms around his waist, and buried her face in his neck to breathe in the scent of him. “Mmm, you smell good, nice and clean. But you’re a little cold.”
“Oh yeah? I’m sorry. Can you warm me up?” he asked suggestively, kissing her lips and tightening his embrace.
She smirked, with her eyes still closed, and slowly ran her hand down the length of his body until it rested on his ass. Slipping her leg in between his, she purred, “Can I warm you up? Mmm, I think so…”
***
They spent the rest of the morning in their sanctuary, unable to take their hands off each other, drifting in and out of conversation and periods of lazy, delicious half-sleep. Eventually Sam ordered brunch, and they enjoyed it sitting up in bed. They had almost finished eating when Sam looked at the clock and said, “Well, it’s eleven o’clock already. Do we bother to leave this paradise and go do something else, or would you rather just stay here for the rest of the day?”
Lydia’s eyes sparkled as she asked, “What do you want to do?”
He smiled gloriously. “I honestly don’t care. I have no problem staying right here, as long as it’s with you naked in this bed. I also have no problem going out and doing anything you’d like. You said Matt’s bringing Andy home at six tonight, so you have to take a five o’clockish train, right? Okay. We have a few hours, still. So, what’ll it be? Stay in and play, or go out and play?”
She laughed, a light joyous tinkle of a laugh. “Everything. Nothing. Both.”
He leaned in and kissed her mouth. He could taste the sweetness of the maple syrup she’d had on her French toast and licked her bottom lip. “Sounds good to me.”
She glanced towards the windows. Sunlight streamed through the blinds and warmed the room with its glow. “It looks like another nice day… I’m truly torn.”
“Is there anything specific you’d like to do?” Sam asked. “Other than me, of course.”
She laughed and tossed her napkin at him. He laughed too.
“You know what I’d like to do?” she said slowly, as the idea occurred to her and unfolded in her mind. “Yesterday, you took me to the park, definitely my kind of thing. Today, I want to do your kind of thing. You love art, you’re an artist. Take me to a museum, or a gallery, or wherever you’d go by yourself, and show me something you like. I want to see you in your element, on your home turf.”
A slow, deep smile spread on his face and lit his eyes. “That sounds fantastic. I’d love to do that with you.”
By 11:30 a.m., they were in a cab, en route to the Museum of Modern Art. They strolled through some of the grand rooms and halls. Lydia held Sam’s hand and let him lead her around, from exhibit to exhibit, as he showed her what he liked, what he loved, what interested him, even what didn’t appeal to him at all. She listened to him talk and watched his face as he grew animated while describing something. She liked how passionate he became when pointing out something that gripped him, and felt a little stir deep inside her… something more than appreciation or infatuation; something like true affection.
At 2:30 p.m., they headed back to the hotel. They had a quick lunch in the hotel café, then went up to his room so they could pack their things. Her train was leaving Penn Station at five; a car service was coming at six to take him to JFK Airport, giving him ample time to catch his flight at eight-fifteen back to O’Hare.
Once they were both finished packing, Sam gave Lydia a wicked grin and, without warning, tossed her onto the bed. She giggled as he climbed on top of her. “A quickie for the road?” she quipped.
“I was hoping.” He shot her a lazy, unbearably sexy smile. “I hear the fourth time’s a charm.”
“You’re greedy. You’re insatiable. You’re a machine!” A low groan escaped her as he nibbled mercilessly on her neck. “Oh God… I’m not going to be able to walk.”
“I’ll carry you to the train,” he laughed, and kissed her passionately.
Half an hour later, Sam watched Lydia in content silence as she got dressed again. His eyes lingered on her as she zipped up her jeans, fastened her black bra, and pulled the soft burgundy sweater over her head once more. He watched her put on her jewelry, comb her tousled hair into submission, all with a besotted smile. “Hey,” he said, his voice velvety. “Come here.”
She smiled and crawled across the mattress to him. He was stretched out leisurely, still naked, the sheets pulled up to his waist. She kissed him, ran her fingers over his chest, and said, “You really should get dressed if you want to walk me down to the taxi stand. I have to get going soon, or I’ll miss my train.”
“Lydia.” His eyes were fixed on her face, and the tone of his voice was serious. He ran a fingertip along her cheek. “This was the most incredible weekend… I loved every minute of it. I hope you did too.”
“Are you kidding me?” she said, incredulous. She kissed him again, more firmly this time. “Everything was wonderful. I can't even… it went way beyond what I thought it would be. You’re wonderful. I had a fantastic weekend with you.”
He smiled at her. “Good.” He held her face in his palm, compelling her to look into his eyes, and asked quietly, “So when are we seeing each other again?”
Her breath caught and her heart skipped a beat. This was the one thing they hadn’t talked about. She’d been afraid to broach the subject, uncertain of what he was thinking. “Um… I don’t know?”
“Nope. No good. I need to know.” Not releasing her face, he caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb and held her gaze. “Lydia… this is real. We’re good together. We enjoy each other. This is…” He stared intently into her eyes. “This could be the beginning of something fantastic. I want to be with you, and you want to be with me. So we just have to make it work somehow. I’ll come back to New York. What about in two weeks? That’s the weekend before Thanksgiving. I don’t want to wait longer than that to see you again.”
“I’d love to see you, and that sounds so good,” she said. “But it’s not fair to you. To fly out here again—”
“Shhh,” he cut her off. He delicately moved his thumb over her lips to silence her. “I told you, the money’s not an issue for me, so please don’t argue with me about that. Andy is the main issue for you. You can’t come to Chicago every other weekend. I can go wherever I want, whenever I want. I have the freedom, the flexibility; you don't. So you just find the babysitting coverage, and I’ll come here. No work stuff this time, no made up business trip—I’ll fly in real early on Saturday and fly home late on Sunday. I’ll even stay at a hotel on Long Island if it’s easier for you than coming into Manhattan. But we’re doing this. So you just tell me when.”
Her lips sealed together as she searched the depths of his dark eyes. She knew he was sincere, that he meant every sweet, earnest word. She believed him. She consciously jettisoned her doubts and inhibitions, and smiled a luminous smile. “Um… tomorrow?”
His eyes lit up and his smile mirrored hers as he kissed her deeply, threading his fingers through her hair and pulling her close.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“TRY AGAIN, JIMMY.” Lydia rearranged the letter tiles in front of the eight-year-old boy sitting across from her. “If we want to turn the word ‘car’ into ‘care’, how would we do that?”
Jimmy yawned. He was more tired than usual that morning. Lydia wondered if he was still not getting enough sleep at night, and made a mental note to send another note ho
me to his mother, asking if everything was alright.
From her desk, Lydia’s cell phone rang. It was the ringtone she’d chosen specifically for Andy’s preschool. Her insides instantly seized with dread. “Excuse me, Jimmy, I’ll be right back, okay?”
Jimmy nodded drowsily and rested his chin on his hand.
Lydia got up from the table and rushed to her small desk. She grabbed her cell phone. “Hi, this is Lydia Powell,” she said, unable to keep the worry out of her voice. “Is Andy alright?”
“Hi Mrs. Powell, it’s Mrs. Greene,” said Andy’s preschool teacher. “He’s okay, he’s fine. But we had an incident this morning, and you need to be aware of what happened.”
Lydia felt her blood pulse and swirl through her core, making her slightly nauseous. Not again. “What happened?”
“Well, we were having circle time, and he was trying to tell us something about the book we were reading. He tried several times, and we really tried to understand and help him, but we weren’t getting it. He got frustrated, as he has before, of course, and, well…” Mrs. Greene paused before saying, “Well, he picked up a chair—one of the child-sized chairs, but still, a chair—and threw it across the room. Barely missed another student. But she was pretty shaken up nonetheless.”
Oh God. “She’s alright, though?” Lydia managed to ask. Her mouth felt like it had been sandpapered, and her hands were turning to ice. “He didn’t hurt anybody, did he?”
“No, no, everyone’s fine, thank goodness,” Mrs. Greene assured her. “It’s just, that, well… we were wondering if you could come in for a conference. With us, and with the school directors. So we could discuss this further, and discuss possible alternatives and outcomes.”
Lydia was a teacher. She knew school-speak. This was not good. “Um, of course, sure… let me just check my schedule, could you hold on for just a minute?”
“We were thinking some time tomorrow morning, if you have any time available?” Mrs. Greene said. Her voice was even enough, but the message was unmistakable.
Lydia closed her eyes, took a silent deep breath. “Sure. I’ll be there. How’s nine o’clock?”
***
Jane walked over to the kitchen nook, set down a steaming cup of orange spice tea in front of her younger sister, and studied her with concern. “You know that line you get, that crease in your forehead whenever you’re upset?”
Lydia nodded.
“It’s been there from the moment you walked into the house and hasn’t let up.” Jane sat down, grasped her sister’s hands across the table, and cupped them gently around the mug to warm them.
Lydia smiled wearily. Jane knew her so well.
“So what’s the bottom line here?” Jane asked, pulling her hands away from Lydia’s to fold them on the table in front of her. “Are they throwing him out of school?”
“Not exactly. Not yet, anyway,” Lydia said. The warmth of the cup felt good under her wintry hands. “The meeting this morning was basically to set up the pretense: they don’t think regular preschool is the right thing for him. His speech delay is severe, his frustration is growing, and he’s acting out more and more.”
“They’re afraid he’s going to hurt somebody,” Jane guessed.
“Probably. But they have a point.” Lydia sighed and admitted, “Maybe regular school is too much to handle for him right now. He needs something else, something more.”
“Oh, Lyddie, come on,” Jane scoffed. “That’s crap. He gets along here with all my kids just fine.” She opened a palm and swept it in the direction of the basement; the loud, joyful voices of Andy, Ethan, and Sophie playing together were easily discernible. “Does that sound like someone dangerous?”
“But he has thrown things, even here,” Lydia reminded her. “He gets so frustrated sometimes that he’s had some serious tantrums. He needs help. And maybe it’s more help than these teachers are equipped to give him. Maybe they’re right.”
Jane sighed heavily. “Alright then. Say they are. So now what?”
“We now have a meeting with the CPSE chairperson of the school district,” Lydia said.
“The what?” Jane asked, confused.
“CPSE stands for Childhood Preschool Special Education. CPSE makes decisions for all preschool children in a given district. The CPSE meeting is next week. We’ll see what the chairperson has to say.”
“Wait, what?” Jane gaped at her younger sister. “Special Ed? Andy doesn’t need Special Ed.”
“How do you know?” Lydia said evenly.
“Because he’s not on the spectrum at all,” Jane argued. “And he’s a very bright little boy.”
“Who is rapidly becoming a behavior problem,” Lydia said in defeat. “And his speech, even though he gets speech therapy three times a week, isn’t improving as quickly as we’d hoped. In fact, it’s barely improved at all.”
“Oh for Chrissakes,” Jane spat, eyes flashing fire. “He’ll get there! He needs more time! He’s frustrated because he can’t express himself! He’s not a behavior problem!”
“Ah Janie.” Lydia smiled softly. “You’re a ferociously devoted aunt, and I love you for it. But I’m a teacher. I know what they’re saying, what they’re thinking, and what will likely happen now. They’re going to recommend sending him to a special needs school. The director today used the words, ‘a more structured environment’. I knew exactly what she meant, right away. They’d already set up the meeting with CPSE before I even got there this morning.”
Jane expelled a harsh, disgruntled breath. “Are you going to fight them?”
“Actually, no,” Lydia said flatly. “It’s not like they want to send him to prison, Janie. It’s a special needs school. He’d probably get speech every single day, along with whatever else he might need that we’re unaware of. It could very well be the better place for him.”
“I hate when you talk like a teacher,” Jane grumbled.
“Fine. How’s this: I’m getting desperate,” Lydia admitted. “He obviously needs more help than he’s getting. I want whatever’s best for Andy. If that’s the place he needs to be, then that’s where he should be. What am I going to do?”
“I like it better when you talk like a mother,” Jane said. She heaved a deep sigh. “If you’re so okay with this, then why do you look like hell?”
“Because no mother wants to hear that their child is acting out in school,” Lydia said simply, her posture wilting. Her shoulders slumped. “Who wants to hear that their child isn’t progressing, much less that he might be a danger to others, or to himself? Yeah, that was fun.”
Jane reached across the table to hold Lydia's hands again. “Andy is one of the sweetest little boys I’ve ever seen. He just can’t talk, and he’s frustrated. He’s going to get there. He’s going to be fine.”
Lydia’s eyes filled with tears as she stared at her sister in silent anguish.
“Shhh,” Jane said, grasping her hands tighter. “No, no, honey. Don't do that. One day, that kid will be talking normally, and he won’t shut the hell up, and we’ll remember back to when we used to worry about him so much and say, ‘Can you believe how crazy we made ourselves?’ I promise, Lyddie.”
Lydia just nodded mutely and sniffed her tears back.
“Hey.” Jane sat up a bit straighter in her chair. “Have you told Matt about this yet?”
At that, Lydia instantly dissolved into a mixture of weary agitation and hot defiance. “No. Ugh. I’m not even going to tell him about any of this until after the initial CPSE meeting. Why bother when there’s really not much to tell him yet? He’ll just aggravate me until the meeting. I’d rather put off his aggravating me until after the meeting.”
“Works for me.” Jane shrugged.
Cooper walked into the kitchen. “Mom? Can I have a snack?”
“Of course,” Jane said, rising from the table.
“How’s it going, Coop?” Lydia asked her eldest nephew, making a conscious effort to shake off her gloom.
“Fin
e, thanks. Just hungry.” He went over to sit in the chair his mother had vacated.
“How about…” Jane said slowly, standing in front of the open refrigerator, “an apple?”
“Nooo,” Cooper moaned. “I want Doritos.”
“Tell ya what,” Jane said, turning back to her son with a shiny green apple in her hand. “You eat the apple, and you can have the chips with it. Deal?”
“Deal,” Cooper grunted.
Lydia smiled benevolently. “Poor you, you have such a terrible mom, making you eat something healthy. The horror.”
Cooper just gave a half smirk. Then his face lit up as he said, “Hey, Aunt Lydia, guess what I’m reading now?”
“Harry Potter, third book,” she said.
“Nope,” he said, his chest puffing up with pride. “I’m up to the fourth one.”
“What?” Lydia said in disbelief. She gaped at the nine-year-old boy. “Weren’t you just reading the second one, like, last week?”
“That was almost two weeks ago already,” Cooper scoffed.
“He’s like you,” Jane said to her sister as she brought the apple and a bowl of chips to the table. “Fastest and most focused reader I ever saw. When he picks up a book, he can’t put it down ‘til he’s done with it. Just like his auntie.”
Lydia smiled proudly at her nephew. “Thatta boy. Good for you, honey.”
Cooper gave her a broad, pleased smile, took his food, and left the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be in my room, okay?”
“Okay,” Jane said, retaking her seat. She waited until her son was out of earshot before she said, “God, he reminds me of you so much sometimes. How did I have your child?”
Lydia smiled at the jest and said, “He’s pretty awesome.”
Winter Hopes (Seasons of Love) Page 13
