Julie lay still in the dark, silent house, Russell asleep beside her. That she felt threatened by Heather’s potential interest in Russell was a sign of just how much her marriage had disintegrated. In the past she’d encountered situations that might have led a less secure woman to be jealous, mostly to do with Russell’s female students. Some of them misunderstood his teasing and good humor to mean more than he intended.
But she’d never let any of that worry her. Because she and Russell shared everything, and besides, he just wasn’t that sort of guy.
But even a decent guy, even a wonderful guy, could fall out of love with his wife. And if an attractive ex-girlfriend happened to be on the scene at the right time, ready to rekindle the heady passion of that man’s first love…
Once, Julie had thought she and Russell were perfectly matched. They shared common interests, goals, values. But since Ben’s accident, maybe even before, Russell had been changing. This new man, Julie was afraid, might be more suited to Heather than to her.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. Listening to her husband’s heavy breathing, she tried to reassure herself that everything was okay. Her marriage had suffered over the past few months, but it was recovering. And so was Ben.
Ben.
Just like that, the old fear and guilt returned. Julie stared up at the dark ceiling, afraid to close her eyes. She’d been doing better lately; at least, she’d thought she had. But now she felt the same desperate anxiety that had plagued her in those first months after the accident.
Why couldn’t she just forget? But no, she would never do that. Some part of her needed to suffer the way her son had suffered. And to wonder, and imagine, over and over and over.
Everything must have happened so quickly, but had there been a moment when her son had cried out “Mommy”—only to realize she wasn’t there? Had he felt that split second of betrayal?
She should have been there. She’d never get over that, ever. As for Ben, she had no idea if he sometimes wondered, Why was I in that van with Jeff and his mother? Where were you, Mom? Weren’t you sup posed to come to the aquarium with us that day?
Yes, she was. But when Ben’s need had been greatest, she’d been pointing at stupid advertising revenue charts in the magazine boardroom.
What had her son suffered while she’d been immersed in her facts and figures? Again she made herself imagine every moment—the shock of that first impact, the jolt of being thrown from a vehicle traveling at fifty miles an hour, then cuts from the glass of the passenger window and the agony of smacking onto the hard ground.
Perhaps even more terrifying than the physical pain, Ben must have felt fear. Had he had time to think I’m going to die? Had her son, her nine-year-old son, faced his mortality in those horrific seconds? Had it been the trauma of the events, even more than the physical injury, that had caused the five-day coma?
Her eyes burned, and she pressed her palms against the closed lids, seeking relief. But still she couldn’t stop the image that followed next, the oh-so-clear picture of a single Converse running shoe. Size three. Laces untied. Flying through the air, just like Ben…
Oh, God. Please help me.
SEVERAL WEEKS PASSED and September was almost over. The skies remained blue, but the nighttime temperatures were crisp. Most crops had been harvested by now. Frost clung to tomato vines and withered the still-flowering geraniums. The leaves on the poplars that lined almost all the streets of the town turned the color of sunshine.
At school, routines were well established, the freewheeling days of summer now memories and scraps of papers in photo albums. Almost five months had passed since his accident, and yet Ben continued to struggle in the classroom. His memory was unreliable. He found it difficult to sit still and concentrate for longer periods of time.
At night, Julie tried to help. She sat next to him at the kitchen table and broke the math problems into discrete steps.
“Five kids, each with eight dollars. How much money does that make in total, Ben?”
Clutching his pencil in a grip that Julie imagined cavemen had used with their spears, Ben pressed the tip firmly into his sheet of paper. He didn’t know. He just didn’t know.
“Okay, Ben. We’re talking about five sets of eight. Remember your times tables?”
He’d had them memorized up to the tens table at the end of grade two. Then the twelves table at the end of grade three. Julie had to believe his brain still held all that information. She just had to help Ben find the right pathway to retrieve it.
“Try it this way, Ben. One set of five is five. Two sets of five are…”
“Ten,” he said grudgingly.
“Okay. Add another set of five…”
“Fifteen…” Catching on, he scribbled in the margin as he counted by fives. “Thirty-five, forty. That’s it. The kids have forty dollars.”
“Great. So now let’s see how much the gift they want to buy for their teacher costs.” Julie checked the problem. “Okay, it’s thirty-five dollars.”
“They’ll have money left over.”
“Good! That’s right, Ben. Now we have to figure out how much money each of the kids will receive in change.”
Having worked so hard to get that far, Ben just couldn’t take it. “That’s too hard, Mom.”
“No, Ben, you can do this. Look, we just—”
“I said I can’t! Why don’t you ever listen to me?” Ben pushed back on the table, jumped off his chair and ran out of the room.
Julie sank her face into her folded arms. Russell, who’d been in the family room, grading papers, came up behind her. She felt his big hands rub comfortingly into her neck.
“He knows this stuff, Russell. He knows it….” God, she was frustrated. Poor Ben had to feel much worse. A year ago, he could have done this problem in his head.
“He’s tired, Jule. Maybe we can work with him on the weekend.”
“But the assignment is due tomorrow!”
“So he doesn’t hand it in on time. Heather will understand.”
Julie acknowledged that Russell was right. This wasn’t such a big deal. Why was she upset? Ben simply needed to relearn his multiplication tables. The same way he’d needed to relearn riding a bike and using a fork.
But there was so much Ben needed to relearn. Not just multiplication tables. Words, their meanings and spellings. Facts about the world. How to tell time.
“Russell, the other night when we tried to play Yahtzee—he couldn’t. Even after I explained the rules.” Ben had mastered the game when he was seven.
Russell stopped his impromptu massage. “Maybe we’re hitting him with too much too soon.” His tone conveyed annoyance. “You’ve got to be more patient. It isn’t helping Ben when he sees you get stressed like this.”
He was right, and she ought to agree with him, but instead she argued obstinately. “How can you always be so calm? Whatever Ben does is fine with you. Don’t you care that he can’t even read at grade level anymore?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, I see no sign of it. When was the last time you sat down to help Ben with his homework?”
Russell strode to the fridge, pulled out a beer and popped the top. “When was the last time you gave me a chance? You’re already working him too hard. The kid needs rest.”
“Yes, that’s what you say when it’s time for homework. But when Ben wants to tool around town with his buddies, you’re fine with that. Face it, Russell. You’ve stopped being a parent to that boy. You just let him do whatever he wants.”
“Is that what you really think?”
I don’t know! Part of her realized she’d lashed out at Russell because she’d wanted to provoke a reaction.
“I believe we both want what’s right for Ben,” she finally allowed. Carefully she closed the math workbook and set aside the pencil. “We just have different ideas about the best way to help him.”
Russell leaned against the counter. She wondered if he had any idea how good he loo
ked right then, in his jeans and a faded blue T-shirt.
They hadn’t made love in weeks now. Hadn’t even cuddled in bed. Her husband seemed to grow more distant by the day and she couldn’t help but wonder if Heather was the reason. Or was she using the other woman as a scapegoat? Maybe Russell was simply fed up at dealing with her anxieties. Clearly, that was their problem tonight. “I’m going to take a bath.”
“Fine. I’ll tuck Ben in, then finish my papers.”
She left the room, head high but heart unsteady. Without a doubt she knew Russell wouldn’t be popping his head in the bathroom to offer to scrub her back. Nor would he budge from his side of the bed tonight.
She longed for the comfort of his arms. How to take that first step, though? He was still angry with her, and frankly she hadn’t cooled off completely yet, either. This wasn’t the right time.
But when would the time be right?
QUESTION: MY HOME OFFICE is also a spare bedroom that is used fairly regularly. How can I integrate my filing cabinets and computer equipment to make the room more welcoming for my guests?
Julie read her first official question, received by e-mail one week after the last monthly issue of West Coast Homes. She’d felt a little trepidation about her new assignment. But now she relaxed. This query wasn’t bad. In fact, it was almost too easy.
Answer: Your letter arrived with perfect timing, as I am just now struggling with this issue myself. Balancing function with beauty is the key and the perfect solution—
A loud rap sounded on the front door. Watson scrambled off the blanket near Julie’s feet and dashed for the entrance. Skip, sleeping on Julie’s monitor, didn’t even open her eyes.
“God, I love cats,” Julie mumbled, wishing she could choose not to react, too. But she’d hear about this later, Sunday at dinner.
What were you doing Wednesday morning? I came by at ten and no one answered my knock.
Sure enough, when she opened the door, Betty Matthew stood on the front step. She had on a warm jacket and boots. Last night had brought snow, the first of the season. So far it hadn’t melted, although Russell assured her it wouldn’t stay. Heavens, it wasn’t even October yet.
“Betty. Come in.”
She carried a plastic grocery bag, which she passed to Julie as soon as she’d stepped onto the sisal carpeting that defined the small entranceway.
Julie peeked inside and saw folded denim.
“I patched the knees on Ben’s trousers.”
“How did you…?”
“I told him to bring them last Sunday.”
And Ben hadn’t said a word. “I’ve already bought him a new pair.”
“Nothing wrong with those. He can wear them to play.”
“Well. Thank you.” She hitched the bag onto the back of a nearby chair. “Would you like some coffee?” She’d already taken hers at the café. She’d become a regular, hooked by the daily progress reports on Bernie and Chad English’s attempts to get Bernie pregnant.
She knew their entire history now. The collective knowledge of the community had been released, bit by bit, starting with Bernie’s first pregnancy in high school, their subsequent marriage, then a recent separation, during which time Bernie had kicked Chad out of the house, almost straight into the waiting arms of Miranda James.
Of course, Miranda had ended up marrying Warren Addison, but that was another story….
“Wouldn’t mind,” Betty allowed. She followed Julie to the kitchen and watched as Julie ground the beans. “That’s a lot of fuss. Why not buy your coffee ready to go?”
“I prefer the fresh flavor.” These beans were her only link to the charming, sane coffee shop where she used to buy her regular morning fix.
Waiting for the coffeemaker created an awkward pause between them. Julie gazed over her mother-in-law’s head at the view of the lake. All the leaves had fallen off the lakeside trees now, and with the sky still gray with clouds, the sight struck her as beautiful but slightly melancholic.
Julie set out mugs, cream, sugar. After a brief pause, she transferred cookies from a package to a plate.
“Is this what you put in Ben’s lunch?” Betty picked up one of the chocolate-icing sandwiches and examined it.
For what?
Mold? Insects?
“Ben loves them.”
“He loves my oatmeal raisins, too.”
“I’d ask for the recipe, but maybe we should keep them special.” The coffee wasn’t completely ready. However, there was enough for two cups, so Julie poured.
When Betty raised her eyebrows and pronounced, “It’s a little strong,” Julie had to check a smile. Of course the coffee was too strong. Of course the store-bought cookies weren’t good enough for Ben. Of course it was better to mend old jeans than to buy new.
“I saw Ben in the playground with his friends yesterday. Doesn’t seem that long ago that his father was the same age.”
“You saw Ben in the playground? What time was it, Betty?” She’d driven into Yorkton to buy Ben’s jeans, leaving on the understanding that Ben would have a rest, then do his homework.
“I’m not sure. I had run to the store for some flour, so maybe four-thirty. Maybe five.” Betty frowned. “Why?”
“He was supposed to be doing his homework.” Julie dampened the dishcloth and cleaned the fine spray of coffee grounds that had landed on the counter.
“He’s a boy. He has to play.”
Oh, great. Here came another lecture on the subject of her son.
“How’s Larry?” she asked, to change the subject.
“He’s fine. Everyone’s fine.”
Betty sounded annoyed at Julie for asking. And Julie had to fight to stop herself from saying, No, everyone is not fine, Betty. My son doesn’t know his times tables. He can’t read a book that he’d had practically memorized last year. He still isn’t running properly.
What good would exploding at Betty do? Let her mend Ben’s trousers and think that was good enough. She was like her son in that way. Too accepting of a fate that could not be accepted.
Julie, however, would not believe that her son wasn’t going to get better. He would be everything that he’d been before. Smart. Strong. Funny. Confident.
Like his father. Ben had been so much like his father.
DURING MORNING RECESS, Russell found Heather in her classroom, erasing the chalkboards. She’d been avoiding him for weeks now. Since the night she’d had them over for a barbecue.
He shut the door behind him, and she started.
“Oh, Russ, it’s you.” She began to smile, then that worried look took over and she resumed wiping down the boards.
He stepped farther into the room, between two neat rows of desks, up to the end of her desk.
“Heather, we need to talk.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to write out the math problem for the day. Were you thinking of another joint classroom project?”
He’d been agonizing over this for what felt like ages. He knew the anxiety was affecting his relationship with Julie. If there was a problem here—between Heather and him—he had to deal with it.
But Heather wasn’t making this easy. She put on a forced smile whenever he was near, and rushed out of the staff room if it seemed she might end up alone with him.
“No, this has nothing to do with work. It’s about us.”
She faced him finally, her back pressed to the board. She was going to get chalk all over her pretty pink sweater.
“Us?”
He’d made her nervous. Not only did her flushing cheeks give her away, but the nervous rise and fall of her chest, the way her hands twisted the rag she’d used to clean the boards.
“I’ve got to ask you. About that year—”
“The bell’s about to ring. We can’t discuss this now. We can’t.” She started to pace the length of the classroom, putting up a hand when he tried to speak. “Be quiet, Russ, please. This isn’t the time.”
“Well, what other time do we have?�
�� He had to go home for lunch, and even if he didn’t, he and Heather would find no privacy in the staff room. He’d thought about stopping by her house, but hell, in a town this size, someone was bound to notice and he didn’t want to start any stupid rumors.
“Why don’t you phone me tonight.”
“This is something we need to discuss in person. How about we meet across the lake by the dock. I’ll take Watson for a walk.”
He did that sometimes. So Julie wouldn’t be suspicious…
Which was an awful way to have to think, but Russell couldn’t see that he had a choice. He needed to find out what was going on with Heather. And then he’d know whether or not to tell Julie.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RUSSELL WAS PREOCCUPIED at dinner that evening. Usually he came home with at least a couple of stories to share from his classroom. Tonight he barely seemed to taste the food he ate or hear the bits of news Julie and Ben exchanged.
After dinner, he helped Julie clean the kitchen while grilling Ben on his times tables.
“Three times three?”
“Nine.”
“Good. Four times five?”
“Um…twelve…? No—twenty!”
“That’s right. How about forty million times six zillion?”
“Da-ad!”
“Sorry, I didn’t know you weren’t working on the zillion times table yet. I guess that’s grade six.”
And on it went, for a good fifteen minutes. Julie was pleased to see Russell taking the role of teacher with Ben for a change. But while she would have preferred the session to continue a little longer, as soon as Russell had the tea towel folded and hanging on the peg inside the cupboard door, he suggested something else to Ben.
“How about we go out back and play a little catch.”
For a while Julie sat on the deck watching them, laughing at Watson, who grabbed the ball every time Ben missed, then tried to bury it in the raspberry bushes. The evening breeze ruffled the remaining leaves on the lilac shrubs that bordered both sides of the property. Beyond the chain link fence at the back, the lake shimmered like liquid silver.
Small-Town Girl (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) (Mills & Boon Superromance) Page 10
