LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

shut again.

      “If you have a problem with me teaching your son,” she said, proud of the composure that kept her tone calm, her temper in check despite the trembling of her fingers, “you may certainly take it up with the principal. But for the record, all I want is for my kids to do well. To succeed.”

      “Your kids?”

      That composure cracked enough to have her lifting her chin, straightening her spine. “I’m with those children—your child—for close to eight hours a day, one hundred and eighty days of the year. I feel a connection to them, so yes, they’re my kids. In a certain context.”

      More than a connection, she felt a responsibility toward them. It was up to her to help them reach their highest potential.

      She crossed her arms. “How about we clear the air so we can move forward and both do what’s best for Max. What, exactly, is your problem with me?”

      Surprise and, if she wasn’t mistaken, respect flashed in his eyes before they shuttered again.

      “No problem.”

      Her left eye twitched. She pressed the tips of her fingers against it. “No need to hold back.” She certainly didn’t like to keep her opinions, her thoughts to herself. Not when she could share them with the world. “I can’t fix the problem if I don’t know what it is.”

      Eddie wiped his palm down his mouth. His jaw tight, his shoulders rigid, he gave a short nod. “You’re judging Max based on our history.”

      Finally they were getting somewhere. “Max’s and your history? Because I’m not all that familiar with it. I mean, I know you’re divorced and that Max’s mother lives in Chicago—”

      “Our—” he gestured between them “—history.”

      She raised her eyebrows. “I hadn’t realized we—” she mimicked his gesture “—had a history.”

      Sure, they’d gone to school together but they hadn’t run with the same crowd. Actually, she couldn’t remember Eddie running with any crowd. Then again, she hadn’t paid much attention to him. Boys like Eddie Montesano had never been her type, though a small segment of her girlfriends had found him appealing.

      She had no idea why.

      Okay, so he wasn’t exactly a troll, and yes, he had the whole not-quite-tall, dark and handsome thing going for him with a wide chest and flat stomach. His hair was thick and brushed back from his high forehead to fall in wavy disarray. He had heavy eyebrows, a sharp, square jawline covered in dark stubble and a Roman nose with a prominent bridge.

      All in all, a pretty package. But Harper had always preferred guys who were more charming, less brooding. Outgoing instead of introverted. Lighter in coloring and personality.

      Men like Beau, her blond, blue-eyed husband, who’d swept her off her feet with his humor, charm and joy for life.

      Her throat tightened, and she swallowed a pang of grief. Averted her gaze so Eddie didn’t see the pain she knew must be in her eyes. She missed Beau so much. Every day without him was a step in a new direction, toward a future without the man she’d promised to love for the rest of her life.

      She wasn’t sure which was worse. The days she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Or the more recent days when she realized she hadn’t thought of him at all.

      She cleared her throat, concentrated on the glowering man in front of her. “Did I do something to offend you in high school?”

      “You tutored me. In English,” he added when she just stared.

      “I remember, but what does my tutoring you a hundred years ago have to do with anything in the here and now?”

      His jaw worked as if he was grinding his teeth into dust. “You think there’s something wrong with Max because I had issues in school.”

      She hadn’t known it was possible, but he’d managed to shock her into silence for a second time. It had to be some sort of record.

      “First of all, there is nothing, not one blessed thing wrong with Max,” she said, her voice vibrating as indignation on behalf of that sweet boy swept through her. “He’s having some issues that I feel need addressing. What I’m suggesting is that we figure out what those issues are so we can devise a strategy to help him succeed. And for your information, my evaluation of each student is based on his or her individual efforts. I take into account their past grades, test scores and how they’re currently doing in my class. And for you to suggest that I look at Max and think, ‘Oh, well, there’s the son of someone I helped understand King Lear junior year so he must have some...issues,’” she said, doing a fair impersonation of his gravelly voice on that last word, “is not only one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard, it’s also one of the most insulting.”

      There. She’d given him a piece of her mind said in her best do-not-mess-with-me-I-am-a-teacher tone, the one that had cowed many others.

      That those others happened to be under the age of ten didn’t matter.

      “It was The Grapes of Wrath,” he said, not the least bit intimidated, darn him. “Sophomore year.”

      She rolled her eyes then immediately squeezed them shut. God. Bad enough he had her acting unprofessionally, now she was reverting to the teenager she’d been when they’d spent a few hours studying Steinbeck’s classic novel. Next thing she knew, she’d be telling him, as clearly and succinctly as possible, exactly how big of an ass he was being.

      Inhaling deeply, she held it for the count of five. She could do this. She dealt with children all day, had weathered more than her fair share of tantrums, meltdowns and bad behavior.

      “All I want,” she said, “is to help Max. Surely you want the same thing.”

      “If Max needs help, I’ll give it to him.”

      “In the interest of doing what’s best for Max, I’m sure we can come to some sort of compromise.” Though she hadn’t been able to charm him in the least so far, she tried another smile. Hey, she may be banging her head against his obstinacy but that didn’t mean she had to give up. “Seeing as how we’re old friends and all.”

      “We weren’t friends.”

      Her smile slid away. Then again, giving up had its merits. Such as saving her from one heck of a headache. “What would you call it? Acquaintances? School chums? Oh, how about tutor and tutee?”

      “Is that a real word?”

      She had no idea. “The bottom line is that I’m concerned about Max.”

      “I appreciate your concern,” he said in a tone that made it clear he couldn’t care less about her concern, her opinions or her standing as his son’s teacher. “But I don’t want Max observed by some psychologist or singled out in any way. Like I said, I’ll talk to him. Get him to pay more attention, to not fidget as much.”

      “I don’t think it’ll be that easy. And as Max’s teacher, I feel it’s my responsibility to tell you I disagree with your decision and wish you would reconsider.”

      “You don’t have to be his teacher.”

      His threat, implicit but oh, so clear, slid along her spine, had her narrowing her eyes. No one threatened her. No one. “You’d pull Max from my class?”

      He shrugged as if that said it all—which, she supposed, it did.

      She stared at his broad back as he opened the door and called into the classroom, “Time to go, Max.”

      “You’re not serious,” she said when he faced her. Then again, he looked as if he was never anything but serious. Serious. Stubborn. Annoying.

      And most of all, just plain wrong.

      When he twitched, as if moving to lift his shoulder, she held up a hand. “For God’s sake,” she snapped, “use your

Скачать книгу