LITMIR.BIZ

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them. “And I’ll do it on my own.”

      This isn’t what’s best for him, she wanted to yell. But Max shot worried glances between them, so she kept her thoughts to herself. Continued keeping them to herself as Eddie and his son walked away.

      * * *

      EDDIE PUSHED OPEN the school’s front doors, stepped into the sunshine and descended the wide, concrete steps, Max next to him. At the bottom, they turned left and headed toward the parking lot.

      He breathed in the fresh air, but it did little to ease the tension tightening his neck, causing a headache to brew behind his temples. Worse than the pain? He couldn’t shake the image of Harper’s mouth, of those pink, heart-shaped lips moving as she’d talked.

      And talked and talked and talked some more.

      There were much better things she could do with that mouth.

      All I want is to help Max. Surely you want the same thing.

      Of course he did. That was all he’d ever wanted. All he cared about.

      And damn her for questioning him like that, for making it seem as if his resistance to her concerns was something other than his protective instincts.

      She wanted to stick Max with a label, one he’d have for the rest of his life. One that would screw up his self-esteem, make him question his own abilities. No way would Eddie ever let that happen.

      No way would he let his son go through what he’d gone through.

      He’d handle it, he assured himself, in a calm, rational way.

      Though Harper might disagree about the rational part.

      Didn’t matter. He had to do what he felt was right.

      Eddie would work with Max, talk to him about how important it was to pay close attention in class. He’d go over every bit of Max’s homework, make sure it got completed to the best of Max’s capabilities. In a few weeks, his grades would improve and Harper would realize she’d been wrong. That she’d overreacted about the fidgeting, short attention span and impatience—which were all normal traits shared by a great many seven-year-old boys.

      His son was no different from anyone else.

      “Dad?” Max asked, breathless as they reached the parking lot.

      Realizing Max was jogging to keep pace with his long, angry strides, Eddie slowed. “Hmm?”

      “Am I in trouble?”

      Eddie stopped. “No. Why?”

      Max stared at the ground, kicked a pebble. “’Cause Mrs. Kavanagh wanted to talk to you.”

      “It was a parent/teacher conference. So she could tell me how you’re doing.”

      “I haven’t been fighting,” Max blurted, his cheeks turning red. “Not even a little. Not even when Aaron took my turn on the monkey bars today. I walked away, like you told me.”

      “That’s good.” Though he should probably add something about standing your ground when you know you’re in the right, not letting people push you around and learning how to talk things through. To compromise.

      Use your words.

      Easy for Harper to say. She had more than her fair share of words while Eddie was always searching for the right ones.

      “Does Mrs. Kavanagh like me?” Max asked.

      “Yeah. She likes you a lot.” That much had been clear. “Do you...” He grabbed the back of his neck, massaged the ache there. “Do you like her?”

      Max nodded so hard, his hair flopped into his eyes. “She’s nice. And funny. And she doesn’t yell even when someone’s being really bad.”

      Eddie dropped his hand. “That’s...great.”

      Yeah, freaking terrific. It would be so much easier switching Max to another class if he’d disliked Harper or, at the very least, didn’t give a damn about her one way or the other. Not that Eddie was set on that course of action. She’d said herself she needed his permission for Max to be observed by the shrink. As long as she didn’t push him, Eddie wouldn’t have a reason to pull Max from her class.

      “Come on,” he said. “We have to stop at Bradford House and see how Heath did with the kitchen cabinets.”

      “Can I get a snack before practice?”

      Damn. That was right. It was Tuesday. Max had hockey practice. Eddie would never stop being grateful Mark Benton had stepped up and offered to coach before Eddie could get stuck with the job.

      He glanced at his watch. Why were there never enough hours in the day? “Sure, but we need to get moving.”

      He clasped his son’s small, warm and slightly sticky hand. There would be a time, not too far in the future, when Max would grimace and shrink away when Eddie offered his hand.

      But not today.

      Today, his son held on instead of running ahead. Today, his son still needed him.

      They climbed into the truck.

      “Want to know what else I like about Mrs. Kavanagh?” Max asked as he buckled his seat belt.

      Not in the least.

      “Sure,” Eddie said with a sigh.

      “She’s pretty,” Max whispered, a blush coloring his fair skin. “And she smells good.”

      Eddie turned on the ignition, slammed his foot onto the clutch and jammed the truck into first gear. He’d noticed both those things, too.

      He wished like hell he hadn’t.

      * * *

      “HE HAD THE NERVE...the utter...utter...”

      Harper tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling of Dr. Joan Crosby’s office in hope the word she was searching for would somehow magically appear in the air.

      “Gall?” Joan asked from behind her neat desk.

      Harper whirled on the older woman. Jabbed a finger in her direction. “Yes! The utter gall to threaten to take Max out of my class.”

      She still couldn’t believe it. Pacing to burn off some of her temper before she picked up her daughter from day care, her quick, short strides took her to the far edge of the room and back in seconds. An easy enough task given the size of the office and the fact that there was nothing in there that wasn’t completely necessary. A desk and chair, three other chairs—two facing the desk, the third off to the side—and floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books. A small, round table with two kid-sized chairs sat in the far corner along with a plastic bin Harper knew held drawing paper, crayons and colored pencils.

      Joan didn’t believe in wasting space, materials, time or words.

      Harper grabbed a handful of M&M’s—her third such handful—from a ceramic bowl on the desk and tossed several into her mouth. They didn’t help. She ate some more.

      Stick with something long enough, and you were bound to get the results you wanted.

      Naive? Perhaps. But it kept her happy and optimistic in the face of adversity. After Beau had been taken from her so suddenly, Harper had wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and die herself. She couldn’t, of course. She had people who counted on her, who needed her to be strong. Her daughter, Cassidy, for one.

      Joan, Beau’s mother, for another.

      So, yes, she lived a life of clichés. Chin up. Search out the good in life. The sun will come out tomorrow and all that jazz. Looking on the bright side had kept her sane during the past ten months. Believing in some greener pasture, in better days, helped to push her through each hour, every minute without her husband.

      Convinced her things would get better.

      Each

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