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“True. And that may very well be the case here. But as Max’s teacher, I feel it’s in his best interest to have Dr. Crosby come in and give her opinion. If you’ll just sign this—” she slid a paper in front of him “—we can get started.”
Eddie glanced from the permission slip to the pen she held out and then to his son’s grades, the black letters stark on the pale yellow background. He should sign the damn paper and let Harper do what she felt necessary, what she thought best. She was the teacher, the person entrusted with his son’s care and education for the next eight months.
“What bigger issue could it be?” Eddie asked.
“I’d rather not speculate—”
“I’d rather you did.”
She slowly lowered the pen. For the first time, she seemed reluctant to speak—must be a new sensation for her. “Max’s behavior could...possibly...be symptoms of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. But I’m not qualified to make any diagnoses,” she added quickly. “Which is why I’d like Dr. Crosby’s help.”
“ADD,” Eddie said, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact there could be something wrong with his son. “Don’t they put kids on drugs for that?”
“Medication is one option, but there are also modifications that can be made in the classroom. Instructional strategies and practices that can be implemented to help children with ADHD learn.”
“So if Max has ADH—” he emphasized the H as she had “—D, and you use those strategies, his grades will improve?”
“Possibly.”
The second possibly she’d given him in under a minute. When it came to his kid, Eddie preferred definitely. “What else is there?”
“There are other options.” She averted her gaze as she moved the stapler to the left only to put it back exactly where it had been. “But let’s not worry about any of that until we get through these first steps.”
He had a child, was solely responsible for the well-being of another person. For making sure his son was healthy and happy and whole. It was his job to worry. And to get straight answers out of smiley, sunshiny teachers who were blowing smoke up his ass.
“What options?”
Her smile turned to steel. “Options we’ll discuss after Dr. Crosby has made her observation.”
Nudging the paper forward, she held out the pen again.
Eddie’s fingers tightened, crumpling the edges of the progress report. Frustration coursed through him, hot and edgy. But worse than that was the fear. The terrifying thought that if Max was diagnosed with ADHD, he’d spend the rest of his life wearing that label. His peers would judge him, would think he was deficient in some way. He’d be put into a box, one he’d never be able to escape from.
Eddie wanted to slap the pen from Harper’s hand. Wipe his arm across the top of her desk, knocking aside the wooden holder so that pens and pencils scattered over the floor. He wanted to tell her in no uncertain terms what she could do with her observation, her opinion and her sympathetic expression.
He looked at his son. Max was perfect, just the way he was. And Harper wanted some psychologist with more education than common sense to tell him there was something wrong with him? So Max would think he wasn’t smart enough? Capable enough? Good enough?
There was only one response to that, one he was more than happy to give as he faced Harper.
“No.”
CHAPTER TWO
HARPER KEPT THE PLEASANT, understanding smile on her face. But it cost her. Boy, did it cost her.
Because Eddie Montesano, with his dark scowl, broad shoulders and cool hazel eyes, was getting on her last nerve. She’d spent the day surrounded by seven-and eight-year-olds who were alternately loud, whiny, cranky, happy, hilarious and fabulous. And most of them had better manners than this man.
“I’m sorry,” she said, though she had nothing to apologize for. Honestly, the man should be the one begging her forgiveness. “No?”
“I’m not signing that.”
Her hand dropped to the desk with a thud. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear—”
“You did.”
“Well, good. That’s good,” she said cheerily.
She would remain cheery, polite, in control and, above all else, professional. Friendly. She’d watch her tongue and choose every word carefully. She had a habit—some said a bad one—of speaking her mind. Which was fine in her personal life, but in her professional one? Not so good.
At least not according to Sam McNamara, Shady Grove Elementary School’s principal.
She twisted her engagement ring. “Maybe you don’t understand how important it is—”
“I’m not an idiot.”
Something in his gruff tone, in his hard expression, gave her pause. Made her think she’d somehow insulted him. “I never thought—”
“We’re done.”
He stood. The man actually stood. And he’d dismissed her, as if he had the right to end this meeting. Stunned, she stared for a moment, her mouth slack, her mind reeling. She’d done everything right, the way it was supposed to be done. She’d talked to Max’s first-grade teacher, had checked his file to get more insight into his schoolwork the past two years. Then she’d met with both Julie Giron, the school’s guidance counselor, and Sam about her concerns, had gotten their go-ahead to bring up those concerns with Max’s father.
The only way she’d veered away from the usual protocol in situations like this was by meeting with Eddie alone instead of with Julie and Sam. She’d thought Eddie would appreciate her discussing Max’s situation with him one-to-one.
That was the last time she tried to be nice to someone just because they’d known each other since the first day of kindergarten and had relatives dating each other—his brother, her cousin.
Hurrying around her desk, she stepped in front of him and smiled. Okay, it was more a baring of teeth, but surely she couldn’t be faulted for one tiny slipup.
“Eddie, I’m not sure what the problem is,” she said, all faux conciliatory and apologetic. She checked on Max, who was still engrossed in his game. “I certainly didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”
She waited. And what did she get for her patience? Nothing. Not even one of his nods or shrugs.
Easy to see where Max got his reserve from.
“It’s important that we assess what issues Max is having so he can overcome them and reach his highest potential.”
“Why? So you can bump up the school’s test scores?”
“This has nothing to do with standardized testing.” The bane of teachers everywhere. Luckily for her, they didn’t start testing kids until third grade. “It has to do with helping Max.”
Her only priority.
Eddie shifted closer, bringing with him the scent of sawdust. “Maybe this isn’t Max’s fault.”
“I’m sorry. I’m having trouble following you.” Hard to believe seeing as how he used as few words as possible to get his point across, but there you had it.
“If you did your job—did it better—Max wouldn’t be having problems.”
Her vision assumed a definite red tint, her fingers curled around the stapler.
She heard him, of course. He stood right before her, close enough for her to see the starburst of gold around his pupils, to notice that his right front tooth slightly overlapped the left. She even understood what he’d said as his meaning had been crystal clear. But his voice was like a roar in her head. A whooshing wave that swept away all her good intentions and drowned any hope she had of remaining professional.
And it was all Eddie Montesano’s fault. She’d tried to be polite. To not let her growing frustration with him show. But did he appreciate her efforts or the great strength of willpower it’d taken her not to simply lift the stapler and hit him upside the head with it? Did he consider what was best for his son or care that all she wanted was to figure out how they could work together to help Max?
No, no and triple no. He blamed her, accused her of not doing her job.
Oh, yeah, all bets were officially off.
“Max,” she called loudly, setting the stapler on her desk and peeling her fingers off it. She tucked her hands behind her back—just to be on the safe side.
When Max looked up and took the headphones off, she forced her tone to remain light. Easy. No simple task when she was two seconds away from kicking his father in the shin. “Your dad and I will be in the hallway. Please wait here.”
Eddie grabbed the sweatshirt and tugged it on. “I have nothing to say.”
“That’s a shock,” she muttered. “It’ll only take a few minutes,” she assured him from between gritted teeth when his head became visible again.
He glanced at Max, who watched them with wide eyes, obviously picking up on the tension in the room. Finally, Eddie brushed past her.
Fuming so hard she lifted her hands to her ears to make sure steam wasn’t billowing from them, she followed him out into the hallway. She shoved her sleeves up to her elbows. She was sweating. She was actually sweating she was so angry. Her skin overheated, her blood boiled. She shut the door with a quiet click, wishing she could slam it with a resounding bang, open it and slam it 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.”
