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“The school is not up for discussion.” His angry voice echoed through the empty rooms.
Abby’s eyes widened and he saw a glimmer of fear that she attempted to hide. Still, she continued to follow him. Jeremy didn’t know if it was stubbornness or foolishness that made her do so. Although he couldn’t be sure of her reasons, at least he had managed to figure out his own. He concluded that allowing her into his home, his sanctuary, was a form of self-torture. Having her around made him recall how different he still was.
He could see every emotion that passed through her mind and knew that she saw him as some kind of freak. Her biggest fear was that her son would end up like him, alone and bitter, unable to relate to normal people. Like the rest of the outside world, she looked at him and wondered what kind of weird and twisted thoughts went on in his head.
He didn’t think she’d want to know.
Because despite what she might think, he was a man, capable of reacting to her extraordinary beauty. He’d noticed the shapely figure beneath the simple peach sundress and the way the color of the material made her skin appear even more flawless. He’d seen the beseeching look in those amazing eyes and imagined her looking at him like that for other, much more personal reasons. Yet, he’d also noticed that she hadn’t capitalized on her looks as he might have expected. Though she wanted something from him, she hadn’t done anything to play on her appearance for the purposes of getting what she wanted.
His inquisitive mind still had a few other questions. Such as why she was persisting in this hopeless undertaking? Comprehending the motives of his students’ parents had always been difficult for him. They wanted him to make their kids normal, or worse, to make them even more extraordinary. Abby seemed to want what was best for her son. He was almost certain of that. But if she had rightly concluded that Jeremy was a deviant specimen, unable to live among those society had deemed normal, why would she want to subject her son to his obvious flaws?
“Where’s the boy?” Jeremy asked without turning around. There was no use practicing his social graces. She wouldn’t be around long enough for it to matter.
“Robbie went to camp today. Since we’ll be sticking around, I thought I’d enroll him in the summer program down by the lake.”
He stopped suddenly, almost causing her to plow into him. “That’s not a program for gifted children.”
“I know, but they have swimming and boating. It will be good for him to spend some time outdoors.”
He didn’t comment, preferring to process the information in silence.
Naturally she didn’t allow the omission. “Why? Is there something wrong with the camp? It had a good rating in the travel book of this area.”
He was sure it did. They catered to the wealthy who vacationed in the area and their clients were afforded the best in everything. Several years ago, as part of an enrichment program they’d offered, Jeremy and some of his students had been asked to perform complex mathematic calculations for the group. Perform. It was a good enough word for what they’d been asked to do.
“I spoke to the owner myself. A man named Drew Danforth. He seems very nice. He gave me a huge discount because they happened to have an opening at the last minute.”
When not running his camp in the summer, Danforth, the town’s golden boy, was a three-sport coach at the local high school and the area’s most eligible bachelor. And he’d taken one look at Abby Melrose and discovered a last-minute opening at one of the most exclusive day camps in the area? What a coincidence!
Abby was beginning to look panicked at the thought of leaving her son someplace that wasn’t safe.
“There’s nothing wrong with the camp,” Jeremy acknowledged and she sighed with relief. He didn’t bother to explain that there would be a much greater danger from himself if he were to help her. He wasn’t going to get involved. No matter how persuasive she tried to be.
They reached the kitchen, where the project he’d been working on before he was interrupted covered the wide expanse of counter. He’d opened the windows, but an odd, pungent odor still hung in the air. At least there was ample room; the kitchen had been designed to allow lavish parties. Jeremy could recall when the school had been open and everyone’s responsibilities had included pitching in to prepare the meals. Occasionally the behavior of some of the smartest young people in the world could have been mistaken for frat house antics.
Ruthlessly he banished the image from his mind.
“Sit over there,” he commanded, pointing to an empty chair halfway across the room. “This substance is caustic if it touches the skin or is inhaled.”
Her eyes widened with alarm and curiosity as she did as he asked. After protecting his own eyes with the oversize goggles and replacing the rubber gloves, he picked up a thermometer hooked on the side of an enamel pot on the stove and checked the temperature of the steaming liquid inside.
Although he didn’t look at her, he knew she watched his every move.
As he took a long, plastic spoon and began to stir the mixture, it occurred to him that he should have used a metal spoon so that he could watch her eyes when it disintegrated. Next, he approached a second container on the counter, this one an ordinary pitcher that might have been used to serve lemonade. The poisonous contents of the scalding liquid were also being monitored. In order for a successful mix of the solutions, the timing had to be exact.
“Where’s Robbie’s father?” Even as he asked the question, Jeremy realized he’d asked it for himself. She hadn’t mentioned a husband in her letters and he didn’t think the omission was accidental, but whether or not Abby had a man in the picture was irrelevant.
Again the chin tipped up. “We’re divorced. He left us when Robbie was little. He couldn’t handle…”
Revealing more than she’d intended to, she stopped herself, but not before Jeremy filled in the blanks. The boy’s father hadn’t been able to deal with the freakish nature of his own son. What a fool.
“Doesn’t he have anything to say about Robbie’s future?” he asked. He would have preferred trying to reason with someone who didn’t stare at him with those remarkable eyes.
“He had opinions about everything, as a matter of fact,” she said, “and as luck would have it, they were always right. I’m sure he’d be the first to agree with you that I’m making a mistake, but he hasn’t been involved with Robbie since the day he left. I’m all Robbie has. There is nobody else.”
As far as he could see, the boy could do worse than having her as a supporter. He was certain that after he disabused her of the notion of gaining his cooperation, she’d soon find a better candidate to help her. Someone who wouldn’t end up hurting her son instead of helping him.
“You see, Dr. Waters, that’s why I need you.”
Jeremy dropped the spoon into the mixture where it hissed and sizzled. “Stop calling me Dr. Waters,” he snapped. “You make me sound like I’m about to operate on you without anesthesia.” Even as he said the words, he wondered why he had removed that barrier. He should be building up walls, not tearing them down.
“The thought occurred to me,” she responded dryly.
Jeremy’s lips twitched, and he turned his back on her. “All right. You’re here. Now tell me what you want so you can leave.”
“Well, at least you’re keeping an open mind,” she mumbled. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “You’ve met Robbie. He’s an exceptional child.”
He brought the pitcher to the stove and poured the contents into the enamel pot. The mixture gurgled satisfactorily. “So what’s the problem, Mrs. Melrose?”
“Abby. You can call me Abby if I’m going to call you…Jeremy?”
Though she attempted a smile, his name sounded awkward on her lips, as if he shouldn’t have such a normal name. He shrugged. It wasn’t going to matter what they called each other.
“If Robbie is such a great kid, what’s wrong?” he prompted, knowing the answer.
This time, rather than describing her son according to his test scores, she began to give accounts of Robbie’s childhood. She described the problems he had with other kids, making friends, fitting in. Jeremy rubbed absently at the scar on his chin, the result of a very juvenile disagreement about the gravity of the moon. He knew how the little guy felt. It wasn’t easy being different.
“Because he’s so smart,” she explained, “he tends to want to be around adults, but he doesn’t fit in with them, either.”
Jeremy could have told her that age didn’t help the misfit phenomenon, but he didn’t think it was what she wanted to hear.
As she continued to describe the problems Robbie had faced in his young life, Jeremy’s anger grew. Yes, there were issues that other children didn’t face but there could be joys, too, in seeing things other people missed, in finding the solutions to complex problems. Like most people, all she saw were the differences.
There was no doubt that her son was remarkable. From the information she’d sent him, he knew Robbie had a mind that came along once in a lifetime. There was a time when Jeremy might have wondered what it would be like to help him explore his potential, to aid in his discovery of a universe most people never got to experience. That time had passed.
He looked up to find her watching him intently. He was used to being stared at but there was something about the way she examined him as if she could see into his mind. Then the look vanished and she edged closer to watch him as he measured a combination of herbs and oils and added it to the mixture.
“I’m sure you understand what I’m talking about,” she continued, in a different, almost conversational voice. “What was your childhood like? Was it difficult to be different from everybody else?”
The personal question startled him so much he sloshed the liquid he was stirring. It spattered with a sizzle onto the newspaper-covered counter. Her eyes widened and she stepped back.
Jeremy grinned, pleased with her reaction. “I told you to stay away.”
“I don’t take orders very well.”
“No kidding?” He didn’t have to be a genius to figure that out.
It was unusual for anyone to have the nerve—or the interest—to ask him such personal questions. Usually people saw what they wanted to see. “I don’t think my childhood is any of your business.”
“It is if you’re thinking about helping me with Robbie.”
“I’m not thinking about helping you with Robbie,” he pointed out.
She ignored his point, and continued with her own. “I read an article about when you were eight years old. You had just won a ‘War of the Brains’ competition against people twice your age.”
He remembered the day well. The reporters, the doubting professors, all wanting a look at the freak of nature.
She shook her head. “I couldn’t even understand the question they asked you.”
“Physics isn’t an easy subject.”
“Especially for an eight-year-old.”
He thought he caught a glimpse of sympathy in her eyes.
“I would think it would be difficult to be put on display like that at such a young age.”
“It was fine.” If you considered it fine to be a lab rat.
“I haven’t subjected Robbie to any of that kind of publicity. I’ve tried to keep him out of the public eye as much as possible.”
He could commend her for that, at least. Allowing privacy to be one’s self had been one of the principles his school had been founded on. “So you understand the need for solitude?” As long, he thought, as it didn’t conflict with her own desires.
“Of course,” she agreed. “Especially since others might get the wrong idea about someone with your abilities.”
“The wrong idea?”
“They might find it strange, even weird, I suppose.”
“Is that right?” he managed to say, the rein on his temper straining. “And what about you, Abby? What do you think about me?”
She’d been intently watching his proceedings, but now she looked away, appearing faintly embarrassed. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Her actions and words declared otherwise. She looked at him and saw the freak, the mutant. Her next comment confirmed it.
“I would think that someone who’s lived through the kind of experiences you have would want to give something back instead of just wasting that knowledge.”
Control snapped like the leash on a monster. He dropped the spoon which sank beneath the mixture and ripped the goggles from his eyes to stare at her. “What do you know about it? You couldn’t understand what it’s like!”
She didn’t jump back. Or run screaming from his home. Instead she looked straight at him for the first time since they’d entered the house. He saw satisfaction, not revulsion, in those startling eyes.
“That’s exactly my point,” she said. “How could I? My childhood was filled with dolls and dress-up, not mathematic calculations. It’s impossible for me to understand what it’s like for my son—or for you. That’s why I need your help.”
It took an amazingly long time for Jeremy to realize he’d been conned. She’d been leading him to this conclusion all along. He had to respect the ingenuity. It was a sign of gifted intelligence to look at problems with originality and resourcefulness. Perhaps her son wasn’t as different from her as she thought.
Because she was beginning to intrigue him, he filled his voice with firmness and finality. “I can’t help you.”
To his amazement, she looked shocked at his answer, as if she’d really expected him to change his mind. “Can’t or won’t?” she challenged.
“Can’t and won’t. I can suggest someone, a counselor,” he said when she finally took a breath. “Maybe the two of you can see him together.”
“I don’t want a counselor,” she insisted. “I want you.”
Even knowing what she meant, her words lanced through him. “You don’t understand what you’re asking. Didn’t you hear that I eat small children for breakfast?”
“That’s not what some of your former students said.”
He couldn’t believe it. She’d shocked him again. “You contacted my students? What right do you have to…?”
“The rights of a mother. Do you think I would come all this way if I hadn’t checked you out? My son’s future is at stake!”
“Look, let’s get this thing settled once and for all. I am not going to teach your son or any other child.”
Abby frowned and Jeremy wondered if he had finally gotten through to her.
“I didn’t ask you to,” she responded. “I want you to teach me.”
Chapter Three
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “You’re not a genius.”
Abby felt the heat rise on her face as he bluntly stated the obvious. “That’s the point.”
“What’s the point?” he asked, obviously confused. “I thought you wanted me to enroll Robbie in my program?”
“That was never my intent. I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure you’d be a good influence on him.” The last thing Robbie needed in his life right now was a twisted and scarred recluse as a role model.
He appeared stunned. “Then what do you want?”
“As I said, I want you to work with me.” Although it galled her to confess it to this man, she knew he would accept nothing less than the truth. “I’m not smart enough to do this myself.”
“To do what?”
“Decide Robbie’s future. He can’t attend a normal elementary school and the higher level schools won’t take him. Obviously you’ll agree that home schooling is not an option. How can I know what’s best for my son? I don’t have a Ph.D. or any of those other letters you have tacked on behind your name. I never even went to college, for heaven’s sake.”
“What has college got to do with anything?”
He sounded truly perplexed and she couldn’t help wondering if it was a new experience for him. Join the club. “I didn’t pay much attention in school,” she admitted. “I was always too busy going to parties or hanging around with my friends to bother with anything as boring as studying.”
“Do you think that if you’d paid attention in algebra, you’d have been prepared for someone with Robbie’s intellect?”
She shrugged. “Maybe not, but I’d be a step closer. I was so sure that there’d be plenty of time to get serious.” She took a deep breath and continued, determined to get it all out. “I met Robbie’s father when I was only sixteen. He was older than me, already finishing college with top grades and expectations for a fast track to success. When he said we looked good together, I thought he meant we belonged together. We were married when I was just eighteen.”
Jeremy listened to her story without expression. She wasn’t even sure if he was actually listening, or if his mind had wandered off the way Robbie’s sometimes did, until he responded. “Didn’t your parents have anything to say about that?”
“We eloped. My parents were killed in an accident when I was young. I lived with my grandmother. Ted convinced me he had everything figured out and I believed him. Turns out, I was wrong.”
“You were young. It’s called immaturity. Most kids are like that.”
