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“Good.” Jason nodded. Going back to killing aliens, the boy asked absently, “Whatcha gonna talk about?”
“My career.” Then, because of the perplexed look on his son’s face when Jason turned toward him again, Steve added, “I’m a lawyer, remember?”
“I ’member,” Jason answered almost solemnly, then asked, “You gonna do some lawyer stuff for the class?”
There were times when he felt that Jason didn’t have a clue as to what he did for a living. Julia liked to say that he argued for a living. He supposed that was as apt a description of his profession as any. But he doubted that a group of seven-year-olds would understand the joke.
“I’m going to explain to your class what a lawyer does,” he told Jason.
“Oh.” It was clear that Jason didn’t seem to think that would go over all that well with his class—but he had a remedy for that. “Maybe you better bring treats, like Jeremy King’s mom did when she came to talk about her job.”
He honestly considered Jason’s suggestion. “Maybe I will bring treats since food seems to be the only thing that impresses people your age.”
The aliens still weren’t dying and the controller remained idle in Jason’s hands, telling Steve that he had his son’s full attention—at least for a half a minute more. “I like chocolate, Dad.”
“Yes, I know,” Steve said with as straight a face as he could manage.
And then the consequences of his affable agreement hit him. He was going to have to stand up in front of a classroom full of restless little boys and girls and try to hold their attention for at least ten minutes, if not more. Steve looked over toward the phone he’d just hung up on the wall. Maybe he’d been just a little too hasty saying yes.
Oh, he had no trouble standing up before an audience. Most of all, he was really apprehensive that he might inadvertently embarrass his son—which in turn might push the boy even further away from him than he was now. Seven-year-olds were sensitive and desperately wanted to blend in, not stand out, and having him in the classroom would definitely single Jason out.
“So you’re okay with my coming to your classroom?” he asked again.
“Uh-huh.”
Steve gathered from his son’s tone that Jason was once again clearly engaged in the business of knocking off tall, thin gray aliens and was a million miles away from him.
* * *
A few days later, Steve was still having second thoughts about talking in front of Jason’s class. Actually, his second thoughts were into their third edition at this point.
But if nothing else, he was well aware that it was too late to pull out. He had committed to this speaking engagement and he was nothing if not a man of his word.
It was a lesson he was trying to teach Jason and he knew if he bowed out at the last minute, aside from leaving the assistant principal high and dry, he would be teaching Jason that it was all right to give your word and then break it on a whim.
He might not be the world’s best father, but at least he knew that much was wrong.
Jason’s teacher, Mrs. Reyes, had placed two folding chairs in the front of the room, putting them a few feet away from her own desk. The intention was that the speakers wouldn’t feel as if they were “on” the entire time. Her aim was to afford the speakers a clear view of the classroom and its occupants, even while keeping everything at a safe distance.
Steve took his seat, wondering who else had been roped into this “sales pitch to seven-year-olds,” as he had come to think of the experience.
He didn’t have long to wait for an answer. No sooner had the question occurred to him than the classroom door opened and he heard a rather melodic, softly compelling voice say, “I’m sorry I’m late. I’m afraid my staff meeting ran over.”
“I’m just glad you could make it,” Mrs. Reyes said, smiling broadly at the owner of the voice. There was more than a measure of relief echoing in the teacher’s own voice.
Steve turned to look at the late arrival and found himself suddenly and completely captivated. The young woman, carrying what appeared to be a wide valise or case of some sort, was all swirling strawberry-blond hair, bright blue eyes and heartwarming smile.
Unlike him—he was wearing a light gray suit—she was dressed casually in a light blue summer dress that brought out her eyes even more than nature already had. To top off the picture, the woman had the best set of legs he’d seen since—well, he couldn’t quite remember since when.
“Hi,” the woman said to him as she took the seat beside his. Her eyes swept over him as she asked, “Are you giving a Career Day speech, too?”
“Yes.” Suddenly at a loss for words, all he could do was smile at her—and feel utterly inept. Something that had never happened to him before.
“What’s your career?” she asked in a deliberately low voice. She was intent on not distracting anyone in the classroom; however, the low timbre managed to distract Steve big-time. “Well, you’re in a suit, so it must be something important,” she assumed, then made a guess. “Doctor?”
He barely shook his head. The rest of him felt as if he had been frozen in place, trapped in her eyes. Who was this woman? “No,” he breathed.
“Lawyer?” was her second guess.
“How did you know?” There was no L on his forehead, no aura particular to lawyers. He couldn’t see her managing to figure it out on her second guess.
She smiled and he found himself even a little more captivated than he already was—if that was possible. “The old nursery rhyme. You know—rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief. Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief. You said no to doctor and you didn’t look like a chief, so I took a stab at lawyer.” That out of the way, she asked the next logical question. “What kind of a lawyer are you?”
“A good one,” he replied.
His own answer sounded almost flippant to him—and that just wasn’t like him at all. He was good, fair and dedicated. None of those attributes had any leeway for flippant.
“Ah, one with a sense of humor. That’s good,” she pronounced with a smile that for a moment rivaled sunbeams.
The next moment, she was leaning into him. “Which one’s yours?” she asked in a hushed whisper that at the same time seemed incredibly sexy to him, given the circumstances and where they were.
Could a voice in a second-grade classroom even be sexy? Steve couldn’t help wondering.
“That one over there, the towhead with the cowlick,” he told her.
It took her a second to find the child he was pointing out. “Very handsome boy,” she told him with a nod of her head. Steve knew what she’d just said was a standard reply and maybe it was just his imagination, but she seemed to mean what she said.
“Which one’s yours?” he asked, thinking it only fair to put the same question to her.
“Oh, I don’t have one in this class,” she replied.
He found that odd. Weren’t you supposed to have a kid in the room before you could address said class?
“Then—?”
As if anticipating the rest of his question, the woman beside him said, “The assistant principal thought it might be a good idea for me to come by today and address the class.”
Steve came to the only conclusion he could. The woman had to have a unique career.
“What’s your career?” he asked outright, unable to even venture a guess, especially not one that would involve a valise.
She opened her mouth, apparently to answer his question, when Mrs. Reyes spoke up and by the very act commanded that they all give her their undivided attention.
“Well, it’s my favorite Wednesday of the month again. Career Day,” she emphasized with feeling. “And first we will hear from Jason Kendall’s father, Steven Kendall, who is going to talk to you about what it means to be a business lawyer.” Turning toward him with a bright, welcoming smile, Mrs. Reyes said, “Mr. Kendall, the floor is yours.”
With that, Mrs. Reyes gestured around the classroom, in case he missed her meaning.
Steve rose and instantly became aware that his legs felt a little stiff. The last time he’d felt that, he recalled, he’d been in court, pleading his very first case. He’d won, but only by a hair, and while others might have become cocky because a win was a win, his win humbled him because he knew how close he had come to losing that first case.
It was then that he realized that things were decided by the whimsy of fate and although he was always prepared, always did his best, he never lost sight of that humbling lesson.
Coming before the class now—Mrs. Reyes had vacated her desk, so he stood behind that as he spoke—Steve remembered beginning, remembered his mouth moving as his brain raced from point to point, trying to hit all the points he’d jotted down for himself earlier.
He was acutely aware that while his audience of seven-and eight-year-olds all sat at their desks listening politely, not a single face in that audience looked the least bit interested, much less inspired by either his vocation or anything that he had just said to them.
Not that, he silently admitted, he had said anything terribly interesting or inspiring.
And certainly not very memorable.
When he was finished, applause came after a beat. Polite applause as if they had been coached to applaud anyone who appeared to have stopped talking. He was glad to reclaim his chair and sit down.
“And next we have Ms. Erin O’Brien.” Instead of announcing the next career, Mrs. Reyes smiled at her class. “You’re in for a treat,” she promised. “I think you’ll find Ms. O’Brien’s career very interesting.” Mrs. Reyes looked toward the next speaker, exchanging glances with her as if they had a shared secret. “Ms. O’Brien, the class is all yours.”
Rather than the young woman saying anything in response to Mrs. Reyes, another voice was heard. A muffled voice as befitting one that came from inside a suitcase.
“Hey, it’s dark in here, Erin. Lemme out.”
Erin’s hooded eyes covertly took in the room. Apparently, she had the entire classroom in the palm of her hand as children exchanged giggles and nervous glances with one another.
Erin looked at the valise on the floor next to her chair. She had a pseudoexasperated look on her face. “Tex, I told you to be on your best behavior.”
“This is my best behavior,” the voice coming from the valise insisted.
“If I let you out, you have to promise not to scare the children,” she warned.
“Children?” the voice asked, sounding very intrigued. “Tasty children?”
“That’s something you’re never going to find out. Now, do you promise to behave?” she asked.
The voice sighed. “Do I hafta promise?” Tex whined.
“Yes, you do,” Erin said, crossing her arms before her as she continued talking to the “occupant” of the valise. “I’m afraid if you want to come out, Tex, that’s the deal I’m offering. Otherwise, you’ll have to stay in the suitcase until we leave.”
There was another, louder sigh from the inside of the valise. Then the voice said, “Oh, okay, I guess. I promise.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Erin told the voice.
Snapping the locks open, Erin quickly took out the valise’s mysterious occupant. The latter turned out to be a large green dinosaur whose head was bigger than his body, in direct contrast to an actual model of a Tyrannosaurus rex.
This T. rex was also wearing a white cowboy hat, which was in keeping with his Southern twang.
Once in her arms, Tex did an exaggerated long visual sweep of the boys and girls seated at their desks. “I know I said I’d behave, but can I just nibble on that little one over there?” The puppet nodded vaguely to his left, pretending to drool.
“No, you cannot,” Erin insisted. “We came to talk to these nice kids.”
“You talk, I’ll nibble,” Tex said, leaning over as he eyed certain children.
Erin drew herself up and gave the dinosaur a very stern look. “Tex, do you want to go back into the valise? Think carefully now.”
The puppet hung his head, ashamed. “No, ma’am, I do not.”
“Okay, then no nibbling,” she pretended to order him sternly. Her eyes swept over the eager young faces on the other side of the room. As always, a feeling of gratification washed over her.
Tex, however, was ever crafty, ever hopeful. “Then how about—?”
She shot the T. rex down before he could mention a single name—she’d taken care to ask for a seating chart and the names of all the children when she’d agreed to giving a talk. Using names made everything ever so much more personal.
“No.”
The dinosaur was nothing if not persistent. “Not even—?”
“No,” she said emphatically, cutting the T. rex off before he was finished.
The children’s laughter grew with each interaction between the woman and her puppet. “Now remember why we’re here,” she told the T. rex.
Drooling again, the dinosaur eyed his potential snack. “You remember. I’ll chew.”
Erin gave the puppet her very best glare. “Tex, you’re impossible.”
“No, I’m very possible,” he assured her. “But I’m also just very hungry. Hear that?” He looked down at his midsection. A noise was heard. “That’s my tummy growling,” he protested. Instead of the rumbling of an empty stomach, an actual lion’s roar echoed through the classroom, bringing more giggles.
Steve had to admit that he was as captivated and as hooked as the children were, except that to them, the exchange between the strawberry-blonde woman and the dinosaur in her arms was very real, while he found himself enthralled by an extremely good ventriloquist who was very easy on the eyes.
He watched her lips—something he realized he became caught up in with great ease—and couldn’t really see them move, yet he knew that somehow, they had to because the exchange was so lively.
* * *
In the end, Erin gave, all in all, a very entertaining “talk.”
She had brought more characters with her, toys that had hitchhiked in the valise only to jump out—with a little help from her—in a semiorderly fashion when she called to them. Some of these characters spoke, some did not, but the running thread through all the toys she did display was not a single one of them required a battery, a power strip or even a windup key of any sort.
All they uniformly required, Steve discovered, was imagination. Imagination by the bucketload.
The other thing that the toys she’d introduced had in common was that each and every one of them—and she almost presented them as family—was initially her brainchild. Toys that came into being out of some childhood adventure or childhood need to keep the darkness at bay.
The young woman with the talking green dinosaur had created all the toys she’d brought with her, Steve thought. He found himself being more than a little impressed by her efforts, her creativity and her very real dedication to jump-starting children’s imaginations again. Moreover, though she didn’t come out and say it, he got the impression that Erin O’Brien had put together and built up her toy company all on her own, not an easy feat in this day and age.
He couldn’t help but admire her determination. A man could learn from a woman like that.
And so could a classroom full of energetic seven-and eight-year-olds.
Chapter Three (#ulink_aefe4c29-3426-5521-9e2f-531d8ef43cbe)
The woman really did have a way about her. While the second graders had listened to him politely, there had definitely been a certain lack of enthusiasm among them.
He didn’t really blame them. Very few seven-year-olds aspired to be lawyers—as a matter of fact, he doubted if there were any seven-year-olds who even remotely contemplated that. He would have had to have been something along the lines of an astronaut in order to have sparked their imaginations.
But the moment Erin O’Brien took center stage—even before her T. rex started “talking,” he saw a definite shift in the pint-size audience. They appeared to be hanging on her every word, anticipating something funny or just plain fun. It was almost as if they seemed to sense what she was about to do—entertain them by bringing make-believe into their world.
