Carrie Weaver - Four Little Problems

He couldn’t possibly be that unlucky, could he?

“What’s wrong?” The perennially smiling kindergarten teacher slapped him on the back, as if that would help.

“Did you see who’s running for PTO president?”

She shrugged. “Some woman named Patterson.”

“As in, mother of Jason Patterson.” That should have said it all.

“And that’s a problem because?”

She was obviously still too wet behind the ears to understand the implications.

“Jason Patterson, the kid who threw cherry bombs in the boys’ toilets. Led his own gambling and extortion ring.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t that bad.” She flipped her hair and gave him that sparkling, you’re-just-old-and-burned-out smile.

At thirty-eight, he considered himself far from old. But she might have a point about the burned-out part. Summer break seemed very far away some days, especially when he thought about Jason Patterson. His ultimate failure.

Dear Reader,

Four Little Problems is my oldest son’s book in so many ways. Not because he and I have weathered challenges, which we have. And not because I love him every bit as deeply as Emily loves Jason, which I do.

No, Four Little Problems resulted from one of those everyday conversations I suspect I don’t appreciate nearly enough. My oldest son and I were discussing single mothers and dating. He mentioned how difficult some children make the dating process when they don’t like their mother’s potential boyfriend.

When I gave it some thought, I was impressed with the courage it must take for a single parent to attempt a relationship in the midst of juvenile guerrilla warfare. I wondered how a relationship could survive, maybe even thrive, under such stressful circumstances. Then I started the inevitable “What if…” and my imagination was off and running.

Emily and Patrick’s story was born of that “What if…” Their relationship was so challenging from the get-go, even I wondered if they could pull it off.

On a side note, fate came full circle when my editor asked for title suggestions. My son proposed the title you see on the cover–Four Little Problems. I’m so proud of him and his contributions.

I hope you enjoy the story I’ve come to think of as Luke’s Book.

Yours in reading,

Carrie Weaver

P.S. I enjoy hearing from readers by e-mail at CarrieAuthor@aol.com or snail mail at P.O. Box 6045, Chandler, AZ 85246-6045.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Special thanks to Mary Jane Brooke, Superintendent of the Le Roy Central School District, for being so helpful in responding to my questions.

She did her utmost to ensure that I had accurate information.

Any discrepancies are mine, made in an effort to merge reality with the fictional world I created.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN my son needs a reality check?” Emily planted her fists on the substitute teacher’s desk and leaned forward.

Mr. Stevens’s eyes narrowed, but he held her gaze.

Something she had to admire despite his know-it-all attitude.

Topping five-eleven, Emily knew some men found her intimidating during the best of times. But today, suffering from PMS and hearing another childless moron offering advice on how to raise her kids, she felt darn near homicidal.

Or suicidal. Single parenthood sucked at times.

Mr. Stevens gestured toward a chair. “Please sit down, Mrs. Patterson.”

“Ms. Patterson.” She glared at him just long enough to let him know she wasn’t ceding defeat. Then she wedged her rear end in the kiddie chair.

“Ms. Patterson, perhaps I started our meeting on the wrong foot. I’d anticipated Mrs. Wells’s return from maternity leave by now. As a substitute, I’m at a bit of a disadvantage conducting her parent/teacher conferences.”

Emily decided not to point out that her day hadn’t been peachy, either. So, she went for a noncommittal “Mm-hm.”

It wasn’t her fault Mrs. Wells had extended her maternity leave. And it wasn’t her fault this guy was experimenting with the idea of becoming a teacher. Rumor had it, Mr. Stevens was some well-known scientist, on leave from a high-paying job.

He flipped through a file folder on his desk. “Jason is an exceedingly bright child. His test scores are well above average.”

“He’s a smart kid.”

“But he needs a firm hand if he’s to achieve his potential. Perhaps his father should meet with us, too, and we can all formulate a plan for rewards and consequences?”

“Honey, if you can find Walt, you feel free to bring him in and have that conversation. Child services hasn’t been able to locate him in seven years. But if you do, be sure to offer him a beer. That’s the kind of reward he’ll understand. And as far as consequences, he’s not big on those. That’s why he works under the table to avoid taxes and child support. I’m the one who administers rewards and consequences for four children.” Emily ran out of breath, her chest heaving with emotion.

Mr. Stevens glanced around the room, at the ceiling and everywhere but at Emily. “I’m sure it’s very difficult.”

You have no idea. “Yes, it is.”

“Maybe we could work more closely to ensure Jason makes the most of his opportunities.”

Warning bells went off in Emily’s head. Hadn’t a boss once made a similar offer in mentoring her boys? And expected a game of slap and tickle with Emily in return? “Would you please clarify what you mean by working more closely together?”

“An accountability notebook would be a good thing. I’ll write down Jason’s homework assignments and you can check them daily to make sure he stays on task. I’ll also include a section regarding his behavior in class. Consequences at home should help there.”

Emily released a breath. “Okay. We can do that. He’s a good kid, Mr. Stevens. For some reason, he’s just gotten out of hand this year.”

“He’s gotten out of hand because he’s been allowed to. If you’re interested, I have a few brochures for the district-sponsored parenting classes.” He opened his top desk drawer.

Emily’s heart sank. If she didn’t think he was right, she’d call him on his condescending attitude. As it was, she was too embarrassed to tell him that she’d already taken the courses and tried her darnedest to apply what she’d learned, but none of it seemed to work with Jason these days. Neither did any of the tactics she’d used when he was small. He’d turned into an alien creature almost overnight.

The teacher rummaged in his top desk drawer. “And I can give you a list of reading resources. Some parents find behavior modification quite helpful. Skinner, of course, was the—”

A muffled snap came from his drawer.

He jumped to his feet, cursing under his breath.

Emily tried to place the snapping sound—she’d heard it recently in another context.

Mr. Stevens brought his hand to chest level. “What the hell?”