Beth Andrews - Caught Up in You

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.”

His threat, implicit but oh, so clear, slid along her spine, had her narrowing her eyes. No one threatened her. No one. “You’d pull Max from my class?”

He shrugged as if that said it all—which, she supposed, it did.

She stared at his broad back as he opened the door and called into the classroom, “Time to go, Max.”

“You’re not serious,” she said when he faced her. Then again, he looked as if he was never anything but serious. Serious. Stubborn. Annoying.

And most of all, just plain wrong.

When he twitched, as if moving to lift his shoulder, she held up a hand. “For God’s sake,” she snapped, “use your words and not one of those shrugs you’re so fond of.”

If possible, his frown became even darker. “I’ll do whatever’s best for Max,” he said as his son joined 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?”