Karen Van Der Zee - Fire And Spice

‘Your son is a likeable boy, Mr Sinclair, and obviously very intelligent.’ To her relief, her voice sounded calm and professional.

He gave a half-smile. ‘I know that.’

She glanced down at the file. ‘I understand that you lived in Buenos Aires the past five years and that your son attended the international school there.’

He inclined his head fractionally. ‘Correct.’

‘I suppose he finds living in the States quite a change,’ she said carefully. The school was full of children from many nations who had moved around from one country to another-children of parents employed by the United States government, foreign embassies and international agencies and companies. Students often had to make great adjustments.

‘Yes.’ He frowned slightly. ‘Is there a problem, Ms Langdon?’ His tone indicated that he wanted to make short of the preliminaries.

‘As a matter of fact, yes, there is.’ She looked straight at him, noticing with some separate part of her brain the strong line of his jaw, the straight nose, the well-chiseled mouth. ‘To come straight to the point, Mr Sinclair, his interim report shows failing grades for all academic subjects. The report was sent home with Paul for your signature this week.’

‘I didn’t see it.’

She was not surprised. Paul had probably found it prudent not to show it to his father. Zoe handed him a copy from her file. He glanced at it and frowned. ‘Are you sure this is correct?’

‘Yes, I am. I’ve spoken to all his teachers. Paul’s academic record suggests this is a very unusual situation. He is intelligent and has no learning disability and his grades in the past have been excellent.’

He nodded. ‘Yes. So what is the problem?’

‘Your son does not hand in most of his homework assignments and does not study or read as instructed. I have talked to him and he seems not at all interested in putting forth any effort.’

A short silence followed her words. ‘I think they call this rebellion,’ he said then, his voice even.

‘I think it’s more than that. Frankly, Mr Sinclair, I am concerned about him.’

His brows arched. ‘Concerned? What exactly do you mean?’

He shows signs of being depressed, she wanted to say, but thought better of it. ‘I’ve spoken to him on a couple of occasions and he seems withdrawn and uncommunicative. According to the comments of the teachers from his school in Argentina this is not his nature. Obviously something is bothering him. Something is not right’

His blue eyes held hers. ‘I think you’re over-reacting,’ he said lightly. ‘He’s been in school a mere four weeks.

Isn’t that a little soon to come to a diagnosis?’

Why did she feel defensive? ‘I’ve not given a diagnosis. I simply stated that I think there’s a problem. The sooner we identify a problem, the easier it is to deal with it.’ She didn’t like his casual attitude. She didn’t like the tone of his voice.

He tapped his fingers on the chair’s arm-rest ‘We’ve only just returned to the States, Ms Langdon. He needs time to adjust to a new environment. He’s only been in school a few weeks.’

‘Yes, of course.’ There was no doubting the truth of that statement, yet she sensed quite clearly that there was more to it than an adjustment problem. It bothered her that the man seemed so unconcerned. ‘Has he said anything about school?’

‘Nothing except that his school in Argentina was much better and the teachers much nicer.’ His mouth curved in amusement ‘Everything else is just fine, he has me believe.’

Everything was not fine. It was not normal for a happy, active, intelligent child suddenly to turn into a withdrawn kid who didn’t do any school work and showed no enthusiasm for anything.

‘Have you spoken to your son about his school work?’ ‘He told me he was not having problems with anything, and I assumed it was true. I’ve never had to be on his back to do his work; he was always very responsible about it.’

‘But he isn’t now.’

‘So it appears,’ he said lightly.

So it is, she corrected silently. Hadn’t he noticed? Hadn’t he paid any attention? How could a father not notice that his son was never doing any school work?

‘He does not bring in his assignments,’ she said evenly. ‘He does not participate in class. He did not take up soccer. He’s a very good soccer player, it says in his files.’

‘Right. I expect he’ll come around when he realizes he’s only punishing himself. He’s a proud kid and my bet is that he’s not going to like the looks of those bad grades for very long. He’ll get himself together, study ferociously and get all caught up.’

‘Would you mind if I asked you a few more questions?’

He glanced at his watch. ‘I don’t have much time.’

Anger rushed to her head. This is about your son! she wanted to say. You have to have time!

She knew other parents, parents who had no time for their children, or had no interest in their lives. She would notice this with a sort of clinical detachment, feeling sorry for the child, disapprove of the parents, but that was where it stopped. As a professional her duty was to help if she could, but it was not good to get too emotionally involved with these situations. The anger she was feeling now was not very professional. She looked back down at her hands folded on the desk and collected herself. She felt her heart race. ‘Is there any problem at home that might cause him to feel unhappy?’

His silence was intentional. ‘No, there is no problem at home, Ms Langdon.’ In spite of his casual tone, she sensed a distinct chill in him. Stay out of my business, the subtle message was.

Nerves began to jump inside her, but she refused to let it show. ‘Did Paul want to come back to the States?’

He shrugged. ‘There was no choice.’

It was not an answer to her question. ‘Choice or no choice, did he want to leave Argentina?’

‘No. I thing that’s why he’s rebelling now. I don’t expect it to last long. He’ll settle in soon enough. He’ll make friends.’

She nodded, hoping he would be right, fearing he was not.

He came to his feet. ‘With all due respect, Ms Langdon, please do not make too much of this. A month is not very long.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t believe it’s time for panic and in-depth psychoanalysis just yet.’ The tone of his voice was polite, but held a faint imperious note. It infuriated her. Obviously, talking with him any further would not be productive. He had pressing matters at the office. What was the matter with this man? Why wasn’t he worried? Still, it would not do to antagonize him. What she needed was cooperation.

She stood up as well. ‘Let’s hope things will turn out all right,’ she said lightly, proud of her own cool control. ‘Please give me a call if there’s anything I can help with, Mr Sinclair.’ He probably wouldn’t, but the offer was automatic. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

‘Thank you.’ He looked straight at her and suddenly, amazingly, he smiled broadly and humor sparked in his eyes. ‘Perhaps we can dispense with the formalities. We are neighbors, after all. Call me Bryant.’

Was this a peace offering? Well, what could she say? No, thank you, I’d rather call you Mr?

She nodded politely. ‘Thank you, and I’m Zoe.’

He gave a little nod, his eyes a brilliant blue as they held hers. ‘See you, Zoe.’

She closed the door behind his broad back and sat down again in her chair behind the desk, letting out a deep sigh.

She didn’t like this man. She didn’t like his casual attitude, the faint arrogance in his voice. She didn’t like those blue eyes.

She didn’t like the way he smiled at her.

Yes, she did.