Phyllis Halldorson - A Man Worth Marrying

He was looking down the hall in the other direction as she neared him. “Excuse me,” she said, and hoped she sounded forceful. “May I help you?”

He turned quickly toward her. Even with the startled expression on his face, he was uncommonly handsome. Tall. More than six feet, but slender, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He looked awfully familiar, but she couldn’t think where she had seen him.

It only took a second for him to regain his composure. When he did, he looked closely at her, and he must have liked what he saw. There was admiration in those wide expressive eyes. “Maybe you can,” he said. “I’m looking for Ms. Evangeline Costopoulos. I understand she’s a teacher here.”

Now it was Eve who was startled. He was looking for her! But why? Eve taught underprivileged children in this school, which was situated in Rapid City, South Dakota, and it wasn’t likely that he was the father of one of her students. He was too well dressed. For one thing, he was wearing a suit, and all the fathers she’d met so far wore jeans or cotton pants with denim jackets. Also, the suit was custom-made of fine wool. It had to be, to fit so well across his broad shoulders and still taper so exactly to his narrow waist and hips. None of the men in this area wore thousand-dollar suits.

“I’m Evangeline Costopoulos,” she said. “And you are...?”

“Grayson Flint,” he replied with a big smile. “I called earlier. You did get my message, didn’t you?”

She blinked. “Message? What message?”

The name Grayson Flint was familiar to her, too, but she still couldn’t place it.

“I called this morning and asked the school secretary if I could arrange to see you after school hours. She gave me an appointment for three o’clock. Didn’t she tell you?”

Eve sighed. “I’m sorry, but we’re so understaffed here that sometimes things like messages just fall through the cracks. I didn’t get yours—but I’m free now. If you’d like to come into my classroom, we won’t be disturbed.”

She led the way back to the room and placed a worn old wooden chair in front of her desk for him, then sat down in her equally worn chair behind it. “Sorry about the uncomfortable seats, but as you probably know the school system is financially strapped. There’s no room in the budget for new furniture.”

She settled back in her chair. “Now, Mr. Flint, what can I do—”

Her brain finally connected the name to the man, and she stopped short, flustered. “You’re Grayson Flint, the weatherman on television!”

It came out more like an accusation than a statement, and she felt the flush of embarrassment. “I—I’m sorry. That sounded rude, and I certainly didn’t mean it to. It’s just that your name and your face were familiar, but I couldn’t place you until just now.”

He chuckled, and she noticed he was even better looking in person than he was on TV. “Don’t apologize—that happens quite often,” he assured her. “The weather forecaster isn’t the star that the news anchor is. I only have a few minutes on the air in each newscast, and the listeners are more interested in the weather patterns on the Doppler radar than they are in the meteorologist who’s delivering it”

He was not only handsome, but modest as well. That wasn’t an easy combination to find.

“You’re very kind,” she said, “but I’m sure most people remember you well. Do you have a special interest in one of my students?”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” he said. “I understand you sometimes tutor students with learning disabilities.”

That puzzled her. “Well, yes, although the children I tutor don’t have disabilities so much as bad learning environments. Most of them come from impoverished homes, and don’t have proper nourishment, medical care, or supervision.”

Flint looked thoughtful. “I didn’t realize...” His words trailed off.

“Not only that,” she continued, “but those whose parents do work go home to an empty house after school. The kids aren’t motivated to get to school on time, or to study.”

Eve knew she was getting carried away. She usually did when she talked about the deplorable conditions under which so many of the children in this district lived.

But that couldn’t be this man’s problem. Whether he was too modest to admit it or not, he was a television personality who made a lot of money. If he had children, they would never go hungry or without medical care.

She stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to deliver a lecture. It’s just that this is my first year of teaching, and I guess I’m getting my first taste of the real world. It can be pretty hard to take at times.”

“That’s because you’re a caring and warmhearted person,” he said. “And believe me, there are more like you than you think, but we’ll talk about that another time. Right now I need to know if you’re familiar with dyslexia.”

Her eyes widened. “Dyslexia? I know that it’s a reading disorder that’s associated with impairment of the ability to interpret spatial relationships—”

Flint made a face and held up his hand. “Whoa there, slow down. I don’t mean the textbook interpretation. I’ve already been given all the technical information. What I want is a translation into layman’s language. What’s going on in a person who has it?”

Eve wondered why he had come to her with this request. Why didn’t he seek out a specialist in learning disabilities? And what was he going to do with the information? Was he gathering it for a colleague at the television station who was doing a story on it? Or did he plan to do a story himself?

Oh well, it couldn’t hurt to tell him what she knew, she thought “As I understand it, the people who suffer from dyslexia cannot grasp the meaning or sequence of letters, words or symbols, or the idea of direction. They often confuse letters or words, and may read or write words or sentences in the wrong order, such as god for dog. This causes them to have difficulty reading, and spelling.”

“Have you any new information on what causes it?” he asked anxiously.

She shook her head. “Nobody knows. Sometimes there’s a family history, sometimes it’s due to brain damage. But generally the cause is obscure. We do know that more boys than girls have it, that dyslexic children generally have average or above-average intelligence, and that they don’t differ from normal learners in their ability to hear, see and speak. Aside from that, there’s really nothing else I can tell you, other than to recommend that you talk to a specialist in that field—”

“I’ve already done that, and I have to confess that I haven’t been altogether truthful with you. Or, rather, I haven’t told you everything you probably have a right to know.”

She frowned, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You see, I have a daughter who’s recently been diagnosed as dyslexic.”

A daughter. That was one of the possibilities that hadn’t occurred to Eve. Viewers don’t tend to think of television personalities as family people. However, she admired his concern for his child.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “How old is she?”

Flint closed his eyes for just a moment before answering. “She’s eight and in the third grade. Up until now her teachers have been reluctant to hold her back, assuming that she was just a slow starter. Now that she’s finally been correctly diagnosed, she’s been working with a therapist and is doing fairly well in her ability to read, but she’s so far behind the other children in her grade that she desperately needs private tutoring. I’m looking for a tutor to help her catch up. I spoke to the district superintendent of schools, and he recommended you.”