The Fake Fiancée

“Seriously, hear me out. You get the R & R job, right?”

“Presumably, but—”

“No, just listen. You get to show off your catering skills. Lots of people find out how great you are. You’ll get loads of jobs, and you can pay off more of your debt.”

“But I’ll have to lie to his parents.”

“His relationship with them already stinks, right, if he’s doing this? You’re not changing anything. You come out ahead.”

“Ginger, he’s just like Brad. Lying to take the easy way out. Deceiving people who love him. I can’t have any part in that.”

After a moment, Ginger squeezed Lisa’s arm. “Of course you can’t. What was I thinking?” She rose. “I’d better get home.”

“Did Bobby behave?” Lisa dreaded the answer, especially after he’d just kicked Joe. Bobby’s emotions had teetered unpredictably since Brad left eighteen months earlier. Brad hadn’t said goodbye to the kids. One night, he just hadn’t come home. Only after hours of her worrying and frantic voice mails had he answered his cell phone.

“I’m not coming back,” he’d said. Then the phone went silent. He hadn’t used it since, according to the investigator she’d hired to track him down.

Another expense she couldn’t afford.

Abby had cried for days, then withdrawn, not talking about her dad again. Bobby had been sure Daddy would come home, but as time passed, his certainty turned to anger. The school psychologist, Mr. Swanson, advised Lisa to let them come to her when they were ready to talk. But “not pushing the subject” didn’t seem to be helping either child.

“He was good,” Ginger said. “No outbursts. He loved the arcade games.”

Lisa went boneless with relief, only then realizing she’d braced herself for a bad report. “Thanks for taking the kids out. I got a lot of flowers done and all my cookies baked.”

Ginger waved away her thanks with a distinct gleam in her eye. “My pleasure. It’s, you know, good practice to be around them.”

Lisa squealed and rushed to her, grabbing her arms. Her friend’s smile could have lit up Country Club Plaza for the entire Christmas season. “Are you—?”

“No, but we’re trying.” Ginger giggled. “Lordy, are we trying. If I’d known how much fun it was to conceive, we’d have started years ago.”

“It’s not like you haven’t had sex, Gin. You’ve been married for four years.”

“Yeah, but now we tangle the sheets with a purpose. Each time, after, we think, ‘Was that it? Did we just make a baby?’” She rubbed the bridge of her nose self-consciously. “Dopey, huh?”

Lisa hugged her. “No, it’s very sweet and special, like you. Good luck with this.”

“We don’t need luck,” Ginger called over her shoulder. “It’s all in the execution. And, boy, can Kyle execute.”

THE NEXT DAY, Lisa left off baking early to pick up the children from school. The oven had become temperamental, or perhaps it was Lisa’s thoughts of Joe Riley’s offer that had sidetracked her, making the cake for the petit fours cook just a tad longer than required. Two batches of cake had been ruined before she noticed the problem. The drive across town, normally about ten minutes, took longer at the end of the school day, as other parents cluttered the roadway on the same errand. She preferred to park and go in to get the kids rather than drive through the pickup lane, so she had to leave even earlier to find a spot.

She retrieved Abby in the lobby, as she was coming back from PE with her backpack all ready to go. They walked down the long hallway toward the kindergarten classes, dodging other kids. Spying Bobby’s teacher coming toward them, Lisa smiled. Miss Jensen’s mouth turned down at the corners, and Lisa’s stomach clenched. Uneasy about the answer, she asked, “What is it?”

“Fighting. He’s in the principal’s office.”

Lisa closed her eyes. “And I was having such a great day.”

“We sent home a note yesterday. I guess you didn’t get it since it didn’t come back signed today.”

Lisa’s jaw dropped. “What happened yesterday?”

“He pushed another boy, and we have a zero tolerance policy regarding any show of violence. He spent thirty minutes working in the hall. The other boy called Bobby names. I don’t know the details, as neither would tell me.” She sighed. “Today, Bobby hit the child. Arnold’s nose isn’t broken, but it bled a great deal.”

Lisa swallowed.

“Bobby appears to have gotten the worst of it,” Miss Jensen said, as though that counted in Bobby’s favor.

The principal’s secretary opened the door and gestured them in, forestalling any comment. Lisa turned to Abby. “You stay here.”

She stepped in and then froze as she saw her son. When she gestured for him to show her his face, he lowered the ice pack. “Oh, my God.” He had indeed gotten the worst of it, if that was Bobby under the swollen cheek and purple eye.

“We were about to call you,” said the principal, a smarmy-mannered chauvinist who always scraped Lisa’s nerves. “But the incident occurred right before dismissal.”

Lisa wanted to pull Bobby to her and rock him, showering him with kisses. The incident? Where was the teacher when some bully was beating her baby? She turned to Miss Jensen, forcing herself to remember how much she usually liked the young woman. “How did this happen?”

Mr. Bushfield cleared his throat. “Maybe we’d better ask young Robert that.”

Lisa locked gazes with her son. “I fully intend to talk to Bobby.”

Bobby grimaced, then winced and replaced the ice pack.

Bushfield held up his hand. “We expect our young people to own up to their mistakes. We prefer them to take responsibility for their actions.” He paused. “Of course, you must handle this however you think best.”

Lisa gritted her teeth. His implication hung in the air. She wanted the teacher’s version because she didn’t trust her own son to tell the truth. The guy was a jerk. She turned her back to him. “Miss Jensen?”

“Bobby hit Arnold.” She shook her head. “By the time I got across the room, Arnold had slammed Bobby to the floor. I didn’t see how it started.”

Lisa would have to find out what happened from Bobby, after all. She hated to give Bushfield the satisfaction. Dying to ask about punishment for this Arnold kid, Lisa said with forced politeness, “How is the other child?”

“His parents are coming from work,” Miss Jensen said, “so he’s waiting in the nurse’s office. His nose has stopped bleeding. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Taking Bobby’s hand in hers, Lisa faced the principal. “The question of ‘why’ will have to be settled later.”

“He must—” Bushfield blustered.

Lisa raised her chin and reached for dignity. “The real problem is that it happened at all. What discipline measures does the school enforce?”

The administrator gawked, clearly two beats behind and trying to catch up. “What do you mean?”

“Is he suspended? Do kindergartners serve detention?”

“We’ve found detention to be ineffective as a discipline tool for this age group. The child’s self-esteem can be severely damaged.”

Lisa exhaled slowly so he wouldn’t notice she’d been holding her breath. “I agree. I would recommend against suspension, as well. Bobby will learn more by facing Arnold and their classmates than by staying home.”

Bobby scowled then readjusted the ice pack.

Bushfield wiped his pudgy face. “This mustn’t happen again.”