The Fake Fiancée

“It won’t,” Lisa assured him.

He leaned forward and shook his finger in Bobby’s face, a looming figure in his dark suit. “This will be on your permanent record, young man.”

Miss Jensen uttered a soft protest. Lisa pushed Bobby behind her.

“It does little good to protect him,” Bushfield said.

“Good day.” She restrained the urge to slam his door.

“Ms. Meyer,” he called out just before she could escape. “There is an alternative program I’ve been considering for young Robert.”

Lisa stopped. If he mentioned juvenile detention, she would smack him. She swallowed a grin. Maybe the air in the school turned the Meyer family into violent reactionaries. “Bobby, wait outside with your sister.”

Bobby scooted around her into the secretary’s office.

Abby gawked at his face. “Cool.”

Lisa glared at them both before stepping back in and carefully closing the principal’s door. “What program?”

“In my opinion, Bobby is bored with school, and this is why he’s acting out.”

Lisa tried not to roll her eyes. Acting out. Sheesh. In her opinion, this Arnold kid had goaded her son, and Bobby had “acted out” with his fist. His problem stemmed from his anger at his father.

“Have you spoken with Mr. Swanson?” she asked, referring to the psychologist. She’d endured team meetings all year with Bobby’s teacher, principal, the school psychologist and the social worker, appreciating their concern for her son, even though she didn’t always agree with their assessments. Bobby met with Swanson every week, trying to talk through his feelings toward Brad and formulate ways to curb Bobby’s outbursts of temper. Anger management for a six-year-old. Lisa felt like such a failure as a mother.

Bushfield nodded. “He sees the merit in my suggestion. Unfortunately, he had another meeting after school today. We could wait until he’s available to discuss this, but I would hesitate to detain any help for Robert, given recent circumstances.”

Lisa turned to his teacher. “I thought this disagreement only happened yesterday and today. Is he fighting with other kids, too? Have you had other problems with Bobby?”

“Not fighting, no,” Miss Jensen said, “although I have noticed how withdrawn he’s become since Christmas. He doesn’t interact with the other students, usually preferring to read rather than play with them.”

“Withdrawn?” Lisa’s mouth went dry. He’d expected his dad home for Christmas, but they’d talked about it and she thought he’d accepted it. She hadn’t realized the depth of his disappointment. When had Bobby quit playing with his friends? He loved to join in any type of game. How had she not known? Of course, she only came to school on special party days. She’d thought his outbursts of anger were his only problem.

“In the program I’m suggesting,” Bushfield said, “the children meet with instructors before and after school to study art, music and a foreign language, as well as participating in some recreational activities to challenge their bodies as well as their minds. We, of course, offer breakfast and an after-school snack to keep their energy levels high.”

“Bobby doesn’t need day care, Mr. Bushfield.”

“But he needs challenge, Ms. Meyer. One of the problems with Bobby is that he’s brighter than his classmates. We can’t advance him into first grade this late in the school year.”

Lisa pushed down a surge of maternal pride. Of course, she considered Bobby brighter than average but felt gratified to hear it from educators. Why hadn’t they noticed how intelligent Bobby was before this? Shaking her head, she knew the answer. In their overgrown school district, only the special needs children got particular attention. The ordinary kids who didn’t struggle academically or misbehave were overlooked.

Before, Bobby had been evaluated as troubled. Now with the fighting, her son would be labeled a problem child. Smart, they could ignore and plan extra work for the next year maybe. Disobedience and fighting, however, had to be addressed immediately.

“With only weeks left in the school year,” she said, “I wouldn’t want you to move him. How will before-and after-school ‘challenges’ help him behave during class?”

Bushfield opened his mouth but offered no answer before closing it again.

“And,” Lisa continued, “his temper problems aside, today’s ‘incident’ sounds like a personality conflict between Bobby and this Arnold kid.”

“If my son were fighting,” Bushfield said, “I’d be concerned.”

Pompous ass. Lisa reached deep inside herself for patience. “I am concerned, Mr. Bushfield. I just don’t agree that this is the answer for Bobby.”

Bushfield leaned back in his black leather swivel chair and linked his fingers over his paunch. “We considered this program for Bobby in the fall because of his abilities, not because of his misbehavior.”

Her teeth clenched so tight her jaw ached. His misbehavior? What about that other kid, calling Bobby names and smashing his head on the floor?

“However,” the principal continued, “this opportunity cannot be offered to every child due to its cost.”

The blood drained from Lisa’s face. Because she’d had to sign up for reduced lunch prices and book-fee assistance for both children, all her financial information lurked in the kids’ files. No doubt Bushfield and every other administrator had access. It was degrading.

Now it came down to money again. Bobby hadn’t been considered last fall because she was broke? She swallowed her rage. Damn Brad.

“Unfortunately,” the principal continued, “it isn’t funded through tax revenue, and we must rely upon the parents—or parent in your case—to provide the majority of the tuition. Bringing highly talented professionals together to educate our children with the best cultural activities is expensive.” He cleared his throat. “Given that Bobby’s special needs have intensified this week, we might be able to provide a grant through the school district for the remainder of the year. Some monies have become available.”

Lisa tried to remain expressionless. Humiliated beyond measure because she couldn’t afford to give her child this special opportunity, she fought her anger—against Bushfield, against Brad, against anyone she could think of, especially herself. No way would she allow her children to suffer because she had been left with an overwhelming debt. If only that investigator could track down Brad, perhaps she could squeeze some child support from him. Unfortunately, rumor had it Brad had left the country.

She stiffened her spine and eyed Bushfield steadily. “If you have a brochure, I’ll look it over.”

She marched out with her head held high, determined to get the money somehow, even if she had to sell her soul to the devil.

Fortunately, she’d just met the devil. He was handsome and devious, and he needed a favor from her.

Chapter Three

The next day, Lisa paced the waiting area outside Joe’s office, recalling her adamant refusal to help him. Now she had to swallow her pride and ask for a favor. She could humble herself for her children. She’d had practice enough in the past eighteen months. But deceiving Joe’s parents stuck in her craw.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have much choice. She wanted to rise above the humiliation of being broke, but more importantly, she had to get Bobby into that program. Providing for her children drove her every action.

The night before, Lisa had seated herself beside Bobby as he climbed into bed. She brushed a stray lock of white-blond hair off his forehead.

“Bobby, why did you hit Arnold?”

He stared at his lightweight blanket, threading it between his fingers. His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.

The cicadas started their nightly song outside. An early June bug thunked against the window screen, trying to reach the light. The overhead fan whirred. Her son said nothing.

She bit her bottom lip, then prodded, “Bobby? You must have had a reason.”

Still not looking at her, he mumbled, “He called me a name.”

Lisa sighed. She’d gotten that much from his teacher. “Honey, you can’t just hit people because you don’t like what they say. Miss Jensen said you shoved him yesterday, too.”

He shrugged again.

“And you kicked Mr. Riley.”

Bobby’s eyes flashed to hers. “But he was yelling at you!”