Miss Liz's Passion

“I see,” he said wearily. “What did you do with the other letters?”

There was the tiniest hesitation before Kevin said in a whisper, “I lost ’em.”

“Really? How convenient,” he said, barely controlling his temper. “Suppose you tell me what they were about.”

Kevin studied the miniature red Porsche he was pushing back and forth and mumbled, “She said she told you in this one.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Kevin remained stubbornly silent. Todd knew from experience that getting him to talk now was going to require tact and patience. He was shorter than usual on both tonight.

“Son, she says this is the fifth note in the last three weeks. Are you sure there’s not something happening in school that you should tell me about?”

Kevin’s expression turned increasingly defiant. “I told you, Dad. She don’t like me. That’s all it is.”

“School just started a month ago. Why would you think your teacher doesn’t like you?”

“Everybody knows it, Dad. She’s always telling me how to do stuff.”

Despite himself, Todd grinned. “She’s a teacher. That’s what teachers do.”

“Yeah, but Dad, she only tells me. Even when I tell her I can’t do it, she makes me. The other kids get it, but I can’t. I try, Dad. Really.”

The tears that welled up despite the tough facade convinced Todd that his son was telling the truth, at least as he saw it. A swift surge of compassion swept through him, blotting out for a moment his need to get to the bottom of the teacher’s complaints. His overwhelming desire to protect Kevin at any cost refueled his anger at the stiff, unyielding Miss Gentry and gave substance to all of his long-standing suspicions about the school system’s ineptitude. It had done a lousy enough job with him. He’d obviously been foolish to hope that things had improved.

What kind of teacher would single out a child day after day like that? He’d tried his darnedest not to interfere, to let the school do what it was supposed to do—educate his son, but he wouldn’t have the boy made out to be some sort of freak because he was a little slower than the other kids. Kevin was smart as a whip. Anyone who took the time to talk to him could see that.

“Are you going to talk to her, Dad?” Kevin’s voice was hesitant, the tone a heartbreaking mix of hopefulness and fear. Todd wasn’t sure what response his son really wanted.

“Don’t you want me to?” he asked, though he knew there was no longer any real choice in the matter.

Kevin shrugged, but his little shoulders were slumped so dejectedly it made Todd feel like pounding his fist through a wall. “She’s made me stay after school almost every day this week,” Kevin finally admitted. “A couple of times I almost missed the bus. I think she’s real mad at both of us now.”

Todd sighed. Kevin tried so hard not to let anyone fight his battles for him. If only he’d told Todd sooner, perhaps this wouldn’t have gotten so far out of hand. The prospect of confronting Miss Gentry’s self-righteous antagonism held about as much appeal as putting in another grueling, mishap-ridden twelve-hour day at the site of his latest shopping center.

“Then maybe it’s time I have a talk with her,” he said, anyway. “Don’t worry about it, son. I’ll get it straightened out. Tell her I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.” He recalled the string of problems he’d left behind at the construction site and the imperious tone of that note, then amended, “Or the next day, at the latest.”

But despite the reassurance, fear still flickered in Kevin’s eyes. That frightened expression aroused all of Todd’s fierce protective instincts. He remembered every single humiliating moment of his own school experience and swore to himself that Miss Elizabeth Gentry would not put his son through the same sort of torment.

Liz stared longingly out the classroom window at the swaying palm trees and deep blue sky. It was a perfect Florida day. The humidity had vanished on the breeze. She had only five more spelling papers to grade before she could leave the confining classroom and enjoy what was left of the early October afternoon. The prospect of a long swim raised her spirits considerably.

She had had an absolutely hellish day again. The school had instituted yet another form that had to be filled out, though no one knew quite why. Two of her students had been sent home with the flu, after generously sharing their germs, no doubt. She’d had cafeteria duty, which almost always left her with a headache. Today’s was still throbbing at the base of her skull. And Kevin had gotten into another fight. This time he’d sent Cindy Jamison to the school nurse with a bloody lip. She herself had gotten a lump on her shin and a run in her hose trying to break up the brawl.

Now Kevin was sitting at his desk, his head bent over another assignment as they waited for his father, who was already forty minutes late. The man probably had no intention of showing up this time, either, though Kevin had vowed that he would be here.

She heard a soft, snuffling sound and looked back just in time to catch sight of a tear spilling onto Kevin’s paper. Her heart constricted. Blast that stubborn, indifferent father of his.

“Kevin, bring me your paper.”

He looked up, his expression so woebegone that once again she felt like taking his father apart piece by piece.

When Kevin didn’t move, she said, “Aren’t you finished?”

He shook his head.

“That’s okay. Show me what you have and we’ll do the rest together.”

“It’s not very good.”

“No problem. We’ll work on it.”

Kevin approached her desk with the look of a child being told that Santa Claus was leaving him only a lump of coal. It was an expression without hope. Stoic and resigned, he placed the rumpled page in front of her. “I made a lot of mistakes.”

“Then let’s see what we can do about them,” she said briskly. “You know everybody makes mistakes when they tackle something new. It’s nothing to be ashamed of and it’s definitely no reason not to at least try.”

Kevin regarded her with surprise. “My dad says that, too.”

Liz was startled that they’d even discussed the subject. Her image of Todd Lewis did not include supportive father-son talks. She’d been certain that he either ignored the boy altogether or pressured him by expecting perfection.

“Does your dad help you with your homework?”

“Sometimes,” Kevin said evasively. “Mostly Mrs. Henley helps me.” Mrs. Henley was the woman next door.

“Sometimes, if Dad’s real late, she fixes dinner and helps me with my homework.”

Liz felt that familiar surge of helplessness rush through her again. For the next half hour she and Kevin worked on correcting his paper. It was a tedious, frustrating process for both of them, but Kevin’s glowing smile at each tiny success made the effort worthwhile. When he printed the last of the words on his list perfectly, she hugged him.

“That’s exactly right. I think you deserve a reward. What would you like?”

His eyes widened. “You mean like a present or something?”

She grinned at his look of delight. “A small present.”

He chewed on his lip thoughtfully, then finally said, “I’m really hungry. Could I have a hamburger?”

It wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but he was looking at her so expectantly, she shrugged. “Why not? I’m sure we can find someplace nearby for a hamburger and maybe even some french fries.”

“Great, but what about my dad?”

Liz wasn’t much in the mood to talk to Todd Lewis about anything, but regulations demanded it. “If you give me the number, I’ll call him at his office and get his okay.”

Kevin’s face fell. “He doesn’t work in an office. You can’t call him.”

“What about a cell phone?” she asked.

“He only uses it for work, I don’t know the number.”

She should have realized that the minute she’d made the first call last week and gotten only an answering machine. “Where does he work?”