Читать книгу The Fake Fiancée - Megan Kelly - Страница 10

Lisa opened the door. Joe nodded to Ginger on his way out.

“Hoo-ee!” Ginger gawked after him. “Who was that?”

Lisa rubbed the tension from her temple. “Opportunity, unfortunately. I just lost that huge Riley and Ross job.”

“Which one is he?” Ginger’s gaze remained fixed outside.

“Riley.” Lisa watched his royal-blue convertible pull from the curb then slammed the door. “And good riddance.”

“I wouldn’t be so happy to see him walk away. Although he did have an excellent backside.”

Lisa shot her a wry look. “I’ll be sure to tell Kyle you think so.”

Ginger laughed. “Like he’d worry. The big lug knows I’m crazy for him.”

Lisa gathered up the glasses and took the tray back to the kitchen. She sighed. “There went that. What am I going to do?”

Ginger slid onto the bar stool at the kitchen counter. “Why did he come here to talk to you personally? Your bid couldn’t have been too far off.”

Lisa grimaced. “I have no idea where my bid was. He came for something else entirely.” She poured Ginger an iced tea and filled her in on the details.

Ginger stared out the window, one tangerine fingernail tapping against her glass. Lisa didn’t like the calculating look in her friend’s eyes. Although her hair fell to her shoulders in apricot waves, Ginger had a redhead’s temperament. She was bound to be plotting a nasty revenge for Joe Riley.

“I think you should do it,” Ginger said.

Lisa gaped. “What?”

“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.”

“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.