Читать книгу Take My Hand - Ruth Scofield - Страница 10

Alexis Richmond looked up as a man paused in her open classroom door. He stood tall and knee-locked, his thighs molded inside his denims as though holding his own against a gale wind. His lightning glance showed dark brown eyes full of vexation, framed in tired lines.

She continued to stack papers and waited.

The father of her new student, she assumed. The Lake Trails Elementary School office had called only an hour ago to let her know her class would now number twelve. Twelve was a large group for a special-needs class. Alexis taught students classified as having a behavior disorder—often among other disabilities. Thank God for the help of Kathy, her para-professional.

The stranger’s gaze took her in with a quick skim before his mouth tightened with sheer determination. He glanced behind him. “Come on, Cliff.”

The boy eased around the corner into view. Alexis knew he was nine years old from her brief glance at the sketchy notes sent down from the office. He wore rumpled brown shorts and a T-shirt ripped at the shoulder. His knees and elbows, sporting a couple of scabs, appeared as sharp points on his skinny limbs. He looked clean, at least.

“Get in here” came through the father’s gritted teeth. His large, work-worn hand clamped the boy’s thin shoulder as though preventing a dash for freedom.

Now this was a great start…. Coming to a new school was not a happy event for this pair.

The man’s jaw showed evidence of a sketchy shave, and he didn’t look a whole lot neater than his son. Both could do with a good haircut. However, the boy’s face looked scrubbed to a shine, and she caught the fragrance of a familiar soap.

Casual dress didn’t bother her, as long as a student was clean and modest. She preferred wearing simple things herself, and today had chosen a sleeveless, flowered cotton dress that skimmed her body in loose comfort. She liked the fact that the blue print matched her eyes. She’d felt like celebrating spring this morning.

She was thankful this pair had arrived while her other students were in Music. She had about twenty minutes of quiet time before the kids returned. She usually needed the break; teaching special-needs students demanded patience and one hundred percent teacher focus. But at least now she had a few moments to give this new child her undivided attention. And the dad. They both looked a little lost, she thought.

She let out her breath. Time to take charge, she guessed. She moved out from behind the desk. “Hello. I’m Miss Richmond. And you are…?”

Far back in his dark eyes, a spark of startled awareness flickered a moment before he answered. It elicited a quick, surprised reaction in her middle. As though they had met before, somewhere. Sometime. Yet Alexis knew they hadn’t.

Assuming her professional armor, she ignored the feeling.

“J.D., ma’am. J. D. Sullivan.” He handed her a large brown envelope, fat with what she suspected were the child’s school records. “This is my son, Clifford.”

“Hi, Clifford.” Alexis looked directly at the boy. “I’m glad to meet you.”

The child didn’t answer, but defiance gleamed from his dark brown eyes before his gaze darted to the bank of windows.

J.D. frowned. “Answer the lady, boy.”

Cliff remained silent a moment, then, when his dad squeezed his shoulder, he mumbled, “’Lo.” But the boy didn’t return his gaze to hers.

The child’s behavior was in keeping with why he’d been placed in her class. Complicating the problem, the child had just lost his mother, and Missouri was half a continent away from where he’d lived in California. All this was new to the child.

Helping Cliff, with only a few weeks left in the school year, surely presented a challenge.

Alexis sat against the edge of her desk; it brought her face closer to the child’s. She softened her tone. “I know it’s hard, coming into a new classroom so late in the year. But you’ll make friends here, and we’ll find out how to help each other. Okay?”

At the boy’s continued silence, J.D. glanced at her, a hint of desperation there. Since she knew the pitfalls of getting personally caught up in the parents’ plights, Alexis tried to firm her heart against that soulful gaze. But a trace of compassion seeped through.

“Never mind for the moment. Clifford, why don’t you take this desk here—” she tapped the desk closest to hers “—and then go look at our aquarium back there in the corner until the other students are back from Music.”

“I’m not Clifford.” He thrust his chin out. “I’m Cliff.”

“All right. Cliff. We have a turtle in our tank as well as fish. See if he’s out on the island.”

The boy impatiently shook off his dad’s hand and headed toward the back corner.

“That’s it, then.” Relief seemed to ease some of J.D.’s tension as he half turned toward the door. “I’ll pick him up at the end of the day.”

“Hold on, Mr. Sullivan. We have a few things to discuss.”

“Uh…like what?” A tinge of alarm edged his voice as he swung back.

“Like Cliff’s needs. His school record. His meds.”

“It’s all there, isn’t it? In that file from California?” J.D. flashed a tired, half-belligerent glance at the folder in her hand.

“I hope so, but I haven’t had a chance to read it, have I?”

“I can’t tell you anything more than that file can,” he said, as impatient as his son. He glanced at his watch. “We got in to Doc Hanes’s office this morning, so Cliff’s all set now with those pills he’s taking. What else is there?”

“Well, we have to set up an IEP meeting.”

“A what?”

“Individualized Education Plan.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well…do whatever you have to. I have to go now. I’m late getting my shop open.”

Alexis tried to hide her annoyance. Most of the parents she dealt with were eager to do what was best for their child, but she ran into an occasional careless one. Like now.

From the fish tank came a drumming sound. “Cliff, don’t do that!” his father called. Cliff didn’t acknowledge the command to stop.

“Cliff!”

His back to them, the boy moved on to pull a book from a shelf, then flip it repeatedly with a slap-slap noise.

“Sorry.” J.D. shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. A tired sigh escaped him with his apology.

Alexis nodded, then said, “We should do this within a week or two, Mr. Sullivan.”

“It’s spring, Miss Richmond. My busy time. Haven’t much time for extras.”

Alexis thought J.D. was about ready to bolt. She took a step forward and spoke quickly. “An IEP is a required document for any student with a disability, Mr. Sullivan. The law requires a team meeting among parents, teacher, school nurse and principal. It can’t wait.”

“Me? I have to be there?” Caught in surprise, his glance told her he felt totally helpless. His already dark eyes deepened to melting chocolate. Her heart gave a little kick, swimming against an unwelcome tide. Oh, no…

She’d run afoul of these natural charmers before, to her own sorrow. A man like this one used it without half trying, and she’d been a sucker once too often. Why couldn’t she simply demand the man’s help, and then forget it? He was the parent, after all. She was merely the teacher.

A tumble of books hit the cement floor.

J.D. raised his voice. “Cliff!”

“I didn’t do it,” the boy instantly whined. “They just fell.”

“Stop getting into what you shouldn’t,” his father commanded. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Alexis calmly walked over to help pick up the books. “You may read this one while you wait, Cliff,” she said, handing one to the boy. “Take your seat now. The other boys and girls will be back any moment.”

Sulking, the child slumped into the seat indicated, but immediately began kicking the leg.

Well-practiced, Alexis ignored the continued noise. Time enough to work with Cliff when his emotions had settled down and he became comfortable in the classroom.

Walking back to the front of the room, she noticed J.D. had edged toward the door. “The boy is building for a good walloping before long,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair. “If he doesn’t straighten up soon.”

Maybe J.D. wasn’t so charming after all, Alexis thought. The thought of “walloping” any child put her back up. But he was a father on the edge. A parent who needed help. “I don’t think a spanking would solve anything….”

He rubbed a spot between his eyes with his thumb. “Kept me up and down three nights running since he came. My ex spoiled him rotten….”

That explained some of the irritation.

“Both of you must be worn out,” she said, letting her sympathy show. “It does take time to adjust to a new environment, Mr. Sullivan. I’m sure Cliff’s behavior will improve once we get him settled and he understands where his boundaries are. Now about the IEP…”

“Uh-huh. Um…what is it again?”

“An Individualized Education Plan for Cliff. It sets out the goals for a child for one full calendar year. His meds intake should have a firm routine as a part of that. I’ll call you after I’ve looked over the papers, to set up the meeting.”

“The school year is winding down, isn’t it? Don’t see what good it would do this late.”

“More than you can imagine, Mr. Sullivan. At least we’ll have a handle on Cliff’s problems for next year, as well. We need to be in agreement here, with all parties involved in full understanding of what’s best for Cliff. What we’re trying to accomplish for your son.”

“Yeah, okay. Well, you’re the teacher,” he said with an air of finality. “Anything you say, I’ll do it.”

With that, J. D. Sullivan nearly raced from the room.

“A paddle would do more good, if you ask me,” J.D. muttered all the way out to his truck. “Even just the threat. Brat!”

He turned the ignition key of his ’79 truck, put the shift into gear and barely refrained from roaring out of the school parking lot. Here it was noon, and there was no one minding his shop.

He continued to talk to himself. “Melanie did a good job at spoiling the kid. Only one way to fix that.”

Yet J.D. wasn’t ready to actually carry out his threat. He’d never laid a hand on Cliff in anger—nor on Melanie, in spite of their volatile marriage. But Cliff was only four when Melanie took him from Missouri to California, and now… J.D. simply didn’t know what to do with the son now in his keeping. He’d missed the past five years of fathering.

It was all well and good for smooth-as-silk Miss Richmond to talk. With that fancy education the principal had told him about, Miss Richmond could spout with ease all that stuff that modern teachers knew about how a misbehaving child should be taught. But that wouldn’t help him at home. How was he supposed to cope when Cliff hated him? When they didn’t know each other? When the boy whined constantly?

In the alley off Sunny Creek’s main street, he pulled into his spot behind the shop and sat a moment. He leaned his head against his fist, his elbow supported on the steering wheel. He let his breath whoosh from his lungs. He was already tired, and the day was only half over.

How much trouble was he in? He and his son?

What was he going to do?

Oh, Lord, I need Your help…. I feel like a dunce! I’m in over my head here and I don’t know how to handle my own son. Can You tell me what to do?

It had been years since he’d addressed his creator—since he was a boy. He’d neglected that aspect of his life with little guilt, finding a morning out on the lake fishing or simply sleeping late on Sundays more to his liking. Maybe the Lord wouldn’t hear him anymore.

He suddenly wished he kept a Bible at the shop. Perhaps some scripture might tell him something—give him some hope. The Bible is what his mom had turned to when she felt troubled. He had a Bible at home. Somewhere. But he wouldn’t even know where to look for it. Or what scripture to read.

He no longer was acquainted with any pastor in town, either. He’d feel a fool to go to one for help now, when he was desperate. Yet helping was something ministers did, wasn’t it?

That was something else he’d have to look into, he supposed. A church to attend. The one he’d known as a child, perhaps. Cliff would need friends.

Well, he didn’t have time to think more about it now. He’d turned off his cell phone to concentrate on getting Cliff enrolled in school. No telling how many calls he’d have waiting for him on his answering machine. Though he never ignored them, customers grew impatient when they couldn’t reach him easily.

As he unlocked the rear door and flicked on lights, his mood lightened a tad. This was his refuge, his territory. This was what he did well. Small-engine parts and repair. His customers knew he was the best in Missouri at small-engine repair. His reputation was known all over the lakes. He sold boat parts and limited equipment on the side, as well.

At least Cliff was safely at school with that pretty teacher. He could relax, knowing the kid wasn’t tearing up his house while he wasn’t looking. At least Cliff was out of trouble. And looking at Miss Richmond all day would be no hardship. None at all, with that honey-colored hair and those cool blue-green eyes. Her delicate features positively invited masculine attention, he mused. He’d never been so lucky when he was in school.

He’d almost lost his cool when he first saw her—shucks, he had, J.D. admitted. She’d looked good enough to tuck into his pocket any day.

He wondered where she was from. He hadn’t seen her around town before, and the town wasn’t all that big in the winter off-season. Sunny Creek sat at the northern edge of Truman Lake, an old town now three times the size of what it was when he was a boy. She must be one of the new people.

The phone rang, and he grabbed it on the third ring. “Sullivan’s Repair,” he answered, yanking his thoughts back from a womanly figure whose shapely calves peeking from a flowered hem had intrigued him.

It was just as well. No way would a woman like Miss Richmond look twice at a man like him. She’d go for one of those summertime intellectuals or a smart-mouth from the school board.

But you couldn’t shoot a man for merely looking. At least he’d see her again at the end of the school day.