Table for five (25 page)

S
ean cleared his throat and straightened his sports jacket. He had no idea how to dress for a parent-teacher conference, so he’d dressed up a little. He wanted to make sure Lily knew he took this seriously. Then he pushed open the main door of the school and followed the signs to the office. Emptied of students, the place looked completely different.

A woman with long silver hair and a flowing dress greeted him with a smile of Zen-like serenity. “Mr. Maguire,” she said. “Edna Klein. I was at the funeral.”

“I remember,” he said, shaking her hand. “Thank you.”

She wrote down his name and the time he checked in, then sent him to Lily’s classroom. Peering through the door, he saw that it looked like Munchkin Land, all bright, primary colors and undersize furniture. He knocked at the half-open door. “Hello?”

“Sean, hi, please come in.” She looked slightly flustered as she greeted him, a gleam of fresh lipstick on her mouth. She had a truly gorgeous mouth, he thought, and then decided that was an inappropriate observation. Or maybe not. With Maura
gone, he was a free agent once again, sort of. A free agent with three kids.

As he took a seat at a low, round table, he noticed that all the desks, with chairs upended, were aligned in four rows of six. Every bulletin board display had a hand-lettered sign: Our Changing World. Fractions Are Fun. Manners Matter. Today’s lesson was still up on the board: “Things We Remember on Memorial Day.”

Everything here was excruciatingly neat, earnest and sincere, just like Lily. This classroom explained more about who Lily Robinson was than an FBI profile.

Then, when she opened a closet behind her desk and started rummaging around, he realized she’d managed to surprise him again. Behind the door was utter chaos, an almost kidlike disorder of brightly colored art supplies, Post-it notes stuck all over the place, a set of Mickey Mouse ears and what looked like a kimono on a hook behind the door. She caught him inspecting the closet and gave a nervous laugh. “My creative outlet,” she said. “Keeping these children engaged takes some creativity. This is a toga I wear when I teach them Roman numerals.”

“What’s the pig nose for?”

“Literature, of course.”

So he still hadn’t figured her out. There were layers of complexity to this woman, and against his will, he found himself wanting to explore them.

She opened a file folder and turned it toward him. “I have a bit of good news. She’s doing better in math,” she said. “This is a unit test we took on Wednesday.”

“Eighty-three percent,” he said, looking over the pages. “Not too shabby.”

“She seems to like fractions and money.” She tapped a pencil idly.

“I like money, too. Fractions I can do without.”

“Yes, well, a strong conceptual understanding of fractions is essential—”

“Lily.” He stopped the tapping pencil.

She looked up at him, her eyes startled behind the eyeglasses. “Yes?”

“I was kidding.”

“Oh.” She looked more flustered than ever. “Now, I want to go over this reading inventory with you.”

He thought about telling her he could already read just fine, but she never seemed to get his humor. “All right, shoot.”

“Well, I’m somewhat encouraged. A month ago she was struggling with sound-letter combinations and her comprehension was very low. She’s still below grade level in most areas, but she’s showing genuine improvement. Charlie says you’ve been reading aloud to her every night.”

“Yes, that’s true. She’s a big fan of
Golf in the Kingdom.
”

“I’d venture to say she’s a big fan of you. I’ll bet you could read her the phone book and she’d pay attention. She told me that she’s feeling better about the situation.” Clearly pleased, she went through the rest of the work in the folder. Across the board, Charlie was trailing behind, but doing better. “I think you’re doing a good job.”

Sean felt a cold tightness inside him. “I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“Not doing a good job.”

“I just showed you the inventory—”

“Screw the inventory.”

She flinched.

“Look,” he said, “you can check off all the lists you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that Charlie’s still way behind, Cameron’s into vandalism and the baby can’t figure out what to call me. So I’d hardly call that a good job.” Agitated, he got
up and paced. “It’s all screwed up. Their parents died and there’s no damned inventory for that. I’m trying to do this right, but I can’t fill that empty space.” He felt as though he was on a knife’s edge, trying to balance the immense loss with some sense of hope.

She looked startled, maybe a little scared. “Sean…I appreciate your honesty. Have you talked to Dr. Sachs about this?”

“Hell, yes, I’ve talked to her. I’ve talked until I’m blue in the face. She claims I’ll see improvement over time, but these kids are living their lives now, they’re suffering now. She wants to send me to a support group, like Parents Without Partners, but how the hell do I find the time to go to a support group?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, what more I can do. I can’t wave a wand and suddenly make everything better. No one can. But we can work on fixing this. Charlie, for example. The signs of improvement are encouraging.”

“She ought to be spiraling downhill, but you say she’s doing better.”

“It’s a positive sign no one expected. A welcome sign,” she added. “The main reason I wanted to talk to you today is to discuss plans for the summer. It’s my opinion that Charlie needs intensive remediation throughout the summer in order to prepare for fourth grade.”

“Explain intensive remediation.”

“Tutoring. Initially, I recommended the Chall Reading Institute in Portland for Charlie, but obviously things have changed. There’s been so much upheaval in her life that I think it’s best she stay home during the summer and work with a tutor. Two hours a day should do it.”

“What do you charge?”

She started tapping the pencil eraser. “I don’t think I should be her tutor.”

“Why not?”

“It’s difficult to keep the relationship on a professional level when I have such close personal ties with Charlie.”

“I don’t see the problem here. You don’t need to be professional with Charlie. It
is
personal.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but…I have a policy of treating all my students the same. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.”

“Screw fairness,” he snapped, getting up to pace the room.

The pencil stopped tapping. “I beg your pardon.”

“I said, screw fairness. It’s not
fair
that Charlie’s parents died and she wound up with me. It’s not
fair
that there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do about it. So don’t tell me about fair.”

“Sean, why don’t you have a seat.”

“Because I don’t want to have a goddamned seat.”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to admit just once that these kids are special. That they deserve special treatment.” He could see she was fine-tuned to this moment. At last she’d quit hiding behind the teacher persona and he could see the real Lily, the one whose heart ached for Charlie the same way his did. It probably wasn’t right to take comfort in her pain, but at least he didn’t feel so alone.

Tears glimmered in her eyes. She swallowed and blinked, and the tears were gone. Maybe it had been a trick of the light.

“So you’ll do it,” he said.

“I can’t,” she said. “I know how special these kids are. I adore them and yes, I could give them my heart, but then what? Then you move away, or get married, or something changes. Suddenly I don’t have them anymore, and they don’t have me. And there’s not a blessed thing I can do about it.”

“Wait a minute, so you’re saying you can’t be a part of their lives because we might move or things might change?”

“They need stability. Having people flit in and out of their
lives can cause problems.” Although she’d dodged his question, she regarded him pointedly.

Somehow, he knew what she was saying with that look.
Maura.
One day she was there, then she was gone. The kids acted like her departure was no big deal, but maybe he wasn’t looking closely enough.

He paced some more. “I don’t get you at all. You’re so damned worried about the future that you’re forgetting right now. Yeah, that’s right. Life is what’s happening to you right now, not what might happen in a month or a year. So if you’re afraid now, then you’re spending your life being afraid.”

“I’m thinking of the children,” she said quietly. “It’s not that I’m afraid—”

Right, he thought, studying her terrified eyes. “What is it, then?”

“I have no discretion over them because I’m not the one raising them, so I can’t play that role.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“The terms of Derek’s will, for starters.”

“Ask me.”

“What?”

“Ask me. Their legal guardian. The one who’s giving the kids to you in
my
will. Ask me if you get to be a part of their lives, if you have a say in their future.”

“I don’t doubt you, Sean. But suppose you work things out with Maura. Suppose you meet someone new, someone you want to spend your life with. I doubt she’s going to want me hanging around like some maiden aunt.”

Sean was incredulous. “So you’re afraid to love these kids because they might not always be available to you?”

“Because it would be cruel to give them the impression that I belong in their lives when I don’t.”

“That’s shit, Lily, and you know it. The kids are nuts about you. Charlie needs
you
to be her tutor, not some stranger.”

As he drove home, Sean tried to figure out if he’d managed to settle anything at all at the conference with Lily. Not really, he decided. Well, that wasn’t quite true. There was something he was now sure about. It was possible for pulled-back hair, eyeglasses and sensible shoes to be sexy. He wasn’t supposed to regard her as anything but Crystal’s slightly annoying, judgmental friend, but lately, he kept catching himself thinking of her in other ways.

He wondered what she wore under that crisp, buttoned-up Peter Pan collar. A sexy bra or plain white cotton? What would that scraped-back hair feel like falling between his fingers? And those lips, what did they taste like, what would they feel like against his?

He made himself quit with the schoolteacher fantasies. Maybe it was because of his situation, maybe he wanted a woman in his life because of the kids. Except that wasn’t true. He didn’t want a woman in his life. He wanted Lily Robinson.

You’re in trouble, buddy, he told himself. You’re in big trouble. He emptied his mind and drove in stolid, mindless focus, frowning when he spotted a rental car parked in front of the house. Inside, Red Corliss sat in the living room.

“Hey,” Sean said, “where are the kids?”

“Cameron’s got them upstairs.”

Puzzled, Sean shook hands with him. “What’s up?”

Red grinned and his eyes sparkled. “I’ve got news,” he said. “Big news.” He held out a familiar-looking legal-length set of papers, stapled together.

Sean frowned as he took them. “You’re setting me up with a sponsor? I’m not even playing.”

Red grinned. “You will be. Am I good or what?”

Just for a moment, Sean’s hopes soared. This was what he was truly about, playing a game that had given his life its shape and meaning. A sponsor meant somebody believed in you.

“Wonder Bread?” he asked, his hopes heading back toward earth. Not Nike or Chevrolet, but Wonder Bread. “Is this a joke?” he asked.

“Hey, don’t knock it. I stuck my neck out to get this. They’re prepared to back you in a major tournament. You won’t need your PGA card because they bought you an exemption, Sean.”

His stomach flip-flopped. It was a huge gesture. When a player didn’t qualify for a tournament through the usual channels, a sponsor had the power to buy him a spot in the game. It often meant a vanity entry for someone who could never qualify on his own. But sometimes, every once in a while, it was a way to give a long shot a chance.

“What tournament?”

“The Colonial Championship in Pinehurst, North Carolina. There’s a million dollars at stake.”

Sean felt a lurch of excitement. Then he ground it out and lay the contract on the coffee table. “I have to turn this down, Red.”

The agent laughed loudly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just heard something hilarious. I heard you turn down a lucrative sponsorship and a shot at the majors.”

“You heard right.”

“I heard bullshit. I put my damned reputation on the line to get you this deal. What am I supposed to do now, tell the sponsor their dog won’t hunt?” He took out a cigar and a lighter.

“You can’t smoke in the house, Red,” Sean told him.

“Well, excuse me, Sister Mary Maguire.”

“Hey, I’m looking out for the kids. That’s what this is about,
Red. The kids. I can’t take off for a tournament now that I’m in charge of three kids.” Something struck him as he said it. He wouldn’t want to take off. He’d miss them too much.

“Don’t do this, Sean. You need this deal. Derek made a ton of money, and they spent a ton and a half. After probate, you get nothing but a mortgage on this house.”

Sean felt an acid discomfort in his gut, the one that had been keeping him awake at night. “I’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

“Well, fiddle-dee-dee, Miz Scarlett. You need to make a living. I’m offering you a way to do that. You’d better think twice before turning this deal down.”

“I’m thinking,” he said.

“Sit down, Sean,” Red said. “Read the damned contract.”

“I’ve seen contracts before.” He probably still had a couple of them as keepsakes. A six-figure deal with Bausch & Lomb, a Banc One contract with bonus escalators based on his performance. He kept them around to remind himself that he used to be somebody in this game, somebody other than a disgrace. “Red, thanks for trying, but my life is complicated now. It’s the wrong time to start playing golf again. I’ve got Derek’s kids to think of.”