Teacher Beware (A Grace Ellery Romantic Suspense Book 1) (10 page)

"SO…YOU'RE GOING to be the big graduate in a couple of months," Jake says, half of his body lounging over our parents' kitchen island while he drinks a glass of rum. "Little Sammy, all grown-up and following in Daddy's footsteps. Tell me, how much did your soul cost for you to want to become a dentist? I mean, lacrosse star, a student government member, and you're going to graduate top ten in your class at the University of Maryland. People must think that you're joking when you say that you're going to become a dentist."

"I don't tell people I'm going to become a dentist," I say.

He smirks. "Good plan. I wouldn't tell anyone either. I'd prefer to say I was going to clown school to become a professional juggler. That would make more sense. At least you wouldn't be putting your hand in other people's mouths."

"How's law school?" I scowl. "Is it so terrible that you have to criticize me?"

"Law school is amazing," he says. "The only thing that sucks is that there are so many more men than women. Then again, like all lawyers, the women are easily convinced to come back to my apartment with a good opening statement and a better closing argument or a good plea bargain."

"You're a bit of an asshole," I say.

He shrugs. "It doesn't bother me, and I'd rather be an asshole than a dentist. I can't blame you, though. I mean, after I disappointed Dad, I can't blame you for trying to be Daddy's little boy. Somebody has to be the hero in this family."

"I'm not a hero," I mumble. "And I'm not going to be a dentist."

Jake nearly spits out his rum, coughing for a few seconds. I watch him, wondering if I would actually save him if he began choking. "Are you kidding me? Does Dad know this yet? He's been talking about you becoming a dentist for years!"

I shrug. "It's my life. And I don't want to become a dentist. I want to be a cardiologist."

"A cardiologist?" he asks. "Why? Don't you want to be a cardiac surgeon?"

"I don't want to be so busy that I don't have a life outside of my work."

"Does Dad know yet?" Jake repeats.

I shake my head.

He laughs. Loudly. I can only assume that this isn't his first rum. "Oh. My. God. I have to be here when you tell him. This is amazing. This is the best thing that has happened in years."

"I can't tell him," I say. "I just…not yet."

"When are you going to tell him? After you've graduated?" he asks. "I can see how well that conversation goes. Hey, Dad, I still have two hundred more years of college to go through and when I'm done, I still won't have a dentist's license."

"I just need some time to figure out how to tell him."

"You know what I've learned in law school?" he asks me. "Preparation doesn't help shit. DAD! DAD! SAM HAS SOMETHING TO TELL YOU!"

I launch myself at him, knocking over his glass as I tackle him to the ground. I try to hit him, but he grabs my wrist. I may have been in lacrosse for four years, but Jake had been involved in wrestling for six years. He jerks my whole body underneath him and pins me to the floor.

"Sammy," he taunts. "You're still my little brother. You can't beat me."

Footsteps approach. Jake and I look over his shoulder. Our father stares down at us. His hair has grayed, but it's still as full and thick as it's always been. Everything else about him remains the same, which is amazing considering he still eats at restaurants whenever he can.

"What the hell are you two doing?" he asks. "You aren't boys anymore, you're grown men. Get up."

Jake and I scramble to our feet. A few inches away, his glass is shattered on the floor.

"I was just showing my little brother some love," Jake says. "It truly comes from the
heart
. I may need a
cardiologist
because all of this love is making it swell. Do you know any cardiologists, Sam?"

Jake and our father glance at me.

"No," I say.

"Really?" Jake asks. "You didn't meet any in college? You don't plan to meet any in
dental school
?"

"What's going on?" our father asks, looking between us. "I detect subtext. I hate subtext."

Jake leans against the kitchen island, a smug smirk on his face. I glare at him.

"Sam," our father snaps. "Tell me what's going on."

"Yeah, Sammy," Jake says. "Spill your
heart
out."

I take a deep breath. "I'm not going to dental school."

He blinks. "What do you mean you're not going to dental school? It's what you've been planning to do for half of your life."

"I thought it's what I wanted," I tell him. "But I was just feeding off of your dreams for me. I've never wanted to be a dentist."

"You're just getting cold feet," my father says. "You're going to do fine."

"It's not cold feet," I say. "I've done research. I know what I want to do. I'm going to be a cardiologist."

His forehead wrinkles. "What? Who wants to become a cardiologist? They're pompous jerks."

"I said the same thing," Jake interjects. "I mean, not the pompous jerk part, but that part was implied. Subtext."

"Shut up, Jake," I say.

"Go away, Jake." My father points toward the living room.

"Well, there's my whole childhood in a sentence," he says. He nods toward the broken glass. "I'm not cleaning that up. That's not my fault."

As soon as he leaves the kitchen, my father turns back to me.

"How can you do this to me?" He demands. "I've been making calls everywhere, trying to set up a good life for you. I've been preparing this for you for your whole life. Why did you think I gave you a job working at my office? Now you're going to throw it all away? No. That's not going to happen."

"You're also the one who gave me a stethoscope," I say.

He throws his hands up in the air. "You were eight years old! I also gave you a screwdriver and you don't want to become a builder. Are you blaming this on me? It's my fault that you're throwing your life away on a whim?"

"No!" I shout, anger rising in me. "I'm not blaming anyone because I don't think it's a bad thing. How is becoming a cardiologist throwing my life away?"

"Because you've spent your life becoming a dentist!" he says. "Because all that's going to happen is you're going to change your mind again. Next week it's going to be a neurologist or a pediatrician. It might even be a construction worker. Who knows? You committed to this. You're going to dental school."

"You can't force me to go to dental school," I tell him. "And I didn't commit to anything. You put me on this track before I was in middle school. Your practically brainwashed me into this."

"I care about your future," he says. "I can help you in the dental field. I can't do anything for you in cardiology. The medical industry isn't just about curing people. There's politics. You have to fight for positions and having a veteran in the field helps. You can't do anything without me."

"I don't need you," I say. "And this was never about me. You just wanted a trophy son."

He shakes his head at me. "Watch your tone. Nobody talks to me that way."

I take a step closer to him. "I'm an adult now. You should watch your tone with me."

He shoves me so suddenly, I don't have time to brace myself. I stumble backward, but manage to stay on my feet. Every muscle in my body tenses and every thought in my mind is
retaliation
, but I manage to control myself, standing up straight and looking at my father coolly.

"I'm not going to dental school," I say, his anger strengthening my resolve.

"You said you don't need me," he says, his breathing slowing as he calms down. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes," I say.

He points to the front door.

"Then get out of my house. Walk out that door and don't come back."

His words sink in and a fleeting feeling of uncertainty flickers in my chest. But I can't back down now. I've stood my ground for this long. I cannot show any sign of weakness by conceding.

"Fine," I say. I feel my father's and Jake's eyes on me as I walk down the hall to the door. I leave without any of my possessions.

I leave without saying good-bye.

~~~~~

FIRST, MY FATHER'S FINGER twitches. I remember his hands picking me up as a toddler when he came home from work.

Then, his arm raises in order to scratch his chest. I remember when I was about six years old—I laid my head on his chest and heard his heartbeat. It reminded me of ocean waves. He was the first person to explain to me how the heart works.

His eyes open, slowly, as if his eyelashes had become too attached to each other to part. I remember the disappointment and rage in them when I told him I wouldn't be following in his footsteps.

He turns his head to look at me. For the first second, there's a look of joy—as if he just discovered Maryland Terrapin football tickets on the bedside table. Then, his mouth forms a straight line and the spark of happiness disappears from his eyes.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

"I came to see you."

He turns his head so he's staring up at the ceiling.

"What was that…a four-hour drive?" he asks. "Aren't you supposed to be saving people with heart problems?"

"Apparently, there's someone like that right here."

"I'm sure it's nothing," he says. "Besides, you said the next time you would see me was at my funeral. I ain't dead yet. I'm sorry to disappoint you by being alive. You shouldn't have taken the time to drive here."

I frown. "Dad…I was angry before. You can't think that I want you to be dead."

"Why wouldn't you want that? All you've done your whole life is try to get as far away from your family as possible," he says. "Even as a kid, you spent more time at other people's homes than your own."

"We didn't have a home!" I say. "We had four people living under the same roof who barely knew each other. Mom was always painting, you were always busy with your model ships, Jake had football and track…I could have run away and nobody would have noticed!"

"We would have noticed." He scowls. "Don't be melodramatic."

"When I was fourteen, I didn't come home for five days," I tell him. "When I did come home, nobody even said anything to me."

"We thought you needed space!" he snaps, sitting up. I take a step back, surprised by his sudden passion. He lies back down, rearranging the tubes looping around his face. "Of course I noticed. Every couple of nights, I would check in on you before I went to work while you were sleeping. Of course, I saw that you weren't there. But I knew you had a good head on your shoulders and you would return when you thought it was the best time to do so."

"You never checked on me when I was sleeping," I tell him. "I would have noticed."

"Half the time you had those medical books on top of you," he says, lying back down. "I suppose you fell asleep while reading them."

I did used to read medical books. Obsessively. And fall asleep with them on my chest. There's no way he could have known that unless he really did check on me while I was asleep.

"Why didn't you ever tell me this?"

He shrugs. "Why would I tell you about it? I was just being a father. I know our family isn't how you picture a family, but it doesn't mean that I didn't care."

I fold my arms over my chest. "I didn't know."

He shrugs again. "I didn't tell you."

We sit in the hospital room, silence settling between us. It's not familiar, but it's not uncomfortable either. When I reach forward and put my hand on top of his hand—the hands that held me when I was a baby and fed me as a child—he doesn't pull away and that is good enough for me.

~~~~~

THE HARDEST ASPECT of getting rid of a body is not being seen around the body or in the same area as where the body disappeared from. This is problematic for someone who doesn't have a car.

It's less problematic if you're in a house with gasoline and a lighter.

I grab the gasoline from his garage, which is attached to the house. I drag David to the couch, his body strangely light compared to trying to move the deers I've shot for years. I drench his Pottery Barn furniture and him with the gasoline.

I strike the spark wheel of his lighter. There is a moment of hesitation, but I let the lighter slip through my fingers and drop onto the couch. For a second, nothing happens. Then, the living room seems to become a sea of fire. I have to back away as flames shoot up. I watch as the flames lick around David's body and then cover over him like a blanket.

I set Dr. Meadows class ring on the floor.

I slip out the back door of his house before the flames become high enough for any of the neighbors to see. I jump over his white picket fence and run until I'm two streets away. As I slow down, I feel the first few drops of rain. I'm not concerned. Nothing can stop me now.

~~~~~