The "What If" Guy (9 page)

“Mr. Purdell is coming.” Henry said.

I grimaced. Sure enough, the squat, balding principal tottered toward us.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to El. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Whatever.” His expression remained unchanged.

I was officially sick of that word.

“Hey, Elliott,” Henry said. “Why don’t you hang out in my classroom while the conferences are going on? A couple kids stayed after to help me make a slide show about mummies for tomorrow. We could use your help.” He caught my eye and gave me an encouraging nod.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle, it’s Miss Autumn Cole.” The principal’s voice boomed.

Who used the expression
I’ll be a monkey’s uncle
anymore? Did people outside of Mayberry really say that?

“How are you?” I extended my hand to my former science teacher. He’d obviously moved up in the world—proudly wearing a suit and a laminated name tag that said:
Myron Purdell, Principal.

“I’m just great.” He shook my hand so hard my bones rattled. “Glad you finally made your way home.”

I pursed my lips. “Thanks.”

“And how is your dad these days?”

As if he had to ask. I’d seen Mr. Purdell among the onlookers Halloween night. “Same old,” I said.

Mr. Purdell released a sharp laugh. “Well, that sounds about right. What brings you here today?”

I just stopped in for the company.
“I have an appointment with you.”

“Yes, of course you do.” Mr. Purdell gestured toward the offices. “Come on down to my office and we’ll talk about your son…eh….”

“Elliott.”

Nice. There were approximately twenty-two kids in Elliott’s class, and he couldn’t remember Elliott’s name? I frowned as we walked to the office, avoiding Miss Price’s curious stare as I passed her desk.

“So, Autumn,” Mr. Purdell said, sitting behind his desk. “Seems like yesterday when you were a student here.”

I was on a mission to make school more tolerable for my son, not to sit around shooting the breeze. I sat across from Mr. Purdell with a determined expression, prepared to launch into my speech about the inadequacy of Palouse Plains Grade and Middle School. Yet, as the meeting proceeded, Mr. Purdell proved unexpectedly competent and aware of Elliott’s needs. They’d instituted a new anti-bullying curriculum. The students were now required to take a diversity awareness course taught by none other than the ever-popular Mr. T.

After the principal, I was passed off to each teacher, one by one. My meetings with Elliott’s math and science teachers were equally gratifying, and my heart filled with hope. They agreed to scale back Elliott’s homework assignments until he became better adjusted. He’d have weekly visits with the school counselor to assess his emotional well-being, and the staff pledged to diligently watch for bullying.

Mr. Purdell insisted on escorting me to my last meeting. “Thank you so much for everything,” I gushed. “We’ve got a good plan to get Elliott through this transition.”

Mr. Purdell’s eyes warmed. “Palouse Plains might be a country school, but we’re not incompetent. We’ll take care of Elliott, I promise.”

I felt a pang of guilt. I had been wrong about this school. No, they didn’t have an orchestra or Pilates classes, but they had a staff that cared about my son.

“Thank you,” I smiled.

He knocked on Henry’s classroom door, and gave me a sideways glance. “Your last meeting is with Mr. Tobler. Miss Price mentioned that you two know each other.”

My stomach lurched. “Well, a little. In college.”

“He’s in the middle of a divorce, you know. Such a shame. Did you know his wife, too?” Mr. Purdell rocked back on his heels.

Wasn’t this breaking some sort of privacy code?

“No, I don’t know her.” I prayed that Henry couldn’t hear us.

“It’s too bad he’s going through such a hard time. He’s a heckuva teacher. Been doing wonders for the school. He’s reaching kids we thought would never be interested in learning.”

“That’s great.”

“He’s a good man. Some young lady will snatch him up soon, don’t you think?”

I swallowed. “Yes. I suppose so.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Did you and Mr. Tobler date?”

Seriously, does he realize how inappropriate this conversation is?

I looked away and cleared my throat. “We—”

Henry swung open his classroom door, brow furrowed. No doubt he had heard my conversation with Mr. Purdell. “Is Miss Cole ready to speak to me, Myron?”

Mr. Purdell smiled awkwardly, red blotches rising on his neck. “Yes. Remember to tell her more about the extracurricular programs we started this year.”

Henry nodded tightly, then tipped his head. “Come on in.”

Walking in, I saw his classroom as if for the first time. Not distracted by Henry and his nosebleed, I realized why kids like Elliott loved Henry’s class. Colorful posters papered the walls—images of the Egyptian pyramids, Stonehenge, ancient Rome, the Parthenon, and dozens of famous, classic works of art. In the back, history became 3-D on a long table covered in models and dioramas depicting different civilizations. Contemporary rock music, performed with stringed instruments, played in the background.

“Hey, guys,” Henry called to the kids, including Elliott, huddled around a laptop that sat atop a nearby desk. “How about hitting the gym while I talk to Elliott’s mom?”

I looked at the three boys. My heart leapt at the sight of the grin on Elliott’s face.

“Hi, Mom.” Elliott smiled.
Smiled.
He said something under his breath to the other boys, and they all laughed.

“Hi, guys,” I said.

The boys waved shyly then gathered their things, talking among themselves.

“Hey, Mom, I’ll be in the gym with the guys, okay?” Elliott followed the other boys to the door.

My expression brightened. “Sure. Did you boys have fun? Get a lot done?”

Elliott’s face said it all when he nodded. Instead of tense and aggravated, his eyes looked bright and, dare I say, happy? It warmed me right to my core.

The boys left, and I turned to Henry, my eyes wide. “Did you see that? He’s making friends.”

“Garrett and Marshall are good kids,” Henry said. “They’re both relatively new here, too. They just moved to Spangle this year.”

Spangle was a Fairfield-sized town about fifteen miles away. The Palouse Plains school district encompassed several small farming towns in southeast Washington, and the farms in between.

“Transplants?” I said. “Interesting. You sure they weren’t sent here by the witness protection program?”

Henry looked amused. “Believe it or not, some people really like it out here in the country. Marshall’s family moved here from Spokane, and Garrett’s family came from Boise, Idaho.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” He sat at his desk and steepled his fingers. “Smaller, more tight-knit communities, lower home prices, better teacher-to-student ratios.”

I gave him a pointed look. “I get that. But what about museums, live music, shopping, ethnic diversity, and shorter commutes? With all that’s available in a big city, who would want to raise their kids here?”

“I would.” Henry glared at me.

I looked away. When had Henry become such a disciple for small town living? “Right.”

He gestured to a chair that faced his desk. “Have a seat.”

I sat and studied him as he gathered Elliott’s assignments and tests.

“Tell me some of your concerns about Elliott,” Henry said.

I snapped to attention. “He’s always been an A and B student. Now he’s failing all his classes.”

Henry pulled some papers out of a folder. “Not all of his classes. He’s doing well in mine. He made a B-plus on his report on Mesopotamia, and scored a ninety-eight on yesterday’s test.” He slid the papers across the desk and nodded confidently. “Elliott’s very capable. When the material interests him, he focuses and absorbs the information.”

I examined Elliott’s schoolwork. “Then, what’s holding him back?”

“I think he feels socially lost and frustrated, and that’s causing him to give up on everything else.”

I looked at Henry, my eyebrows raised and a smile teasing my lips. “Did you take psychology classes, too, Mr. T?”

The corner of his mouth twitched—a glimmer of the smile that used to make me squirm. “I’ve been working with kids for a long time. I see real unhappiness in Elliott. He’s sullen and withdrawn and spaces out a lot in class. But when the other kids reach out to him, like Marshall and Garrett did today, he perks up and responds. I can tell that he
wants
friends, but he doesn’t know how to make them.”

My heart ached. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“He needs to leave his comfort zone, like he did this afternoon. You should encourage him to participate in activities that put him in social situations. Try to get him to sign up for extracurricular activities. Arrange for him to hang out with kids like Garrett and Marshall outside of school.”

“I can do that.” I fingered the corner of one of Elliott’s tests.

Henry looked at me pointedly. “But you have to do your part, too.”

“I will. I made a homework plan with the other teachers, and I’m going to check his work at night, and—”

“That’s not what I mean.”

I frowned. “What do
you mean?”

“Elliott needs to see you adapting. Smiling, laughing, making friends. Enjoying yourself. He picks up on your resentment for Fairfield, too.”

“Got it,” I said briskly, wanting to change the subject. “So, you’ve taught kids for a while?”

“About ten years.” He glanced at the framed diploma on the wall.

Curiosity tapped in my head like an annoying neighbor at the door. “When did you change your major?”

His expression clouded, his eyes darkening. “Right after you dumped me.”

Ouch
.

I gazed down at my hands, sweat tingling on my forehead.

“You disappeared,” he said. “You stopped coming to class, and you wouldn’t take my calls. I was crushed.” I glanced up, surprised to see his forehead furrowed, the frown line between his eyebrows. “I transferred to the University of Washington and studied to teach middle-grade American history instead of college-level art history. I immersed myself in the coursework, but my main focus was forgetting you.”

My throat tightened, and I crossed, then uncrossed, my legs. “It would have been too painful to stay in touch with you. I had to try…” I bit my lip. We were heading into rough territory. “I felt like I needed to make things work with Elliott’s father.”

Henry’s eyes flashed. “Were you with him during the same time that you were with me?”

My stomach dropped. “No. Of course not. He was the guy I saw for a few weeks before you asked me out. I told you about him.”

The line between his eyebrows deepened. “The loser bartender?”

“Yes,” I admitted shamefully. “Cliff was pompous, narcissistic, and completely unemployable. Half the time, he called me by the wrong name. I only dated him because he was wild, and I was a stupid, rebellious kid.”

Henry leaned forward. “Why did you go back to him, then?”

“Where I come from, that’s what you do. When you’re expecting a child with someone, you marry him and make an honest woman of yourself. Even if you don’t love him.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “So you went back to a guy you hated, to make an honest woman
of yourself?”

I couldn’t look at him. “I thought I was doing the honorable thing.”

“By leaving a man who loved you for a guy who didn’t even know your damn name?”

Henry’s words stung like a thousand bees and left me reeling.

He looked away. “Sorry. I said too much. Let’s get back on task. Here’s the exam Elliott took before progress reports went out. I noticed that he—”

“You fell in love again, didn’t you?” I crossed my arms. “You were married, right?”

Henry gazed out the window, his expression wistful, disappointment and ambivalence in his eyes. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Never one for self-control, I wanted to know more. “Who is she? Did you meet her at the U of W?”

Henry shook his head. “I taught at a private school in San Francisco. The staff had to attend lots of big fundraisers. Laurel’s father was a major contributor. We met at one of the events and wound up dating.”

So his wife was the daughter of a philanthropist—a snob with a trust fund. I had visions of a blonde, expensively-dressed heiress clinging to Henry as they walked into a gala fundraiser. Very Paris Hilton. I wanted to scream.

I wasn’t prepared for the flame of jealousy that ignited in my gut. “What does Laurel do?” I asked, pretending to pick lint off my sweater.

“She’s a pediatrician, specializing in oncology.”

Well, shit.

It was impossible to hate a woman who cares for kids with cancer. I pictured Paris Hilton wearing a white lab coat over a revealing, sparkly cocktail dress, bending over a tiny, bald child to listen to his heart through a stethoscope.

I swallowed audibly. “Is she still in San Francisco?”

“Yes, her practice and her family are there. I decided it was easier for me to leave than her.” Henry leaned back in his chair and tapped a pencil on his desk.

I scrunched my face. “So, you came to Fairfield?”

Henry’s expression relaxed a bit. “I really liked Washington when I lived here during college, and I wanted to put some serious distance between myself and Laurel.”

I wondered what he’d done to tick off his wife’s family. Had he cheated on her? Spent her millions? Shamed her high-society name?

“I went online to some job websites and looked for teaching positions in Washington,” he said. “I applied for positions all over the state, but the one at Palouse Plains appealed to me the most. Now I live in a town where nobody knows my wife, or her family. There’s a remarkable difference between her high-society life and the simpler life I have now.”

“No doubt about that.” Nothing about Fairfield resembled high society.

“When I flew in for my interview, I rented a car and drove all over this side of the state. Oaksdale, Rockford, Odessa, Latah—little towns with barely any more than a gas station and a post office.” He smiled. “Puny places, but they all had something in common. Every time I stopped for gas, a cup of coffee, or directions, people went out of their way to befriend me.”